Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"First, let's consider Callie's mugging," Frank said. "The mugger was after something—but did he get it?"
Callie shook her head. "My shoulder bag was here at home. All I was carrying were my school-books. And we found those."
"So it had to be something that the mugger didn't find," said Frank. "What was it?"
Callie had an answer before Frank could say it. "It had to be something in my bag, which I almost always carry."
"Right," said Frank, nodding. "Let's say it was your purse. When the mugger discovered you didn't have it, he tied you up so he'd be free to break into your house. The obvious next question is, what could you have in your shoulder bag that's worth all that?"
Callie shook her head. "I have no idea." Then, abruptly, her eyes brightened. "Maybe that's the point! Maybe I've got something in my bag that I wouldn't miss if it were stolen. That could be why the mugger was trying to hide the fact that he'd been here. That way, he could lift whatever it was he was after and get away with it with nobody being the wiser."
"I couldn't have put it better myself," said Frank. "Or figured it out faster."
"So let's take a look at that famous shoulder bag and check out what's in it," Joe said.
"Where is your bag?" Frank asked Callie. "If it's still here, that is."
"I'm pretty sure he didn't get it," said Callie. "He didn't get that far. He was still downstairs when I interrupted him, and my bag is in my room upstairs. That's where my mom always puts anything that I leave lying around."
"Let's go," said Joe, turning toward the stairs.
"Uh, maybe I'd better bring it down here," said Callie, looking embarrassed. "My room is kind of a mess."
"That won't bother us," said Joe.
"We should check out your room, anyway," said Frank. "There's a chance that the mugger was there. He might have left some clues."
Callie shrugged. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Frank saw what she meant as soon as they entered her room.
"Wow, you make Joe look neat," said Frank, surveying the jumble of books, papers, records, clothes, high heels, jogging shoes, a gleaming set of barbells, and a cluster of scruffy stuffed animals.
"And I thought girls were supposed to be neat," said Joe, shaking his head in wonderment.
"Another myth shattered," said Callie. She found her bag where her mother had put it, on the last remaining clear spot on her overloaded desk.
"See any signs of disturbance in the room?" Frank asked as he stared around the room. "I guess that would be hard to answer."
"Not hard at all," said Callie. "It might look like chaos to you, but it's home to me. I know every square inch of this mess." She gave the room a quick once-over with her eyes, then said, "Nothing I can see out of place. Of course, I'll have to check through my bag to make sure nothing is missing."
"I'm looking forward to that," said Joe. "I've always wondered what girls carry in these things."
"Curiosity killed the cat," said Callie. "Okay, let's take it downstairs. It'll be easier to sort out the stuff there. We're going to need room."
Callie started piling the contents of her bag on the living room coffee table, checking out the items one by one.
"Let's see," she said. "Calculator. New address book. Old address book. Still older address book. Tissues. Eyeliner. Paperback thriller. Pen. Pen. Pencil. Pencil. Sunglasses. Folding um-brella." Then she stopped, with the bag still half-f. "Hey, what's this?" She pulled out a small black book.
"Not yours?" asked Frank.
"Never saw it before," said Callie.
"Let's see what's in it," said Joe.
Callie opened it and began turning the pages. "It's a calendar notebook," she said. "Some of the pages are blank. Others have entries — a lot of letters and numbers that don't make sense."
Frank was looking over her shoulder. "It's probably some kind of code."
"How did this get in your bag?" Joe asked.
"No idea," Callie said, without looking up from the book. "If we could decipher some of these entries, then maybe we could figure out how the book got in my bag."
"We could run them through my computer," said Frank. "All I have to do is work out a decoding program. That shouldn't be too hard."
"We don't have to go to that trouble," said Callie. "This code doesn't look all that complicated." She picked up her school notebook and started copying entries into it. "Each entry is a short series of letters followed by a longer series of numbers. And some of the entries on different pages are exactly alike."
"Why waste brain power when we have computer power?" Frank gestured impatiently. He felt about his computer the way some people feel about their pets. He not only liked to play with it, he felt it was his duty to keep it well exercised and fed.
"I like to depend on my own energy supply instead of something that comes out of a socket," said Callie. She was already studying the letters and numbers she had scribbled down. The tip of her tongue flicked across her upper lip, as it always did when she was concentrating extra hard.
It was a look that Frank knew from when Callie went all out to try to beat him in one of their fiercely contested chess matches. He also knew that there was no talking to her right then. When Callie decided to work out a problem, nothing short of an earthquake could divert her.
He was wrong this time, though.
It didn't take an earthquake.
Just the lights suddenly going out, plunging the room into total darkness.
A sound told them that someone was in the room with them.
SEVERAL THINGS SEEMED to happen all at once. But they really happened one right after another, like a string of firecrackers going off one by one.
The glare of a high-intensity light shattered the darkness, blinding Joe and Frank and Callie.
Dazed and blinking, Joe threw himself at the light, to tackle whoever was holding it.
A kick slashed across his ankles, knocking his feet out from under him. And at the same instant a swift, axlike chop against the back of his neck sent him sprawling forward. His head smacked against the wall.
Joe was already in never - never land as Frank was leaping to his aid. He ran into the steel-tipped toe of a boot, which scored a direct hit on his chin.
When Joe came to, he felt something cold and wet against his forehead. Cautiously he opened his eyes. The normal lights in the room were back on, and he was lying on the floor. Callie was on her knees next to him, pressing a cold compress against his forehead, a concerned look in her eyes.
When she saw his eyes flicker open, she said, "Don't move. You might have a concussion."
Joe touched his forehead and shook his head gingerly.
"What?" he asked. "A little bump like this? No way would this stop me." He raised himself on his elbow, then fell back as the room began to spin.
Callie sighed and stood up. "I should have guessed your skull would be too thick to be seriously damaged." She turned to Frank, who was standing and rubbing his jaw. "How do you feel?"
"Still shaky—but nothing seems to be broken," Frank said. "You okay?"
"While you two were diving at the intruder, I dove for the floor," Callie said. "He didn't seem interested in me. He got what he was after — the black book we found."
"Did you get a look at him?" Frank asked.
Callie shook her head. "No. He shut off the light he was carrying as soon as he knocked you two out. And before my eyes could adjust to the darkness, he must have spotted the black book on the table. That was all he had to see. He grabbed it and was gone. The guy moved like lightning."
"And he had a kick like a mule," said Frank, touching his jaw.
"He sure knew his stuff — not many goons could throw me like that," said Joe. Slowly he pulled himself up. "What beats me is how he got in here so quietly."
"He was nice enough to provide the answer to that. He left this on the coffee table where the black book used to be," said Callie. She held up the front-door key. "He must have taken it with him when I surprised him earlier."
"That makes sense," said Frank. "But why would he bother returning it?"
"Maybe it's his way of telling us that he won't be a threat anymore—now that he has what he wants," Callie said speculatively. "Maybe he was saying that we should forget what happened, and we'd never be bothered by him again." She paused. "Or maybe he just wants us to think that, so we'll lower our guards."
"He doesn't know who he's dealing with." Joe's voice was grim. His hands were clenched in fists.
"The trouble is, he does," said Frank. "He knows where Callie lives. And now that he's gotten a look at us, it won't be hard for him to find out who we are, too. It isn't easy to lose yourself in Bayport."
"That works two ways," said Joe. "If this guy can find out who we are, we can find him, too."
"Except that right now he has the upper hand — he knows a lot more about us than we do about him," said Frank. "Which reminds me — " He went to the windows and drew the blinds. "He might still be out there, for all we know."
"I don't see why," said Joe. "He got what he was after. What else could he want?"
"He might want this," said Callie as she produced a crumpled sheet of paper. On it were the entries she had copied from the black book. "I ripped the page out of my notebook before I dove for the floor. He must have been watching us through the window and seen me copying, because he grabbed my notebook along with the black book. I wonder what he's going to do with my American history notes. Maybe I can get him to write my report for me."
"Good work," said Frank. "Now we can decode those entries and start to find out who and what we're dealing with."
"But first I have to figure out — " Callie began to say, when the sound of the front door opening stopped her.
All of them tensed, until they heard Callie's dad call out, "Hi, we're home. Hey, are you kids hitting the books over here now?" he said, walking into the room. "I have to admit, when I was your age, I was never that studious."
"Oh, we finished studying awhile ago," Callie said. "Frank and Joe walked me home."
"That was very nice of you boys," Mrs. Shaw said. "I know Callie thinks I worry too much, but I don't like her walking home alone at night."
"In Bayport?" Mr. Shaw said, smiling. "Come on, dear, I don't think there's much cause for concern."
"How was the party?" Callie asked quickly.
"Actually, not much fun," her dad replied.
"Why?" Callie asked. "Wasn't Mr. Carey surprised by the party? Or didn't he like to be reminded of his birthday?"
"It wasn't that," said her dad. "You know he's a civil-court judge, and like everybody else in the city government, he was pretty upset by what happened today. In fact, that was all anyone at the party was talking about."
"Happened today?" asked Frank. "What happened?"
"Didn't you hear?" asked Callie's mom. "The story was on all the local news broadcasts this evening."
"We were too busy studying," Callie said quickly. "Tell us what happened."
"Pretty grim news, I'm afraid," her dad said.
"Jack Morrison was found dead in his office at City Hall."
"That's terrible," said Callie.
"Yes, it is," Mrs. Shaw said. "But the real tragedy is that Mr. Morrison committed suicide."
For a moment no one said anything. Jack Morrison had been the Bayport city manager for the past four years. Friendly, popular, with a talent for getting his picture on the front page, he was considered a shoo-in for reelection to a new term.
"I was in City Hall just this afternoon," said Callie. "I picked up an application for a full driver's license for when I turn eighteen. I'm surprised I didn't see any commotion."
"His body wasn't discovered until about five-thirty," Mr. Shaw explained. "Morrison was locked up in his office. His secretary went in to say good night and found him. The coroner said he'd been dead three or four hours by then."
"Are they sure it was suicide?" asked Frank.
"No doubt of it." Mr. Shaw shook his head sadly. "There was a gun with a silencer in his hand. And powder burns next to the wound on his temple. It must have been gruesome."
"But why?" Callie asked. "Was there a note?"
Her dad shook his head. "Apparently not."
"That's unusual," Frank mused out loud. "Suicide victims almost always leave notes."
"I'd just as soon drop the subject," Mrs. Shaw said. "It's all I've been hearing about for the past few hours, and it's just too depressing. Besides, I'm sure we can trust the police to tie up the loose ends."
"I guess you're right. There's nothing we can do," Frank said slowly. He wasn't going to pursue it — this was not the time. But he did wonder why the police hadn't found a note.
"One thing you kids can do is get some sleep," said Mrs. Shaw.
"Right," said Joe, taking the hint. "I've got football practice tomorrow afternoon."
"Good night, Mr. Shaw, Mrs. Shaw," Frank said. "See you tomorrow, Callie."
It was only after Joe and Frank left the house and were walking home that Frank remembered. "Hey, Callie didn't give me that paper with the coded entries she copied down."
"She probably forgot in the excitement of that news about Morrison," said Joe.
"Maybe," said Frank. "And maybe not. You know Callie. I bet she kept that paper on purpose. Just so she can take a crack at the code on her own." He shook his head. "Once you start Callie's competitive juices flowing, it's real hard to shut them off."
"You know her better than I do," said Joe, shrugging.
Frank squinted at Joe. "You know what?" he said. "You two are exactly alike. That's why you always try to top each other."
"We are not alike. And I'm not trying to top anyone, even if Callie is. She's got a chip on her shoulder because she's a girl. For some reason, she's taking it out on me," Joe replied.
"You're as stubborn as a mule," Frank said.
"You mean, I'm as stubborn as Callie," Joe retorted.
They walked in silence for a while. Then Frank brought up the topic that had been bothering him since they'd heard about Jack Morrison's death.