Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
"You have to see Callie," Joe said. "I've got a more interesting date."
"You don't know anything about Lisa," Frank said, pointing out the obvious. "You told her an awful lot, and we don't know what her connection is to all this, if she is involved. Now you're ready to drop everything and rush to her side. Don't you see that you're taking a risk?"
"No," said Joe flatly. "I see a gorgeous girl, alone in a strange town, maybe in big trouble. Since when have you worried about taking risks? You're so wrapped up in protecting Callie, you won't look out for anyone else."
His face slowly turned red as Frank stared at him. "Look, I didn't mean that. It's just that I get the feeling that Lisa needs us as much as Callie does." He grinned. "And she treats me a whole lot better."
Frank shrugged. "All right," he said. "Do what you have to."
The next afternoon at Ernie's, when Frank told Callie that Joe had other plans, Callie seemed indifferent. "That's okay with me," she said. "I'm sure the two of us will function perfectly well without him."
"Well, I miss Joe," said Frank. "I'm so used to having him around. We've been through a lot together. Joe can be a pain in the neck sometimes, but he can also be a lifesaver."
"We'll call him in if we need him," said Callie. "Right now, we need to put together the pieces of this puzzle. And I've come up with a key piece."
"Right. What did you discover?" asked Frank, leaning forward eagerly.
"As I told you over the phone," said Callie, "I went over every move I made yesterday, trying to figure out how that black book got into my bag. Then I remembered. It was yesterday, when I went to City Hall during lunchtime to get my application for a driver's license. I had just gotten it, and was looking it over as I walked down a corridor, when I bumped right into a mailman."
She shrugged. "I guess it was my fault, since I wasn't paying attention. But the mailman had to be walking real fast. He really hit me hard. I dropped my bag, and his mail sack went flying. Everything scattered all over the floor. I remember, he seemed mad. He didn't even look at me. He just started stuffing the letters and parcels back into his bag, even though I tried to apologize. Then I got angry, too. So I stuffed my things back into my bag as fast as I could and stalked off while he was still on his hands and knees scooping up mail. That was when the black book got into my bag. I must have picked it up with my other stuff. I was in such a rush to get out of there, I didn't look carefully at anything."
"Sounds like a possibility," Frank said, nodding.
"More than a possibility," said Callie. "I'm absolutely sure of it. There's no other way that book could have gotten into my bag."
"Then the next step is to find that mailman," said Frank. "What did he look like?"
"Let's see," said Callie as she bit into a slice of pizza. "It's not so easy to remember somebody who wouldn't look at you." Then her face brightened. "I remember one thing. He had a beard. A dark beard. And dark sunglasses."
"We can check at the post office," said Frank, "and find out who has that route. So far, so good. Now the next puzzle piece. The code."
"I haven't had much luck," Callie admitted. "I tried to work on it last night, but my mom saw my light on and ordered me to put it out. Honestly, my parents treat me like an adult most of the time, but when push comes to shove, they still act like I'm about seven years old."
"Kids may stop being kids, but parents never stop being parents," Frank said with a grin. "But don't worry too much about the code. I'll just run the entries through the computer, and we'll figure them out in no time."
"Just give me one more crack at it," said Callie. She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out the piece of paper with the entries. Spreading it out on the table, she stared at it. "The solution seems close."
Frank and Callie were so engrossed in Callie's notes that they didn't realize Chet Morton had approached them until he spoke.
"Hey, no studying in here," Chet said. "You'll ruin everyone's appetite."
"No danger in doing that to you, Chet," Callie said, grinning. "How can you carry all that food, much less eat it?"
In one hand Chet was holding a large pizza. In the other hand he was balancing three large drinks in plastic glasses.
"No trick at all. I've had years of practice," Chet said. "Do you guys mind if I sit down and join you?"
But before Chet got a chance to sit, a busboy with a loaded tray tried to squeeze by him. He almost made it — almost. A corner of the busboy's tray hit Chet's elbow right on his funny bone. His arm jerked and the three plastic glasses flew into the air. Soda spattered down like a sudden thunderstorm. There was no thunder, only Callie's horrified yell.
"Sorry," Chet said, looking down at the damage. "Did I wreck your homework or something?"
"Or something," Callie said as she stared at the illegible ink-streaked paper in front of her. "Yeah, you might say you wrecked something."
***
Across town, Joe was suffering a setback of his own.
It's your own fault, he told himself. You shouldn't have been in such a hurry to get here. Now he wished he'd played it cooler. He was five minutes early for his appointment with Lisa, stuck waiting for her at a table in the Bayport Inn coffee shop. It definitely would have been better to have made her wait. Not long, of course. Just long enough for her to be eager for him to arrive.
Fifteen minutes later Joe had finished his cup of coffee. He was no longer worried about what kind of impression he would make on Lisa. He was worried if he would get to make any impression at all.
And ten minutes after that, he decided that the best thing he could do would be to leave. He'd call her up later and tell her he hadn't been able to show up. He'd apologize in a nice way and set up another date. He'd get up and walk straight out of there—in five minutes, he decided.
Fifteen minutes later—when Lisa was almost forty minutes late for their appointment—Joe finally got up from the table, paid the cashier, and left the coffee shop. He intended to stalk angrily out of the inn, but his feet had ideas of their own.
He found himself approaching the clerk at the reception desk in the lobby. "Excuse me," he said. "Did Lisa, er, Miss Cantwell leave a message for Mr. Hardy?"
The clerk checked his message book and shook his head. "No, she didn't."
"Oh," said Joe and started to turn away. Then he turned back to the clerk. "Is Miss Cantwell in her room? She's late for an appointment with me."
"Maybe," said the clerk. "She stopped here a couple of hours ago to check for messages, then went up to her room. I haven't seen her go out since then."
"I'd like to call her room," said Joe. "Maybe she took a nap and overslept."
"Right," said the clerk. "I'll ring her." He entered Lisa's name into a computer and glanced at the information that flashed up on the monitor. "That's room twenty-two." He picked up a phone, punched in the number, and handed the receiver to Joe.
Joe listened as the phone rang and rang. No one was answering — Lisa wasn't there. Joe Hardy had been stood up.
He slammed down the receiver, and the desk clerk looked at him coldly.
"Miss Cantwell doesn't seem to be in her room, sir. Would you like to leave a message?"
"No thanks," Joe answered. He left the lobby, his hands buried deep in his pockets. It seemed as though Lisa hadn't wanted to keep their date, and that was that.
As Joe approached the parking lot where the van was parked, an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. It just didn't make sense, he thought. Lisa had acted so friendly the night before. Her not showing up seemed completely out of character. Abruptly he turned and headed back toward the van. What if something had happened to her? There was no way he was leaving before he found out what was going on with Lisa.
He looked around the grounds for a way to get back into the inn and up to Lisa's room. The main entrance was out. The clerk had a clear view of the revolving door.
The inn was a white-shingled building, five stories high, surrounded by a well-tended lawn and flower beds ablaze with purple, yellow, and orange autumn flowers.
His eyes rested on a ladder leaning against the side of the building. It had obviously been used by painters, since there were several large cans of paint on the ground.
Joe noticed that the ladder was extended to reach to the second floor. Near the end of a row of windows, one of them had been left open. Drapes were billowing in the breeze. Joe was in luck — he could duck in there and then out the door to check on room twenty-two.
After looking to make sure that no one was watching him, Joe dragged the ladder over to the open window and climbed two rungs at a time. He was worried that something had happened to Lisa, and he knew he had to go for it.
He flung himself through the open window and prayed there was no one inside to sound an alarm.
His prayer was answered.
There was no one to make a sound when he entered the room.
But there was someone there.
Someone lying face down on the carpeted floor.
Someone he recognized instantly.
"Lisa," he gasped, a sick feeling going through him as he looked at her. She lay there, as still as death.
GRITTING HIS TEETH, Joe reached for Lisa's wrist. Her hand was limp as he felt for her pulse. He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing with relief. He could feel the pulse, beating steadily.
Gently, he turned her over on her back.
He clenched his fists when he saw the bruise marks on her neck. He wanted to get his hands on the guy who had tried to strangle her.
But he had more important things to do then. He went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth with cold water. When he returned, he pressed it on her forehead and cheeks.
Finally her eyelids twitched, then fluttered open.
"What — ? Where — ?" she mumbled until her eyes focused on the face peering down at her. "Joe! What are you doing here?"
"First, tell me what you were doing on the floor," said Joe as he helped her get to her feet.
"I was getting ready to go down to meet you when there was a knock on the door," Lisa said. "If this were New York City, I might have been more cautious. But aside from the neighborhood mugger I met last night, Bayport seems like a safe place. I didn't think twice about opening the door when the guy said he was an electrician checking the wiring. The moment it was open a crack, he forced himself in. The next thing I knew his hands were squeezing my throat and I blacked out."
"Did you get a good look at him?" asked Joe.
Lisa shook her head. "He was wearing a black stocking mask."
"Sounds familiar," said Joe. "In fact, it sounds like an instant replay of what happened to Callie." He looked around the room. Drawers had been pulled out of a desk and a bureau, and clothes were yanked off hangers and strewn around the floor.
"If he didn't fit the description of the mugger who went after Callie, too, I'd say it was just a robbery. But we have to figure it was more than that."
"No doubt about it — especially considering what he said to me," said Lisa.
"He told you something?" said Joe.
"Just 'Stop sniffing around—or you'll stop breathing.' He made sure I heard that before he made me black out," said Lisa, wincing at the memory.
She glanced around her littered room. "Seems like he was looking around for any notes I might have taken. He didn't find anything, though, because I still haven't written anything." She shook her head. "I just don't see how anything ties in with anything else."
"I'm beginning to think that black book Callie had must be the key," Joe said. "It's a good thing she was so gung-ho to break the code. In fact, she or my brother may have done it already."
"Then she's in danger, even more now than before," Lisa said. "Maybe your brother, too. Before we do anything else, we'd better warn them that this guy is still on the prowl and playing rough."
"Maybe they're still at Ernie's," said Joe. "That's a pizza place where they were meeting after school."
"We can take a cab," said Lisa, grabbing a silk scarf and putting it around her throat to hide the bruises. "Feminine vanity," she said with a smile.
Joe grinned back. Then he said, "No need for a cab. I've got my van in the parking lot—if you don't mind the interior. Sometimes I give the guys on the football team a lift—and people have told me that there's a certain atmosphere that lingers."
Lisa grimaced. "It's a good thing I like athletes. Let's go. I just hope we're in time."
When Joe and Lisa arrived at Ernie's, Frank and Callie were still sitting in a booth, staring at the indecipherable remains of Callie's notes and trying to think—without success—of what to do next.
After Lisa and Callie were introduced and the attack on Lisa was described, Frank gave Joe and Lisa the bad news about what had happened to Callie's notes.
"Poor Chet," Callie added. "He couldn't even eat his pizza afterward. He just left it and went home."
"A total disaster, huh?" said Lisa, looking at the remains of the piece of paper. "Can't you dry it out or something?"
"I don't think there's any use trying," said Callie. "The ink is completely smeared."
"Well, there goes our last link to the mugger. We have nothing to track him down with—and he has no reason to go after Callie anymore." Frank glanced around. "I hope."
"It's a tough break," said Lisa sympathetically. "Does this mean you're giving up?"
Callie's voice was indignant. "Not on your life. We'll get that guy yet. And we do know that he's somehow connected to the mailman I bumped into yesterday." Callie quickly explained her theory about how the black book had gotten in her bag to Lisa and Joe.
"If I can do anything to help, let me know," Lisa said.
"Sure. Thanks." Joe smiled eagerly. "That's a great idea. Welcome to the team."
"Don't forget, I'm interested in this case, too. That guy has gone after me twice now," Lisa said.
"That's right—and there has to be a connection," said Frank. "You and Callie must have something in common that we don't know about."