Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
***
Joe spent the rest of that day sailing with Heather. She had packed a picnic lunch, which she shared with him.
The ocean was calm and the breeze was steady, making it a perfect day for sailing.
Joe and Heather sat side by side at the rear of the boat and took turns manning the tiller. He knew enough about sailing to recognize that Heather was an expert. He told her so.
"Thanks," she said. "I love it."
They said very little but were happy just to sail in silence.
Late in the afternoon, as the sun was approaching the horizon, Heather said, "Ready to head back in yet?"
"Sure," said Joe.
With experienced moves Heather turned the sailboat about, and soon they were within sight of shore again.
"How're you doing?" she called out above the sound of the waves slapping the hull.
"Great."
Just then an explosion sounded and the main mast snapped. The huge sail flew into the ocean.
Heather screamed and lost her grip on the tiller. The explosion was small enough that neither of them was hurt, but they were both stunned.
Flames then erupted and shot out from a gaping hole in the front of the boat, and the prow began to dip deeper and deeper into the water. Thick smoke billowed up from wherever water doused the flames.
The boat was sinking fast.
The next few moments seemed to take place in slow motion, but Joe knew that he had never acted faster in his life. His ears hummed with the aftershock of the explosive noise, but that was the least of his worries right then, because he now found himself several feet under water and caught in a harsh undertow.
Kicking and thrashing, he struggled to kick up and break the surface.
His body ached all over, but he told himself he had to fight harder. His life - and perhaps Heather's life as well - depended on it.
His lungs were burning now, and flashes of pain cut across his chest. He had to reach the surface - and soon.
Calm yourself, Joe, he told himself. Stay cool. Heather may need you.
He fought the panic that was building in him and forced himself to make slow, steady strokes. With not a moment to spare he burst to the surface and gulped in welcome mouthfuls of air.
Joe bobbed there for just a moment, trying to get his bearings. He quickly checked himself out and came to the conclusion that he was unharmed. His body ached from the impact of the blast, but he was okay.
"Heather," he said to himself. He had to find Heather.
"Heather!"
"Joe." Her voice was distant and faint.
Joe spun around in the water, but the light was fading quickly and he could see almost nothing. Here and there bits of debris floated past him.
"Joe," she called again. "Help me."
There. He saw her. She was clinging to a section of the hull that floated some fifty feet away.
"Hang on!" cried Joe as he swam to her.
She was crying and barely conscious when he reached her, but she didn't seem to be seriously hurt.
Without speaking, Joe reached his right arm across her chest and under her arm and slowly swam back to land.
Frank was on the beach, and he helped Joe the last few feet onto shore.
"I heard the explosion and came running. Are you all right?" asked Frank.
"Think so," Joe said between breaths.
"Let's get you both back to the hotel," said Frank, "and then you and I can start to piece some of this together."
***
Joe had just finished changing into dry clothes when there was a knock at his door.
"It's open," he said, and Frank stepped in.
"How's Heather?" asked Joe.
"She'll be okay. And you?"
"I'm all right. Did she have any idea what happened?"
"She said she didn't remember anything, but she's pretty beat up. We'll talk to her in the morning."
"She's here?"
Frank nodded. "Gary and Janet gave her a room for the night." Frank paused before saying what was on his mind. "You like her, don't you?"
Joe nodded.
"We're only here for a short time," Frank pointed out.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, I don't want to see you get hurt."
Joe said, "Thanks for the advice, big brother. I won't."
"But - "
"No buts. Now let's get to work. We have a case to solve."
Frank studied his brother for a moment and then said, "Right. So tell me, what happened out there?"
Joe recounted the boat ride and then said, "This is getting serious, Frank. We've got to do something."
"I agree. I think," said Frank, "we have to return to basics - who and why. If we find out why, we'll know who. And if we know who, the why should follow. I think it's safe to assume that Gary and Janet are not responsible. I mean, they're not trying to drive themselves away from their own hotel."
"Agreed."
"Well, then," said Frank, "let's start by questioning Logan and Gaines to see if they saw or heard anything at the boathouse today."
As they walked down the hall to Logan's room, Joe suddenly remembered something.
"I can't believe I forgot this, but you know, Frank, right before Heather and I went out on her boat, I caught Paul Wilkerson snooping around the boathouse."
"What was he up to?"
"He said he had lost his sunglasses."
"Did you believe him?" asked Frank.
"Hard to say," said Joe as they reached Logan's room. "There was a pair of sunglasses there."
They had to knock several times, but finally Logan did open his door, but only a crack.
As usual, a swirl of cigarette smoke preceded him. He acknowledged their presence with a half-mumbled "Yeah?"
"Can we come in?" asked Frank.
Logan said, "No," and started to close the door, but Joe jammed his shoe against the doorframe to prevent it.
"It's okay," said Joe. "We don't need to come in. We can chat from out here."
"What do you want?"
Frank said, "There was an explosion on a boat this evening, and we were wondering if you saw or heard anything suspicious around the boathouse today."
"I didn't see nothing. I've been asleep for hours."
The Hardys waited a few seconds for Logan to volunteer something, anything, but he was clearly going to keep his mouth shut.
"Thanks for the help," said Joe sarcastically.
Allistair Gaines was not much more help, but at least he was friendly. "I'm glad you weren't hurt," he told Joe, "but I'm afraid I didn't see anything or anybody who looked suspicious. No, not me."
"Were you painting on the beach today?" asked Frank.
"Oh, of course. Of course."
"And nobody was around?"
"Just the usual people. You two and Miss Shaw and Millicent. Oh, and the construction workers."
"You saw construction workers near the beach today?" asked Joe.
"Oh, of course. I see them every day."
"When?" asked Frank.
"Time is not one of my interests," said Gaines.
The Hardys said good night to the elderly artist and decided to turn in and get an early start in the morning.
"You know, Callie's going sightseeing with Gary and Janet tomorrow," Frank said. "I'm going to spend the day at the library. There are some things in those documents we found that I want to check out. I know we decided they weren't of any interest, but now I think I have to check them out."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I'd tell you to relax and recuperate, but I know you wouldn't listen to me," said Frank.
"It runs in the family." Joe smiled. "Listen," he continued, "I'll compromise and do both. I'll take Heather and spend a nice day at the beach. We can nose around the boathouse and check it out."
True to his word, Joe slept late the next morning, and after a long and leisurely breakfast with Heather, the two of them spent the day relaxing on the beach.
Joe wished the day would not end, wished he never had to return to the States, wished there were no more mysteries to solve.
"What are you thinking?" asked Heather as they lay side by side on beach blankets.
"How good this feels," Joe answered without opening his eyes.
Around three o'clock a cool breeze picked up from out of the west, and a ridge of dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon, but Joe and Heather paid no attention to the weather.
Again it was Heather who broke the silence to say, "You remind me of my great-grandfather."
"Wiley Reed?" said Joe, turning and leaning on an elbow to look at her. "But you could never have met him."
"I didn't, but you're like what I always imagined him to be."
"I'll take that as a compliment," said Joe.
"You should."
"Have you remembered anything that might tell us who could have put the bomb on your boat?"
"Not really," she said. "I was returning it to the boathouse for the day when I saw you."
"Do you keep it at that same pier near the boathouse all the time?"
"Yes - but why?"
"I don't know. Let's take another look around to see if we can find out anything."
As they strolled in the direction of the boathouse, the gathering storm they had ignored began to grow in intensity. The wind picked up and was fierce now. As they neared the building, rain started to come down in heavy sheets.
"Hurry!" cried Joe above the sound of the storm. He put an arm around Heather to speed her along toward the boathouse.
A terrific flash of lightning that illuminated the boathouse was followed by a crack of thunder directly overhead. The boathouse looked eerie in the darkness.
There was a pause in the storm after that, and in that brief moment Joe heard another noise that stopped him dead.
"What is it?" cried Heather.
"Gunshots," said Joe. "Inside the boathouse."
The Barbados Public Library was small and quiet. Frank introduced himself to the librarian, told her what he wanted, and soon found himself seated in a comfortable room surrounded by stacks of local newspapers dating back to the beginning of the twenties.
The actual documents were safely hidden in Joe's suitcase, but he had jotted down notes. Wiley Reed's payments had been made to "EBJ" for a three-year period between 1925 and 1928.
"EBJ" had also initialed the official documents they had found, so Frank reasoned that this "EBJ" was a government worker and his name might appear in news accounts from that era.
The newspapers for the early years revealed nothing, but the stories they told were colorful, and Frank found it difficult to concentrate on what he had to do. Scanning an April 1925 edition, he came across the announcement of the marriage of Herbert and Madelaine Tyler. The account described a huge and lavish wedding. Frank concluded that these were Randolph Tyler's ancestors and that they were an important Barbados family as far back as the twenties.
Randolph Tyler is a powerful man, Frank thought.
There was nothing in the papers from 1925 that seemed important to Frank, but an account from an April 1926 edition caught his eye. It was the announcement that Wiley Reed and his young bride, Millicent, were building an estate called Runner's Harbor. The story described Wiley's many exploits at sea, and even in his own time, Wiley Reed was one of those rare people who was larger than life.
Later that same year, 1926, Frank came across a small review of an exhibit of oil paintings by a young artist named Allistair Gaines. The reviewer was full of praise for the work and for the artist. The writer took great pains to describe the dashing painter and all the beautiful jewelry he wore.
In 1927 there was the appointment of a new town governor, and the front page article was the information Frank had been hoping for. The new governor's name was Elmer Bradley Jamison - EBJ.
Frank was all but certain that Brady Jamison, Randolph Tyler's young assistant, was related to EBJ, but what did that mean? Would Brady Jamison have any reason to drive Gary and Janet out of Runner's Harbor? Randolph Tyler was the only one with a motive to do that, wasn't he?
There was nothing of interest in 1928, but a 1929 front-page article captured Frank's attention.
The headline read, "Governor Missing Five Days."
The story was dated November 14, 1929. It reported that no one had any idea where he might have gone, or why, but quoted police as saying that there was no reason to suspect foul play.
The story of Jamison's disappearance gradually lost prominence in the paper until finally a story in January 1930 concluded that the police had given up any hope of finding him and presumed him to be dead.
As he drove back to Runner's Harbor, Frank tried to figure out how all the information tied together, but none of it made sense to him. Yet.
Lost in thought, he was almost back to the hotel when he noticed that a huge storm was brewing on the horizon.
It was moving onshore fast.
Frank parked the jeep and hurried into the lobby just as the first fat drops began to fall.
"Hello?" he called out. "Anybody here?"
There was no answer, so Frank walked through the downstairs, checking to see if anyone was around.
"Callie? Joe? Gary? Janet?"
The only reply was a huge bolt of lightning followed by a tremendous clap of thunder.
Frank was grateful to be inside out of the storm and hoped that all the others were just as safe.
He stood at the back door and watched as the storm gathered strength.
Just then he heard gunshots.
It sounded as if they came from the direction of that old boathouse.
He grabbed a poncho from a peg on the wall beside the door and raced to the boathouse through the drenching rain.
***
Joe stood on the dock beside the entrance to the boathouse, but he didn't go in even though he was soaking wet and getting wetter.
There was no doubt in his mind that he had heard gunshots, and he wanted to check out the boathouse before he made a move.
He knew that if he stood in the doorway he'd be a perfect target, so he kept out of sight.
"What are you going to do?" asked Heather behind him.
Joe motioned for her to be quiet and then gestured to her to wait where she was.
Clearly she didn't like the idea, but she nodded that she understood.
With the storm raging around him, Joe said a silent prayer and, staying to the side, cautiously slipped inside the boathouse.
The only light came from the flashes of lightning that were now increasing in number.
He crouched down in a corner of the old building, and the next flash of light showed him that there, in the center of the boathouse, lay a body.
With the help of another flash of lightning, Joe made out that it was Randolph Tyler.
Another flash and he saw that Tyler had been shot in the head and was dead.
Behind him, amid the sounds of the storm, Joe heard what he thought were voices. Were they arguing?
A huge thunderclap rocked the building!
"Heather!" shouted Joe.
There was no response. In that same instant the Ghost Gunman appeared in the doorway and smashed a gun against the side of Joe's head. Joe was momentarily stunned, dropped to his knees, and found himself in several inches of water.
The storm had raised the tide and was flooding the old building.
The Ghost Gunman dashed into the dark recesses of the boathouse.
Joe could hear his footsteps as he sloshed across the ancient wooden floor.
Summoning all his strength, Joe rose to his feet.
"Heather!" he shouted. "Get help. Randolph Tyler's dead. I'm going after the gunman."