9 On Ice


Frank felt the van start to skid even before Joe’s shout. He clasped the armrests of his seat and tried to make his body go limp.

Joe was pumping the brake pedal, giving it short pushes, then letting up on it. At the same time he moved the steering wheel gently back and forth, feeling for any hint of traction.

Whether because of something Joe did or through some peculiar law of physics, the van slowly began to revolve in a clockwise direction. It kept on sliding down the driveway, but now Frank’s side was closer to the street than Joe’s.

The rear wheel on Joe’s side slid off the driveway onto the lawn. It gouged through the thin layer of snow and the grass into the dirt. The effect was like throwing out an anchor. That corner of the van stopped moving, while the rest spun dizzily around it. A moment later the van rocked to a stop. It was resting entirely on the lawn, with the front end facing the street. The men in the garbage truck stared at the van as they roared past.

Frank took a deep breath. “Give me some warning the next time you try that,” he said.

“Are you kidding?” Joe said indignantly. “Oh. Right. You are kidding.”

“What happened?” Frank asked.

Joe shook his head. “Beats me,” he said. He opened his door and climbed down. His feet shot out from under him. He clutched the van door just in time to avoid a nasty spill.

“Ice!” Joe said unbelievingly. “This whole part of the driveway is iced over.”

Frank got out and walked around the van. Joe was right. For the last stretch of driveway, clear across the sidewalk to the street, the concrete glittered with a thin layer of ice.

“Weird!” Frank exclaimed. “We haven’t had any snow or sleet for days. And I know the driveway was clear and dry yesterday.”

“Frank, hold it,” Joe said. “Something woke me in the middle of the night. When I looked out, I saw a car pull away. I didn’t think anything about it then. But now. . .”

“I think you’ve got it,” Frank said somberly. “What a perfect booby trap! All you’d need would be a couple of five-gallon jerricans of water and a nice cold night. And I don’t think our driveway got picked at random. Someone’s mad at us . . . someone with a really nasty imagination.”

“Sal Martin,” Joe said. “I just remembered that when I went up to his office, I gave him my real name. What a bonehead move!”

“You’ve been smarter,” Frank told him. “But from what you’ve told me about Martin, this isn’t his style. Too indirect. He sounds like the kind who’d send some of his muscle to break our knees.”

Frank walked beside the driveway to beyond the icy patch. Crossing the drive, he squatted down to get a more oblique view of the snow on that side. There were plenty of footprints, but they crossed and recrossed each other so much they were unreadable.

There was one exception. One of the intruders must have lost his balance and stepped into a deeper patch of snow.

Frank studied the print with growing excitement. First, it was big, at least a size twelve. Better still, in the instep area the sole had stamped into the snow a pattern of wheels with an inset design.

Frank took out his notebook and made a sketch of the pattern. How many running shoes had that particular design on the bottom?

“Did you find something?” Joe asked, kneeling next to him.

Frank showed Joe the pattern in the snow. “Now all we have to do,” he said, “is go around making people show us the bottoms of their shoes.”

“Funny,” Joe said. “Frank, look over there.”

Frank looked. Joe was pointing to a rectangular area where the snow was pressed down. It was about six inches wide by a foot and a half long.

“How about that!” Frank said. “I bet that was made by a steel jerrican. You know, what the army used to use for extra fuel. These days most people use those round red gas cans instead. They’re lighter and easier to carry.”

“Terrific,” Joe said, straightening up. “So now we know. Our driveway got iced by Bigfoot driving an army surplus Jeep!”

Frank ran back to the house to leave a note warning his mother about the ice. Then he and Joe got back into the van. Joe carefully maneuvered down across the grass and into the street.

“Do we still go by Tony’s?” Joe asked. “Or straight to school?”

Frank looked at his watch. He was astonished to see that the skid and its aftermath had cost them less than ten minutes. “Tony’s,” he replied. “We’ll try to keep it short.”

Tony opened his front door as they pulled into his driveway. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he said once they were inside. “You want something to drink? Coffee, milk, juice?”

“Sure,” Frank said. “Milk for me.”

“I’ll have some OJ,” Joe said.

The Hardys followed Tony to the kitchen and sat down in the breakfast nook overlooking the backyard. It was a sunny, comfortable spot. Frank saw Tony’s backpack in the corner.

Tony poured the milk and juice and brought the glasses to the table. “Dave said you were asking about some delivery guy,” he said to Joe. “Is that a lead?”

“Sort of,” Joe said. “The driver who delivered the tests to the school on Thursday stopped by Mr. Pizza on the way. His name’s Fred Adolphus.”

Tony wrinkled his forehead. “I think I know who you mean. But what makes that a clue?”

Joe gave Frank a pleading look.

“Just that the tests were sitting out in the truck while Fred was having a slice of pizza,” Frank said. “If he left the truck unlocked, anybody could have sneaked in and taken one of them.”

“I guess so,” Tony said slowly. “But they’d have to know the tests were in there. And they’d have to want to steal one. That sounds like we’re looking for somebody who goes to our school.”

“Could be,” Frank said. “It turns out Fred’s sister is in my class.”

Tony ignored that. “Joe?” he said. “Listen, how come you asked Dave about what time I got to work on Thursday?”

Joe shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “The express company truck stopped at Mr. Pizza about the time you started work,” he said. “Coincidence, that’s all.”

“Coincidence? Give me a break!” Tony said, jumping to his feet. “You guys think I stole that test, and that’s why it was in my backpack!”

“We don’t think that,” Joe said. “No way. We know you better than that. But on a case you have to check out all the possibilities.”

“Look at it like this,” Frank added. “You and the truck and the tests were all in the same place at the same time. And you said it yourself: The test was in your backpack. You want us to make believe none of that’s so?”

“In another minute,” Tony said grimly, “I’m going to start believing you put the test in my pack, so you could pin it on me and build up your reps as hotshot detectives.”

“Come on,” Joe said. “You know—”

Tony interrupted. “What do I know? I thought I knew who my friends were. Some friends. Get out of my house, and never come back!”

Frank felt terrible. He glanced over at Joe, who looked stricken. What now? Trying to explain to Tony might just stir him up worse. It would be better to give him some time to cool off.

“I’ll call you later,” Joe said as the Hardys left the house.

“Don’t bother,” Tony retorted. He slammed the door.

Frank and Joe were subdued on the drive from Tony’s house to school. When they turned onto the street that led to the front entrance, Joe said, “Hey, look. There’s Callie and Iola. I know I’m not supposed to talk to them, but Old Beady Eyes didn’t tell me I couldn’t be in the same place.”

Joe swerved over to the curb and tooted the horn. The girls noticed them. Frank pushed the rear door open, and the girls climbed in.

“Oh, it’s nice and warm in here,” Iola said, hugging herself.

“Good thing,” Frank remarked. “Joe and I just got the cold shoulder big time.” He recounted their exchange with Tony.

“I don’t blame Tony one bit,” Callie said. “If I found out you suspected me of a crime, I’d want to hit you with a chair!”

“We don’t suspect him,” Joe told her. “We want to eliminate him as a suspect.”

“Yeah, right,” Iola said sarcastically. “If you didn’t think he was a suspect, why would you need to eliminate him?”

“What’s the case against Tony?” Callie demanded. “Let’s take a look at it.”

“Well,” Frank said, “he showed up late for work last Thursday, the same day the truck carrying the tests was in the Mr. Pizza parking lot. Was he late because he was busy taking a copy of the test from the truck?”

Callie gave a snort. “Maybe. Or maybe he was late because he got a call from the White House asking him to be on the Supreme Court! Look, did Tony know the truck would be there? Or that the tests would be on it? Or are you saying he checks out every truck that parks there just in case there’s something on board he can steal?”

“Of course not,” Joe said in a shocked voice. “Tony’s not that kind of guy.”

“Then why act as if he is?” Iola replied. “As far as I can see, the only hard fact against Tony is that the test was in his pack. But if he stole it, why would he pull it out in the middle of school and show it to you? It makes no sense!”

“Think how he must be feeling,” Callie added. “First he’s accused of something he didn’t do and suspended from school. Then two of his best friends start treating him like a suspect.”

By now Frank was starting to feel a bit picked on himself. Looking for suspects and building cases against them were what detectives did. It wasn’t his fault that one of the suspects was a friend of his. Someone had stolen that test, and whoever it was deserved to be exposed. If nothing else, pointing out the guilty party would lift the cloud of suspicion from those who were innocent.

“Okay, you’ve got a point,” Joe told Callie and Iola. “The way you put it, maybe we went a little too far in checking out Tony. Maybe we ought to let him know that. If he’ll talk to us at all.”

Callie’s reproachful gaze made Frank uncomfortable. He looked away. By now their combined breaths had misted up the van’s windows. The sidewalk outside was only a hazy pattern of light and dark.

Frank frowned. From down the block a clump of dark forms moved in their direction. He sensed something purposeful, even ominous about the way they were moving. With the back of his glove, he rubbed a clear patch on the windshield.

“Joe?” he said in a quiet but intense tone. “We’ve got trouble.”

Four guys came striding up the sidewalk toward the van. They were wearing identical dark warm-up jackets, and their faces were hidden by hockey masks. Each of them carried a hockey stick with the blade upward, ready to be used as a club.

“Let’s get out of here!” Iola exclaimed.

Frank and Joe reached for their door handles at the same moment.

“We can’t do that,” Joe said.

“If we run away now,” Frank said, “no one will ever take us seriously again.”

He and Joe flung their doors open and jumped out onto the pavement. Shoulder to shoulder, with empty hands, they faced the raised sticks of their four opponents.