The Caribbean Cruise Caper (2 page)

He looked around. “Evan?” he continued. “Do you know anything about this?”

The boy looked scared. “No, Daddy, uh-uh,” he said. “Not a thing. Really.”

“No one in our group has wandered away since we came out here,” Frank pointed out. “And no one who
isn't
in our group has come close enough to us to steal something.”

“Frank, are you saying this is an impossible crime?” Lisa asked, pointing her recorder at him.

“There's no such thing,” Frank retorted. “If it's really impossible, it can't happen.”

“I read a story once . . .” Boris began.

“Whoop-de-do,” Jason muttered.

Boris ignored him. “This thief had a suitcase with a trick bottom. All he had to do was set the suitcase down on top of whatever he wanted to steal, and
whoosh!
the object vanished.”

“I've heard of that gimmick, too,” Joe told him. “It sounds pretty clever. But as Frank said, no one came over here with a suitcase. And as for us, we don't even have our suitcases yet. It's probably just some mix-up.”

“Here comes our luggage now,” Elizabeth said. “It's about time. The workers must all think they're on vacation or something.”

“You guys don't seem to understand,” David said tensely. “If I've lost all the files on my laptop, that's it for the contest.
Finito!
Kaput!”

Everyone crowded around him and started protesting. Lisa thrust her recorder into the center of the group. Kenneth circled around them, taking one shot after another.

Joe glanced at Frank. “We'd better do something, quick,” he said.

“Yeah . . . like find that attaché case,” Frank replied. “It couldn't have just walked away.”

Joe glanced at the approaching luggage cart. His jaw dropped. “No,” he said tautly. “But it might have
rolled
away. I'll be right back.”

Joe sprinted into the terminal and across to the runway side. A little cluster of departing passengers was walking across the concrete apron toward the plane. The cart with their baggage was sitting next to the open cargo hatch.

Joe started through the door. A police officer in a light blue uniform, white helmet, and white gun-belt blocked the way. His name tag read L. Mallet.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said in a soft, Caribbean-accented voice. “Are you cleared to board this aircraft?”

“No, officer. I just came in on it a few minutes ago,” Joe replied. “But I think my friend's computer case got put on that cart by mistake. Do you think you could check for me, please? His name is David Wildman.”

Mallet glanced over his shoulder at the plane. Then he said, “Please wait here, sir.”

He went over and spoke to the luggage handler. Together they checked the tags on the twenty or so suitcases. Mallet picked up a black leather case and showed it to the group of passengers. They all shook their heads. He returned to Joe, carrying the case.

“Your friend will have to identify this as his property, sir,” Mallet said.

“Believe me, he'll be happy to,” Joe promised. “I'll go get him.”

Joe hurried out and came back with David. After showing Mallet his passport, David unzipped the attaché case to check the contents.

“It doesn't look as if anything's been disturbed,” he told Joe. As they started across the waiting room, he added, “What a weird thing. I guess the porter saw my case and thought it belonged to those people who were leaving.”

“It could be,” Joe said doubtfully. “The way I remember it, though, the porter didn't load the cart. He just stood by. It was the drivers who carried the suitcases from their taxis to the cart. I guess one of them must have picked up your case by mistake.”

“Well, however it happened,” David said, “I owe you one. If it hadn't been for your quick thinking, my computer and all the contest plans would be on their way back to San Juan by now. I'm tempted to complain to the airport authorities. But we don't know who's responsible. Maybe it's better to let it go.”

The moment they returned to the group, the others crowded around. “Oh, good,” Elizabeth said. “You found it. An airline lost my bag once in London. I was devastated. I had nothing to wear for four entire days.”

“What happened?” Cesar asked Joe. “Where was it?”

Joe laughed. “About to be loaded for a return flight to San Juan.”

“So you won't have to call off the contest?” Jason said. “Cool. Let's get going.”

“Wait a minute,” Boris said. “This is a serious matter. Somebody's dirty trick almost ruined everything for us. We must discover who stole David's computer.”

That did it. Five minutes later Joe was seething with frustration. Everyone in the group was a wannabe detective. Each one had his or her farfetched theory about what had happened, who had done it, and why.

Boris was the worst. After explaining that one of the departing passengers must be in the pay of
Teenway
's competition, he repeatedly demanded, “It is possible, isn't it? Isn't it?”

Finally Frank told him, “Anything is
possible,
but it just isn't very likely.”

For a moment Joe had the feeling that Boris was about to throw a punch at Frank, but then thought better of it. A good thing for him, thought Joe. Boris might have spent a lot of time in the weight room, but Joe could tell by the way he moved that he didn't have Frank's martial arts skills. If attacked, Frank would have decked him.

“We're running late,” David said after glancing at his wrist. “We'd better put this off until later. Personally, I think one of the taxi drivers probably made a mistake. But if any of you was responsible for this stunt, I hope you'll have the guts to admit it to me privately. It won't affect your chances in the contest if you do. That's a promise. If
I
find
out that one of you did it, that'll be another matter.”

Joe met Frank's eyes and saw that he was thinking the same thing. David's threat was pretty empty. Unless one of the group suddenly recalled some crucial fact, the guilty party—if there was one—was not likely to be unmasked.

Everyone crowded into the dusty van for the short ride to the yacht club. The clubhouse was a white wooden building with a shady veranda around all four sides. White wicker tables and chairs were scattered across the lush green lawn.

The yacht club faced a sparkling blue bay, crowded with luxurious boats. As he climbed out of the van, Joe fell in love with a sleek fifty-foot sloop. It looked ready to sail around the world. He decided to sign on as a deckhand . . . once he had talked his dad into giving him permission.

Frank nudged him. “Ground control to Major Joe,” he said. “Come in, please.”

Joe indicated the sloop. “What do you say we swap
Sleuth
for something along those lines?”
Sleuth
was the name of the Hardys' little outboard runabout.

“Great idea,” Frank said with a grin. “We could probably swing it if we threw in three or four hundred thousand bucks on the side.”

Cesar joined them. “Can you believe this place?” he said. “There must be millions and millions of dollars' worth of boats out there . . . and this is just one island. Talk about loaded!”

“Successful people are always the targets of envy and jealousy,” Elizabeth remarked from a few feet away. She did not look at anyone as she said it, but Joe saw the color rise in Cesar's cheeks. Cesar pressed his lips together as if holding back a retort.

A taxi pulled up next to the van. The woman who got out looked as if she had stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine's resort issue. She went over to David and pushed her designer sunglasses up on her forehead.

“I was so
determined
to be here to greet you,” she said. “Am I hopelessly late? Have you been waiting for me forever?”

David shook his head. “We just arrived,” he said. “Gang, I'd like you to meet our hostess on this voyage, the editor of
Teenway,
Bettina Dunn.”

He went around the circle, introducing everyone. Bettina had been very well briefed. She seemed to recognize each person and know a little something personal about him or her.

When David came to Joe and said his name, Bettina smiled. “Ah yes—one of the celebrated Hardy brothers. I've met your father. I can see the resemblance. He must be very proud of you. And, of course, this is your brother and partner, Frank.”

Joe could not help feeling a warm glow.

When the introductions were finished, Bettina said, “We'll have a more formal welcome after we board the
Colombe d'Or.
For now, I'll just say how pleased all of us at
Teenway
are that you could take
part in this thrilling and challenging—and rewarding—contest.”

Everybody clapped.

One of the staff started piling the group's luggage on a wheelbarrow. David kept a tight grip on his computer case.

Bettina led the way into the yacht club. Just inside the door, Joe noticed her stop to say hello to a white-haired man in white slacks and a blue blazer. The man turned away, pretending not to hear her. Bettina reddened and kept walking.

David was a couple of steps ahead. Joe caught up to him. In a low voice, he asked, “You see the elderly man in the blazer? Do you know who he is?”

David raised an eyebrow. “You caught that little exchange, did you? That is Walter Mares. He founded
Teenway.
A few years ago he was forced into retirement after a corporate takeover.”

“And Bettina?” Joe asked. “What was her part in the story?”

“She was his discovery,” David explained. “His crown princess, I guess you'd say. But when he was kicked out, she stayed on and rose to the top. He took it pretty hard. I doubt if they've spoken to each other since. I hear he's retired now and living down here full-time.”

“Are you going to put them in one of your plays?” Joe asked as they stepped onto the veranda and Frank joined them.

David laughed. “I wish I could!”

Frank gave Joe a questioning look. “I'll fill you in later,” Joe said.

Evan came running up. “Daddy? Which one is our boat?”

Good question, thought Joe. At least three dozen big motor cruisers and ocean sailers were berthed in the yacht club marina, gleaming in the tropical sunlight.

“That one, son,” David said. He pointed toward the end of the finger pier. “The one with the blue smokestack. That's the
Colombe d'Or.”

Joe's eyes widened. The yacht David indicated dwarfed all the others in the harbor. It was easily half the length of a football field, with two full decks above the water line.

Frank gave a soft whistle.

“Quite an impressive barge, isn't she,” David said with a grin. “Some Greek shipping tycoon had her built back in the fifties for his French girlfriend. Then they broke up. After lots of ups and downs, the
Colombe
ended up here in the Caribbean as a charter craft.”

Some of the others stopped to listen to David. When he finished, Sylvie said, “I have heard something else about this boat. I have heard that it is under a curse. Terrible things happen to people who sail on it.”

Sylvie's startling statement was followed by a moment of silence. Then several people spoke at once.

“A curse?” Jason said. “Cool! Are there ghosts, too?”

“What nonsense!” Elizabeth said. Frank thought she sounded a little uneasy.

“Where did you hear this, Sylvie?” asked David.

“It is true, isn't it?” she demanded. “The Greek millionaire who built it disappeared overboard one night. His body was never found. Others, too, have died mysterious deaths.”

David raised both hands like a symphony conductor. “Now hold on,” he said. “It's true that the boat's first owner vanished at sea. He'd been having some serious money problems. A lot of people thought he must have jumped overboard.”

“What about the other deaths?” Lisa asked. Frank saw that she was holding her tape recorder at waist level, where it wasn't so obvious.

David rolled his eyes. “People don't always die in hospitals,” he said. “Sometimes they die in houses or apartments or hotels or airplanes . . . or aboard yachts. That doesn't mean there's anything sinister or mysterious about their deaths. Sylvie, where did you get all this curse nonsense?”

Sylvie looked away. “There was a magazine article,” she muttered.

“Huh!” David exclaimed. “If it's the same one I'm thinking of, it appeared about four years ago, in a supermarket tabloid. How did you stumble across it?”

Frank had to listen hard to hear her reply. “It came by mail last week. A photocopy. There was no name or message.”

“Did you notice the postmark?” Frank asked.

Sylvie shook her head. “No, but I'm pretty sure the stamps were U.S., not Canadian.”

“Anybody else get a copy of this article?” asked Joe, glancing around the circle of listeners. No one responded.

“Some friend who knew you were going on this cruise must have sent it to you,” Jason said.

“Some friend,” Frank murmured to Joe. “With friends like that, who needs an enemy?”

“Okay, listen, people,” David said. “We're going to have a great time and solve some great puzzles. And if any ghosts or curses try to stop us, they are going to be in major trouble. Right?”

“Right!” the group responded. Boris pumped his fist in the air and cheered.

“Then let's go on board,” David concluded. “Find your cabins and settle in. We'll assemble on the afterdeck in half an hour for the official welcome and kickoff.”

As they walked out along the pier, Joe leaned close to Frank. “I hope no one takes the word
kickoff
too seriously,” he said.