See No Evil (7 page)

Joe and Lisa nodded politely as they looked at the mice in the cage.

"Well, we don't want to take up any more of your valuable time, doctor. Keep up the good work," said Mr. Smith. "Now to the food itself."

He led Joe and Lisa down the corridor and into another room, which was much larger than the lab. Workers in white smocks, with white caps on their heads, white surgical masks on their faces, and rubber gloves on their hands, were just finishing up the food preparation for the next day.

"As you can see, no expense has been spared to insure absolute cleanliness," Mr. Smith said as he pointed out the gleaming stainless-steel urns and large microwave ovens. "Now button up your coats and take a look at this."

He opened a steel door and led them into a walk-in freezer. Sides of meat had been hung on wall hooks, and crates of frozen poultry were piled on the floor.

"Everything is government inspected—Grade A," said Mr. Smith, his breath forming clouds of frozen moisture in the air.

"Very impressive," said Lisa, peeking in.

Back in the corridor, Mr. Smith said, "I'm sorry I don't have any vegetables to show you, but we get them delivered fresh every morning, and, of course, we've already used up today's shipment. Anyway, I hope you've seen enough to know that Eat-Right is dedicated to giving you food that tastes the very best and is the best for you."

"We sure have," Lisa said. "One more thing. May we interview the company's president? We'd like our readers to know how Eat-Right started . . . how the president got into this business."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Karnovsky has already left," said Mr. Smith. "If you'd like, I'll send you a brief biography just as soon as I can have one typed up. And now if there's nothing else, I'm afraid it really is closing time."

"Can't think of anything," said Lisa. "Thank you very much, Mr. Smith."

"Thank you," Mr. Smith said as he ushered them out.

"PR people—they're all the same," Lisa said to Joe as they stood outside on the sidewalk.

"He was pretty good," said Joe. "He might have convinced me if I hadn't actually tasted the food."

"He's just a front," said Lisa. "It's what's going on behind the closed doors here at Eat-Right that we're interested in. Come on, before anyone spots us still hanging around."

As she spoke, the lights in the building began to go out. In a minute the staff would be leaving. Lisa headed around to the back of the building.

"Here's where they take deliveries," said Joe as they crouched beside a concrete loading platform. In the deepening darkness the platform was illuminated only by a dim red light. "What now?"

"We wait," said Lisa.

Fifteen minutes later a pickup truck quietly rolled up to the platform. Its headlights were turned off. Men suddenly walked out of the building. As the door opened and shut, Lisa and Joe could see that the interior of the building was brightly lit.

"They have the back windows blacked out," Joe whispered.

The men were unloading crates from the truck and piling them on the platform. As soon as it was emptied, the truck drove off.

"Let's take a break before we haul this last load inside," said one of the men. The others agreed, and there was a flash of light as they entered the building before closing the door again.

"Now's our chance," said Lisa, hoisting herself onto the platform. Joe was right behind her.

They reached the crates. Joe stuck his hand inside one between the slats, and said, "Ugh."

He withdrew his hand, which was dripping with the remains of a mushy tomato. He sniffed it, and repeated, "Ugh. This must be a month old."

"So much for their fresh vegetables every day," said Lisa. She moved to another crate. "Let's see what's inside this one."

Before she could open it, Joe grabbed her arm. The door to the building was opening. The workers were coming back outside.

He yanked Lisa to the edge of the platform, and they dove off it. Joe felt his palm smash against the asphalt below, then his knees hit. He reacted just as he did on the football field — relaxing his body to roll with the impact. Instantly he turned in Lisa's direction.

"You okay?" he whispered as loud as he dared.

"Yeah," she said. "But we were too slow. They spotted us."

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness.

Joe grabbed Lisa's hand and started to run. Good thing Lisa had run track in college, he thought grimly. Her speed was about to come in handy.

"Oh, no," she said. They skidded to a stop.

Moving directly at them was a truck.

"Another delivery," gasped Lisa.

Her voice was drowned out by a man on the platform shouting, "Prowlers! Stop them!"

The truck driver flicked on his headlights, and Lisa and Joe were caught in their glare.

Lisa wheeled around to run in the other direction. But Joe had already seen the door by the driver's seat opening and a man leaping out. And in his hand.

"Duck," Joe said. "He's got a gun!"

His warning came too late.

There was a sharp cracking noise. Lisa gave a cry, stiffened, and fell. Joe's gut twisted. No, he thought.

The man with the gun raised his hand again.

Run — fast, a voice inside Joe's head cried, but he couldn't make himself move.

Another crack—and Joe felt the pain.

This time I've bought it. He swayed on his feet. Then the darkness closed in.

"I WONDER WHAT'S keeping them," Frank said to Callie. "I'm getting worried."

"It is getting late," said Callie. She looked at her watch. "Seven o'clock."

They sat in the Hardys' living room. Callie had already called her parents to say she wouldn't be home for dinner. She and Frank had said goodbye to Liz at the newspaper office after compiling a list of contracts awarded by the city over the past year. Then they had gone back to the Hardys' to wait for Joe and Lisa.

"Maybe they went back to the Bayport Inn," Frank said. "I'll call Lisa's room."

He made the call, then hung up. He shook his head and said, "Lisa's not in. Actually, the guy at the switchboard was surprised by that. It seems he saw her go back to the inn a couple of hours before with Joe, but he didn't see her leave. He did see Joe leave, but with another girl. Some teenager."

"He probably ran into her at the inn and asked her out on the spot," Callie said.

"Not likely," said Frank, "from the look in Joe's eyes when he gazes at Lisa. It's more likely that Lisa made herself look younger so that their cover as reporters would be more believable."

"You're probably right. That sounds like Lisa's style. She's pretty amazing," said Callie thoughtfully. "I haven't seen Joe this interested in any girl since — well, in a long time." She looked at Frank. "Well, let's get moving. You don't have to tell me what we have to do now. I can figure that out for myself. We go to Eat-Right and pick up their trail."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," said Frank, putting on his coat.

They took a bus that dropped them off two blocks from Eat-Right. They walked the distance quickly. Then they stood and stared at the darkened building.

"Looks like everybody's gone home."

"Yeah," said Frank. "It sure looks deserted." He ran his hand through his hair. "Something feels wrong, though. If they're not in trouble, we should have heard from them by now." He turned to Callie. "Let's check this place out, anyway."

Just then they heard a sound from behind the building.

"That's a car starting," said Frank. "Quick. Get out of sight."

Frank and Callie pressed themselves against the building. A moment later a van moved out from behind the building and sped ofF. As it passed under a streetlight Frank and Callie got a look at the lettering on the side panel.

"What on earth could a dog-food company want here?" wondered Callie.

"I don't even want to think about that," said Frank. "Let's find out what's going on."

They moved swiftly to the loading platform around the back and stood facing darkened windows.

Frank stepped up to the windows and pointed his pen flashlight at one of the panes. "The glass is painted black," he said. "Somebody doesn't want anyone looking inside."

He tried the door, but it was locked.

While Callie looked on wide-eyed, Frank took out a Swiss army knife. At least it looked like a Swiss army knife. But it contained a metal pick that was definitely not Swiss army standard equipment.

"My dad gave one of these to Joe and me, and showed us how to use them," he explained as he went to work on the lock. "He said if we were going to fool around with detective work, we should have the tools of the trade."

When he heard the tumblers click, he withdrew the pick and opened the door a crack.

Cautiously, he peered inside.

"Oh!" he gasped.

There, lying side by side on the floor in the middle of the room, were two bodies. Joe and a young girl with black hair streaked with purple.

Frank reached them first and kneeled down beside them. At closer range he recognized Lisa. "Lisa did disguise herself," he remarked grimly.

Then he swiftly felt their wrists. He looked up at Callie, who was trembling, all color drained from her face.

"They're alive," he said, and Callie felt her heart begin to beat again. "But they're out cold."

Callie dampened her scarf at the water cooler and pressed it against Joe's forehead, then Lisa's.

Joe was the first to show signs of life. His body twitched and he groaned softly. "What happened?"

Then Lisa began to stir. She rubbed her shoulder. "Ouch," she said. "Something stung me."

Joe's hand went to his thigh. "Me, too."

Then a voice came from an open doorway, making the foursome look up.

"This gun doesn't have darts in it, kids. It has bullets. They don't sting — they kill."

A tall man in a white lab coat was standing in the doorway. His coat was spotted with reddish brown stains. Only one substance dried to that unmistakable color — blood. And in the man's hand was a gleaming, nickel-plated .45.

"Dr. Purvis," Joe gasped.

"I think we can forget the 'doctor,' " said Lisa. "And probably the 'Purvis,' too."

"Smart kids," said the man. "There are four of you now, I see. What is this, some kind of class project? Follow me. Let's see what the boss wants to do with you."

The phony doctor herded the four of them down a hallway lit by fluorescent lights. He stopped outside a door marked President and knocked loudly. "It's Rocky. With some visitors."

"Come in," said a voice with a strong French accent.

Rocky pushed open the door and ushered his prisoners in.

The man behind the desk in the center of the office was holding a thin slice of toast heaped with glistening caviar. He looked at his visitors, put down the caviar, and belched loudly.

"All this excitement when I am eating," he complained. "It is so bad for the digestion."

He reached for a glass filled with bubbling champagne and took a sip.

"There, that is better," he said, his tongue circling over his thick lips to catch the traces of champagne. Then he stood up, patting his huge stomach.

The president of Eat-Right looked like a living advertisement for the joy of eating. He had a blimplike body that his expensively tailored pin-striped suit could not begin to disguise. A roll of pink flesh bulged over the collar of his wide-striped silk shirt. Only dining well and often for years could have produced the man who now introduced himself as Jacques Karnovsky.

"And you kids, who are you?" he demanded.

"These two are the high school reporters that we caught snooping out back," said Rocky, indicating Joe and Lisa. "I just caught the other two coming to rescue them."

"Look, I apologize for butting in here," said Joe. "I can see how you might have thought we were thieves and all. But, honest, we were just curious about Eat-Right. I guess we shouldn't have been. I mean, we haven't found anything wrong with your operation. And if you just let us go, we'll forget about the whole thing."

"How much did they see?" Karnovsky asked Rocky.

"They must have gotten a good look at the vegetables that came in tonight," said Rocky. "And they could have gotten a look at the meat delivery."

"Good thing the driver had the dart gun handy," said Karnovsky. "Otherwise they would have gotten away."

That was all the information it took for Frank to put two and two together. The answer he came up with made his stomach lurch.

"Did you say dart gun?" he asked to make sure, hoping he was wrong. "Is that what you used on Lisa and Joe?"

"Should I tell him?" Rocky asked his boss.

"Why not?" said Karnovsky shoving the toast and caviar into his mouth. With his mouth full, he added, "They are not going to pass on the information. We will make sure of that."

"Our meat supplier sometimes needs a dart gun to knock out misbehaving animals," said Rocky. "You know, when horses get sick—" He grinned. "The driver's real good with it. Two shots, and the two of you went down like bowling pins."

"Your meat supplier shot us? And he shoots sick horses?" Joe stared blankly. Then he under-stood. "No, you've got to be kidding."

"Oh, he's not kidding," Frank said, assuring him he was right. "Callie and I saw a van driving away from here — a van from a dog-food company."

"It must have just finished unloading its, um, delivery," said Callie.

"You know, I just thought of something," said Joe. "That meat loaf that the cafeteria serves."

"What about the hamburgers?" asked Frank.

"And the veal goulash," said Callie. She swallowed hard. "Know what? I've just become a vegetarian."

"But that's impossible to even consider," said Lisa. "You don't mean — you don't actually — "

"Americans—you can feed them anything," Karnovsky answered her question, his mouth wrinkling with distaste. "Even the meat that dog-food companies won't touch. When I first came to this country from France, I dreamed of running a fine restaurant. But then I saw my customers putting catsup on my greatest creations, and demanding a revolting orange-colored fluid to put on my beautiful salads. I decided there is only one way to make a fortune here. I must give Americans the kind of food they want and deserve."