The Genius Thieves (7 page)

"What? You know, you are becoming an absolute nerd, Frank!"

"Listen. It's bad enough you were kicked out of here. If I flunk out, we'll never get to the bottom of this case!" Frank said.

The school day seemed to drag on forever until English period. As Frank walked to class, he felt nervous. He entered and took his usual seat next to Brad.

"If it isn't the great scholar!" said Brad. "Good luck."

"Thanks, Brad." At the sound of Frank's voice, Sarah turned around and smiled warmly at Frank, giving him a wink.

Brad saw this and nudged Frank in the ribs. "Not bad, Kenyon," he said. "But very brave! Very brave — "

Frank guessed Brad was talking about Stu, but he'd have to ask Brad later. Mr. Osborn was handing out the exams.

It wasn't as bad as his dream. In fact, Frank found that he could answer just about all of the questions. He even remembered lines from the play. The hour flew by, and Frank finished just in time.

After it was over, he met Sarah in the hallway. "How was it?" she asked.

"Easier than I expected, thanks to you," Frank said. They walked down the hallway, talking about their answers. By the time they stopped in front of Frank's next class, he felt relieved.

"Sounds like we had just about the same answers," said Sarah.

"That either means I did very well, or some of my ignorance rubbed off on you," Frank answered.

"Well, I think you should be proud of yourself and relax the rest of the day," Sarah said. She grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and walked off.

Frank was about to go into his social studies class when he heard a loud kissing sound.

"Oh, Frank, sweetheart, come read me Shakespeare tonight!" It was Brad, imitating a female voice.

"Knock it off, Brad," Frank said.

"Are you moving in on Sarah?" Brad asked. "I thought she and Stu were getting back together again."

"Not according to Sarah," Frank said.

"You should've told me that earlier. I could have reminded them when I saw them holding hands behind the tennis courts yesterday! Hate to spoil your fun, buddy—but be careful." With that, he walked off to his next class.

Well, that's really none of my business, thought Frank. But somehow, as he walked to his class, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about what Brad had told him.

As Frank approached the Young Turk that night, dozens of students were hanging around outside. Some had blazers or skirts with Chartwell or Winchester embroidered on them. But there was no sign of Dwight Trilby.

At the front door, Frank was met by a familiar-looking student.

"That'll be one dollar," he said. As Frank reached into his pocket, the guy said, "Frank Kenyon, right?" "Yes, and you're — "

"Ty Farnsworth, I was on the student tribunal, remember?" he said, smiling. "My father owns this place. I work the front door whenever he can't get anyone."

Frank handed him a dollar. "Skip it," whispered Ty. "To make up for the tribunal. Between you and me, I'm glad they didn't take our recommendation. You didn't deserve to be expelled."

"Thanks, Ty." Frank peered past Ty into the club. There, arm wrestling at a table near the window, was Dwight Trilby. "By the way," Frank said to Ty, "were you here Friday night?"

"Yes."

"I hear Dwight Trilby was in good form that night."

Ty laughed. "Just the usual. You know, picking fights with guys, trying to show off for the sophomore girls — "

"Was he here the whole night?"

"I don't know. Oh, yeah, I do remember him leaving for a while and then coming back."

Frank smiled. "What a party animal. Oh, I almost forgot—did anyone return a set of keys to you that night?"

Ty thought for a second, then shook his head. "No, definitely not. Lots of questions, huh?"

Frank smiled and went into the club to look around. Dwight Trilby was the only person he recognized, but Frank kept his distance. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of Wednesday's party.

At eight o'clock Frank stepped outside. He saw Joe standing by the Hardy van. He trotted over to him.

"What is this club?" Joe asked.

"For future white-collar criminals," Frank said. "Dwight Trilby is a regular here. He was in the place the night my roommate Arnie lost his keys. And he left here and came back at one point during the night."

"That's great, Frank, but somehow I don't think it'll hold up in court."

"Well, it's a start. The guy is a real slime ball, and I think we should keep an eye on him. See if you can dig up anything from your end—talk to Mr. Trilby, check into Dwight's accounts."

"Will do!" said Joe. "Want a lift back to campus?"

"I'll drive," said Frank, hopping into the driver's seat.

"Hey, wait a min—" Joe said, starting to protest.

"Come on, you've been using it all week. Anyway, you drive like a stockcar racer." Frank started up the van. "Now get in. I'll drive us to the back entrance of Mansfield Hall. We don't want any of the wrong people seeing you. Then you can take the van home with you."

"I'm touched by your generosity," Joe said. "By the way, how'd the exam go this afternoon?"

"At least a B plus," said Frank with a grin. "I'm a pretty good test taker."

Frank drove into campus. As he pulled quietly around Mansfield Hall, Joe said, "I think you ought to do some legwork on this Wilson character. He — "

"Shhhh!" Frank said. "What's going on here?" In front of them was an old foreign sports car. A familiar-looking student was walking from the car to the dorm, with an armload of boxes. When he saw Frank and Joe's van, he froze.

"Jed?" Frank called. "Is that you?"

At that, Jed threw his boxes back into the car, jumped into the front seat, and tore away into the night.

"Hey! That's the kid that guy Barry was beating up for laughing about his radio! That's Jed Wilson? What's he up to?" Joe asked.

"Buckle your seat belt," Frank said to Joe. "We're about to find out."

The van's tires squealed as Frank gunned the accelerator.

"Step on it, Frank! He's got a big head start!"

Frank and Joe sped through the campus after Jed. Frank flicked on his brights. He saw Jed's car screeching around the administration building toward the front gate.

"Hang on!" Frank shouted. He drove toward the building at top speed. The van lurched to the right as he swung left around the building. Cutting across the lawn, Frank headed straight for the gate.

But by this time, Jed was outside on the road, past the gate. He had stopped his car and hopped out. As the van raced toward him, Jed grabbed the gate and swung it closed.

"Look out, Frank! That's wrought iron!" Joe yelled.

"I can't stop!" Frank shouted back.

FRANK PRESSED ON the brakes. The van skidded to one side, then the other. Frank realized they were going to crash. In a split second, he yanked the steering wheel sharply to the right. The van veered away from the gate and onto the lawn. It ripped across the grass, straight toward a tall hedge.

"Where are we going?" asked Joe in a panic.

"He took the high road, and we'll take the low!" said Frank. The van crashed through hedge and onto a side street.

"Much easier on the grillwork," said Frank as he drove toward the main road. "Now, which way did he go?"

"Toward Kirkland, I think!" Joe said. The air filled with the smell of burning rubber as Frank stepped on the gas.

They careened around a bend in the road. Frank eased up on the pedal. Then he moved his foot to gun the accelerator again—until he saw that he was about fifty feet from a line of cars stopped at a light.

"Stop! Stop!" Joe screamed. Frank hit the brake and the brothers jerked forward. The van's tires left long, black lines as it headed straight for the last car.

"Detour!" Frank said. He steered the van onto the shoulder of the road, where it came to a stop in the tall grass.

"Hey, where'd you get your license — a department store?" one driver shouted back at them.

The light ahead of the cars had turned green. Slowly the long line began to snake forward.

"Look," said Joe. "There's Wilson, third from the back. Now we've got him."

As if on cue, Jed's car pulled out of the line and onto the shoulder in front of Frank and Joe.

Frank stepped on the accelerator—but the van wouldn't move.

"We're stuck. The wheels are spinning!"

"I'll push!" Joe replied. He hopped out of the van and braced himself against the back.

After the second heave, the van edged out of the rut. Joe hopped in and they took off.

The ride along the bumpy shoulder jostled the brothers. Far ahead of them, they could see Jed moving back onto the street.

Frank pulled back on the road, right behind a silver-haired man in a dark green Porsche. "Come on, move it!" shouted Joe as he reached over and pressed the van's horn.

"There's an easier way than that," said Frank. Before them, the road stretched out into a straightaway. Frank pulled into the left lane to pass the car. As he sped past, he glanced over at the man in the sports car.

It was Mr. Rogers.

"The plot thickens," Frank said. He floored the gas pedal and took off in a burst of speed. After he pulled in front, he checked the rear-view mirror. The sports car had speeded up and was now gaining on them.

"Don't look now, but we've gone from being the chaser to the chasee," said Frank. He suddenly made a sharp left onto a side street. Joe's right shoulder banged into the door as the tires screamed.

"Ouch!" Joe yelled.

"Sorry about that," said Frank. He saw Rogers's car in the rear-view mirror as he swung right at the next block. Quickly he turned left, left, and right among the residential streets of Kirkland. The small side streets were pretty much deserted. Only one old brick building they passed was well lit up. Frank barreled on by it.

All of a sudden the night air was pierced by a siren.

"That was the police station, Frank!" Joe cried, slapping his forehead.

A squad car pulled out of the station with its lights glaring. Frank pulled the van over to the curb. The car stopped behind him, and a police officer got out and slowly walked to the van.

"I'm glad I let you drive," Joe said sarcastically.

The officer looked into the van. "Testing out the streets, boys?" he said. "They work all right for you?"

"Sorry, officer, I got carried away," Frank answered.

"Maybe we can discuss this in the station house. You can leave your van here, and let it catch its breath."

Frank and Joe followed the officer into the station house down the block. As they crossed the street, Mr. Rogers drove slowly by them, staring at Frank.

The officer brought Frank and Joe into a drab but brightly lit room with five molded plastic chairs. "Have a seat, gentlemen," he said. "And I'll take your license and registration, please."

While writing out the summons, the officer walked slowly back and forth. It seemed like hours before he finished.

"Okay, Mr. Hardy," he said to Frank. "All I'm allowed to do is give you a speeding ticket. But I have a message for you—next time you pass through Kirkland, you better be extra careful, because I can make life very rough for you. Understood?"

Frank nodded and took his ticket. The officer said, "Now I want you to give the keys to your friend here, who will drive you and your van very slowly out of town."

Joe took the keys, trying to hold back a grin, and the brothers walked back out to the van.

"So," said Joe as they climbed into the van, "you sure you feel safe with a 'stockcar racer' behind the wheel?"

"Score one for you," said Frank. "Now let's get out of here."

"Yes, sir," answered Joe. "And while I'm driving safely, you can tell me why that silver-haired guy was following us."

Frank explained about Rogers as Joe pulled away from the station house.

Joe drove carefully back toward Chartwell, going twenty-five miles an hour, stopping at yellow lights—and generally driving Frank crazy.

"You're doing this on purpose, Joe—" Frank said as Joe slowed to fifteen miles an hour along the road by the river.

"Shhh!" Joe said, interrupting. "What's going on over there?" They both heard a loud splashing noise by the boathouse. As they got closer, they could see the gleam of metal behind a hedge. Joe turned off the headlights and pulled over to the side of the road.

They stepped out of the van and ran quietly across the street to the boathouse. By now they could see that the shining metal was a car, reflecting the light of a street lamp. Beyond it they could make out the silhouette of a person throwing a box into the river.

They sneaked up to the car and immediately recognized it.

"It's Jed's," whispered Frank. He looked inside to see a stack of cardboard boxes in the backseat.

"Why is he trying to get rid of these boxes?" Joe asked. He stuck his head above the car to watch as Jed threw another box into the river. Then Jed turned to walk back to the car.

"Oops," Joe said, ducking down. But it was too late. Jed stopped in his tracks. He looked left and right and then darted onto the dock and into an open side entrance of the darkened boathouse.

Joe immediately ran after him. "Forget it," Frank called out. "You'll never find him in there. Besides, he has to come back to the car eventually."

They opened the car door. The ceiling light shone on the boxes in the backseat. Joe reached in and ripped one open. Inside were a dozen pocket-size devices that looked like electronic beepers. On the side of each was a metal button.

"What in the name of — " Joe picked one up and shook it. He pressed the button and put it up to his ear. No sound.

"Let me try something," Frank said. He took the device and pressed the button, pointing it at the car's ceiling light.

Dzzzzit! With a sputtering sound, the light flickered out.

"I thought that might happen! You know what this is?" said Frank, his eyes glowing with recognition.

Before Joe could answer, both of them were distracted by the sound of squealing brakes. Across the street, a sports car had stopped behind the van. A dark green Porsche.