The Hunt for Four Brothers (7 page)

“What would Gus Jons be doing in Russia?” Joe wondered aloud. “There's no war going on there right now.”

“We have to find out where Jons has been serving as a mercenary,” Frank said, then snapped his fingers. “The flag!”

“What flag?” Joe asked.

“The little flag sewn over the pocket of his camouflage fatigues,” Frank replied, heading to the librarian's desk. When he got there, he said, “Excuse me. I need to identify a flag from another nation. Is there a reference book that might have that?”

“Certainly,” the librarian replied. “But I can probably save you some time—I used to teach history. What does the flag look like?”

Frank quickly sketched the flag on a piece of scrap paper. “It had a yellow star in a white circle against a blue background. Kind of like this.”

“I'm surprised you don't recognize it,” the librarian said. “It's been in the news enough.”

“What country is it from?” Joe asked.

“Kormia,” the librarian replied.

“Where a civil war has been fought for the last two years,” Joe said, turning to Frank. “Jons was a mercenary in Kormia!”

“Thank you,” Frank told the librarian as he and Joe headed for the door. “Kormia is still a long, long way from Russia,” Frank said. “Why would Jons have gone to Kiev?”

Joe shook his head, got into Katie's car, and started it up. “The soap!” Joe suddenly remembered. “The return address was from some manufacturer in Kiev.”

“That's right!” Frank exclaimed. “I'll bet it's Gus Jons who's been making raids on Konawa, trying to recover his shipment from Kiev.”

Joe's smile faded. He stopped the car on the shoulder. “One problem, Frank. Gus Jons couldn't have been at the asylum last night with those huskies, leaving wet boot prints. Mr. Craven said he spent most of the night talking to some guest in the lobby.”

Frank frowned. “Could Mr. Craven be lying?”

“I don't know whom to trust, Frank,” Joe said, pulling the car back onto the road.

“If Jons really was talking all night with someone, and it wasn't Flatts,” Frank said, “the next step is to find out who it was.”

“I think the key is finding out the secret behind the package from Kiev,” Joe said. “What was in that soap?”

“I have an idea how we can find out,” Frank replied.

•   •   •

The Hardys found Chet, red-faced and sweaty, sitting on the porch, sucking down bottled water.

“Chet, I thought you were a soda man,” Joe said, dropping onto the bench next to his friend.

“Need water. Heat. Clearing reeds out of drainage ditch,” Chet spoke in broken sentences.

“Are you being funny, or are you too tired to talk?” Frank asked.

“No more maintenance,” Chet said, grabbing Frank by the front of his shirt.

Joe knew Chet was acting but that his exhaustion was real. “Don't worry, buddy—Frank's taking over the afternoon shift.”

Chet held up a thumb, leaned back, and sprayed some water over the top of his head to cool down.

“I'm taking the afternoon shift because we need you to go undercover on the housekeeping crew again,” Frank said.

Chet turned the bottle on Frank, who backed away, laughing.

Joe caught Chet smiling. “Chet! Chet! We know
you're beat,” Joe said, patting him on the back, “but we need you and Julia to find all the Russian soap left at Konawa and replace it with the regular stuff.”

Joe told Chet everything they had discovered in town that day. “Wow! Who knows what could be in that soap,” Chet said, sitting up, his interest and energy revived. “You can count on me.”

“You're the man, Chet.” Joe grinned.

“Did you find out anything about Flatts or Tringle?” Frank asked.

“I stopped Mrs. Gregory on her way down to arts and crafts,” Chet said. “Mr. Tringle is from Athens, Georgia, and has been coming here for years. He's a chronic grouch, she says, but he doesn't seem the type to be involved with criminal activity.”

“We know from some of our other run-ins with crooks that looks can be deceiving,” Joe mentioned.

“Mr. Flatts is new to Konawa this year,” Chet went on. “Mrs. Gregory said the people who sit at his table say he's very polite but doesn't talk much about himself. When he does talk, it's very formal.”

“It's not just formal, it's military,” Frank pointed out. “Flatts uses military time and military terminology.”

“Hey, maybe he's in the military,” Chet remarked.

“Thanks, Chet,” Joe said politely. “I think that's where Frank was headed with that.”

“Did you tell Mrs. Gregory about the huskies?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, when I described them, she said they sounded exactly like the ‘wolf' she saw in her cottage,” Chet replied.

“Good work, Chet,” Frank told their friend.

“Thanks. Now, if you'll excuse me,” Chet said, groaning as he pulled himself to his feet. “I have five minutes to eat.”

“I think we ought to eat lunch on the run, Joe, to pay a visit to Gus Jons before I have to go to work,” Frank suggested.

“A visit?” Joe asked.

“To ask about his meeting in the lobby last night and about his exciting trip in Russia,” Frank said, clarifying.

“You really think he'll tell us the truth?” Joe asked.

“Not if he's involved,” Frank said, “but I think we could learn a lot, even from his lies.”

After buying two sandwiches from the canteen, they drove to Gus Jons's cabin.

Joe parked and sounded the horn. “I don't want to be mistaken for a thief again,” he told Frank.

As they approached the cabin, Frank saw that the main door was shut and the pickup truck was nowhere to be seen. “We may be out of luck, Joe.”

Frank knocked on the door. Inside the cabin, a dog started barking.

“Well, his Doberman is home,” Joe joked.

Frank waited awhile, then called, “Mr. Jons?”

More barking, but no Gus Jons. The curtains were drawn over the windows so that the boys couldn't see in.

“Hold it, Frank,” Joe said, holding very still and listening to the barking. “I hear two dogs.”

“You're right, Joe,” Frank said. “Either Jons has a second dog or we were right about those big pet carriers you saw. Jons may have some canine visitors from Siberia.”

“Why would he bring them all the way from Russia?” Joe said. “And why use them to snoop around Konawa?”

“Maybe they're like those police dogs that can sniff out explosives,” Frank guessed. “Only they're specially trained to track down Russian soap.”

“If we can connect Jons to the huskies who attacked us at the asylum and were used in the break-in at Mrs. Gregory's, Mr. Craven is going to have to start believing us,” Joe suggested.

“Let's go get him,” Frank agreed.

•   •   •

The Hardys pulled up to Jim Craven's office and were surprised to see a brown pickup truck parked outside.

“That's Gus Jons's truck!” Joe exclaimed.

Frank peeked into the cab of the pickup. The Doberman pinscher jumped at him, barking through the opening in the window. “Well, now we
know we didn't hear Jons's dog at his cabin,” he remarked to Joe.

Craven stepped out of his office, shaking hands with Gus Jons. “I'm glad that's all settled,” Craven said, smiling.

“Hello, Mr. Jons,” Joe said, stepping up to the two adults. “We were just at your house.”

“Oh?” Jons said, smiling innocently.

“We tracked down that shipment of yours from Russia,” Frank informed him.

“The soap,” Craven cut in. “Yes, we've discussed it.

“I hear that it got scattered to the four corners of Konawa,” Jons said, chuckling.

“Mr. Jons has been gracious enough to accept a fifty-dollar check to reimburse him for the cost of the package,” Craven said, smiling at the Hardys but warning them with his eyes.

“Well, it's really the mailman's fault, not yours,” Jons said, smiling.

Frank and Joe looked at each other, puzzled. Jons put on his cap. “Well, if you'll excuse me.”

“We studied Kiev in world history. It looked like a beautiful city,” Joe said, probing for information.

“I wouldn't know—I've never been there,” Jons said. “A fella I served with knew the owners of the company that makes the soap. He had them send me a box of it.”

“That's funny,” Frank said innocently. “Joe was
sure he saw two pet carriers in your cabin that had tags on them from the airport in Kiev.”

“What were you doing in Mr. Jons's cabin?” Craven asked calmly, though his face was turning red.

“The pet carriers are mine,” Jons explained. “I flew up to New York with my own dog last week; maybe those are the tags you saw.”

“Why did you take two dog carriers?” Frank pressed.

“That's enough, Frank,” Craven warned.

“No, let's clear this up,” Jons said. “I went to New York to see a friend who had Doberman puppies, but I decided not to buy one.”

“I saw Kiev airport tags on them,” Joe insisted.

“Well, let's have a look,” Jons said. “I was taking them to the church thrift store, so they're in the back of the truck.” Jons removed a plastic tarp, revealing the two pet carriers in the bed of his pickup.

Joe grabbed the tags. “See, it's for—” Joe halted as he saw the LGA on the tag.

“LGA for La Guardia Airport, New York,” Craven said, glaring at Joe. “Do you have anything you'd like to say?”

“Someone switched them,” Joe protested.

“Mr. Craven, we heard the two huskies barking inside Mr. Jons's cabin not fifteen minutes ago,” Frank said, jumping to his brother's defense.

“I can't imagine what they're talking about,” Jons said, shrugging.

“You have to believe us, Mr. Craven,” Joe pleaded.

“Mr. Jons, I hate to bother you,” Craven said, “but would you mind showing these boys there are no huskies hiding in your cabin?”

Jons shifted his weight and ran his fingers through his hair. “You're going to believe these teenagers over me?”

“I'm not saying that,” Craven said. “We're just very eager to find those dogs.”

Jons suddenly smiled. “Would these be the dogs you're talking about?”

The Hardys turned around and both their mouths dropped open in stunned surprise. A tall, lean man with a drawn face and a sheriff's uniform was walking toward them, escorting Rob Daniels in handcuffs. A deputy had two gray Siberian huskies muzzled and on leashes.

“I found your burglar, Mr. Craven,” the sheriff said. “Rob Daniels here has made a full confession.”

“What did you say?” Frank asked, unable to believe his ears.

“Confessed to what?” Joe added.

“Breaking and entering and stealing property with the help of these two husky dogs,” the sheriff replied.

Daniels stood silent and stone faced.

“Thank you for tracking him down, Sheriff Lyle,” Craven said.

Lyle arched an eyebrow and looked at Daniels. “I didn't track him down. Mr. Daniels walked up to us near the old asylum with these two dogs. He gave himself up.”

“These aren't Mr. Daniels's dogs,” Frank protested.

“Yes, they are,” Daniels insisted. “They're strays
I found a few months ago. I've been keeping them up at the old asylum.”

“Why did you do this, Mr. Daniels?” Craven asked.

“I needed money,” Daniels said in a flat voice.

“You
are
going to need money,” Lyle growled. “You have four hundred and seventy-five dollars in parking tickets and penalty fees.”

“Reach into my front right pocket,” Daniels said.

Sheriff Lyle pulled out a large roll of cash from Daniels's pocket.

“I can't accept stolen money,” Lyle said.

“Not stolen,” Daniels replied. “I've kept it hidden, for emergencies.”

Lyle quickly counted it. “Five hundred dollars. Well, Mr. Daniels, I'm in a generous mood. Rather than tack on jail time, we'll call this even,” Lyle said, handing Daniels twenty-five dollars in change.

“I'm not sure the man you robbed will be so generous,” Craven said. “He's coming over here from the front porch right now.”

Frank saw Tringle and Flatts making their way down the gravel path toward Craven's office.

“But why were you stealing soap?” Joe asked.

“I wasn't,” Daniels replied. “I may have knocked a few things around in that lady's bathroom looking for money.”

“If you had five hundred dollars,” Frank asked, “why were you looking for money?”

“Well, I . . . I . . .” Daniels faltered.

Larry Tringle joined the group.

“Mr. Tringle, Rob Daniels has confessed to breaking into your room,” Craven told him.

“If you'd like to press charges, we can go in to town,” Lyle said.

“No, that's all right,” Tringle said. “I got my money and watch back.”

Frank and Joe were bug-eyed.

“Sheriff Lyle, I'd like to discuss the matter with you and Mr. Daniels in private,” Craven said.

“Well, I'm glad that's all settled,” Jons said, covering the pet carriers with the tarp.

“I want to see you two in my office tomorrow morning directly after breakfast,” Craven ordered Joe and Frank. “Understand?” Craven led Daniels and Lyle into his office and closed the door.

Tringle headed back to the inn, and Flatts walked down toward the lake.

“Do you believe Rob Daniels's confession?” Joe asked.

“Not for a minute,” Frank replied. “I think someone paid him that five hundred dollars to take the blame.”

Frank checked his watch. “It's one thirty-five, so I'm five minutes late reporting to maintenance.”