Deadfall (6 page)

"Right." Joe sat up abruptly. "I dreamed we'd solved it already. Easy come, easy go."

When Frank and Joe entered the big, well-equipped kitchen in Stan's cozy cottage, they found Callie and Edgar Morrison, the representative from Save the Redwoods headquarters, just sitting down to breakfast.

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"About time you guys wandered in," Callie scolded. "Edgar's been up since six o'clock."

"We had a hard day at the office yesterday," Joe kidded Callie. "Thanks for letting us get our beauty sleep."

"Hurry up and eat." Callie loaded pancakes onto their plates. "Stan wiU be here in about fifteen minutes."

"What? He's out of jail?" Joe asked through a mouthful of pancake.

"I got him out," Edgar said. "It wasn't all that easy. But working last night and this morning, I finally wore down the sheriff by pointing out that he didn't really have enough evidence to hold Stan. FinaUy the sheriff agreed to let him go if I stayed out of his face. All Stan had to do was promise to stay in town until the investigation's over."

"Wow." Joe took a more careful look at the young, well-dressed man. He looked the same as he had when Joe and Frank arrived the night before—small, bespectacled, and extremely serious. "When did all this happen?"

"This morning," Callie said briskly, "while you two were dreaming."

"So what's the plan for today?" Frank asked Edgar, reaching for the pitcher of orange juice.

"I assume you three will continue your investigation," Edgar said, ''although that has nothing to do with me. My job was to get Stan out of jail and make sure our name hadn't been compromised. I'm done and returning to headquarters

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this morning. I'll come back, of course, if more trouble develops."

''Are you a lawyer or something?" Joe asked, squinting sleepily at the trim young man.

''A concerned citizen, that's all," Edgar said, *'doing my best for the trees."

Frank grinned. He liked Edgar, even though he appeared a bit stuffy.

Just then they heard a noise at the front door.

''It's him!" Callie said, hurrying to greet her uncle.

A moment later Stan appeared in the kitchen doorway, his head just missing the top of the door frame. "Howdy, folks!" he said cheerily. "I see you've been celebrating my freedom. Think I'll join you."

He sat at the kitchen table and helped himself to pancakes and juice as the others bombarded him with questions. Then they brought him up to date on the investigation.

"Let me show you the photographs of the bootprints," Frank said at last, picking up the second set of prints from the kitchen counter. "They clearly show hobnailed boots, which you weren't wearing. If the sheriff buys our theory that whoever owns these boots killed Owens, then you'll have to be in the clear."

"The only problem," Callie added, "is that the sheriff isn't likely to pay much attention to the theories of Uncle Stan's friends."

While Joe and Callie removed the breakfast plates, Frank spread the photographs out over

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the kitchen table and began explaining them to Stan and Edgar. Then Joe gave a description of the "accident" with the logging truck.

"You three have done a magnificent job so far," Stan said when they were finished. "I'm reaUy stunned." He rearranged the photographs into a neat pile. "And that's lucky for me because it looks like there's a lot more investigating to do."

"We're willing to help out at headquarters any way we can," Edgar put in.

"Great," Joe said. "Can you do us some background checks and get some poHce records?"

When Edgar nodded, Frank jumped in. "We need information on Mike Stavisky, a logger for Horizon Lumber; Rafe Collins, Johnson's foreman; and Vance Galen, one of your volunteers."

"Why Vance Galen?" Edgar asked slowly. "Has he been causing more trouble?"

"Not so far as we know," Frank said quickly. He didn't want to rat on Galen about his run-in with the loggers. "But a lot of the loggers think he had something to do with the explosion. Frankly, he's the only person we know who didn't like Owens."

"We don't usually check our volunteers' backgrounds before we send them out in the field," Edgar admitted quietly. "We can't really afford to lose any of them. But I'll check on Galen and the others as soon as I get back to headquarters. Count on it."

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''What about me?" Stan asked. "What should I do?"

"You stay here and hold the fort," Frank said politely. "We need someone to take down the information Edgar comes up with. And I'd guess you must be tired and could use a little rest."

"You bet I am. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind an hour or so of shut-eye."

"Hey, no problem," Callie said, putting a hand on her uncle's shoulder. "And after your nap you can wash the breakfast dishes."

Five minutes later Frank, Joe, and Callie had said goodbye to Edgar Morrison and Callie's uncle and piled into the Hardys' jeep.

"Where to?" Callie asked from the backseat as Frank drove.

"How about to Walter Ecks's?" Frank asked Callie. "You know—Buster Owens's foreman."

"Walter?" Callie asked. "Okay. But why him?"

Frank met Callie's eyes in the rearview mirror. "I think your uncle's hiding something," he said carefully. "He was too nervous after the questioning last night. And he won't even tell us why he was meeting with Buster."

"I'm sure it was nothing important—" Callie began.

Joe interrupted, "Frank's right. And Walter Ecks was one of the people who Stan said knew about his negotiations with Owens. Ecks is as good a guy to start with as any."

Frank could see that Callie was probably curi-

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ous about what her uncle was cooking up with Owens about Horizon Lumber. He hoped it wasn't something she'd regret learning.

"Walter lives on Stoner Mountain, just above town." After they drove down Stan's mountain awhile, Callie said, 'Turn left. There's a shortcut right around this bend. We don't have to go all the way down into town."

Frank gunned the engine, shifted into the lowest gear, and turned left up the mountain. He grinned at Callie in the rearview mirror as they rounded a sharp bend in the winding road.

'Trank!" Joe yelled.

''What?"

"Look out! Look up ahead!"

Frank stared straight out the windshield. Up ahead, a yellow bulldozer was bearing down on the jeep. And it was moving at top speed!

Chapter

'*Turn!" Joe shouted. He stared helplessly at the bulldozer, its gleaming blade raised and pointed right at the jeep's windshield.

*'What do you think I'm doing?" Frank frantically spun the wheel, just managing to squeeze past the 'dozer. But, to Joe's horror, the jeep slid off the edge of the narrow dirt road.

Callie screamed as the jeep plunged down the mountainside. Like the ball in a pinball game the car bounced from tree to tree, blazing a path through the undergrowth straight to the bottom.

Just when Joe was sure they'd crash and burn, the jeep slammed to a halt, wedged between a boulder and a tree.

For a moment the Hardys and Callie sat surrounded by the silence and caught their breath. Joe finally broke the spell.

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"What was that?'' he demanded, turning in his seat as though he thought the bulldozer might be pursuing them.

But the road wasn't visible above them and no sound broke the silence. Joe could have almost imagined the entire smash-up.

"Is everyone okay?" Joe asked Frank and Cal-lie. They nodded that they were unhurt.

"Then let's unbuckle our seatbelts and get out quick before this thing starts rolhng again," Frank said. "You first, Callie."

Callie stumbled out, followed by Joe and Frank, and all three scrambled back up the cliff.

"Well? Was that deliberate?" Callie ventured as the road came into view. The bulldozer was still there, pulled half off the road. As they drew nearer, Joe could see that the driver was gone.

"Maybe," Frank said. "The blade was lifted like he wanted to just sweep us over the edge. And it did a good job of hiding his face so we couldn't identify him."

"But how could he know we were coming?" Joe leaned against the bulldozer to catch his breath.

"Maybe someone's following us," Frank suggested. "Remember last night—those logs that happened to fall right when we were getting in our car?"

"Did you guys notice," Callie asked, pointing at the door, "that it has a Horizon Lumber logo?"

Joe and Frank had already seen the orange-and-purple mark. "That's the second time in two

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days someone's used Horizon's equipment against us," Joe said. ''Seems like someone from Horizon sure wants to scare us away."

Then he noticed that Frank was staring at the ground. "What's up?" he asked his older brother.

''Bootprints." Frank pointed at the dirt by the side of the road near the driver's seat. "My camera's still in the jeep. I'm going to climb down and get it. Sheriff Ferris will need to see some shots of this."

"Are they the same prints you found by Buster's truck?" Callie asked as Frank went off to get the camera.

"There's no way to know," Joe answered. "Both prints were made by hobnailed boots. They look about the same size, but who knows? We'd have to take shots of these and then blow them up to see if they're the same."

"Then let's go ahead and walk up to Walter Ecks's house," Callie suggested. "We can call a tow truck from there. The sooner we get to town, the sooner you guys can develop Frank's film."

After Frank had shot pictures of the boot-prints, the Hardys and Callie started up the narrow road toward the cutoff to Stoner Mountain. "It's nice to be hiking, anyway," Callie remarked as they gazed out at the endless vistas of forest that appeared whenever the road took a sharp bend. "After what happened to Uncle Stan I'd given up on hiking."

A short time later Joe glimpsed a neat, cedar-

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shingled cabin through a break in the bushy green fir trees lining the road. "Is that it?" he asked Callie.

Callie nodded. '*Sure is," she said. *'And there's Walter himself, sitting on the front porch. I guess he doesn't have much to do now that Horizon's closed down."

Joe spotted the grizzled old man in faded overalls and a dirty white T-shirt, reading the newspaper in the morning sun.

As they approached, an old bloodhound jumped down from the porch and barked until Ecks silenced it with a sharp command.

''Hi there, Callie." Ecks waved to her and seemed to be surprised to see her. "I heard you were back with us this summer. What are you doing all the way up here?"

"Hi, Walt," Callie replied, smiling. "These are my friends Frank and Joe Hardy. We were on our way up to visit you, and our jeep was run off the road by one of Buster's bulldozers."

''What?'* Ecks exploded, his face red with anger. "It's those Greens again," he said in a trembling voice. "Horizon has an equipment yard here on Stoner Mountain. Those fanatics aren't satisfied with killing a perfectly good, hardworking lumberjack, I guess. Now they've got to steal our bulldozers and run strangers off mountains!"

"Why would the Greens pull something like that?" Joe asked seriously. "We're not even loggers."

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The old man ran a hand across his mouth. His fierce brown eyes glared out at them above a week's worth of whiskers. Joe realized that Ecks had probably been a very tough foreman in his younger days. 'They want to scare people," he said. '*Callie's uncle is different. But the others who've passed through here ..." He scowled. "Take that Vance Galen fellow. He's the type to plant bombs in the woods and put spikes in the trees to ruin saw blades. Don't think 1 haven't seen it happen before!"

*'Do you think Galen killed Buster Owens?" Frank asked evenly.

Ecks's mouth dropped open. "Murder's not a word to throw around lightly, son," he said at last. "Galen's reckless—definitely—but I don't know that he's a cold-blooded killer." He turned from Frank to CaUie. "What exactly did you want to see me about?" he asked sharply.

"Uncle Stan told us he'd been talking with Owens about a plan for conserving trees," Gallic said quickly. "He had a meeting with Buster right before the fire. He didn't mention what it was about, but he said you and Millie Owens knew. We were hoping you could teU us more about it."

Ecks eyed CalHe suspiciously. "Why don't you ask your uncle?" he said.

"We did," Joe broke in. "He won't tell us. The problem is, Stan doesn't seem to realize that he needs to clear himself or the sheriffs going to bring charges. I guess your telling us about

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the meeting would be kind of like saving Stan from himself."

Ecks shook his head skeptically. ''I don't know," he said. ''Buster Owens made me swear not to tell anyone. He said there'd be bloodshed if anyone found out. And by golly, maybe there was."

''Can't you tell us anything?" Callie asked.

Ecks hesitated. Then he sighed. "I'll tell you this much. It has something to do with that Forest Service contract that's coming up soon. Stan was helping Buster work out a way to win it."

Callie frowned. "That doesn't sound so dangerous—except maybe to someone who wants that contract, too."

Ecks shrugged. "If you ask me, girl, you three are looking in the wrong place for answers. This death's got nothing to do with that plan. If I were you, I'd go back over to the scene of the crime and check for clues. Isn't that the way it works in detective novels?" he added. "The criminal returns to the scene of the crime?"

Joe started to answer, but just then Walter's bloodhound jumped to its feet, pointed its nose toward the road, and started barking.

"Now, what set that fool dog off?" Ecks wondered as the bloodhound raced for the edge of the yard. "Must be a rabbit."

The Hardys, Callie, and Walter Ecks peered in the direction the bloodhound was running. "Hope it's not a skunk," Ecks added.

Suddenly Joe saw a flash of movement in the

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branches of a tall fir tree on the edge of the woods. ''Hey—there's somebody out there!" he shouted, setting off toward the forest. "Maybe it's someone spying!"