No Way Out (3 page)

“How do you mean ‘trashed,' exactly?” Frank asked.

“I mean someone's been inside the maze,” Ray said. “And destroyed the center. The niches, the benches, the banner poles, the mailbox—everything's been knocked over, dug up, or smashed.”

But how could someone get in without our knowing it?” Kay asked. “We installed that major security system.” She looked toward the shed where Alan had turned off the security alarm before he and Ray had gone into the maze.

“Well, it didn't do me any good, did it!” Alan said. Each word exploded out of his mouth like a miniature firework.

“This is going to put off the opening even longer,” Kay said. “What are we going to do?”

“We're going to clean it up,” Alan said, gazing through the opening at the next wall of the maze. “We'll need two days, at least. Tomorrow at the games I can make an announcement about the maze opening. Not a word to anyone about the mess inside the maze,” he added, glaring at his children. “Understand? This doesn't go beyond our family—and that includes you,” he said to the Hardys.

“What about the police?” Frank asked.

“I'll report it eventually,” Alan said. “I need time to think first. And I don't want the press to get a hold of this yet.”

“Do you have any idea who might have done it?” Joe asked Alan and Ray. “Did you see anything in there that could be a clue?”

“Nothing,” Ray said. “We'll look again tomorrow morning.”

“I found something out here in the ashes,” Frank told Alan and Ray, pointing out the area where he'd found the faint design. He handed Alan the arrow shaft.

Alan rubbed his thumb against the worn lines and held up the shaft in the light from the still-burning torches. “This looks like a
B
,” he muttered. “Thanks—I'll hold on to it.” Then he stuffed the arrow into his belt and stormed into the shed to turn on the alarm system. ‘Whatever it takes, this maze is going to open!” he declared, locking the shed door.

They hurried back to the house, where Penny
had coffee and cherry cobbler waiting on the wood-and-steel island in the huge kitchen.

“I need to talk to you,” Alan said to Penny. “We'll be in the library,” he said to the others, guiding Penny out of the kitchen.

The Hardys pulled some stools up to the island and pumped the twins for information.

“Your dad didn't seem to be surprised to see the
B
on the arrow shaft,” Frank said. “Do you think he has a suspect in mind?”

“Vincenzo Blackstone,” the twins said in unison.

“He thinks he's so much better than Dad,” Kay said. “But he's not even close. Dad
always
beats him out—always has!”

“I take it he's also a Mazemaster?” Joe guessed.

“He'd like to think so,” Ray said. “But it's not true. He's not half the designer Dad is—never will be.”

“He's okay,” Kay said. “Dad has even thought that some of his mazes are pretty cool. But he's such a—”

“Creep.” Ray finished his sister's thought, then went back to eating his cobbler.

“Blackstone has a major temper,” Kay explained. “I mean, it's really violent. We've only seen him a few times—at special maze exhibitions, and a few competitions. Once, we were at a gig in Scotland and Blackstone jumped one of the maze architects. They had this huge fight, and the other guy ended up in the hospital with a broken arm. Vincenzo paid
a huge fine, but he wasn't thrown out of the competition.”

“Who won?”

“Dad did, of course,” Kay said with a big grin.

“That's not the only time Vincenzo's been in trouble, though,” Ray pointed out. “It's common knowledge that he once hired a bunch of guys to destroy a rival's maze.”

“The other guy had won an Asian competition,” Kay added.

“Yeah, and Blackstone thought that
he
deserved to win instead,” Ray continued. “So he had the winner's maze totally destroyed.”

“What happened?” Frank asked. “Was he arrested?”

“There wasn't enough evidence to even hold him,” Ray explained.

“Do you think he's here now?” Joe asked. “Here on Cape Breton Island? Would he come for the games and the opening of your dad's maze?”

“Well, he sure wasn't invited,” Kay said. “But that wouldn't keep him from showing up.”

“Looks like we need to find out if he's around,” Frank said, exchanging looks with Joe.

“You're thinking the
B
on the arrow shaft might stand for
Blackstone?”
Joe asked.

“Makes sense to me,” Ray said, gulping down his coffee.

“What does this guy look like?” Frank asked.

“He's kind of average,” Kay answered. “Medium height, medium weight. Dark hair and eyes.”

A picture of the burly figure running into the woods skittered through Joe's mind. “Does he ever wear a costume at these tournaments—like armor or chain mail? Anything like that?”

“No way!” Ray said. “He never participates in jousting matches or anything like that. He's only interested in mazes. He considers himself a real artist.”

“
I
consider him a snake,” Kay muttered, “and a common criminal. And I'm not the only one with that opinion.”

“The gauntlet that your dad has put up for the maze prize is so cool,” Joe said, changing the subject. He could see that Kay was getting really heated up.

“Definitely,” Ray agreed. “You can have a closer look tomorrow and even see how it fits.”

“It might give you a little extra incentive to win,” Kay added with a teasing smile.

“I'm surprised he's giving away a family heirloom,” Frank said. “It's something that's been passed down in your family for centuries. And he'd just give it away like that.”

“He's got tons of stuff like that,” Kay said. “We've got a barrel of gauntlets from our ancestors. Our family's been collecting this stuff for centuries.”

“Yes, and we have crates and rooms full of other stuff,” Ray said. “Dad's second obsession, after mazes,
is medieval and renaissance heraldry. He loves all the legends and myths about knights and swashbucklers. And he's added a lot of artifacts to the family heirlooms—suits of armor, jousting equipment, banners, and more.”

“Eventually he wants to build a museum to house all his stuff,” Kay pointed out. “Right now it's in warehouses all over the island.”

“And in Halifax,” Ray added.

“And Scotland,” Kay said. “It's probably the world's largest private collection of medieval artifacts.”

“Outside of collections owned by various royal families, of course,” Kay pointed out.

It had been a late night, and everyone agreed that a hot shower and a warm bed was just what they wanted. With a pledge to the twins to find the person who had declared war on their father and his maze, the Hardys went upstairs to their guest suite.

“Vincenzo Blackstone is a perfect suspect,” Joe concluded. He and Frank had cleaned up, and then flopped into their beds in the large bedroom. “He's got a track record of an attack on another maze—”

“Alleged
attack,” Frank interrupted. “Ray and Kay said it was ‘common knowledge' that he hired those thugs to do it. But there was no real evidence, no indictment, no trial.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe conceded. “You're right. But it sounds as if the twins are not the only ones who think he was guilty. And they have seen his violent
temper firsthand. Plus, he's supposed to be jealous of other Mazemasters.”

“You heard his description, though,” Frank said. “He didn't sound like the guy you saw running away after the flaming arrow was shot.”

“True, but I didn't get a very clear view of him. And he could have been wearing a bulky costume. Lots of the spectators are completely disguised. Besides, if Blackstone was behind this, he could have hired someone else to shoot the arrow. He seems to have a history of hiring other people to do his dirty work—”

“Allegedly,” Frank interrupted again.

“All right, all right,” Joe said. “I still say we check him out first thing tomorrow. What did the fire-eater say? Any chance the archer could have used his stuff to light the arrow?”

“He didn't think so,” Frank said. “He told me he's really careful about his equipment because it could be dangerous in the wrong hands. It's usually locked up tight, and he's aware of its whereabouts all the time. When he finishes his act, his stuff gets locked up in his truck right away. That's what he did tonight. He checked it right after the arrow was shot, just in case. But everything was secure.”

“Okay, then,” Joe said. “It's on to Mr. Blackstone first thing tomorrow. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Frank said.

“First thing,” Joe repeated in a faint mumble.

The next thing Frank heard coming from his brother's bed was a familiar snore.

Frank finally fell asleep, but not for long. He kept waking up, and wasn't sure why. As he lay in the plush bed, he heard a low racket of weird noises. The Hortons had done a great job of restoring the ancient wood-and-stone mansion. But they hadn't gotten rid of its groans and creaks and the
tap-tap-tap
sounds that interrupted the late night quiet.

As he continued trying to go back to sleep, Frank made a game of listening for a noise and then identifying its source.
That's the wind moving through the wooden beams
, he guessed, after an eerie moaning noise. He heard a strange crackling, and then a sort of grinding crunch. He pictured the big stones that supported the lower half of the house.
They're scraping against one another as the house settles
, he told himself.

It was silent for a few minutes, and Frank felt himself sliding back into sleep. But then a steady
creak … creak
… behind his headboard yanked him back awake. He sat up and stared at the wall over his shoulder, following the noise that moved back and forth behind the wall.

“Joe!” Frank whispered, looking over toward his brother's bed. “Joe, are you awake?”

“Mglblffft.”
Joe's snore answered the question.

“Okay, guess the fun's all mine this time,” Frank muttered. He slid out from under the covers and
pulled on a pair of jeans over his sleep shorts. He stuffed his penlight into his pocket and crossed the room in his bare feet. A creepy tremor rippled through him. The room was unfamiliar, and filled with a dense darkness.

He reached the door and stretched out his hand for the slick brass doorknob. Clenching it firmly, he inched it around until he heard a tiny click.

The door opened to the faint yellow of the hall night-light. As air was pushed outward, dust particles swirled through the dusky amber glow. He peered into the hallway and strained to hear every sound. He looked back into the bedroom for a few seconds to get his bearings, checked where his headboard was, and then visualized how that matched up with the other rooms on the floor as he looked into the hallway.

The main hall was twenty feet wide and stretched at least sixty or seventy feet to a carved mahogany staircase winding down to the first floor. Several smaller corridors stemmed from the main hallway and seemed to lead to other wings of rooms.

“The room on the other side of my headboard has to be down that hall,” Frank told himself as he eyed the entrance to a nearby smaller corridor.

He stepped onto the carpet leading away from his room and ducked around the corner into the smaller passageway. The hall had no light of its
own, and he had to make his way in the glow from the chandelier behind him.

There was only one doorway on the left, and he knew immediately that it led to whatever was on the other side of his bed. Frank turned the knob and opened the door to a medium-size room. It was very dark but not totally black, thanks to a faint light on the opposite wall. Shadowy legs paced slowly back and forth in the light.

Frank ducked back behind the partially open door for a few seconds, plotting his attack. He peeked back into the room. The light still shone from the opposite wall, but the shadow was no longer moving in it. Frank strained his hearing, but there was no sound, so he stepped silently inside the room.

Bare feet
, he told himself.
Good move.

Following the wall with one hand, he crept around the room. When he got to the opposite side, he discovered that the light had been coming from behind a closet door that was slightly ajar. He still heard nothing but his own heavy heartbeat and the groans and rattles of the house.

He stopped for barely a second to take a quiet breath and try to slow down his pulse. Then he peeked into the closet.

A row of costumes hung from a high rod, and he was startled to see that the bulb hanging from the closet ceiling was not on. The light was coming
from the back of the closet, so the heavy clothes were backlit.

He paused again, but still heard nothing except quick bursts of air from his own nostrils. He reached up and moved first one garment, then another, to reveal an open door hidden in the back wall of the closet. The light he'd seen came from beyond that door and up a short, narrow flight of ten steps. For a moment he thought he saw the shadows of someone's legs pacing at the top of the stairs, but they disappeared.

Frank cautiously placed the bare toes of his left foot on the first step and leaned forward. Relieved to hear no creaking response from the wooden plank, he pulled his full weight forward and started up the secret passageway.

It was so narrow, his shoulders brushed against both side walls as he moved slowly upward, one cautious step at a time. He had to duck his head and shoulders to keep from grazing the ceiling above. When he stepped onto the third tread, he felt a sharp twinge in his heel. He reached down and felt the edge of the step. It was splintered away into sharp shards of wood. He rubbed his heel and then started up again.