The Chase for the Mystery Twister (7 page)

“If that's true, what were you doing parked behind his office this morning?” Joe asked.

“Hanging out. Hoping he might come back for something,” Low River said. “I had gone to his office earlier to flush him out.”

“Flush him out?” Phil asked.

“To make him fess up to being the crook that he is,” Low River said. “I brought my Colt along in case he needed persuading.”

“What did Gill do when you confronted him?” Joe asked.

“Never happened, man,” Low River grumbled. “When I got there, he was packing up his car like his house was on fire. He saw me and burned rubber. I burned rubber after him. I trailed him as far as the Dust Bowl Truck Stop, then he disappeared.”

“You mean you lost him when he walked into the truck stop?” Joe asked.

“No, man. I mean he drove around the back and went
poof.
Him, his car, everything,” Low River told him. “So I headed back to his office, just in case Gill had spaced out and forgotten something.”

“You have an interesting way of talking,” Phil said.

Low River grinned. “Hey, I'm fifty percent Cherokee but one hundred percent old hippie.”

Joe didn't feel quite as threatened by Henry Low River. “Mr. Low River, would you mind . . .” Joe nodded toward the revolver.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. This thing,” Low River said, looking at the revolver. “Shows you what I know about firesticks. I ended up buying the wrong bullets.”

“You mean . . . ?” Phil started to ask.

“Yeah, it's not even loaded,” Low River said with a grin.

“But this
is
loaded,” a voice above them said.
Sheriff San Dimas stood over them in the smokehouse, pointing his firearm at Low River. “Drop it, Henry.”

Joe had mixed feelings about being rescued from his situation. He now found it hard to believe that Low River could have hurt Toby Gill.

“Mr. Low River has an explanation to cover everything,” he said to San Dimas, who was leading Low River away from the smokehouse in handcuffs.

“Yeah, he usually does,” San Dimas remarked. Joe and Phil followed as San Dimas took his captive to the edge of a nearby river that ran behind the woods and began to walk along the bank.

“Don't be fooled, Joe. This guy is trouble. Last December, he slashed all four of Toby Gill's tires.”

“Hey, when the law won't punish a criminal,” Low River said to San Dimas, “it's up to the common citizen to do what can be done.”

“In February,” San Dimas went on, “Henry blew up Toby's toolshed with a stick of dynamite.”

“You never proved that,” Low River insisted with a grin.

“The joke's over, Henry,” San Dimas said solemnly. Up ahead Joe saw a tow truck backing up to the edge of a river. Sticking out of the water
was the rear fender and taillight of a cream-colored automobile.

“Recognize that car?” San Dimas asked Low River.

Low River stared, shaking his head, until he finally found his voice. “It's Toby Gill's.”

Low River told his story—-how he had followed Gill to the truck stop and lost him. As bad as Joe thought it looked for Low River then, it looked worse after the tow truck pulled Gill's car onto the embankment. There was a bullet hole in the window of the driver's side and another hole in the seat.

“If Toby Gill was sitting in the driver's seat when that shot was fired,” San Dimas said, “we may have more than a kidnapping on our hands.”

“I don't know anything about this,” Low River said vehemently.

“Your neighbor remembers seeing this car drive up to your house at about two this afternoon,” San Dimas reported. “He didn't see who was driving, but twenty minutes later he heard a gunshot. When he looked out his window, the car wasn't there anymore.”

“No way, man! I'm being framed!” Low River shouted.

Joe knew he should tell the sheriff about Mr. Low River's pocketknife, but he decided to keep the information to himself for now.

As the tow truck hoisted up the rear tires of
Gill's car, Joe noticed a large, heavy polished rock jammed against the gas pedal. “Look at this,” he said, “This rock was probably used as a weight to press down the gas pedal when the perpetrator drove the car into the river, but what exactly is it?”

“A petrified wood paperweight,” Phil told his friend. “They sell them in souvenir shops all around-here.”

Joe saw a gold pen holder attached to the paperweight. The pen itself appeared to be missing.

“Henry, you're going to have to come in with me for questioning,” San Dimas said. He helped Low River into the back of his squad car, got into the front, and drove away.

Joe shined the flashlight on his watch. It was after midnight. “I think it's time to call it a day, Phil.”

“Good idea, Joe,” his friend agreed wearily.

•  •  •

Back at Windstormer headquarters, Joe and Phil hooked up with Frank, who filled them in on what he had found out about Kanner selling his property. “I also went by the Sandman Motel. Kanner rented a room there, but no one answered when I knocked.”

“I'm guessing Kanner's going to take the money and run,” Joe said. “If we could just keep him in town long enough to prove our suspicions about him.”

“Let's talk to Alvin Bixby in the morning before he hands over that fat insurance check to Kanner,” Frank suggested. “If Bixby will delay paying him even for a few days, it might be long enough for us to get to the bottom of this.”

“We need to tell you about Toby Gill,” Phil told Frank.

“Toby Gill!” Frank exclaimed, smacking his forehead. “Wait till you hear what
I
found out. Oscar Lucas saw Gill packing up and leaving his office this morning. Low River followed him and threw an empty box of thirty-eight cartridges out his window as he passed the diner.”

“Thirty-eight caliber?” Joe said. “So maybe Mr. Low River was telling the truth about buying the wrong bullets.” Joe saw the confused look on his brother's face and quickly told Frank about the events of the night.

“The evidence is mounting against Mr. Low River,” Phil said, “and either Snowdon is involved, or he's trying to cover up for his grandfather.”

“Unless Mr. Low River really is being framed,” Joe countered, “and Snowdon is just trying to protect him.”

“If we believe Low River, Joe, that means Toby Gill is a swindler and was probably closing shop and leaving town this morning,” Frank said.

“But why?” Phil wondered.

“Remember when I asked who would profit
from Toby Gill's disappearance?” Frank said. “There was one person we forgot to mention: Toby Gill himself.”

“Of course,” Joe said. “He collects thousands of dollars in insurance premiums and then skips town before he has to pay out on any damages.”

“Insurance doesn't work that way,” Phil pointed out. “Gill is just a salesman working for a big insurance company. The customers' fees are paid to the parent company, and then when the customers have claims, the parent company pays them off, not Gill.”

Joe frowned. Phil's information put a damper on his theory.

Frank recalled the story he had heard in the diner. “Diana Lucas's family lost their farm because they had bought phony flood insurance from a swindler. What if Gill was doing the same thing—selling false tornado insurance policies and somehow pocketing the money?”

“It would explain why he would disappear the moment the first tornado hit town,” Joe said.

“But San Dimas ran a check on Gill,” Phil reminded them. “He's been an honest salesman for twenty years. Why would he suddenly turn criminal?”

Frank paused for a moment. “I admit I'm stumped. We need to find out more about Gill and his insurance business.”

“The whole community of Lone Wolf is supposed
to show up for the barn raising at the Parlette farm tomorrow morning,” Joe said. “While you're talking to Bixby, Phil can warn the man at the bank, and I can go fishing for information.”

Having agreed on a plan, the Hardys said good night to Phil and retired to their sleeping bags. Though the floor was hard and the equipment storage room was crowded and dusty, they slept as well as if they were sleeping in feather beds in a royal palace.

•  •  •

By the time Joe arrived at the Parlette farm at seven in the morning, thirty people were already hard at work.

“We assemble the new walls on the ground,” Snowdon said as he walked over. He handed Joe a hammer. “Then we raise up the walls and secure them in place.”

“I'm sorry about your grandfather being arrested,” Joe said.

Snowdon nodded as he cast his eyes toward the ground. “And I'm sorry if I wasn't completely truthful with you. I was trying to protect my grandfather. He thinks he's been set up.” Snowdon shook his head and looked at Joe. “I don't know what to believe.”

“We're going to do everything we can to find out the truth,” Joe assured him. “You can help by telling me everything you know about Toby Gill.”

“He seemed like a nice guy to me the few times I met him,” Snowdon replied. “Jed McPlat might know more.” Snowdon pointed to a young man with red hair and freckles. “He's one of Greg Glover's people. Gill settled a claim for Jed when he totaled his minivan while chasing an F three tornado through a mall parking lot last summer.”

Joe walked over and kneeled down to work beside Jed McPlat.

“Joe Hardy's the name,” Joe said.

“Howdy,” McPlat replied, preparing to secure a slat of wood to the frame.

Joe held the slat steady while McPlat drove in a nail. “Did you hear about Toby Gill disappearing?” Joe asked.

McPlat's next swing of the hammer missed the mark. “No.”

“Sheriff San Dimas is concerned,” Joe continued. “A lot of people bought tornado insurance from him.”

“That's too bad,” McPlat said. “Toby's a solid man. I got some good, cheap auto insurance through him.”

“And it was legitimate?” Joe asked.

McPlat closed his left eye and peered at Joe with his right. “Yeah, it was legitimate. I wrecked my minivan, and a week later, he gave me the money to fix it.”

“Do you remember what insurance company your check was from?” Joe asked.

“There was no check,” McPlat said. “I told you, Toby gave me the money to fix it. It was cash.”

“Cash?” Joe repeated. No one pays out insurance claims in cash, he thought. Unless they have something to hide, he concluded.

•  •  •

“That is shocking information,” Bixby said. He leaned back in his leather chair and shook his head. Frank was seated on the other side of his desk.

“Sheriff San Dimas is probably out at the farm right now, looking for proof in the remains,” Frank said. “Even if our hunch about Kanner is wrong, it's not going to hurt anything to delay paying him for a week.”

“No, you're right,” Bixby agreed. “When you're dealing with such large sums of money, it pays to be prudent. United Insurers has a special team that investigates suspicious claims. I'll have them get right on it.”

Bixby shook Frank's hand and walked him to the door.

“Oh, by the way,” Frank said, “we don't think Hal Kanner was even at his farm when the storm passed through. He said he called you right after the tornado went through, but I noticed his phone lines were down.”

“True,” Bixby said, “but he has a cellular phone.”

“How do you know?” Joe said quickly.

“I . . . because he used it once when he was in my office,” Bixby replied. He opened the door to his waiting room, which Joe noticed was packed.

“Where can I find you if I need to talk to you?” Bixby asked.

“We'll be at the Parlette farm, helping with the barn raising,” Frank replied.

Outside Bixby's office building, Frank found Phil waiting to pick him up. “The president of the bank wasn't too keen on delaying the purchase of Kanner's farm,” Phil said. “Kanner's selling it dirt cheap, and he's afraid Kanner will just find another buyer.”

“I had better luck with Mr. Bixby,” Frank told his friend. “He's sending a team of insurance investigators to the Kanner farm. And as long as he withholds that insurance check, Kanner's going to have to stick around.”

•  •  •

When Frank and Phil arrived at the Parlette farm, they found Joe red-faced and dripping with sweat, helping to hoist up the first wall of the new barn. “Next time,” Joe said, grunting, “I'll go to the air-conditioned office, and you can do the barn raising.”

When the wall was in place, Joe took a break, and the two brothers filled each other in on what they had discovered.

“Why would Gill pay Jed with cash?” Phil wondered.

“Maybe he didn't want any record of it,” Frank said.

“Or he didn't want Jed to know where the payment came from,” Joe added. “I think we need to take a closer look at Gill's insurance office and see how he was running his business.”

“And maybe Phil and I can try to track down Hal Kanner,” Frank said.

“I don't think we'll have to,” Phil said. “He's coming this way, and he looks like he's on the warpath.”

Joe and Frank turned to see Hal Kanner moving toward them. “You have a lot of nerve bad-mouthing me all over town!” he yelled.

People began to move in around them to see what the row was about.

“What's the problem here, Mr. Kanner?” Snowdon asked.

“These kids have been telling the bank not to buy my property,” Kanner said.

“Why are you in such a hurry to sell it?” Joe countered. “So that you can leave town before anyone finds you out?”

“Well, boy, maybe if a tornado had destroyed your home and everything you treasured, you'd understand why I want to leave!” Kanner shot back.