Typhoon Island (5 page)

Frank nodded, all his attention concentrated on the spider. He held the T-shirt out, as though he might net the creepy invader. Joe shook his head slightly.

“Don’t worry,” Frank whispered. “I know what I’m doing.”

Cautiously he draped the T-shirt down in front of the arachnid.

The tarantula paused again when its front legs hit the cotton fabric. Then it continued creeping toward Joe’s torso.

Frank waited until the spider’s whole body was on the T-shirt. Then he snatched the fabric up, netting the tarantula inside. He raced to the door, hastily opened the screen, and flicked the creature outside into the bushes.

Joe sighed with relief. “Thanks, Frank,” he said.

“No problem,” Frank replied. “Let’s check that there aren’t any more where that came from.”

As he said it a shriek pierced the night air.

“The girls!” Joe said.

The Hardys dashed out of their cabin and into the bungalow next door. They found Callie in her nightgown and Iola wrapped in a towel, standing next to the door.

“It’s in the tub!” Iola said, pointing toward the bathroom.

The brothers raced inside and threw back the shower curtain. A giant centipede lurked at the bottom of the tub.

“Two unwanted visitors in one night,” Frank said.

“What do you mean?” Callie asked. She and Iola
had come to stand in the bathroom doorway behind the brothers.

“I found a tarantula in my bed,” Joe replied.

“Ew!” the girls said simultaneously.

“Frank, grab a stick from outside,” Joe said. “Iola, get me the wastebasket liner from the other room.”

Both Frank and Iola returned a moment later with the things Joe had asked for. Joe had Frank hold the plastic trash bag open near one end of the tub, then prodded the centipede into it with the stick.

Frank scooped up the bug and deposited it outside in the jungle.

“Here’s where it got in,” Joe said, pointing to one edge of the bathroom window, where the screen had been pushed in slightly. He resealed the screen, and then all of them thoroughly searched both cabins. They turned up no more unwanted visitors.

“I’m going to have nightmares tonight,” Iola declared.

“This whole
day
has been a nightmare,” Callie said. “We really should complain to the hotel about this.”

“With no working phones available, we’ll have to wait until morning to do it,” Frank noted.

“Unless you want to drive to Casa Bonita tonight,” Joe said.

“All I want to do is sleep,” Callie said.

“Ditto,” added Iola.

“Obviously we need to lock the cabins up tight whenever we leave,” Frank said.

“We’ll be extra sure about that from now on,” Callie said.

Joe nodded. “Well, good night. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Pleasant dreams,” Frank added with a wink.

Callie threw a pillow at him as he ducked out the door.

The brothers returned to their cabin, latched the door and all the screens, then turned off the lights and went to bed.

“Frank,” Joe said just before they dozed off, “it’s pretty odd that there were creatures in both cabins.”

Frank shrugged. “Maybe the local bugs are very aggressive.”

“Maybe,” Joe agreed, “but I was sure we locked that screen door before we left this afternoon.”

“I thought we did too.”

Eventually the brothers drifted off into a fitful sleep.

•   •   •

They woke just after sunrise the next morning, feeling surprisingly refreshed considering their adventures the day before. The rooms had small coffee machines, and the teens took advantage of them before heading outside to check the weather.

Unfortunately dark storm clouds had drawn significantly closer to the island during the night.

Callie frowned. “Let’s see if we can squeeze in some beach time before the storm hits,” she said.

The four teens packed up their swimsuits and some gear and took the Jeep down to the Casa Bonita beach. They stopped briefly at the hotel desk to complain about their bug problem. Renee Aranya apologized to them personally and offered to give them an extra day’s free lodging. The teens’ flight home was already scheduled, though, so Aranya promised not to charge them for the previous day.

The four friends changed into their swimsuits at the hotel beach house and picked up some breakfast at the seaside café. Then they headed to the beach to catch a few rays before the clouds rolled in.

They went swimming, though the water had grown colder and turned a cloudy gray overnight, and then lounged until the sun disappeared behind the clouds. As the waves kicked up and rain seemed imminent they sat under the cafe’s thatched awning and ate an early lunch. The café was about the size of a gas station kiosk, with an oval bar in the middle and a grill in the center of the bar. Stools were arranged around the outside of the oval, and the bartender-chef worked the inside.

Beth Becker sat nearby, talking loudly to anyone who would listen. Clearly she was still annoyed about the theft of her rented boat the previous day.

“The authorities aren’t doing anything,” Ms. Becker said to Callie as she walked by. “Do you see
them doing anything? Are they combing the beach for clues? Have they arrested anyone?”

“I’m sure they’re doing the best they can,” Callie replied.

“These things take time,” Frank said. “All the beachgoers tramping down the sand would make finding clues on the beach impossible.”

“It’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Joe added.

Ms. Becker frowned. Clearly she didn’t expect anyone to disagree with her—not even in the mildest way. “This isn’t the only trouble they’ve had down here recently, you know,” she said. “A bull escaped in the marketplace yesterday, and two days before, some tourists were robbed at gunpoint. There have been suspicious fires, too.”

“Turistas
should learn to stay out of places they’re not wanted,” said a voice from the other side of the cabana. Jamie Escobar leaned against the bar and sipped a cola. He grinned at the Hardys. “Eh, hombres?”

Frank and Joe ignored him.

“Islands that can’t take care of tourists don’t deserve any,” Ms. Becker continued. “Diffident hotel staff, tiny rooms, robbers, pirates, wild animals in the streets . . . and now this hurricane! Why does
anyone
come here?”

Escobar shook his head and made a
tsk
sound. “You got it rough here,
chica”
he said. “Maybe you
should go back to your palace on the mainland.”

“Maybe
you
should crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of,” Joe said, glaring.

“Whoo! The boy is
tough!”
Escobar said sarcastically.

“Take it easy, Joe,” Frank whispered to his brother. “We don’t need to mix it up with this jerk.”

“I heard that, hombre!” Escobar said. “And I’ll remember it!” He finished his cola and slammed the glass down on the bar. “You
turistas
better watch your step.” He stalked out of the cabana and down the beach toward the river.

“See! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about,” Ms. Becker said. “Why do they let people like that live around here?”

“I don’t think the police can lock someone up for being a jerk,” Iola said.

Ms. Becker frowned as rain began to gently fall outside the café. “Don’t take my word for it,” she said. “Nuevo Esteban is in trouble. There’s a town meeting about the problems at noon today.”

“Are you going?” Joe asked.

“What’s the point?” Ms. Becker said. “Complaining doesn’t help in countries like this. I’m going back to my room.” She finished her drink and headed back toward Casa Bonita.

Callie shook her head. “Well, at least she’s maintaining a positive attitude,” she said with a sarcastic smile.

The Hardys and Iola laughed quietly and watched the rain drip down the thatched eaves.

“Let’s check out that meeting,” Frank said.

“You think there’s a pattern to all this trouble?” Callie asked.

“Creatures in both bungalows at the same time,” Joe said, “seems like more than coincidence.”

“That’s
not
what you said last night,” Iola replied.

“We didn’t want you worrying,” Joe said. “But Frank and I were pretty sure we latched our screen door before we left. It was open when we came back.”

“Nothing was stolen,” Frank said, “but it’s still odd. So let’s see what comes up at this meeting.”

Callie stuck her hand out into the rain. She sighed. “With weather like this,” she said, “I suppose we don’t have anything better to do.”

“If it gets boring,” Iola said, “we can always go shopping.”

They changed out of their suits and packed their stuff into the Jeep. Then they drove over the bridge and back into the main part of town.

The Nuevo Escobar town hall was similar to most of the city’s other buildings. It was two stories tall and constructed in a traditional Spanish style, with a red tile roof and stucco exterior.

The rain started to come down hard as the teens parked and made their way to the meeting. The hall’s interior was similar to that of a church, with a
high ceiling supported by massive timbers. Electric lights had replaced the traditional chandeliers, but the building was clearly very old. Local residents crowded the floor. Some were standing and talking to one another, while others were sitting on folding chairs. A balcony at the back of the hall provided additional seating.

The Hardys spotted some people they’d met since coming to the island. Renee Aranya was there, speaking quietly to the sheriff. Jorge Tejeda moved deftly through the room, shaking hands whenever he could. Rodrigo Lopez, the owner of the Hotel San Esteban, prowled the edges of the meeting hall, occasionally stopping to talk with someone. The brothers saw Lucas McGill, The Gringo, standing near the back, keeping an eye on the proceedings.

The four teens found seats on one side of the hall just as the mayor took the podium. She was a short, fat woman, well dressed, with black-and-silver hair. She took her gavel and banged it on the podium to bring the meeting to order.

As she did a loud cracking noise shook the meeting hall.

Everyone stopped talking, looking for the source of the sound.

With another loud
crack
and a rumbling groan, the balcony at the back of the hall began to collapse.

Chaos erupted within the ancient town hall. People ran pell-mell toward the exits, not heeding that the main exit was beneath the collapsing balcony.

“Stay calm!” Frank shouted, but no one was listening. The Hardys, Callie, and Iola pressed themselves against the nearest wall, out of the way of the rushing crowd.

With a final
crack,
one of the balcony’s support pillars broke in half. The whole structure slumped to one side, spilling frightened people toward the lower floor. Huge clouds of plaster dust filled the air, and the lights flickered off throughout the building. Everywhere people were screaming and crying.

“Are you all right?” Joe asked the girls. Callie and Iola nodded, though they looked frightened.

“Let’s help out if we can,” Frank said. “I think the worst of it is over.”

They moved quickly across the rubble to where the balcony now lay. Fortunately no one had been pinned by the structure. Many people, though, had been hit with falling debris. The brothers and their friends quickly dug several people out; all had only superficial injuries.

Tejeda quickly organized some of the men into a work crew and began evacuating the injured outside. Rodrigo Lopez pitched in, along with the four Bayport teens. Working together, the rescuers quickly emptied the hall of wounded people. They left the rubble to be cleared later on.

Outside, people who had been at the meeting were still standing around talking, despite the weather. They made way for emergency workers and ambulances, but otherwise stayed clustered together.

Joe, Frank, Callie, and Iola brushed the dust off their clothing.

“It’s really lucky no one was badly hurt . . . or killed,” Frank said.

“What do you suppose caused the collapse?” Iola asked.

“I would like to know that too,” said Rodrigo Lopez.

“I can tell you,” said a gangly man dressed in overalls and a carpenters apron. He had been among those helping out.

“Who’s he?” Callie whispered.

“His name is Luis,” Lopez said. “He is the handyman who works in the local government offices.” Turning to Luis, Lopez asked, “What caused this misfortune?”

The crowd went silent and waited for the handyman’s conclusion.

“Termites,” Luis pronounced. “I have looked at the broken support beam, and there is evidence termites have eaten through it.”

“You see?” Lopez said loudly.
“This
is the kind of trouble I was talking about. This is why I urged we have this meeting. The infrastructure of Nuevo Esteban is crumbling—literally!”

Many in the crowd mumbled their agreement.

“It is no wonder that tourism is declining almost as fast as our property values,” Lopez continued, sounding more like a politician than a hotel owner. “We must tell the government that more support is needed! If our current leaders will not do this, we must elect new ones!”

Again the crowd mumbled its assent. No one even seemed to notice the rain anymore.

“Things are not so dark as Señor Lopez paints them,” Jorge Tejeda said, stepping to the front of the crowd. “Our people are honest and hardworking; our island is strong.”

“Sí. Sí.
Representative Tejeda is right,” agreed the mayor. “Yes, we have problems, but working
together, we can solve them. Wailing about our troubles will not help Nuevo Esteban’s tourism.”

“It’s your job to build up this city’s reputation, Señor Tejeda,” Lopez countered. “But our jobs”—he turned, sweeping his hand toward the crowd—“depend on people actually visiting Nuevo Esteban. No matter what you say, people will
not
come unless our city is a safe, modern place.”

“Some people think,” another voice interjected, “that you have taken modernism too far, Señor Lopez.” The voice belonged to Renee Aranya, who was standing near the back of the gathering. “Who will come to San Esteban if our island has the same hotel chains, the same restaurants, and the same attractions as the mainland and everywhere else? You knocked down a classic island resort to build your modern hotel. Now you are shipping your profits to an offshore bank account. How are you planning on helping our island?”