Boardwalk Bust (11 page)

“I wouldn't know about that. I don't go counting other people's money.”

“You don't need to count it if you're throwing it away—or burying it in the sand.” Joe muttered the last part under his breath. But it wasn't quiet enough for my taste.

But if Jardine had heard him, he didn't let on. “I've done pretty well, though. Got quite a few businesses going, but they mostly run themselves at this point. I collect the checks and put them in the bank. I'm seventy-two years old—I've got more important things to do than work in an office.”

He scraped a bit of extra sand off one of the Taj's walls.

“How did you get started in business?” I asked him.

“My first venture was a little saltwater taffy store on the boardwalk,” he said. “I've still got that place. Rented it out to a Russian fella.” He fell silent, and started inspecting his work for any stray grains of sand.

“So, you were saying …?” I prompted him.

“Well, saltwater taffy was big in those days. We didn't have fast-food places on our boardwalk back then, or ice cream shops. I was one of the first attractions. I had a couple dozen taffy places all up and down the shore. Now I've got lots of other businesses as well.”

“Would you say you have any enemies in town?” I asked.

“Enemies? Well, I guess you don't buy up half a town without running into some opposition. To win those kinds of battles you have to be strong.”

He laughed. “Put that in your article! Tell them I'm retired now, doing what I love. I've done over fifty of the world's great buildings in sand, and I've got lots more to go before I sleep. And tell your readers I'm a man at peace with myself. I wish everyone the best, and I just want to be left alone.”

I could appreciate that, but we had a job to do. There was no way we could leave him alone—not when he fit our suspect profile better than anyone else we'd come across.

We'd gotten as far as we could with the teen reporter jive. It was time to level.

“I'll be honest with you, sir,” I said. “We're actually looking into the jewelry store robberies that happened here recently.”

“You're … not really interviewing me for an article?” He seemed disappointed.

“Not for our school paper, no,” I admitted. “You see, sir, we figure that whoever's been scattering the stolen jewelry on the beach for people to find, they must not have much need for the cash that jewelry could bring.”

“Ah,” he said. “Someone like me, eh?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“You think I robbed those stores and buried thousands of dollars in jewelry to create a tourist boom, out of which people like me would make millions. Is that right?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Let me tell you something, young fellows,” he said, stopping work for the first time since we'd arrived. “I understand your theory. I can see that you've given it some thought. But you've got the wrong culprit. I have so much money that I have no need to make more. I already have more than I could spend in a lifetime. I'm a happy man. So if you'll please leave me alone, I'd like to get back to work.”

Oh, well. At least he thought it was a good theory.

“Sir, one more thing,” I said. “You've been around here a long time, and you know a lot of people. Who do
you
think is behind it?”

Jardine knitted his bushy eyebrows. “I think,” he said, “that your theory is fundamentally sound. But you need to adjust your sights lower—to a level of wealth lower than my own, but not at the bottom of the ladder, if you know what I mean. Go find a list of the members of the Chamber of Commerce or something. That ought to get you started.”

“How many people do you think are on that list?” Joe asked.

“Dozens, I should imagine.”

“Frank, how are we ever going to interview them all? We've only got a few days to figure this out before we have to go home.”

“You might as well forget it, then,” Jardine said, turning back to his work. “You'll never find the ones behind it. To catch them, you'd have to monitor this beach day and night!”

I pulled Frank aside for a moment. “We could do that, right?” I said. “It would save us our hotel bill if we camped out on the beach.”

“Forget it,” Jardine said. He must have overheard me. “There's no camping allowed in Ocean Point. The boardwalk lights go off at 3
A.M.
, and it's
dark as pitch out here after that, especially when there's a new moon, like tonight. How would you even see anyone in the dark?”

He turned back to his Taj Mahal, and Joe and I looked at one another excitedly.

Carl Jardine was right—it would be dark as pitch. But what he didn't know was that, courtesy of ATAC, we had a night vision telescope!

The richest man in Ocean Point had given us our next plan of action: an all-night stakeout on the beach.

13.
Stakeout!

We went back to our hotel and tried to get a couple hours of sleep before dinner. We were going to be up all night, after all, and we didn't want to fall asleep on the job.

When we woke up, it was around 6 P.M., and we were both hungry. We got dressed, packed all our overnight essentials in a backpack, and headed downstairs to get some dinner.

We were waiting for our food to come and going over the case when I spotted the two blondes from the beach. They were in jeans and tank tops now, but they were still unmistakable.

I just hoped they didn't see us. I'd left my shades in the room, figuring I wouldn't need them overnight on the beach. But I hadn't figured on
this. The last thing I wanted was them seeing me with
two
black eyes.

“Yoo-hoo! Frank!”

Ugh. Too late.

They came right over to our table and sat down with us. The girl next to Frank nudged up really close to him—so close that he moved in toward the wall of the booth a little, edging away from her out of sheer embarrassment.

The girl on my side of the table didn't move in on me at all. Instead, she leaned over the table toward Frank.

The one across the table gave me a look. “Eeeuw!” she squealed. “Look at your eyes!”

Her friend next to me took a close look. “Omigosh, you look like a—”

“I know, a raccoon,” I said.

“Right!”

“That lifeguard socked you pretty good,” the girl across the table said.

“Hey, I didn't know it was coming,” I said, defending myself.

It would have been nice of Frank to say something right about then, but he was so shy in the presence of these two girls that he never opened his mouth.

“You should have decked him,” the girl next to me said.

“Yeah,” the other agreed. “You really wimped out.”

I was about to argue with her, but just then our food arrived.

“So, Frank, what are you doing tonight?” the girl next to him asked.

“Um, Joe?” Frank looked at me pleadingly. Obviously, he didn't know what to say.

“We're, uh … spending the evening with our parents,” I said.

Talk about wimping out. But it worked.

“Your parents? Ick. Sounds totally boring. We're going clubbing.”

“Really?” I said. “Have a nice time.”

“Oh, we will,” said the girl across from me. “I don't know about you, though.”

Finally, they got up and left, and we were able to eat our meal in peace. “Do me a favor, Frank,” I said, “next time we're on a case, try to stay away from romantic entanglements.”

“Romantic entanglements?”

“Whatever, just steer clear, okay?”

I guess I was being a little hard on him. After all, it was me who introduced us to the girls, not him. Still. How frustrating was this?

“Come on,” Frank said as we pushed away our dessert plates. “Let's go nail us a criminal.”

·  ·  ·  ·

By eight o'clock the beach was deserted, except for one or two couples strolling hand in hand as the sun went down.

Frank and I both agreed that no one would be planting jewelry on the beach in broad daylight. We also agreed that the most likely time would be after 3
A.M
., when the boardwalk lights would go off, plunging the beach into almost total darkness.

We had a long time to wait. We probably didn't need to be out here yet, but we didn't want to miss anything if it happened earlier than we thought. We took up positions under the boardwalk, and Frank fished out the night vision scope from the backpack.

“Okay,” he said as he snapped it open and scanned the empty beach. “Bring it on.”

“Well?” I asked. “What do you see?”

“Just a few drunks … some couples making out … there's a guy fishing … uh, a bunch of seagulls … a homeless guy …”

“All right, all right, never mind. Just tell me when you see something interesting.”

Frank smiled at me. “You'll get your turn, little brother. Just be patient.”

I
hate
when he calls me “little brother.” He's only eleven months older than me, you know. And I look older and more mature.

Anyway, hours went by. I was sorry I hadn't brought my MP3 player to pass the time. Ten o'clock, eleven, midnight, one … and still two hours to go before prime time! This was truly going to rank among the most boring nights of my life—especially if our criminal didn't show up.

At three o'clock all the lights went out. Suddenly, I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. It took all of about ten minutes before I could make out Frank, still staring through the scope at the beach.

“Am I going to get a turn, or are you just going to hog that thing?” I asked.

“Here,” he said, giving it to me. “If you're going to keep on nagging me about it…”

“We're supposed to share,” I reminded him. “They only gave us one of these.”

That got him. He sat down and lapsed into silence. The only sound now was that of the waves crashing in.

The spot we'd chosen for our stakeout looked out on the stretch of beach where the first ring had been found. Most of the jewelry had been dug up within view of our position. The town pier was on our left, maybe fifty yards away.

I was looking that way, peering through the scope, when I thought I saw something move.

Maybe it was just a homeless guy, prowling for crabs to eat or a place to sleep.

Or maybe not
.

I nudged Frank. “Under the pier,” I whispered. “Something moving.”

“Let's go check it out,” he said.

Still staring through the scope, I emerged from our hiding place and headed toward the pier with Frank on my right, holding on to my arm because he couldn't see where he was going.

Suddenly he let out a grunt, and I felt him let go of my arm.

“What the—?”

Then I felt something hard come down on the back of my head. As I crumpled to the sand, all I could see were stars.

14.
Neck-Deep in Trouble

Joe was down—I could see that much.

I was down too, but not out. I struggled to my feet and swung.

Within seconds, my right fist plowed into something soft.

“Ooof!”

A massive shape in front of me doubled over, and I kicked hard at it.

Then I was jumped from behind—by not one, but two guys. The second got his hands around my throat.

I tried to wrestle the second guy off me, but he wouldn't budge.

Meanwhile, the guy I'd brought down before was slowly recovering. He got to me before I could get
free of his friend, and socked me so hard in the stomach that I thought I was going to lose my dinner.

I sank to the ground and felt a series of hard kicks delivered to my kidneys. I tried to protect my face and to make the rest of me as small a target as possible. It hurt—but I could sense my attackers getting tired. And it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

“Tie them up!” the other man said.

Rope was wound around my hands, and the guy was busy tying them behind my back when I heard a loud “Oof!” and he let go.