Kickoff to Danger (8 page)

Frank frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If what you say is true, then Biff was trying to ruin the punching party his pals had set up. Maybe one of the jocks—like Chet—put a stop to that by putting a stop to Biff.”

Dan's swollen lips twitched in a half-smile as he watched Frank's expression.

“Didn't think of that, did you?” the tall boy asked. “Maybe you should track down Terry Golden and try a couple of questions on him. A shovel to the back of the head sounds like his style.”

Dan turned and started walking away again. This time Frank didn't try to stop him.

When Freeman stopped to glance back this time, he said, “Of course, if you try what I said, you may have to watch
your
back.”

Frank was watching Dan Freeman walk off when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Hey, bro,” Joe Hardy said. “Where were you? I wound up having lunch with your girlfriend.”

“Who just happens to have a little information,” Callie Shaw said, stepping up beside them.

She dug in her shoulder bag and gave Frank a piece of paper. “Here are all the debate group guys who went out after their books.”

Frank stared at the list of names. “How did you—”

“I got it from the
girls
on the debate team.” Callie gave him a smug smile. “When those big bozos came in, they took
everybody's
books. The stuff belonging to the girls was left piled in the hall. The creeps were definitely after the boys. I guess they
figured that after taking the trouncing they had planned, the boys would be too humiliated to talk about it.”

“It might have gone that way, too,” Joe said. “Get the nerds down in the dark, work them over hard and quick, and get out of there. All the debate kids would have was a bunch of bruises and nobody they could point a finger at.”

Frank nodded. “But then the plan went off the track.”

“You mean
we
turned up?” Joe said.

“
Biff
turned up and began helping the debate guys.”

“And somebody hit him for that—hard.” Callie suddenly looked a little sick.

Frank held up his piece of paper. “According to this, seven debate guys left the classroom in pursuit of their books. One of them was Jimmy Brooks.”

“That's the guy you sent to Mr. Sheldrake,” Joe said.

“And we know he went, because Old Beady Eyes mentioned him this morning,” Frank went on. “So he wasn't down there in the dark. That leaves six debaters, including Dan Freeman.”

“Mr. Coordination,” Joe joked.

Frank ignored him. “From the football team, we've got the guy I saw in the hall—Walinovski. Then Chet, of course—”

“And Lousy Logan, who punched Chet out,” Joe added. “There were three other guys who snatched the books.”

“Plus the brains of the outfit—Terry Golden,” Frank said. “He'd certainly be downstairs, waiting for a piece of Dan Freeman.”

“So, besides Chet and Biff, there could have been a dozen people wandering around down there,” Callie said.

“At least,” Frank agreed. “And any of them could be responsible for what happened to Biff. The debate guys who were being terrorized would certainly see Biff as the enemy.”

“But Biff's teammates—” Joe began.

“Might have seen him as the spoiler, stopping their little game,” Frank finished. “Dan Freeman thought that bit with the shovel would be right up Terry Golden's alley.”

From the look on Joe's face, he was struggling with the idea. “Golden, maybe,” he said slowly. “But I'd hate to think that any of the other guys—”

He stopped, suddenly grim. “I guess I'll just have to ask some more questions.”

“Just be careful.” Callie shuddered. “It's bad enough having Biff in the hospital. Don't be his roommate.”

The locker room was surprisingly quiet that afternoon. Usually the guys on the football team
kidded around as they changed into practice clothes. Today, though, there were no jokes. Team-mates hardly spoke.

It was as though they were afraid, Joe thought.

Before sending them out to the field, Coach Devlin said he had a few words. “No doubt many of you are thinking about our two absent team-mates today. I know we all hope for Biff to recover.”

All the guys silently nodded.

“As for Chet, he's obviously facing a very difficult time. I hope he can prove his innocence. No one can be certain what went on yesterday evening.”

The coach took a deep breath. “But I'm certain of this. In the name of team spirit, I tolerated a certain amount of…horseplay.” He looked straight at Joe. “I didn't listen when people warned me that it might go too far. Consider this your first and only warning. From here on, there will be zero tolerance for any funny business. Try it—and you
will
regret it.”

Devlin pointed to the door. “ 'Nuff said. Let's move it!”

The guys got out of the locker room as if monsters were chasing them.

Practice that day was as rough as any Joe could remember. He stood wiping sweat off his forehead as Matt Walinovski staggered back from the tackling sleds.

“Coach is really running us ragged today,” Joe said.

“Tell me about it!” Walinovski groaned. “I feel like somebody dropped a two-ton weight on me.”

“A lot less heavy than those books you were toting yesterday.”

Matt looked as if he'd just found himself on the wrong side of a tackle.

“You were seen, you know.” Joe glanced over at the bigger guys on the team. “I was wondering who else was with you. Engels? Parisi? Logan would have been good for holding the door closed, but he was downstairs waiting for the fresh meat.”

The other boy didn't say a word. But Joe noticed the way Walinovski reacted when his two buddies were named.

That gives us three out of four, he thought. The question is, how many others were in on this?

He tried talking to a few other guys. Most of them were worried about what people would think of the team, very few wanted to talk about what had happened. Nobody had anything to say when Joe wondered who was where—and when.

Eddie Taplinger walked over to him. “Don't look now,” he said. “But there are TV cameras setting up over by the fence.”

Joe glanced over to see Coach Devlin arguing with a news reporter.

“I don't think the coach is going to get any
where,” he said. “They have a right to be there. Freedom of information and all that.”

“There's some information that never comes free,” Eddie said. “And that includes the information you're digging for,” the quarterback continued. “Golden spent last night making the rounds. He said there'd be a lot of people asking questions, and he told us to say nothing—stonewall them.”

“For the good of the team,” Joe said sarcastically.

“Better than hurting the team,” Eddie retorted.

“Hey, I'm not some outsider poking his nose in. I'm trying to help Chet—he's a teammate, too.”

“Golden said we should stonewall
everyone
who asks questions—especially you and your brother.”

Joe gave a harsh laugh. “Then you may be looking for trouble, standing here talking with me.”

Eddie nodded. “Maybe,” he said. “But I figure somebody had to give you the heads-up.”

A very angry Coach Devlin came back from the fence. The TV cameras remained in place, and the team sweated even harder for the rest of the practice session.

Joe was out of the showers and getting dressed when Wendell Logan loomed up beside him.

Looks like somebody told Golden about my questions, Joe thought. So he sent his pet over to scare me.

He ignored the bigger boy until Logan was almost touching him, his sweaty body sending off heat like a furnace. “I hear you're sticking your nose in where it isn't wanted,” the big linebacker said.

“I certainly don't want to smell
you,”
Joe replied. “So why don't you back off, Logan?”

“You're
the one who'd better back off.” Logan poked a big, meaty finger into Joe's chest. “Or you won't like what'll happen.”

Joe decided to rattle Logan's cage a little. Maybe the big guy would let something slip. “What will you do?” he asked. “Punch me out, like you did Chet Morton? I guess it's a lot easier when you jump somebody in the dark.”

Logan's big jaw dropped in shock. “How did—I mean—” His eyes moved to someone behind Joe. Then he scowled. “You got a mouth on you like that Freeman kid. Remember what happened to him.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “He met someone else who was brave in the dark. You think you can hide until this all blows over, but too many people know bits and pieces of it. It will all come out, and everyone will know exactly what happened down in the basement.”

Again Logan's eyes darted behind Joe for a cue. Joe stepped to one side, and turned to see who was behind him.

He saw Terry Golden slowly draw a finger across his throat.

Joe knew what that might mean. He quickly whipped around to face Wendell again.

But Logan was already taking a wild roundhouse swing.

A fist the size of a holiday ham was already flying at Joe's head!

Frank Hardy yawned, leaning back in his chair. His computer class didn't meet that day.

That didn't mean he had the afternoon off, though. Frank and the kids in the class were studying a new programming language, and Frank was still trying to get a simple program running in it.

He frowned, his fingers flashing over his computer keyboard. Maybe that particular order didn't belong there….

When he tried to run the program again, the stupid thing still didn't work. Frank tried running the automatic debugger and wound up with a screen full of suggestions.

After reading what the computer had to say, Frank glanced at his watch.

Okay, he thought. One more round of debugging, then I've got to go to the library to pick up Callie.

Frank stared out at the growing late-afternoon shadows. After that, I guess we could catch Joe after practice. He made a face. See if his luck with the jocks was better than mine with the nerds.

Frank had spent the afternoon tracking down the names on Callie's list. Nobody wanted to talk about the incident. After coming home, he'd even tried calling a couple of the guys.

Unconsciously, Frank brought a hand to his ear. Nothing says “no comment” like having a phone slammed down, he thought. He turned back to the computer, determined not to think about it anymore.

Frank finally got to the point where at least he could start the program. Good enough, he decided, saving his work. He still had a couple of minutes to spare, so he checked his email.

He figured that the Bayport High grapevine had gotten the message that Frank Hardy was looking for information. Someone might decide to pass something along anonymously.

Sure enough, there was a message with an unfamiliar return address. Frank moved the arrow across his screen and clicked on the message.

The message was short, and not very sweet:
“Keep asking questions about what happened to Biff Hooper, and you'll be digging your own grave.”

How nice, Frank thought. A threat. Let's see if we can backtrack and find out who sent it.

He tried to close down the message, but the computer didn't respond. Instead, patches began to appear on the screen. It was as if somebody inside the computer monitor were throwing dirt at the screen.

Oh, great. Frank had heard about this. It was the Gravedigger virus.

Must be a new version. It's obviously gotten past my antivirus defenses. He hesitated for a moment, then turned the computer off.

Better to crash the system than have it completely wipe out, he thought.

He looked at his watch again. Getting the computer back up again would be no problem. He'd made a recovery disk. But he'd have to go on to his dad's machine and download the latest software cure for the Gravedigger virus. That would take too long right now.

I don't want a dead computer
and
an annoyed girlfriend, he thought. He got up and headed downstairs for the van.

Callie was waiting for him outside the library. “How's it going?” she asked.

“I've had better days,” Frank admitted. “Tried to
talk to a couple of the guys on your list, and they all ran away.”

Callie grinned. “Could it be your breath?”

“You should see—or smell—the other guys,” Frank said. “Some of them forget to brush their teeth.” He went on to tell about the telephone hang-ups, then described the message on his computer.

“At least you managed to stir up something,” Callie said.

“Yeah,” Frank replied dryly. “Trouble. Opening that message let the Gravedigger virus into my computer.”

“Oh, no!” Callie said. “Did it mess up everything on your hard drive?” She paused for a second. “Did it get to the stuff for your computer course?”

Frank winced. He hadn't thought of that. “Well, it will certainly give me something to talk about tomorrow. I just shut the computer down and came to get you.” He gave her a smile. “We'll worry about the machinery later.”

Pulling into the Bayport High lot to get Joe, Frank steered straight for the faculty parking area. “The lot's just about empty,” he said. “And it's close to the gym entrance. I think I'll chance parking here.”

Callie decided to stay in the van. “Sweat and liniment isn't my favorite perfume,” she said.

Frank started to get out. Overhead, he noticed
that the sign for the Seneca game was being taken down.

“Sic
transit gloria mundi
,” he murmured.

“What?” Callie said.

“It's Latin—about the glories of the world passing away.” He pointed at the sign. “The Seneca game was the biggest thing in town a week ago. Now it's history.”