The Ice-cold Case
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
1 Whose Lake Is It?
“Hey, it's cold back here,” Frank Hardy's girlfriend, Callie Shaw, complained from the backseat of the Hardy brothers' van.
“We're almost there,” Frank announced.
“Where does Sarah live anywayâSiberia?” Chet asked. Chet Morton, Phil Cohen, and Chet's sister, Iola, who was Joe Hardy's girlfriend, were also in back. Joe sat in the passenger seat next to Frank. They were heading to their friend Sarah Kwan's house for her birthday party.
Sarah Kwan lived in one of the large, handsome houses overlooking Pineview Lake. The road there snaked through the woods before it ended in a ring around the lakeshore. Hardly anyone ever used it at this time of year except local residents and ice fishermen.
The lake had frozen over at the end of January,
and now, in mid-February, the ice was thick enough for the fishermen to drive their trucks out and set up their fishing shanties. That meant, of course, that the ice was also perfect for skating.
As the van rounded the last slippery, snow-covered curve, the frozen lake spread before them.
“What a view,” Callie said. “It's like a postcard.”
At the end of the lake stood a small village of homemade ice-fishing shanties. The other end was being used for a game of hockey. In between, skaters raced, glided, and attempted figure-eights among other maneuvers.
“Race you across the lake,” Frank said, challenging his brother.
“You're on,” Joe said.
“Wow! Look at that,” Frank said as he pulled into the Kwans' driveway.
Everyone strained to see out the front of the van. Sarah and her parents were putting the finishing touches on a snowman, but not just any ordinary snowman. This one was a frozen life-size sculpture of a real man sitting on a couch, watching television. And the whole scene was made of snow.
“I've never seen anything like it,” Iola said as she peered over Joe's shoulder.
“Sarah's father is a sculptor,” Callie explained.
“It figures!” Chet exclaimed.
Frank parked the van at the end of the driveway and hopped out.
Sarah waved and came over to greet them all. “I was worried you couldn't get through all this
snow,” she said. Wearing a red parka and fluffy white ear muffs, she looked as if she belonged in a winter wonderland postcard, too.
The rest of the crew piled out of the van, wishing Sarah a happy birthday and stretching their legs. A few snowballs were thrown before they all trooped up the driveway to meet Sarah's parents.
“You must have been at this all morning,” Callie said as she looked at the snow scene.
“Pretty much,” Mrs. Kwan said.
“We actually started last night,” Mr. Kwan added.
“This is my mom and dad,” Sarah said. Her father looked very serious and had short graying hair. Her mother, however, was all smiles. Sarah introduced her friends.
When Mr. Kwan heard the name Hardy he came over and shook hands with Frank and Joe.
“There's something I want to talk to you about,” Mr. Kwan said.
“Dad, please,” Sarah said. “At least let them have some lunch first.”
“Lunch isn't going anywhere,” Mr. Kwan said. He turned his attention back to Frank and Joe. “Sarah has told me about your investigative skills.”
“Just what do you think you're doing to these poor boys?” Mrs. Kwan asked as she came over. “They're here to have fun, not to listen to you.”
“I'm just asking the Hardys if they know anything about the robberies around here,” Mr. Kwan said.
“It's okay, Mrs. Kwan,” Joe said. “Frank and I have solved quite a few crimes in and around Bayport.”
“Some people collect stamps; we investigate crime,” Frank added.
Mrs. Kwan looked skeptical. “Just remember, all of you, this is a party, not a crime stoppers' meeting.”
Crime, however, tended to interest Frank more than parties. “What's the problem up here?” he asked Mr. Kwan.
“It's been going on for a few years now. Every winter someone's been breaking into houses around the lake and stealing things,” Mr. Kwan explained. “The police aren't having much luck, and it's got a lot of us who live around here pretty nervous. I just thought if you boys heard or noticed anything while you were hereâ”
“Hiromi, come finish up here while I bring the hamburgers out to the grill,” Mrs. Kwan called to her husband.
“I think I'd better get back to our work of art and let you boys go enjoy yourselves,” Mr. Kwan said.
“Okay,” Joe said. “We'll let you know if we pick up on anything.”
Mr. Kwan went back to the snow sculpture, where Phil and Chet were admiring his work, and even more so, his tools. Mr. Kwan's tools were laid out precisely, like a surgeon's instruments. Spread around him were a snow shovel, kitchen knives, spoons, spatulas, and a large spray bottle.
“Looks like you've got a system,” Phil said.
“The secret is to spray on water,” Mr. Kwan
explained. “The cold air turns the snow to ice, which keeps the sculpture in shape.”
“Hey, Phil,” Chet said. “Let's make a snow-woman.” Phil was game. He liked anything that required tools and skilled hands.
“We'll put her on a big recliner,” Chet said as he started gathering snow.
Sarah led the others behind the house to the lake. “My dad checked the ice earlier. He says it's perfect for skating.”
Joe paused to take in the view of the lake again. “This is a great place for a party.”
“Nice place for a few robberies, too,” Frank said.
“Ha, ha,” Joe said, not really laughing.
“No jokeâlook at these houses,” Frank said. Most of the houses were big, two or three stories tall, and well kept. They were surrounded by a good deal of land.
“Let's call Con Riley later and get the lowdown on those robberies,” Frank said. Con Riley was an officer on the Bayport police force who had been helpful to them in the past. “But right now, I believe I have a race to win,” Frank said.
“I wish I had brought my speed skates,” Joe said as he looked over the broad, flat lake. “I didn't think the ice would be this smooth.”
“Speed skates wouldn't help,” Frank said. “I'd still beat you.” Frank, at eighteen and six foot one, was a year older and an inch taller than his brother.
“In your dreams,” Joe replied. He was younger and shorter, but Joe had a more athletic build, and he worked at keeping in shape.
“Okay, right now, you and me, on the ice,” Frank said. They raced to the back of the van and grabbed their skates, which were laced on tightly in no time.
As they stood at the edge of the ice deciding their race course, they heard shouting from the far end of the lake.
“Is that still hockey they're playing over there?” Joe asked.
“Looks like tackle hockey to me,” Frank said as he watched a central pile-up of bodies interrupt the wild game.
Sarah came over to them. “Sorry my dad was bugging you guys about the robberies. He's pretty freaked out about the whole thing and how the police haven't been able to catch the thief.”
“No problem,” Frank said. “We don't mind keeping our eyes and ears open. Right, Joe?” Frank nudged his brother, who was still focused on the hockey game.
“Isn't that Ray Nelson?” Joe pointed out a kid their age who, just at that moment, stuck out his hockey stick to trip an opponent.
“My father can't stand those guys,” Sarah said. She winced as they watched Ray get flattened by another player.
“They're just a little rough,” Joe said.
“A little rough?” Frank said. “Wasn't Ray suspended from school for fighting?”
“Okay, he's got a temper,” Joe conceded. “But when we were on the football team together, he wasn't so bad.”
“You were wearing pads,” Frank said.
“Dad thinks Ray and his friends are the thieves,” Sarah said.
Suddenly a shout came off the lake. “Get out of here!”
The action on the ice had moved. A swarm of hockey players was advancing on the fishermen's shanties.
“Do you think Ray and his friends are taking up ice fishing?” Joe asked with a laugh.
“Looks more like ice rioting to me,” Frank replied.
A number of the fishermen were heading out to meet Ray and his hockey buddies. Some of them carried heavy steel rods called ice bars, which they used to test the ice and keep their ice holes from freezing over. At the moment, however, they looked more like weapons.
“We'd better check it out,” Joe said.
As Frank and Joe skated out onto the lake, the shouting became more distinct. Ray was yelling at an older man. “Who said it was your lake anyway, Tuttle?”
“Get out of here, you punks,” Ernie Tuttle shouted back. With his shock of white hair and the plaid wool coat he wore all the time, he was a fixture in Bayport. He had run Tuttle's Bait Shopâthe only business along the lakeshoreâfor as long as anyone could remember.
“You, too!” Ernie shouted at Frank and Joe, who had skated right between the two groups. “You've got no business being on the lake.”
“Chill out,” Frank said. “We're not with them. What's everybody so angry about, anyway?”
Only a few feet separated the two sides, but the Hardys' presence seemed to calm them down a little.
Ray skated up to Joe, holding his hockey stick across his chest, ready to strike.
“We've got as much right to be on the lake as anybody,” Ray said.
“Hey, what's the big deal?” Joe asked him.
While Joe tried to get Ray's side of the story, Frank saw Hank Green in the crowd of angry fishermen. Hank was a tall, slender man who always wore a red baseball cap that advertised his junkyard and fix-it shop, Green's Salvage, on the front. Joe and Frank's father, private detective Fenton Hardy, often called on Hank's expertise for cases involving cars. Hank would analyze wrecked cars to determine whether brake lines had been tampered with or engines had been sabotaged.
“Hank, remember me, Frank Hardy?” he asked as he skated up to him.
“Hey, Frank, how's your dad?” Hank asked. He reached out a gloved hand. Hank was so long and lanky, he looked as if he might blow away in the bitter wind.
They shook hands. “He's doing great,” Frank said. “So, Hank, what's going on around here?”
“It never ends,” Hank said with a sigh. “These kids skate around like crazy. They think it's great fun to scare away the fish. One of these days someone's going to get hurt. They'll knock over someone's shanty or fall through the ice.”
“They're just fooling around,” Frank offered.
“As far as I'm concerned, they can knock each other senseless on land,” Hank said. “But if someone gets seriously hurt out here, the police will kick all of us off the ice.”
“How about Ernie?” Frank asked. “He seems ready to blow.”
“Can you imagine what'll happen to the bait shop if the parks commissioner declares the lake off-limits for the winter?” Hank replied.
While Frank and Hank had been talking, Ray began skating circles around Ernie, taunting him and waving his hockey stick at him.
“Come on, old man, kick me off the lake. Go ahead,” Ray said. Two of Ray's friends who had been darting through the crowd of fishermen now skated directly toward Ernie with their hockey sticks raised.
Neither Frank nor Joe knew Ray's friends very well but had seen them hanging around town. Their names were John and Vinnie. They were a few years older and had dropped out of school. “How about it, old man?” Vinnie said, slapping Ernie on the back with the flat side of his stick.
Ernie pulled a hand ax from his tool belt. “All right, you punk. You asked for it,” he shouted. But Vinnie had already skated out of Ernie's reach.
“Why don't you go back to the far side of the lake?” Joe calmly addressed Ray's friends.
Vinnie and John glowered at him. “Out of the way, Hardy,” John said.
“Ernie, I know you've always been tough on your customers, but the ax is too much,” Frank said.
This got a laugh from both the fishermen and the hockey players. Ray kept it up after the crowd had quieted.