The Prime-Time Crime
Read The Prime-Time Crime Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
1 Where's Clarence?
“Who won the World Series in 1979?” blond-haired Joe Hardy asked his brother, Frank. Joe, a muscular seventeen-year-old, sat his six-foot frame on the edge of a gray couch and stared at his brother through narrowed blue eyes.
“Just give me a second,” Frank said, running a hand through his dark hair. “I know this one.”
Joe smiled. He was enjoying the fact that he knew the answer to the question without having to look it up in the book he was using to test his brother. Frank, who was a year older and an inch taller than Joe, prided himself on having a great memory for sports facts. But this time, Joe was sure he had him stumped.
“Come on,” Joe said impatiently. “You're only going to have a few seconds to answer each question when you're on the air. And since you're one-third of the Bayport High School team for âThe Four O'Clock Scholar,' you'd better get at least one-third of the questions rightâor we'll lose the contest to Littonville High!”
“Okay, okay,” Frank said. “It was . . . um . . . the Philadelphia Phillies.”
“Wrong,” Joe said, pounding his fist on the arm of the couch. “The Pittsburgh Pirates.”
“Oh, right,” Frank said in a disgruntled tone. “The Phillies won the 1980 World Series. I always get those two games mixed up. Next question.”
Just then, a voice behind the Hardys said, “Hey, what's with all these sports questions?”
Joe turned to see Steve Burke, a classmate from Bayport High School, settle himself on the arm of the sofa. Steve, who was one of Frank's teammates on the daily quiz show, was tall and gangly, with tightly curled red hair and a freckled face. He wore a loose-fitting T-shirt with the slogan Genius on Board printed on it. The three teenagersâFrank, Joe, and Steveâwere gathered in a sparsely furnished room with a sign on the wall that read WBPT greenroom. Taped to the sign was a piece of paper on which was written “ââFour O'Clock Scholar' contestants must be in the greenroom by 3:30.” In the opposite corner of the room were the three team members from Bayport's rival, Littonville High.
“They always ask sports questions on âThe Four O'Clock Scholar,'â” Joe said to Steve.
“Yeah,” Steve replied. “But they also ask questions on science, history, and current events.”
“Not to mention art, literature, and music,” added Debbie Hertzberg, the third member of the Bayport team. She had stepped into the room and was standing behind Steve. Debbie had brown eyes and long black hair that hung down below her shoulders. She wore a blue dress with a high neck and flat black shoes.
“Unfortunately,” Frank said, “the sports questions are the only ones my brother knows the answers to.”
“We had to know about lots of subjects to get on this show,” Debbie said, looking sideways at Joe. “Not just sports trivia.”
“Okay, okay,” Joe said. He held up the fact book, which was entitled
Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Everything.
“From now on I'll only ask you questions from this book.”
“I bet I can answer them before Frank does,” Steve proclaimed, a gleam in his eyes.
“And I bet I can answer them before
you
do,” Debbie said to Steve.
“You?” Steve said. “Sorry, Deb! Everybody knows I'm smarter than you are.”
“Then everybody's wrong,” Debbie retorted.
“Look, guys,” Joe said with a sigh. “The quiz starts in fifteen minutes. Just let me ask you a couple of questions before they chase me out of here.”
“Fire away,” Steve said.
Joe flipped through the pages of the book. “Here's a good one/' he said. “Which of the nine planets of the solar system has the longest day?”
“Mercury,” Steve declared. “Because it's the closest to the sun, and the sun's gravity slows it down.”
“No. It's Jupiter,” Debbie insisted. “Because it's the biggest planet and takes the longest to complete its rotation.”
“Frank?” Joe asked. “Can you come up with the right answer?” He glanced at Steve and Debbie, who were both looking skeptically at Frank.
“Well,” Frank said, “actually, I thought it was Venus.”
“Bingo,” Joe said. “That's the correct answer.”
“What!” Steve shouted, trying to grab the book out of Joe's hands. “Give me that book. What kind of stupid answer is that?”
“The right one,” Joe said, holding the book out of Steve's reach. “Which didn't happen to be the one youâor Debbieâgave.”
“Lucky guess,” Debbie said. “Why don't you ask a question about art or literature? I always do better on those.”
“Art or literature,” Joe repeated, flipping through the pages again. “Those are in a different part of the book. Let's see. . . .”
“Excuse me,” said a new voice. They all looked toward the door and saw the producer of “The Four
O'Clock Scholar,” Marcy Simons, enter the room. Frank and Joe remembered her from the last time they were at the station, working on the case
Danger on the Air.
Marcy was thirty-five years old, with short-cropped black hair and large-framed glasses. She wore a dark gray suit with a white shirt, and she carried a clipboard underneath one arm.
“You'll be going on the air in a few minutes,” she said. She looked across the room at the team from Littonville High. “Would the contestants please follow me?” Then she turned to Joe. “Visitors will have to leave now.”
“I was just going,” Joe said, standing up. He punched Frank lightly on the arm. “Give 'em your best shot, bro.”
“I just hope my best shot can hit the broad side of a barn,” Frank said.
“Relax, Frank,” Steve said. “I've got all the answers. You can just sit back and let me do the work.”
“You can both relax,” Debbie added. “I'm sure I can handle this all by myself.”
“Oh, yeah?” Steve said. “You and what encyclopedia?”
Joe glanced at Steve and Debbie as he walked out of the greenroom and into the hallway. They were starting to get on his nerves. Poor Frank, Joe thought. He's stuck with those two for another hour.
Joe walked to the far end of the hallway and
entered WBPT's Studio A. He flashed his admittance pass at the guard who stood by the door. Two sets of bleachers had been set up against one wall of the room, one for students from Bayport High and the other for Littonville students. Joe recognized a number of his friends on the Bayport bleachers.
“Hey, Joe,” Chet Morton shouted as Joe approached. “I saved you a seat. Come on up.”
“Thanks, Chet,” Joe said. He climbed up the steps two at a time and sat next to his husky friend. “I was prepping Frank for the quiz.”
“Telling him everything you know, huh?” Chet said between gulps of the ham-and-cheese sandwich he was eating. “What did you do during the next thirty seconds?”
“Very funny,” Joe said. “Hey, are you allowed to bring food into the studio?”
“Nobody told me I couldn't,” Chet retorted. “I was getting awfully hungry waiting for the show to start. Which reminds me . . .” The dark-haired teen reached into his knapsack and pulled out a bag of potato chips.
Joe grinned. “Think that will last you until the show's ended?”
“Give me a break,” Chet protested. “Football season's over and I'm not in training right now.”
An attractive girl with a thick mane of brown hair slid into the seat next to Joe. “You're going to say hello, aren't you?” Iola Morton said. Iola was Chet's sister and Joe's girlfriend.
“Hey there,” said a blond girl who sat down next to Iola. “You're not going to get stuck up just because your brotherâand my boyfriendâis a contestant on âThe Four O'Clock Scholar,' are you?” Callie Shaw gave Joe a mock frown.
“Sorry, Callie, Iola,” Joe said with a wide grin. “I was just checking in with Chet. You guys ready for the show?”
“Definitely,” Iola said. “We've been getting ready all week. Look at the sign we made.”
Iola and Callie held up a five-foot-long painted banner that read “Bayport High is number one, and so is Frank Hardy!”
“How do you like it?” Iola asked.
“It's great,” Joe said. “But I don't know how much Steve and Debbie are going to like it. They both think they're number one.”
“I know,” Callie replied. “I hope they remember that they're part of a team.”
“I can't wait to see Clarence Kellerman hosting the show,” Chet said. “I hear he comes out before the show and does a comedy routine to get the audience warmed up.”
“I heard that, too!” Iola said excitedly. “Clarence is one of my favorite TV stars.”
“Actually, he should be out here already,” Joe said, looking at his watch. “I wonder where he is.”
“He's probably backstage warming up for his entrance,” Chet said.
“I love that part,” Callie said. “Where he comes
cartwheeling out from backstage, lands on his feet, and says, âHey, everybody! It's your old buddy Clarence!'â”
“Here comes somebody now,” Chet said, nodding toward the set.
Joe turned toward the set and saw Marcy Simons step from behind a light gray curtain. Following her were the teams of students from Bayport and Littonville. Joe smiled when he saw that someone, probably Marcy, had slipped a sports jacket over Steve's T-shirt. Steve didn't look very happy about it.
“There's Frank!” Callie said.
“And Steve and Debbie,” Iola added.
“My favorite people,” Joe muttered.
Joe noticed two long tables on the set, one labeled Bayport, the other Littonville. Behind each table were three microphones and three chairs. Marcy Simons led Frank, Steve, and Debbie to one table and the Littonville team to the other.
As a stagehand showed the team members how to use the electronic equipment on the table, Marcy strode over to a man wearing a headset with a microphone attached. She talked to him quickly and urgently.
Joe watched her as she talked. There was a worried look on her face, and she seemed nervous.
“We want to see Clarence!” somebody shouted from the back of the bleachers.
“Yeah!” another fan shouted. “Where's Clarence?”
Someone behind Joe began to chant, “Clarence, Clarence!” The other members of the audience joined in, shouting Clarence's name over and over, just as the audience always did at the beginning of “The Four O'Clock Scholar.”
Marcy Simons looked toward the audience and frowned, then turned back to the man with the headset. He spoke briefly into his microphone, then said something to Marcy.
The producer faced the audience and waved her hands crosswise in front of her.
“Quiet!” she yelled, loudly enough so that she could be heard over the repeated chanting of Clarence's name. The audience fell silent. Then Marcy said to the man with the microphone, “Tell them to keep rolling commercials. We'll start the show when I tell them to start the show.”
“Right,” said the man with the headset, repeating into his microphone what the producer had said.
“What's happening?” Iola whispered to her friends.
“Yeah,” Chet said. “Where's our old buddy Clarence?”
“You got me,” Joe said with a shrug.
Marcy Simons looked at the audience, an angry expression on her face. “I'll tell you where your old buddy Clarence is. He's missing. And this show is scheduled to go on the air live in five secondsâwhether he's here or not!”
Joe Hardy stood up in his seat, startled. “Clarence?” he asked. “Missing? You mean he just didn't show up for work today?”
“That's exactly what I mean,” Marcy said shortly.
Several people in the audience groaned with disappointment.
“But that's impossible,” Chet said. “Clarence has never missed a show in seventeen years. Everybody knows that. Something must have happened to him.”
“Something is
going
to happen to that clown when I get my hands on him,” Marcy snapped. “And if I don't find a substitute host in a hurry, we'll have a half hour of dead air on our hands. We can't run commercials forever.”