The Secret of Skeleton Reef (3 page)

“No!” Montclare told Flask emphatically. “We cannot afford to miss a morning's work. The time is simply too valuable to me.
N'est-ce pas?
”

“But this woman could be in trouble,” Flask said in a gravelly voice. “At the very least, we should send a few guys to check around town for her.”

“The crew is small enough as it is,” Montclare said.

Frank realized they were arguing about whether to look for Chrissy, but Chrissy apparently didn't want to be found. “Excuse me,” Frank said, stepping up to Flask and Montclare. “Maybe my brother and I can help you out.”

“Who are you?” Flask asked, eyeing Frank, then Joe.

“They're okay,” Ted said, walking over. “I met them last night. In fact, they just stopped Brunelli from demolishing Ziggy.”

Flask gave a gruff chuckle. “As you may have noticed,” he said, “my crew is a little edgy these days. It always happens when men catch the scent of treasure. They change a bit, usually for the worse. All of a sudden, they turn greedy, suspicious, ornery.”

“Have you found the pirate ship?” Joe asked, hoping Flask would be more forthcoming than Ted was the night before.

“Yeah, we found it a couple of weeks ago, out by Skeleton Reef,” Flask said. “I told the crew not to tell anybody, but people come by in their boats, they see what's going on. As they say, the cat's out of the bag. I guess half the island knows we're hauling up treasure now.”

“Congratulations,” Frank said.

“Now, just how do you want to help out?” Flask said.

“My brother and I can check around town for Chrissy Peters,” Frank said. “At the very least, we could stop by the police station and hospital. That way you guys can head right out to sea without missing any work time.”

“Well, that's awfully neighborly of you,” Flask said, looking at the Hardys with approval. “Here, I'll give you my ship-to-shore number so you can call me on my boat after you've done your checking. Tell the operator to charge it to me. I'm concerned about Chrissy, so call me right away.” Flask wrote his number on a crumpled sheet of paper and handed it to Frank.

“We'll call you soon,” Frank told him.

“Thanks a lot, mates,” Flask said, tipping his captain's cap.

Moments later the Hardys watched the salvage crew head back toward the dock. “Good thinking,
Frank,” Joe said once the crew was out of earshot. “This way we can ask Chrissy if she wants these guys to know where she is or not.”

A little down from the docks, the Hardys saw a number of fishermen launching boats off the beach. The boats were mostly long wooden skiffs, none of which had motors, and the fishing equipment seemed to consist primarily of enormous nets. Mostly shirtless and barefooted, the fishermen went cheerfully about their work.

“What are you up to, mon?” Joe heard one fisherman say to another.

“Oh, not much at all, mon,” the other fisherman replied with a casual wave.

“I noticed the fishermen by the docks had motorized boats,” Joe said. “But I guess some of them prefer to do it the way it's been done since Columbus came passing through the neighborhood.”

“Either that,” Frank said, “or they can't afford the motors.”

Looking back at the mainland, Frank admired the variety of vegetation on the island. Lush green trees and shrubs of all sizes and shapes stretched in every direction, some of the shrubbery showcasing brilliantly colored flowers. Then Frank noticed two towering cone-shaped mountains, one standing on either side of the bay as if they were guarding it against intruders. Both mountains were covered with a mossy green carpet.

“Jamal says those are called the Pitons,” Joe
explained. “They were formed millions of years ago by volcanic eruptions. He says they're really something to see from out on the water.”

“I bet they are,” Frank said.

The brothers walked another mile along the beach until they came to the village of Soufrière. The center of town looked as if it hadn't changed much over the past hundred years. Most of the shops and offices were charming structures made of clapboard.

The people milling through the village were a mixture of tourists and islanders. Some of the island women were doing their morning shopping with wicker baskets on their heads. No one was dressed up, and Joe couldn't help but notice how relaxed and happy everyone seemed. There was a vacation air about the place, and that was just fine with Joe.

A battered bus roared wildly down a street, calypso music blaring from the radio. “How do you like that?” Frank said. “Musical buses.”

“I like it, mon,” Joe said with a big smile.

The Hardys stopped at an outdoor market and examined the fruit selection. Enticing baskets of bananas, mangoes, coconuts, pineapples, breadfruit, and melons sat on long tables. Frank and Joe each bought a mango for breakfast. “This is good,” Joe observed as he sunk his teeth into the juicy orange fruit.

“It's almost nine,” Frank said, looking at his watch. “Time to visit our friend Chrissy.”

When the Hardys arrived at the hospital, there was a different nurse at the front desk. She told the brothers that Chrissy had been asleep when she last checked on her, an hour earlier. After obtaining visiting permission from the nurse, Frank and Joe walked down the hallway toward Chrissy's room.

Joe tapped lightly at the door of Room 11. Hearing no answer, they opened the door and peeked in. The morning sun shone brightly through the white curtains, which flapped in the breeze. Chrissy was nestled under the sheets of the bed.

“Chrissy?” Joe said softly. Chrissy did not stir or answer. “Chrissy?” Joe spoke a little louder.

When there was still no response, Joe walked over to the bed and touched Chrissy's shoulder. It was soft. Too soft. He was not touching a person. Joe peeled back the sheets and saw a collection of pillows laid out to imitate the shape of a human body.

The mysterious young woman named Chrissy Peters was gone.

“Chrissy's not here,” Joe said, giving Frank an astonished look.

“Well, either someone took her or she escaped,” Frank said, thoughtfully looking at the pillows on the hospital bed. “She probably left through the window, which explains why the nurse didn't see her leave.”

“I say she escaped,” Joe said, glancing at the gently flapping curtain. “I think somebody tried to kill her last night and she was afraid they might track her to the hospital. So she beat it as soon as she got her strength back.”

“Hmm,” Frank said, sitting on the bed. “I guess we've got two options now.”

“Number one,” Joe said, finishing Frank's train
of thought, “we stay out of this whole mess and enjoy our vacation. Number two, we get involved and try to figure out what's going on.”

“If we stay out of this,” Frank said, “Chrissy might remain in danger. And even if she manages to stay alive, the person who attempted to kill her will still be on the loose. Of course, we could go to the police, but then we would be breaking the promise we made to Chrissy about keeping all of this a secret.”

“We're going to get involved, aren't we?” Joe said, sinking into a chair. “Goodbye, vacation. Hello, new case.”

“I think it's for the best,” Frank said quietly.

“So do I,” Joe agreed. “It's funny, but I like Chrissy even though I barely know her. And the more I think about it, the creepier I feel, knowing someone is after her.”

“Okay, little brother,” Frank said. “Let's get to work.”

Frank and Joe told the nurse of Chrissy's disappearance but revealed nothing else of what they knew about Chrissy. Then the Hardys headed outside into the sunshine.

“All right,” Joe said as the brothers walked along the beach, heading back to the bungalow. “What do we know about Chrissy?”

“We know she's from Virginia, and we know she was part of Sandy Flask's crew,” Frank replied.
“And Ted mentioned she didn't know anyone else on the island except for the crew members.”

“Skeh!” Joe cried out. “Sandy Flask said he found the
Laughing Moon
on Skeleton Reef. Maybe Skeleton Reef is what Chrissy was trying to say.”

“Maybe,” Frank said as he passed a palm tree, “the person who tried to kill Chrissy was a member of the crew. They're the only ones around here Chrissy knows, and we've already seen that they're a scrappy gang.”

“Let's call Flask and tell him we found no sign of Chrissy,” Joe suggested. “Then let's ask if we can pay a little visit to Flask's boat. That will give us a chance to talk with the crew and sniff around for suspects.”

“Sounds good,” Frank said.

Back at the bungalow, Frank placed a ship-to-shore call to Sandy Flask at sea. Over the static of the connection, Frank told the captain he and Joe had visited the hospital and police station but hadn't seen or heard anything of Chrissy Peters. Then Frank asked if the Hardys could pay a visit to Flask's boat. Flask agreed and gave Frank instructions on how to find the vessel.

Thirty minutes later Frank and Joe were cruising on the Caribbean Sea in the beat-up skiff belonging to Jamal's uncle. Joe sat on the rear bench, operating the outboard, while Frank sat up front with a compass and a map. An expert at navigation, Frank was drawing intersecting lines on the map in order
to find the precise location of Flask's boat. Both boys wore orange life jackets.

“Look behind you!” Joe called over the roar of the outboard.

Frank turned and caught a magnificent view of St. Lucia. From a distance the island was a curvaceous mass of green surrounded by a thin circle of beaches. On either side of the bay where the Hardys had been this morning, the cone-shaped Pitons rose majestically toward the clouds.

The view in the other direction wasn't bad, either. The Caribbean stretched toward the horizon, turquoise highlighted here and there with other shades of blue and green. The sun was beating down on the water, but a pleasant trade wind kept the air from being too hot. Not far away Frank saw a sailboat gliding gracefully in the breeze.

“Veer a few degrees starboard,” Frank called, glancing at his compass. Joe swung the outboard engine a bit, and the skiff eased to the right.

After traveling four miles, the Hardys spotted a white speck in the distance. “That must be Flask's boat,” Frank called out. As the skiff cut its way through the water, the white speck soon grew into the shape of an impressive vessel.

It turned out to be a cruiser with multitiered decks and a sizable cabin. A bare mast rose from the top deck, and Joe smiled when he saw the flag flying high atop the masthead. The flag was black
with a white skull and crossbones in the center—a Jolly Roger, the emblem of pirates.

“Ahoy there!” Flask called from the boat.

“Ahoy!” Frank called back.

“Tie up to port!” Flask shouted.

Joe maneuvered the skiff along the left side of Flask's boat. After tying a rope to the skiff, he threw the other end of the line to Flask, who lashed it to the side of his vessel. Then Frank and Joe climbed aboard the handsome white boat.

“Welcome aboard the
Destiny
,” Flask said. “That's the name of this fine maiden. I don't usually allow outsiders on board, but you lads helped me out, and you look like you can handle yourselves.”

“How's it going?” Joe asked, seeing the crew tending to their chores on the sun-drenched decks.

“Not great,” Flask replied. “So far today the divers have been coming up empty-handed.”

“Do you keep the
Destiny
anchored here?” Frank asked as he leaned on the gunwale, or railing, which he knew was pronounced “gunn'l.” “I didn't see her anchored at the docks this morning.”

“That's right,” Flask answered. He pointed toward a weathered trawler tied alongside the opposite side of the boat. “We ride that claptrap fishing boat out here every day. The
Destiny
marks the dive site for us, and it also serves as a guard tower at night. See those two islanders?”

Flask pointed at two shirtless, dark-skinned men who were cleaning equipment on the top deck. One was big and muscular, Joe noticed, but the other was a giant.

“That's Isaac, and the big one's Ishmael,” Flask explained. “They're cousins. They stay on the ship all night, one of them always awake. If anyone comes by with a mind to steal some of the
Laughing Moon
treasure out of the sea, Isaac and Ishmael shoo them away. I guarantee, no one messes with them.”

“I can see why,” Joe said.

Brunelli walked up to Flask and said, “We're getting ready to move into the new blasting position. Do you want to supervise?”

“Just follow my markings and call when you're set to drop anchor,” Flask answered. “Frank, Joe, this is my first mate, Lou Brunelli.”

“We've already met,” Brunelli said, giving Joe a hard but friendly slap on the shoulder. Then Brunelli strode across the deck.

“What are you going to blast?” Frank asked.

With a half smile, Flask said, “You boys probably think we found this great old pirate ship down there, and all we have to do is crawl around the decks, opening chest after chest of treasure.”

“It's not like that, is it?” Joe said.

“First of all,” Flask said, “there is no ship anymore. The
Laughing Moon
was mostly made of wood, and all of it has long since rotted away or
been eaten by sea life. What's more, the treasure and artifacts have been scattered about by currents. We know the
Laughing Moon
went down right around this spot, but we have to search hard to find relics—especially since most of them are buried deep in the sand.”

“So what are you going to blast?” Frank asked.

“See those things?” Flask said, pointing. Frank turned and saw two enormous, elbow-shaped aluminum tubes that hung over the rear of the boat.