Dead on Target Read Free Page A

are gonna be a lot of help!" He glared at Frank. "So what's our next brilliant move?"
    "We borrow a car and head for the mall." Only Frank's eyes showed his anger. "But that guy just said - " "I know," Frank interrupted with a grin. "And I can't think of a better place to start impeding his investigation. "
    Joe insisted that they check out the parking lot, even though it had been cleared of wreckage. "There's nothing," Frank said, looking at the large scorched spot on the concrete.
    "Then why are we here?"
    "We want to see if anyone remembers anything odd about Saturday - anything out of the ordinary."
    "Out of the ordinary!" Joe burst out. "There was a political rally going on! How much more out of the ordinary do you want? Besides," he said, "the Saturday shoppers are long gone. How are we going to question them?"
    "We're not," Frank replied. "I want to talk to the people who are always here - the store owners. They'd be the ones to notice something-or someone-out of place."
    Their first stop on entering the mall was Mr. Pizza. The fast-food joint was the prime hangout, and the manager was an old school friend of theirs, Tony Prito.
    Tony's cheerful grin wavered for an instant when he saw the Hardys. He stepped out from behind the counter, grabbing Joe's hand. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you at the chapel," he said as he led them to a table and they sat down. "Have they caught whoever was behind it?"
    "I don't think the cops even have a clue." Joe scowled.
    "It's hard to figure out who blew up the car if you don't know why," Frank said.
    "Well, it was your car," Tony pointed out.
    "Right. But was the bomb aimed at us?" Frank shook his head. "That's the question. For all we know, it could have been a random thing, some nut who just blows up yellow sedans."
    "Yeah, but there are a lot of guys who might want to get back at you - or your father." Tony smiled. "Detectives who put people away aren’t popular with crooks."
    "I got Dad's assistant working on that angle this morning," Frank said. "He's checking to see if anyone who might have a grudge against us, was recently released."
    "Wait a second," Joe burst out. "Maybe the bomber knew that Iola and Callie were with us. Maybe he - or she - had a grudge against the Mortons or the Shaws."
    He thought for a moment. "And the bomb was set in the middle of a political rally. Could the person have something against the Walker campaign?" He shook his head. "But Frank and I didn't even know there was going to be a rally.
    We didn't know we were going to be at the mall. This doesn't make sense."
    "Tell me about it," Frank agreed sarcastically. "Here's the thing I can't figure out-why the mall? If I were going to blow somebody up, I'd do it right in front of the person's house - a nice, unmistakable message. Why would this guy follow us to a crowded parking lot to do the job? It's got to have something to do with the mall." He looked up at Tony. "Were the cops around asking questions?"
    "They gave us the once-over lightly. I was kind of surprised." Tony shrugged. "Maybe they'll be back today."
    "Well, we want to ask some questions now," Joe said, leaning over the table. "Think you can give us a hand, Tony? Introduce us to some of the store owners?"
    "Sure. Most of them come down here to get a slice for lunch. Hey, Jean," he called to the girl behind the counter, "I'm taking an early break. Be back in five minutes."
    Tony led the Hardys up the mall escalators to the first floor of shops, then into the Builder's Paradise hardware store. "Dan Stone runs this place. He's a good guy, and he's president of the Mall Association. You can get all the help you need from him."
    Stone turned out to be a friendly man in his late thirties. He was only too eager to help, and the Hardys spent most of the next two hours talking to store owners. None of them had noticed anything other than the bedlam of the political rally, but lots of them had things to say about the mall. Frank mentioned it as