back in the van before I'm washed away."
But Frank had stubbornly gone on searching, and Joe let him. He could remember lots of times that Frank had backed him up, even when he'd tried some pretty stupid stunts. Sometimes they paid off.
At last, though, Frank had shrugged his shoulders and slid back into the van. "I had hopes of finding another of those little boards with nails the pranksters used last night. The police have the one from Callie's car. I thought maybe if we had one, we could find something."
"Well, either they all stuck to the tires, or the cops searched last night — " Joe began.
"Or whoever left the blasted things cleaned up after themselves before the cops arrived."
Frank was about to say more when a bright red four-wheel-drive truck came roaring into the lot. When the driver saw them, he moved his truck so it blocked the exit to the parking lot.
The man who leaned out the window of the truck was big and beefy—with "bouncer" written all over him.
"Hey, champ," he yelled, "this is private property. We had enough trouble last night without jerks coming around to gawk." His face hardened with suspicion. "Or maybe you're the jokers who caused the trouble."
"If you want to check us out, come over and check us out," Frank said.
The bouncer glared at Frank, then glanced up at the rain. At last he let the truck coast away from the exit. "Nah. Just get out of here." They did.
The early visiting hours had started at Bayport Hospital, and when they arrived there, the Hardys got good news—Callie's folks would be taking her home that afternoon. The Hardys headed for the mall—and Mr. Pizza. Their pal Tony Prito was the manager there and an excellent source of information.
As they came in, he was standing behind the counter, demonstrating his famous "toss the dough in the air" technique.
"Tony, any hot gossip gets discussed among the kids here—and you hear it," Frank said.
Tony shrugged, still deftly twirling the pizza dough. "I suppose so," he admitted.
"So what's the scoop on this gang of jokers?" Joe asked.
"Everybody has been talking about them," Tony said. "You wouldn't believe some of the stories I've been hearing."
"Try us," Frank said.
"I'll just give you the best — I caught a couple of kids saying it's some kind of cult. They have secret meetings around bonfires in the woods, with everyone wearing robes."
"That sounds real secret," Joe said sarcastically, shaking his head. "I mean, who'd notice a bunch of people in robes dancing around afire?"
Frank grinned. "I think somebody's been renting too many scary movies from the video store. Isn't there one about a cult that wears hoods?"
Joe and Tony both broke into laughter. "I'll have to remember that, the next time I hear the kids talking," Tony said.
"But has anybody linked the pranks with any of the usual gangs, or any one group of kids?" Frank asked.
Tony shook his head. "Nobody from around town is bragging," he said.
"How about kids from outside of town?" Joe asked.
"No. I'd remember that. Sorry, guys."
"Well, you can make up for it," Joe said. "Sell us a couple of slices."
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking to friends, trying to get some kind of handle on the prank gang. They got nowhere. Phil Cohen hadn't heard a word, while Chet Morton told them Tony's cult story all over again.
When evening came, it was still raining, and they hadn't really gotten anywhere.
Joe walked into the living room with a jacket in one hand and a folder from the basement tucked under his arm. He tossed the file on the coffee table next to a bowl of fresh flowers.
Frank, dressed to go out, was carrying an extension phone and talking into it as he paced a small circle near the fireplace. "Well, if the doctor doesn't think you ought to go out," he was saying, "then you'd better not."
Joe dropped onto the sofa, tapping his leg with impatience.
"Well, naturally we could use your help on this investigation, Callie," continued Frank.
Joe
But Frank had stubbornly gone on searching, and Joe let him. He could remember lots of times that Frank had backed him up, even when he'd tried some pretty stupid stunts. Sometimes they paid off.
At last, though, Frank had shrugged his shoulders and slid back into the van. "I had hopes of finding another of those little boards with nails the pranksters used last night. The police have the one from Callie's car. I thought maybe if we had one, we could find something."
"Well, either they all stuck to the tires, or the cops searched last night — " Joe began.
"Or whoever left the blasted things cleaned up after themselves before the cops arrived."
Frank was about to say more when a bright red four-wheel-drive truck came roaring into the lot. When the driver saw them, he moved his truck so it blocked the exit to the parking lot.
The man who leaned out the window of the truck was big and beefy—with "bouncer" written all over him.
"Hey, champ," he yelled, "this is private property. We had enough trouble last night without jerks coming around to gawk." His face hardened with suspicion. "Or maybe you're the jokers who caused the trouble."
"If you want to check us out, come over and check us out," Frank said.
The bouncer glared at Frank, then glanced up at the rain. At last he let the truck coast away from the exit. "Nah. Just get out of here." They did.
The early visiting hours had started at Bayport Hospital, and when they arrived there, the Hardys got good news—Callie's folks would be taking her home that afternoon. The Hardys headed for the mall—and Mr. Pizza. Their pal Tony Prito was the manager there and an excellent source of information.
As they came in, he was standing behind the counter, demonstrating his famous "toss the dough in the air" technique.
"Tony, any hot gossip gets discussed among the kids here—and you hear it," Frank said.
Tony shrugged, still deftly twirling the pizza dough. "I suppose so," he admitted.
"So what's the scoop on this gang of jokers?" Joe asked.
"Everybody has been talking about them," Tony said. "You wouldn't believe some of the stories I've been hearing."
"Try us," Frank said.
"I'll just give you the best — I caught a couple of kids saying it's some kind of cult. They have secret meetings around bonfires in the woods, with everyone wearing robes."
"That sounds real secret," Joe said sarcastically, shaking his head. "I mean, who'd notice a bunch of people in robes dancing around afire?"
Frank grinned. "I think somebody's been renting too many scary movies from the video store. Isn't there one about a cult that wears hoods?"
Joe and Tony both broke into laughter. "I'll have to remember that, the next time I hear the kids talking," Tony said.
"But has anybody linked the pranks with any of the usual gangs, or any one group of kids?" Frank asked.
Tony shook his head. "Nobody from around town is bragging," he said.
"How about kids from outside of town?" Joe asked.
"No. I'd remember that. Sorry, guys."
"Well, you can make up for it," Joe said. "Sell us a couple of slices."
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking to friends, trying to get some kind of handle on the prank gang. They got nowhere. Phil Cohen hadn't heard a word, while Chet Morton told them Tony's cult story all over again.
When evening came, it was still raining, and they hadn't really gotten anywhere.
Joe walked into the living room with a jacket in one hand and a folder from the basement tucked under his arm. He tossed the file on the coffee table next to a bowl of fresh flowers.
Frank, dressed to go out, was carrying an extension phone and talking into it as he paced a small circle near the fireplace. "Well, if the doctor doesn't think you ought to go out," he was saying, "then you'd better not."
Joe dropped onto the sofa, tapping his leg with impatience.
"Well, naturally we could use your help on this investigation, Callie," continued Frank.
Joe
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