A WRONG NOTE

  Frank, Chet, and Joe all got up to help, and for the next twenty minutes, they played a really serious game of musical chairs. Frank forgot all about Dylan and Crush as he ran for a seat, often ending up with his bottom landing hard on the grass when one of his classmates beat him to it. The kids were getting all sweaty, and Paul’s mom frowned as she applied a bandage to one girl’s elbow after she skinned it falling off a chair. “Maybe we should play—” Mrs. McMahon began.

  But she never got to finish her sentence, because a yell from the makeshift stage surprised them all.

  “What happened to Lucy?” Dylan shouted, his hands on his head. “I can’t play without my guitar!”

  CONTENTS

  1 A Sour Note

  2 Gone!

  3 The Six Ws

  4 A Speedy Answer

  5 The Mean Willies

  6 Salty Snap Beans

  7 Back to The Ws

  8 Missing Lucy

  9 The Battle Is Won

  10 Tree House Triumph!

  Hardy Boys Comic Strip

  1

  A Sour Note

  You look like a monkey, and you smell like one too!”

  Nine-year-old Frank Hardy looked at his brother, Joe, and laughed as their friend Paul McMahon blew out the candles on his huge birthday cake, which was decorated to look like a dinosaur. Everyone cheered as Paul blew out all ten candles on the first try.

  “Time for presents!” Paul cried as his mother started cutting up the cake. He ran over to the circle of chairs his parents had set up in his backyard and took a seat.

  Joe smiled and nudged Frank. “Looks like we’d better get over there,” he said. “Paul’s already torn into his first gift!”

  Frank laughed and shook his head. His classmate Paul seemed to be having a great time at his birthday party. They’d already played Pin the Tail on the Donkey and Red Rover, and Paul had won both. Now he was beaming as he pulled the last piece of gift wrap off Joyride, a hot new video game that had just been released days ago. It was a perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon!

  “Oh, wow!” Paul shouted, waving the game above his head. “You guys! This is great! I can’t wait to play this! Thanks, Mom and Dad!”

  Frank and Joe took their seats as Paul’s mom came over to hand her son a piece of cake and give him a kiss. She handed cake to the kids on either side of Paul, then went back to the table to get more.

  “Hey, who’s that?” Joe pulled on Frank’s sleeve to get his attention and then pointed across the lawn to where an older boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, was dragging some big pieces of equipment onto a raised platform. As they watched, three more boys came out of the house, each carrying an instrument and some more equipment.

  “That’s Paul’s older brother, Dylan,” the boys’ friend Chet piped up as he took a piece of cake from Paul’s mom and sat down in the chair beside Frank.

  “What’s he doing?” Frank asked. The older boys were scrambling around, plugging their instruments into extension cords and playing a few notes.

  “He’s setting up,” Chet replied, digging into his cake. A dab of chocolate frosting stuck to his nose. “You guys know he’s a member of Crush, right?”

  “Crush?” Joe asked. “What’s that?”

  Chet set his fork down and stared wide-eyed at Joe, as if Joe had just asked who Batman was. “What’s Crush?” he asked. “You guys? It’s only the best rock band in Bayport, or maybe the entire state!”

  Frank shrugged. “Never heard of them.”

  But Joe looked thoughtful. “Oh, riiiiight,” he said. “They sing that song about pigeons?”

  “‘Coo-Coo-Cool My Heart,’” Chet said, nodding. “They’re the best! And we’re really lucky, because they’re going to perform for Paul’s party. Right here. Right now. Tonight.”

  “Oh, wow!” Paul shouted, a little louder than before. “A chemistry set! You guys, this is awesome! You guys?”

  But the party guests were staring across the lawn now, watching the members of Crush tune up their instruments.

  “He’s the coolest,” Frank heard one of the girls say as Dylan adjusted the microphone. “You know they’re going to blow the competition away at the Bayport Battle of the Bands next Friday.”

  Frank turned around to face the girl. “What’s that?”

  The girl, who had curly red hair and a few freckles, widened her eyes. “You haven’t heard about the Battle of the Bands?” she asked. “It’s only about the most important music competition ever!”

  Frank caught Joe’s eye. Hmmm. “And you think Crush is going to win it?” Frank asked.

  The girl nodded. “Everyone thinks Crush is going to win it,” she said. “They’re the best band in Bayport. Maybe in the whole state! Right, Paul?”

  Paul looked up from his latest gift—a set of colored pencils—and frowned. “I guess,” he said, looking down at all his presents. “Hey, who wants to try out my new tetherball set?”

  But Paul’s mom swept in before anyone could respond, picking up the loose gift wrap and putting it in a garbage bag. “Okay, kids, that was the last present,” she announced. “Playing a game is a good idea, Paul, but I think the tetherball game would take too long to set up. Let’s all get together for a game of musical chairs while the band gets ready to play. Can you all help me arrange the chairs in a row?”

  Frank, Chet, and Joe all got up to help, and for the next twenty minutes, they played a really serious game of musical chairs. Frank forgot all about Dylan and Crush as he ran for a seat, often ending up with his bottom landing hard on the grass when one of his classmates beat him to it. Paul was doing really well at first, but then Chet beat him by a second or two, and Paul was out. He stomped off, pouting. The kids were getting all sweaty, and Paul’s mom frowned as she applied a bandage to one girl’s elbow after she skinned it falling off a chair. “Maybe we should play—” Mrs. McMahon began.

  But she never got to finish her sentence, because a yell from the makeshift stage surprised them all.

  “What happened to Lucy?” Dylan shouted, his hands on his head. “I can’t play without my guitar!”

  2

  Gone!

  It was right here!” Dylan went on. “Someone stole my bass guitar, Lucy!”

  Everyone started talking at once. Joe, who was sitting on the sidelines of the musical chairs game with the rest of the kids who had not been able to get a seat, stood up and caught Frank’s eye. He raised an eyebrow. Was Lucy lost, or was she . . .

  “Someone stole her!” Dylan cried, putting his head in his hands.

  Chet, who’d managed to get a seat during the last round, stood up. “Frank and Joe can help!” he yelled, pointing at the Hardy boys. “They solve mysteries, you know.”

  Frank’s cheeks blazed a bright red. Joe knew his brother hated to be the center of attention. But personally, Joe kind of liked it.

  “Sure, we can help,” he said, getting to his feet. “I mean, if you guys need us. . . .”

  But the band members didn’t seem to be listening to him. They were gathered in a circle, talking heatedly as Dylan shook his head and shrugged.

  Chet grabbed Frank by the arm and walked over to Joe. “Come on, you guys,” he said, confidently leading them over to the stage. “You’ll get to the bottom of this!”

  The older boys barely seemed to notice as Chet, Joe, and Frank walked up.

  “I only left her for a second!” Dylan was saying, clearly upset. “She was out here when we all went inside to go over the set list, and now she’s gone!”

  One of the other band members, a redhead with a funky mustache, crossed his arms across his chest. “You don’t seriously think one of these kids took it?” he asked. “What would they want with a bass guitar?”

  Chet cleared his throat loudly. “Ahem,” he said, inserting himself into the middle of the group. “Ahem.”

  The redhead looked down. “Can I help you, kid?”

  Chet smiled. “I hope so. May I introduce Frank and Joe Hardy?” He pointed to Joe and his brother.

  Four blank faces stared down at the boys.

  “Um, hello,” said the drummer, who had a blond crew cut and big black glasses.

  “They solve mysteries,” said Chet.

  The redhead rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother.”

  “They are brothers,” said Chet helpfully.

  The drummer scoffed. “Look, kid, I appreciate it, but I don’t think your little friends are going to help us find a five-hundred-dollar bass guitar.”

  But Dylan held up his hand. “Hold on, Bryce,” he said, looking down at the boys. “You solve mysteries?” he asked. “Like mini-detectives?”

  Joe didn’t like “mini.” “We help out our friends,” he said. “We ask questions and we figure things out. We could help you, if you like.”

  The other boys looked doubtful, but Dylan was nodding. “You figure things out. I like that. Yeah, I could really use your help. What do you need to know?”

  Frank stepped forward. “Tell us exactly what happened,” he said.

  Dylan explained that the band had set up their instruments on the stage, then gone inside to work out their set list, a list of which songs they would sing and in what order. They were inside for just a few minutes, but when they came back, the bass guitar was gone.

  “I need Lucy to play,” Dylan said, his eyes wide. “I can’t play another bass—it’s not the same. And we have the Bayport Battle of the Bands coming up. If I don’t get Lucy back, we’ll have to forfe
it!”

  Joe looked at his brother. “Can you tell us more about the Bayport Battle of the Bands?” he asked.

  Chet jumped in. “It’s a contest. Five local bands play, and one wins. They get a cash prize and a weekly gig playing at the Keen Beans coffee shop. Crush was totally going to win!”

  Dylan smiled down at Chet. “Thanks, little dude.”

  Chet shrugged. “It’s just the truth. You guys rock!”

  Paul’s mom walked up to the group, looking worried. “I searched all over the house,” she told Dylan. “I didn’t see Lucy anywhere.”

  “I told you, Mom,” Dylan said. “I’m sure I left her out here.”

  Paul’s mom bit her lip. “I just don’t understand, then,” she said with a sigh. “Who would have taken it . . . ?” she said, trailing off.

  Joe spoke up. “Mrs. McMahon,” he said, “maybe we should keep people from leaving until we’ve had a chance to talk to everyone? My brother Frank and I are going to help investigate. And if someone at the party took Lucy, it would be good to have everyone here.”

  Paul’s mom looked down at Joe, surprised. “That’s a good idea,” she admitted, “but I’m afraid it’s impossible. A few parents showed up while I was searching the house, and some guests told me they needed to get home. Five of Paul’s friends have already left.”

  Dylan sighed.

  “Let’s search the house again, and the backyard,” Joe suggested. “If we all split up and look, maybe we’ll find something.”

  But twenty minutes later the boys, the band members, and Paul’s parents gathered back at the stage, empty-handed.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Dylan said sadly. “And nobody I talked to saw anything. It’s like Lucy just disappeared without a trace.”

  Joe glanced at Frank. He looked just as disappointed as Dylan. Joe knew that both he and his brother had really hoped to find Lucy tonight.

  Paul’s father sighed. “Well, it’s getting late,” he said. “I think we’d better break up the party and let Paul’s friends go home.”

  Dylan nodded sadly.

  Joe touched his arm. “Listen,” he said, “Frank and I will sleep on it, and tomorrow morning, we’ll start asking around. I promise you we’ll keep looking until we find Lucy or figure out what happened to her.”

  Dylan still looked upset, but he gave Joe a sad smile and held out his hand for Joe to shake. “Thanks, dude,” he said. “I appreciate your help. You and your brother, you’re all right.”

  Joe smiled. He loved helping people when they needed it. That’s why he and Frank loved solving mysteries.

  “All right, kids,” Paul’s mom announced, calling over to the remaining birthday guests, who were clustered under a tree. “Thank you all for coming, but I think it’s time for everyone to go home.”

  Dylan sighed. “I hope we find Lucy soon,” he said, so quietly that only Joe and Frank could hear. “With her missing, there’s no way I’ll get any sleep!”

  3

  The Six Ws

  All right,” Frank said, picking up a marker and pointing to the whiteboard. After a hearty breakfast of pancakes and sausage served up by their aunt Gertrude, he and Joe had climbed up to the tree house their dad had built them in their wooded backyard to go over what they knew about Lucy’s disappearance. “Let’s talk about the six Ws.”

  The six Ws were something their dad had taught them. Fenton Hardy was a successful private investigator who often worked with the police department. He said that the key to solving a mystery was to ask yourself six questions: Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How.

  Frank wrote Who? at the top of the whiteboard.

  “We don’t know Who yet,” Joe said, tapping his chin. “That’s what we have to figure out. Who stole Dylan’s guitar?”

  “I’ll just leave a question mark for now,” Frank said.

  Underneath, he wrote What?

  “That’s easy,” said Joe. “The What is that someone stole Lucy.”

  Frank wrote that in. “The next is When,” he said, writing the question on the board. “And I think the answer is ‘During Paul’s party.’ Whoever did this must have taken Lucy when Dylan and his bandmates were inside.”

  “Right,” said Joe. “So the next question is . . .”

  “Where,” Frank said, writing that on the board.

  “It was from Paul’s backyard,” Joe said.

  “Right.” Frank nodded and wrote that too. He and his brother took in what they’d worked out so far.

  Who?

  What?—Stole Dylan’s bass

  When?—During Paul’s party

  Where?—From Paul’s yard

  Frank crossed his arms. “The only two left are Why and How,” he said, writing the words on the board.

  The boys were silent for a minute, thinking.

  “Those are the hardest ones,” Joe said finally. “Why would someone at Paul’s party want to steal Dylan’s guitar? And how did they do it during the party?”

  Frank didn’t know. It didn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe one of their classmates wanted to learn to play the guitar, but Frank didn’t think anyone from the party would stoop so low as to take someone else’s. And besides, who would be bold enough to steal it from Dylan’s own backyard?

  Then he remembered something Dylan had told them. “There’s that Bayport Battle of the Bands coming up,” he said. “Remember?”

  Joe nodded, his eyes lighting up. “And Dylan said he couldn’t play without Lucy.”

  Frank tapped the tip of the marker, thinking this through. “If Crush can’t play,” he said, “that kind of opens up the field for the other bands, right?”

  Joe nodded again. “It could make it easier for them to win,” he reasoned. “And the prizes were pretty good, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” Frank said, remembering. “Some cash and a weekly gig playing at a coffee shop.”

  Joe frowned. “Maybe someone from one of those other bands stole Lucy?”

  Frank thought about that. “Or maybe someone working for one of those other bands,” he suggested. “I think that’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

  He and Joe looked at each other.

  “How do we find out who the other bands are?” Joe asked.

  Frank smiled. “That,” he said, “is what the Internet is for!”

  The boys rushed down the ladder to their backyard, then ran back to the house and into their dad’s empty study.

  “DAD!” Joe yelled. “Can we use your computer?”

  “Sure!” His father’s answer came from upstairs.

  Frank grabbed the mouse and opened up to his father’s home page. Frank typed in “Bayport Battle of the Bands” and hit the search button.

  “Here we go,” Frank murmured as a link to the Battle of the Bands site came up. He clicked on it, then scrolled down.

  The site listed five local bands:

  Crush

  The Mean Willies

  Babraham Lincoln

  Geezers with Accordions

  The Rock-a-Byes

  “Any of those sound familiar?” Frank asked his brother. He knew Joe listened to the radio more than he did.

  Joe shook his head. “Is there a way to get their contact information?”

  Frank looked over the site. He clicked on a link labeled “For More Information,” then chuckled as he scrolled down. “Check it out,” he said, pointing the mouse at “Contact Person.”

  Joe laughed. The site listed the contact person for the Battle of the Bands as “Susie Zermeño.” One of their classmates and Little League teammates on the Bayport Bandits was Cissy “Speedy” Zermeño.

  “That can’t be a very common last name,” Joe observed. “Do you think they’re related?”

  “Let’s find out tomorrow at baseball practice,” said Frank. “Maybe Speedy can help us find Lucy!”

  4

  A Speedy Answer

  You can do it, Joe!” Chet yelled at baseball practice the next day. Joe stood at bat, staring down Adam Ackerman, who was playing pitcher for the other team. Joe’s team was down 3–1, and practice was nearly over, but the bases were loaded. He knew he had to get on base!

  Adam squinted at him and let loose a curveball. Joe bit his lip, pulled back the bat, and swung to the sky. He heard a sharp crack and saw the ball take flight. Joe dropped the bat and took off running for first base.