Two hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled. He felt himself falling backward.

  5 Body Check

  * * *

  Frank’s reflexes had been sharpened by many hours of martial arts training. As the attacker pulled him backward, Frank tucked his chin into his chest, drew up his knees, and thrust himself in the direction of the motion.

  His opponent, surprised by the move, let go of Frank’s shoulders and took a step back.

  Frank completed a swift backward somersault and sprang to his feet. Hands raised defensively, he spun around to face his attacker. He recognized him at once. It was Carl, the hockey player who had almost crashed into Callie at the lake on Sunday afternoon.

  “Caught you red-handed,” Carl growled. “I ought to punch you out!”

  Carl’s friend, Brad, joined him. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I caught this jerk trying to rip off something from your backpack,” Carl announced, pointing a finger at Frank.

  “Wrong,” Frank said. “That pack looks like my friend Tony’s. I couldn’t figure out what it was doing here since he’s not in school. I was trying to look at the nametag, that’s all.”

  “Tony?” Brad repeated. “Are you talking about Tony Prito? He just got kicked out of school for lifting a test, didn’t he?”

  “Hey, that’s right,” Carl said. “And this dude’s Frank Hardy. His kid brother got kicked out too. What do you want to bet he was about to put something in your backpack, to clear his brother? We ought to teach him a lesson.”

  Frank planted his feet and raised his arms, ready to meet their attack.

  “Hold on!” someone ordered. “What’s going on?”

  A man with short dark hair and bushy eyebrows stepped between Frank and the two hockey players. Under his dark blue running suit, he was wearing a T-shirt from an ice hockey tournament. A silver whistle dangled from a lanyard around his neck.

  “I’m Coach Dobeny,” he told Frank. “Who are you, and why you are disrupting our practice?”

  Frank identified himself.

  “He’s a professional snoop, him and his brother,” Carl said, breaking in. “I caught him messing with Brad’s backpack.”

  Frank repeated his explanation. “All I wanted to do was read the nametag,” he finally said. “I didn’t even touch the pack.”

  Dobeny looked over at Carl. “Do you agree with his account?” he asked.

  Reluctantly Carl answered, “I guess so. But that’s only because I caught him before he opened it.”

  “All right, I’ll handle this,” Dobeny said. “Carl, Brad, get back to your workout.”

  Before turning away, Carl gave Frank a dirty look.

  “Now, Frank,” Dobeny said in a low voice, “I’ve heard a little about you and your brother, and I’ve heard about what just happened to him. I don’t know what you’re up to—”

  “I already told you,” Frank said.

  The coach frowned. He obviously didn’t like having students talk back to him. “Let me finish. I have some good advice for you. Leave Brad Austin out of your plans. He’s a key player on our team. We have the most important game of the season coming up, against New Harbor. If anybody did something that kept him from playing, I’m afraid his friends and teammates would be very unhappy. Do you hear what I’m saying? Very unhappy!”

  Dobeny stared Frank in the eye for a moment, then spun on his heel and strode back to the waiting hockey players.

  Frank left the gym. His stomach rumbled, reminding him this was his lunch period. On the way to the cafeteria, he stopped at a pay phone and called home. Joe picked up on the first ring.

  “I’m glad I caught you. Any new developments?” Frank asked.

  “A few,” Joe replied. “I’m not sure how they fit together. First of all, I talked to Fred Adolphus, the driver for the express company. He used to go to Bayport, by the way.”

  “Adolphus?” Frank said. “That rings a bell. There’s a girl in my class by that name. Nina Adolphus. Straight A student.”

  “That’s right, I heard her name recently,” Joe said. “You think they’re related?”

  “We should find out,” Frank said. He made a note. “What did Adolphus tell you?”

  “Get this. He left the tests sitting on the school loading dock for fifteen minutes or more, while he went hunting for the guy in charge,” Joe told him.

  Frank caught his breath. “Really? You mean, anybody could have snatched a copy of the test?”

  “Anybody who knew they were there or happened to see them,” Joe said. “Not what I’d call tight security. And there’s another thing.”

  Frank’s eyes widened as he heard about Adolphus stopping at Mr. Pizza. “What do you think?” he asked when Joe finished.

  “I don’t know,” Joe replied. He sounded troubled. “What about you?”

  “I don’t know either,” Frank said slowly. “But let’s face it, the test was in Tony’s backpack. And now we’ve come across a possible link between him and the delivery of the tests. I don’t believe it for a minute. Tony’s not that kind of guy. But friend or not, we’ve got to check it out. Luckily, it’s not our only lead.” He told Joe about Brad Austin and his backpack.

  “Wait a minute,” Joe said. “You mean, the test could have been meant for him?”

  “Could be,” Frank said. “He’s a key player on the hockey team, with a big game coming up. How he scores on the SAB might affect his eligibility. I’ll talk to people in his classes and find out how he does.”

  “Good idea,” Joe said. “Take it easy, though. Word could get back to him that you’re asking questions. I have a hunch he wouldn’t like that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Frank said, a little irritated by the warning. “Now, here’s another thing. There were more calls offering to sell the test on Sunday afternoon. At least one was made from a pay phone at a gas station at Franklin and Pershing. Can you check it out?”

  “Sure thing. Maybe I can even manage to get a description of the caller. I’ll also go by that tutoring service. Maybe there’s no connection, but it’s worth a closer look.”

  • • •

  Joe drove along Franklin Avenue, glancing at the stores he passed. They advertised auto parts, carpet remnants, stereos, and cheap furniture. None of them seemed to be selling much. A storefront lawyer, a nail salon, and a couple of takeout joints completed the scene.

  Joe spotted the gas station. The pay phone was attached to the wall between the soda machine and the door to the office. He turned in and pulled up next to the pumps. After filling the van’s tank, he went inside.

  A tired-looking woman in jeans and a down vest stood behind the counter, filling out some forms. She took Joe’s gas credit card and slid it through the reader, then handed him the slip and a ballpoint.

  “Mind if I ask you a question?” Joe said as he scribbled his signature.

  The woman gave him a wary look. “What about?”

  “My girlfriend got a couple of crank calls over the weekend,” Joe replied. “Nothing really weird, but they bothered her, you know? Well, she got the number they were coming from and asked me to check it out.”

  “Good for her,” the woman said. “Creeps who pull stunts like that should be locked up.”

  “Well,” Joe said, “it turns out the calls came from that pay phone outside. I was wondering if you noticed anybody making a bunch of calls on Sunday afternoon.”

  “Now you mention it, I did,” the woman said, straightening up. “It struck me as funny, since it was freezing out there.”

  “Can you describe the guy?” Joe asked. He held his breath. Was this the break they needed in this case?

  The woman frowned. “Well . . . not really. Sort of average height. Not particularly skinny or fat. He had the hood up on his parka, so I didn’t see his face.”

  “Do you remember what color his parka was?” Joe asked.

  “Blue,” the woman said. “Sort of medium blue, lighter than navy. The reason I noticed, it was almost exactly the same color as his SUV. I had to laugh. What do you think? Did he buy the parka to match his car or the other way around?”

  Joe followed up with more questions, but the woman had already told him all she could. He thanked her and went back to the van to make a note of the conversation.

  The address for U-Score-Hi was in the same part of town, about half a mile away. Joe drove there and parked in front of a two-story frame building with a sagging roofline and peeling paint. A launderette occupied the first floor. The weed-choked lot next door was in use as a parking lot.

  Joe found an entrance at the side, went in, and climbed a flight of squeaky stairs. The door at the top was half wood and half frosted glass. Stick-on letters spelled out “U-Score-Hi, S. Martin, Pres.” He knocked and went in.

  The reception room was just big enough for a secretary’s desk and half a dozen scarred wooden school chairs. There was no one in sight. Through an open door on the left wall, someone called, “In here!”

  Joe went over. The second room was even smaller than the first. It was furnished with a gray metal office desk and three chairs. A man of about forty, with thinning black hair and a heavy five o’clock shadow, looked up from behind the desk.

  “Just put it here,” he said. “Oh, sorry—I thought you were from the Chinese restaurant. I’m waiting for my lunch.”

  “I can come back later,” Joe said.

  “No, no,” the man said hastily. “Come in, sit down. Business before pleasure. I’m Sal Martin, president and general director of U-Score-Hi. And you are. . .”

  Joe sat in one of the chairs and said, “My name’s Joe Hardy. I’m a student at Bayport High.”

  “And you’re a little concerned about this new state test, am I right?” Martin said. “You want to make sure you do well on it.”

  “Um, yeah, it’s pretty important to me,” Joe said. “I’d give a lot to feel more confident.”

  “Joe, you have come to the right place,” Martin said, pointing a forefinger in Joe’s direction. “At U-Score-Hi you get guaranteed results. That’s a promise.”

  “How does that work?” Joe asked. “We don’t have a lot of time before the test.”

  “I know that,” Martin said. “And with our twenty-first–century methods, you don’t need a lot of time. What would you say to a single two-hour session?”

  Joe stared at him. “Two hours? That’s it?”

  “And with guaranteed results,” Martin told him. “You don’t pass, we give your money back. Believe me, Joe, when you leave here, you know the answers. Sound good?”

  “Too good to be true,” Joe replied. “Er, is it very expensive? I’ve heard these prep courses cost a fortune.”

  “Some of them do,” Martin said. “I call it gouging the public. Here at U-Score-Hi we’ve done everything we can to keep our service affordable. The total cost of the course, including materials, is only two hundred dollars, payable in two easy installments. What do you say, Joe? Are you on board?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe said. “It sounds like what I need, but I have to think it over.”

  “You do that, Joe,” Martin said. “But I’d better warn you. Our available spaces are filling up fast. I’d hate to have to turn you away. This is your whole future we’re talking about.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Joe replied. He stood up.

  There was a knock on the outer door. A voice called, “Delivery.”

  “In here,” Martin called back. He took an envelope from his desk drawer and emptied a pile of change on the desk, then started separating out the quarters. Joe stepped aside to let the delivery guy in and left.

  Downstairs Joe started the van and pulled out into traffic. A moment later he stomped on the brakes. A horn blared from behind. He ignored it. He waited until traffic cleared. Then he made a quick U-turn, pulled into a parking space on the far side of the street, and turned off the engine.

  Rummaging through the glove compartment, Joe found an old baseball cap. He put it on and pulled the bill low over his eyes, then settled down in his seat. He kept his eyes fixed across the street.

  The reason Joe had changed his plans so suddenly was something he had spotted in the parking lot next to the U-Score-Hi offices. It was a blue SUV.

  6 None of the Above

  * * *

  Frank carried his lunch tray over to the usual table. Callie, Iola, and Chet were already there.

  “Any news?” Callie asked eagerly.

  “Sort of,” Frank replied. “But the most we can do right now is gather up pieces of the puzzle that we don’t even know for sure all come from the same puzzle. Then we can try to fit them together to figure out what they mean.”

  “What about that telephone number I got from Marcy?” asked Chet. “Was that any help?”

  “Joe’s checking it out,” Frank replied.

  “Someone gave me a number for the guy who’s trying to sell the test,” Chet explained to Iola and Callie.

  “Hey, that reminds me,” Frank said. “Any of you know a skater named Brendan?”

  The others shook their heads.

  “Well, he told me an odd story. He’s one of the people who got a call from this guy. And he said he’d buy the test. But instead of closing the deal, the guy hung up on him. What do you make of that?”

  “Was this Brendan serious about buying it?” Iola asked.

  Frank shrugged. “Hard to say. His story now is that he was only kidding. Why? Do you think that might have come across?”

  “Could be,” Iola said. “Maybe he laughed or something. Or said yes too fast. You don’t come up with five hundred bucks easily.”

  “Good point,” Frank said. “Joe’s also checking out the tutoring service that’s been calling people about the test. The deal they’re offering sounds pretty fishy. Oh—do any of you know a girl named Nina Adolphus?”

  “I do,” Callie said. “From chemistry. She’s really smart.”

  “Do you happen to know if she has an older brother?” Frank asked. Callie shook her head. “Could you find out?”

  “I guess so,” she said.

  “What about me?” Chet said. “Do I get an assignment too?”

  Frank pressed his index finger to his temple. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” he said. “Do you know anybody on the hockey team?”

  “Yeah,” Chet replied. “Barry Waxman. We used to play together when we were little.”

  “Oh, sure, I remember him,” Iola said. “He has red hair and funny ears.”

  “Have a talk with him. See what you can find out about a couple of hockey players, Carl Shute and Brad Austin,” Frank told Chet.

  “Sure. Why them?”

  “Brad has a backpack that looks a lot like Tony’s,” Frank replied, “and the two packs were probably near each other in the gym yesterday.”

  “I get it,” Iola said. “You figure somebody put the test in Tony’s backpack, thinking it was Brad’s. Right?”

  Frank hesitated. Should he mention the possibility that Tony was somehow involved? So far there was no evidence to back it up.

  “That’s the best theory we’ve got so far,” Frank told Iola.

  “Somebody’s got a real generous streak,” Chet said jokingly. “Just think, the going price on those suckers is five hundred bucks. Someone must like this Brad guy a lot to give it to him like that.”

  “Some gift,” Callie remarked. “It hasn’t done a lot of good for Tony and Joe.”

  “It wasn’t the test that did that,” Chet said. “It was Old Beady Eyes. With a big boost from everybody’s favorite girl reporter.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Iola muttered, “here she comes now.”

  Frank looked around. Liz Webling was marching across the cafeteria toward their table. She didn’t look to either side or seem to notice anyone else. Still, Frank was sure she knew people around the room were watching and talking about her.

  Liz stopped an arm’s length from the table. “Frank, we need to talk,” she announced.

  “Sure, Liz,” Frank replied. He spread his arms wide. “Here I am. Talk.”

  “Alone,” Liz said, with steel in her voice.

  Frank gestured toward his tray. “Can it wait? I’m in the middle of lunch.”

  “This can’t wait,” Liz insisted.

  Callie stood up and motioned to Chet and Iola to do the same. “Excuse us,” she said, giving Liz a cold look. “Frank, we’ll catch you later.”

  The three friends picked up their trays and carried them across the room to the disposal area. Liz took Callie’s seat, across the table from Frank.

  “So,” Frank said, after a deliberate bite of his sandwich, “what’s so urgent?”

  “This business with the SAB,” Liz replied. “You’re investigating it. Don’t bother to deny it. I have witnesses.”

  “What makes you think I’d deny it?” Frank asked. “My brother’s been falsely accused of something and unfairly punished. Not to mention being the target of a sneak attack in the media. You bet I’m going to clear him.”

  “Your cases are news,” Liz said. “And this one could be very big news. It could reach way beyond Bayport High School. All the way to the state level. It’s an opportunity I’m not going to miss.”

  “Uh-huh,” Frank said. He took a sip of milk.

  “So here’s the deal,” Liz said. “Whatever you find out, I expect you to tell me first. I want an exclusive.”

  Frank waited for a few moments. Then he asked, “What’s the rest of it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Liz said, lowering her eyes.

  “Sure you do,” Frank said. “You know, the part that starts off ‘Or else. . .’ After that show you put on last night, I can’t think of one good reason I should even talk to you. But you obviously think you’ve got one for me. Okay, I give up. What is it?”

  Liz’s face reddened. Still not looking at him, she said, “If your brother’s innocent, you’ve got no reason not to cooperate with me. So if you don’t cooperate, that’s evidence he really is involved. And that’s something the public needs to know, isn’t it?”