“I think it’s time we did some serious investigation of Leona and Pender,” Joe said. “Let’s get the evergreens and head back.”

  On the way back to the park, Frank thought aloud as Joe drove. “I’m convinced we’re dealing with more than one person. Remember that gunshot? The robbery happened soon after. That could have been one person acting alone, but chances are it was two people working together.”

  “Don’t forget that Craig caused that first diversion with the snowball,” Joe pointed out. “And that guy in the woods just now was big, like Craig.”

  “Maybe,” Frank said, thinking for a moment. “But if Craig was working with the thief, why would he be so obvious about throwing that snowball? Wouldn’t he want to keep a lower profile?”

  “I guess,” Joe admitted.

  When the boys reached the park, they hauled the tarp of evergreens out of the van and headed across the bridge toward the rec hall. About halfway there, they ran into Chet, who helped them drag the evergreens the rest of the way. Inside, Aunt Gertrude was blowing up balloons. She stopped for a moment and led the boys to the supply room. After they unloaded the tarp, the boys returned to the main room in the rec hall.

  “Boy, those hot dogs smell good,” Chet said.

  “You’re right, they do,” Frank said, and turned to Joe. “How about a lunch break before we head over to Pender’s and Leona’s shops?”

  “Sounds good,” Joe agreed.

  Five minutes later Chet, Joe, and Frank were all seated around a table, chowing down on hot dogs, potato chips, and cold sodas. Between bites, Frank told Chet about the attack in the woods. Chet’s eyes went wide when he heard about the ax and the guy in the white minivan.

  “It sounds like someone wants to seriously scare you away,” Chet said.

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” Joe said, standing up to throw away his trash. “Come on, Frank. It’s time to check out Leona and Pender, once and for all.”

  The Hardys left Chet at the tubing hill, then headed out toward Park Avenue to check out Leona’s and Pender’s shops. It had stopped snowing by the time they reached Park Avenue, but the sky was still gray. As they crossed the street, Joe saw a man wearing gold-rimmed glasses enter Leona’s shop.

  “Hey, Frank,” Joe said, pulling his brother back. “Think that’s the guy who bought the watch and ring?”

  “Could be,” Frank said. “He matches the description—early forties, graying hair. See what you can find out,” Frank said. “I’ll check out Pender’s shop.”

  Joe took a deep breath. “Right,” he said, and opened the door of Leona’s shop.

  No one was out front, but he heard voices in the back room. “Then everything’s all set,” the man said.

  “Yes. The festival ends day after tomorrow. I’ve got the plane tickets,” Leona answered. “My lease is up at the end of the month. And the shop at the mall agreed to take any stock that’s left off my hands.”

  Wow, Joe thought. Unless he was wrong, Leona Turner was planning her getaway! As he tiptoed toward the curtain, his foot brushed a flimsy display rack. It toppled to the floor with a loud clatter.

  Leona brushed the curtains aside, rushed into the shop, and glared at Joe. “Joe Hardy! What on earth? Look at the mess you just made.”

  The man with the gold-rimmed glasses stepped through the curtain and sat the rack upright. “It doesn’t matter, darling,” he said. “This time next week we’ll be in Paris, France, on our honeymoon. Leave the boy alone.”

  Leona looked at the sapphire-and-diamond ring on her finger and smiled. “You’re right, of course. I’m so happy about getting married, nothing can spoil it!”

  “You’re getting married?” Joe asked, swallowing his surprise.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Leona said, her eyes beaming.

  “Yeah, right,” Joe said, trying not to be so obviously disappointed. He’d just lost his prime suspect! Obviously, Leona’s watch and the ring were gifts. And her shelves were bare because she was going out of business, not because she couldn’t afford to keep them stocked.

  “Was there something you needed, Joe?” Leona asked. “Or were you just browsing?”

  • • •

  At Pender’s sporting goods shop, Roger Pender stood at the counter of the empty store, talking on the phone. His back was to the door, giving Frank the perfect opportunity to eavesdrop. He gently eased the door shut behind him and walked slowly toward the counter.

  “If you don’t let me have that shipment, I might as well close my doors,” Pender was saying. There was a pause. “But I’ve told you. I can’t pay you right now. I don’t have the money.”

  Frank rummaged through the ski masks and mittens piled on the table. He remembered what a bustling business Castleberry’s had been doing the day before. It sounded as if the new store really was eating into Roger’s business. Frank couldn’t wait to tell Joe that he had evidence to support a motive for Roger Pender.

  “Be that way,” Pender said, and slammed the receiver down.

  Frank coughed slightly to let Pender know he was there. Pender spun around. “Oh, hello, Frank. I didn’t hear you come in.” He gave a weak smile. “Guess you heard the news. Castleberry’s is going to ruin me. I’d hoped the festival would bring some business into the shop, but so far it hasn’t happened.”

  Frank spotted a white ski mask with a blue lightning bolt on the table. Close by was a black one with blue and red stars. He picked up the black mask and walked to the counter.

  “I’m trying to get to the bottom of these robberies,” Frank said, deciding to be direct with Pender. “Joe and I think the robber has access to one of the shops along Park Avenue. The thief disappeared into the alley behind your store after the second robbery. Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around any of the shops?”

  “No, but I wish you’d hurry up and find the guy,” Pender said with a sigh. “It’s hurting festival attendance, and I don’t think my business can take any more strain.”

  “We’ll do what we can,” Frank said. He went to pay for the ski maks. As Pender rang up the sale, Frank asked, “Do any of the shop owners drive a white minivan?”

  Pender dropped the ski mask into a bag and handed it to Frank, a puzzled expression on his face. “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “Just curious,” Frank said. “Well, thanks anyway.” As he turned toward the door, Craig Thompson rushed into the shop.

  “Roger, I—” At the sight of Frank Hardy, Craig came to a screeching halt. He looked nervously at Frank, then at Pender.

  “I was just leaving,” Frank said with a small grin. He knew there was no point in sticking around. But he thought it was awfully curious that Thompson seemed upset to see Frank in Roger’s store. Frank stepped outside, eager to share his news with Joe.

  The younger Hardy was waiting for Frank across the street. As the boys headed back to the park, Frank told Joe about Pender’s phone conversation. “Pender has a motive. He’s the one who’s broke, not Leona.” He opened the sack and handed Joe the ski mask. “I bought this in his shop. What’s more, there was a white one with a blue lightning bolt on the table. They’re both similar in style to the ones the thieves were wearing. And guess who came in just as I was leaving? Craig Thompson.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Joe said. “Let’s get this evidence to Meyers and tell him about the connection between Pender and Thompson.”

  Frank and Joe hurried into the rec hall and went straight to Meyers’s office. They told Meyers what they had learned and gave him the ski mask. Meyers looked interested but skeptical. “Too bad being broke isn’t a crime. We’ll need more evidence than this ski mask to make an arrest.”

  “We’ll keep working on it,” Joe said, and turned toward the door.

  As the boys stepped outside, Chet came running over to them. “Didn’t you say it was a white minivan that tried to run you down?” he asked.

  “Why?” Frank wanted to know.

  “Because there’s a white minivan in the parking lot,” Chet explained breathlessly. “Come on!”

  Frank, Joe, and Chet all rushed out of the rec hall and toward the parking lot. As soon as they got there, Frank pointed out to Joe a white minivan backing out of a parking space. Joe led the race to their own van, climbing behind the wheel. Frank and Chet were right behind.

  Frank scrambled into the front seat as Joe pulled onto the street after the van. “He’s spotted us,” Frank said. “Stick with him.”

  The minivan turned right, picked up speed, and roared around the curve at the base of Bradford’s hill. Joe took the curve as fast as he could.

  That’s when Frank and Joe found themselves staring straight into the grille of an approaching car.

  11 Thin Ice

  * * *

  Frantically, Joe Hardy swerved to avoid the head-on collision. He cut the wheel, first one way, then the other. He tapped the gas pedal, hoping to get some traction to the wheels—at least enough to control the slide. Nothing did any good.

  In the backseat, Chet screamed, “Do something, Joe! We’re going to crash!”

  “Hold on, Chet!” Frank shouted. “Brace yourself!”

  Then, with a bone-jarring, neck-wrenching jolt, the van dove into a ditch and abruptly stopped. Joe held his breath. There was absolute silence, then Chet yelled out, “We’re okay, we made it! I can’t believe we’re actually okay.”

  “That was close,” Frank agreed. “But there goes the white minivan.”

  Joe looked up just in time to see the minivan turn off onto a side road and drive out of sight. He opened the door, jumped to the ground, and ran around to the front of the van. Both front tires were in the ditch.

  He dropped to his knees and looked under the van. “We can forget catching up to him. Our van’s sitting on its axle. We’ll need a tow truck.”

  “I’ll walk back to the park and call the garage,” Frank said.

  After Frank left, Chet got out of the van and stood shivering and rubbing his hands together. “I vote for waiting inside,” he said to Joe. He opened the door and climbed in the back, while Joe sat behind the steering wheel.

  As soon as they got settled, Joe nodded toward the road the minivan had turned onto. “What’s down there?”

  “I don’t know,” Chet said. “After Frank gets back here with the tow truck, we can find out.”

  Chet lifted a blanket and looked under it. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any of your aunt’s cookies in here?”

  Joe grinned. “Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.”

  The tow truck arrived thirty minutes later and pulled the van out of the ditch. Joe started the engine, then checked the lights and brakes. “Everything works,” he said. “We’re in business.”

  After the tow-truck driver left, Joe continued driving down the road. “Now, let’s see where that guy went.” He turned onto the side road a few moments later and saw that it was barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Along the road’s edge, a thick stubble of dead weeds and bushes jutted through the dirty slush left by a snowplow. On his left, Joe saw smoke rising from the chimney of a run-down house, then there was nothing but woods. The crumbling wall surrounding the Bradford estate was on his right.

  A minute or two later, Frank spotted a break in the wall. “Must be the back entrance,” he said, pointing to an overgrown driveway. The gate was secured by a heavy chain and padlock. “Hold on, Joe,” Frank said, leaning forward. “Check it out. There’s fresh car tracks in the driveway. They might belong to the minivan.”

  Joe pulled off the road and parked. Chet stayed inside when the Hardys got out and walked to the foot of the driveway.

  “There are a lot of tracks here,” Joe said. “Some of them are fresh, and some are a couple of days old, judging by the snow in them.” He noticed that someone had cut some dead shrubbery and piled it neatly to one side. He nodded toward the chain and padlock. “They look new, too. What do you think?”

  Frank pursed his lips. “Judging from the shrubbery, I’d guess it must be the estate’s caretaker. He must have made the tracks.”

  “You’re probably right,” Joe agreed. “There’s no way to prove it was our guy in the minivan who was here.” He kicked the snow. “I just wish we hadn’t had that accident. We could have learned so much more if we’d been able to follow him.”

  The Hardys returned to the van, climbed in, and continued along the road. It came to a T at the road north of the park, across from the new mall. “So much for finding the white minivan,” Frank said. “He could be anywhere.”

  “While we’re here, we might as well eat an early dinner,” Chet said. “That new burger place has terrific fries.”

  “He’s right,” Frank said. “We’ve got time before the speed-skating event, don’t we?”

  In all the excitement, Joe had almost forgotten about the competition. He began to get psyched and realized he was starving. “Walk-in or drive-through?” he asked.

  “Drive-through,” both Frank and Chet agreed.

  It was dark by the time the boys finished eating. Joe looked at his watch and saw it was already five-thirty. The skating competition started at six. “We’d better get going,” Joe said. “The races start in half an hour. I don’t want to be late. Craig Thompson might have the mistaken idea that he’s got the race sewn up.”

  They drove to the park, got their skates from the back of the van, and made their way to the lake. There, a crowd had already gathered for the speed-skating events. Joe spotted Craig Thompson sitting on the far end of the contestants’ bench. His pals were in the stands behind him.

  Joe and Frank found seats on the opposite end of the bench from Thompson and put on their skates. Chet spotted his parents in the stands and went to sit with them. A few minutes later, the race officials called the sprinters onto the ice and motioned for them to take their places behind the starting line. Unlike the Olympics, where skaters raced the clock, this thousand-meter was a free-for-all. Everyone skated at once. Whoever crossed the finish line first was the winner.

  Joe looked at Craig Thompson, who was five spaces to his left. Thompson glared at him, then turned back to watch the official starter. Joe glanced at Frank, three spaces away, and smiled when his brother gave him the thumbs-up sign. Joe held his breath in excitement. Whatever it took, he’d beat Thompson.

  Suddenly, the starting gun sounded.

  It caught Joe off guard. He dug the toe of his skate into the ice and pushed off. But that one second’s hesitation meant he was late leaving the starting line.

  Thompson already had a ten-yard lead!

  Joe dug in and planted his left arm on his back in the classic racing stance. His powerful glide began eating into Craig’s lead. At the halfway point, the distance between them was still five yards. The first of two turns was coming up.

  If he was going to win the race, he had to make his move! Both of Joe’s arms were swinging now, adding momentum to each glide.

  He went into the turn flat-out. The edges of his blades cut a razor-thin line in the ice. One wrong move and he’d be down.

  Craig was only three yards ahead when Joe came out of the turn. As they went into the next turn, only two yards separated them. The muscles in Joe’s thighs felt as though they were on fire, his feet like lead as one foot crossed in front of the other. Five strides later, Joe was out of the turn, digging for the home stretch. The crowd roared.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Craig’s back. Then he was beside him, matching Thompson glide for glide. The finish line was only yards away.

  The crowd was on their feet cheering. Every muscle in Joe’s body strained for more speed.

  He gained three inches, then six. A sudden burst of speed put him a whole two feet ahead of Thompson as they crossed the finish line.

  “All right!” came a cry. Frank Hardy rushed over to congratulate Joe. Thompson brushed by on his way back to the bench. “You got lucky this time, Hardy,” Thompson said.

  • • •

  Craig Thompson turned out to be wrong. For the rest of the night, Frank and Joe proved they were the better skaters. Joe won the fifteen-hundred-meter sprint and Frank won the three-thousand-meter race. When it was all over, Thompson glared at Joe and stomped away from the lake. Frank tucked his gift certificate in his pocket and scanned the crowd.

  “Who are you looking for?” Joe asked.

  “David Kennedy,” Frank answered. “Didn’t he say he’d be here to watch?”

  “Hey, that’s right,” Joe said. “Too bad. He missed out on some great skating.”

  “Way to go,” Chet said, coming over to give both Hardys a congratulatory handshake. Then he let out a long yawn. “Well, I’m ready to call it a night. I’m beat!”

  Joe shook his head and grinned. “How do you like this guy? We’ve been on the ice all night, and he’s the one who’s tired.”

  “Can we give you a ride?” Frank asked.

  “No, thanks. I’ll go home with my folks. Catch you guys tomorrow,” Chet said.

  The speed skating was the last event of the night. The crowd drifted off, heading toward the park exits. Joe and Frank took off their skates, then made their way along the crowded footpath. Frank was putting their skates in the van when Joe grabbed him by the jacket.

  “Hey, Frank. Check it out. It’s the white van!”

  As Frank turned to look, the driver got out of the minivan, which was parked across the lot. Just then a family of four passed by, blocking both Hardys’ view. Frank craned his neck and caught a glimpse of the man heading into the park. He had a large build and was wearing tan pants.

  “Get the license number of the van,” Frank said. “I’ll follow him.”

  Frank raced off after the guy, while Joe went for the license-plate number. But Frank lost sight of the guy among the people leaving the park. Frank was standing in front of the rec hall, scanning the crowd, when Joe hurried to his side.

  “I got the license number,” Joe said. “Where’s the guy?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said, searching the crowd. “I lost him as soon as I got inside the park. He just disappeared.”