A Will to Survive (6 page)

“That is quite correct,” Tanya told the officer. “Joe and Frank are members of our intern program. They have every right to stroll through the grounds if they choose to.”

“At this time of night?” the second officer demanded.

“If you want to study nocturnal creatures such as owls,” Tanya replied, “you must do it at night. Is that all, officers?”

“Sorry, I'm afraid it isn't,” Mike said. “Calling in a false report to the police is not a harmless prank. It can have serious consequences.”

“I don't understand, Officer,” Tanya said. “Who called in this false report?”

“Well . . . we don't exactly know,” Mike admitted. He sounded unhappy. “The guy hung up without identifying himself. But we used Caller ID to check it out. It came from the main number of the Shorewood Nature Center. Our anonymous informant was calling from right here!”

• • •

The two police officers questioned the group, but no one admitted making the call or noticing anything suspicious. Frustrated, the police returned to their car and drove off.

Tanya raised her voice. “All right, friends. The excitement is finished. Let's return to our rooms. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Everyone trudged across the damp lawn toward the house. Callie fell in alongside Frank and Joe. In a low voice, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Grass-stained and humiliated,” Frank joked. “Otherwise, just fine.”

“What do you think, Callie?” Joe asked quietly. “Will the others buy Frank's story about us being out looking for owls?”

Callie hesitated. “I doubt it,” she said at last. “Let's face it, guys. It's not the world's greatest
owl
-a-bi!”

“I'll get you for that,” Frank promised. Laughing aloud, Callie dashed toward the door. Frank was close behind her.

Joe caught up to them in the entrance hall. The others had already gone upstairs. “Kidding aside,” he said, “who sicced the cops on us?”

Frank's face sobered. “From what the officer named Mike said, we know it was a man.”

“That lets out me, Wendy, and Tanya,” Callie said.

“And you and Tanya were the only ones who knew our plans for tonight,” Frank added. “Whoever it was must have spotted us leaving the building. Joe? Any ideas?”

Joe thought back. “I was sure Sal was asleep,” he said. “I could have been wrong, I guess.”

“And I was sure Jack and Rahsaan were asleep,” Frank said. “But I could have been wrong, too.”

“Hey, what if it really was a prank call?” Callie suggested. “Maybe the caller had no idea you were outside and just wanted to make trouble.”

“ 'Fraid not,” Joe said. “Remember? According to Mike, the caller said ‘a
pair
of prowlers.' That's a little too exact to be an accident. No, it has to be one of our roommates.”

“Or Carl, or Bruce,” Callie said.

“Not too likely,” Frank said. “Whoever called
must have noticed us sneaking out. But Carl lives just a five-minute walk on the other side of the woods. And Bruce's quarters are upstairs at the far end of the building. Unless they just happened to be on the spot, how would they have seen us?”

“My money's on Sal,” Joe announced. “Too bad. I like him. But if it were either Rahsaan or Jack, he would have had to sneak out of the room to call the cops without waking the other one. I can imagine someone sleeping through one person sneaking out, but two?”

“Some people are naturally heavy sleepers,” Callie pointed out. “We should find out how deeply Rahsaan and Jack sleep. Though they did both wake up and come down for the ruckus.”

“And Sal,” Joe said.
“If
he slept through my getting up, that leaves him out. I'll question him the minute I get upstairs . . . unless he's already asleep!”

Sal was waiting for Joe by the open door of their room. “Listen,” he said. “I've got a bad feeling about what's going on. What are you and your brother up to?”

Joe spread his hands and shrugged. “We went out to look for owls. Somebody saw us and called the cops. By the way, was that somebody you?”

Sal's neck reddened. “No, I didn't see you, and no, I didn't call the cops. If I
had
seen you, I would have had words with you myself. I don't like the
idea of people prowling around in the middle of the night. There's been too much bad stuff happening around here lately.”

“We asked Tanya ahead of time,” Joe told him. “She said it was all right. Next time I'll be sure to clear my plans with you, too. Okay?”

“You don't have to take it that way,” Sal said. “I'm worried, that's all. Come on, we'd better catch some zzz's.”

Sal turned and walked into the room. As he went past Joe's bed, his foot banged into something that rolled across the floor. Joe went over and picked it up. It was a spool of black nylon thread.

“Where'd that come from?” Sal asked, over Joe's shoulder. “It's not mine. Hey, wait a sec. The guy who pulled that skunk stunt used black thread. Carl told me.”

Joe was thinking the same thing. He turned and gave Sal a hard-eyed look. Then he realized Sal was giving him the same sort of look.

Joe tossed the spool on his dresser. “It's not mine, either,” he said emphatically. “Somebody must have dropped it here.”

Sal stared at him. His fists were clenched. He opened his mouth to speak. Then, shoulders hunched, he turned away.

As he tried to fall asleep, Joe found his thoughts going around and around. Was the thread Sal's? If not, who had left it in their room? The door was not locked. Anyone could have tossed it in. In that case, it was obviously meant as a frame. But who was it
fingering—Sal or Joe? Maybe the person who planted it didn't care whom it pointed to, as long as it pointed away from him . . .

• • •

“Well, well. Look who's here,” Rahsaan said loudly when Joe and Frank came down to breakfast the next morning. “Our two
night owls!”

Sal and Jack laughed and gave the Hardys nasty looks. At least the two had found something to be in agreement about, Joe thought. That was progress.

Joe and Frank filled their plates, poured glasses of milk, then walked to the table. Wendy slid over to make room for them. “I think doing an owl count is a terrific idea,” she said when they sat down.

Joe gave her a grateful smile. More than once, his being undercover had led to people treating him like an outcast. He was used to it. That didn't mean he liked it.

“So do I,” Callie said from the doorway. She stopped at the buffet to fill a bowl with cereal and fresh fruit. Then she sat down across from Joe.

“Let's face it, guys, we're outnumbered,” Jack said to Sal and Rahsaan. He tried to make it sound like a joke, but Joe heard the hostile edge in his voice.

“Did you enjoy the nature trail yesterday?” Wendy asked Frank. “I'm afraid the kids were a handful.”

Frank laughed. “Some of them sure were! But yes, I enjoyed it a lot. And I learned so much. You have to be a real expert to lead a tour like that.”

“Not really,” Wendy told him. “By tomorrow you could be taking a group around yourself. The most important thing is knowing how to admit you don't know something. If you try to fake it, it shows.”

After breakfast, everyone went to the seminar room for a talk about the tropical rain forest. Halfway through, Tanya came into the room and said, “Frank? Joe? Could I speak to you, please?”

As he and Frank got up to leave, Joe could not help feeling they were being sent to the principal's office for acting up. The others had that look he remembered from grade school—a mixture of curiosity, a little sympathy, and a lot of relief that they weren't the ones being singled out.

They followed Tanya to one of the smaller exhibit rooms. “This display case of birds' eggs,” she said, stopping. “It has been moved.”

Joe and Frank looked all around the case. They found faint marks on the dark oak floor, a couple of inches from each of the legs.

“You're right,” Frank said. “It was moved.”

Joe stooped down and tilted his head one way, then the other. “Frank, look!” he exclaimed. “If you catch the reflection of the light just right, you can see a thumbprint on the glass.”

“You're right!” Frank said a moment later. “From the pattern of bumps, I'd say the person was wearing rubber gloves . . . not lab gloves, but kitchen gloves. This could be an important clue!”

Tanya shook her head. “We use rubber gloves for many tasks here,” she said. “They are all over.”

“Still, this may be an unusual pattern,” Frank replied. “We should dust and photograph it.”

While Frank went upstairs to get his camera and fingerprint powder, Joe examined the wall behind the display case. He looked closely at each molding. Even so, he nearly missed a hairline crack. He began pressing on the wood in different places. Just as Frank returned, a panel swung open.

“Did you find anything?” Frank demanded excitedly.

Joe straightened up and cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “A stack of
Life
magazines from the 1950s, and about four tons of dust!”

Before Frank could respond, a bell clanged loudly from nearby.

Tanya gasped. “That's the fire alarm!”

Joe and Frank ran toward the central hall. It was already filling with dense black smoke. Joe threw himself to his hands and knees and peered under the layer of smoke. Dimly he spotted a bundle of clothes piled in the middle of the hall. Was that what was on fire?

Suddenly Joe felt a chill down his back. That wasn't a bundle of clothes. It was Sal! He was lying curled up on the floor—not moving and not breathing.

The thick greasy smoke billowed through the entrance hall. Frank dived to the floor. There was still a layer of breathable air there, but it was no more than nine inches deep.

“Joe—get Sal!” he shouted. “I'll try to find the source of the fire.”

Tanya said, “I'll make sure the others have left the building.”

Joe was already on his way. He pulled himself across the hall on his belly, using his hands and feet. Frank followed him. He took slow, shallow breaths and tried to see where the smoke was coming from.

By now Joe had reached Sal. In quick glimpses, Frank saw him hook a hand under the unconscious boy's armpit and crawl toward the front door. Frank
felt a surge of relief. The most urgent part of the job was done.

Now for Frank's part. He steered toward the densest part of the smoke. His eyes stung. He blinked repeatedly, trying to lessen the pain. Through a mist of tears, he saw, near the far wall, a black metal object about the size of a gallon paint can. It looked as if the smoke was billowing from an opening in the top of the thing.

Frank crawled faster. When he was a few feet away, he saw a chain attached to the neck of the object. Dangling from it was a metal cap a little wider than the opening. Frank touched a fingertip quickly to the cap. It was hot, but not too hot to touch. Leaning on one elbow, he grabbed the cap and dropped it onto the opening in the top of the gizmo. Then, for luck, he banged it a couple of times with his closed fist.

The smoke stopped. Frank twisted around and started to creep toward the front door. The ache in his lungs got worse with every breath he took. He felt a cough rising from his chest and forced it back. If he started coughing, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop.

Frank could hear the blare of sirens and truck horns outside. Boots pounded up the front steps. Two sets of hands grasped Frank by the arms and tugged him out the door into the sunlight and fresh air.

“I'm all right,” he started to say. The effort of
speaking set off the cough he had been holding back.

“Here. This'll help.” A woman in a white jacket handed him a small tank of oxygen with a clear face mask attached. Frank put the mask over his nose and mouth and took a couple of whiffs. It helped a lot.

“Thanks,” he said, removing the mask to speak. “The others are okay, aren't they?”

“They're fine.” The woman pointed to her right. Frank could see Joe and Sal sitting on the steps. Sal looked very pale. The other interns were clustered around them. Callie saw Frank and hurried to his side.

“How do you feel?” she asked, taking his arm.

“Smoky,” he replied, rubbing his forehead. Some greasy soot came off on his hand. “I must look pretty wild.”

“Well, yes,” Callie agreed with a smile. “But you're safe. That's the main thing.”

Three firefighters came out and down the steps. The one in the middle was holding the black metal gizmo in his gloved hands.

Tanya rushed over to them. “What is that?” she asked. “I've seen something like it before.”

“It's a smudge pot,” the firefighter told her. “It's filled with oil and sends out thick smoke. Fruit growers use them to lay down a smoke screen when there's a danger of frost.”

“I thought it looked familiar,” Frank murmured
to Callie. “I saw those in Florida one time, when we visited an orange grove.”

“You mean there is no fire?” Tanya demanded.

“No, ma'am, just a lot of smoke,” the firefighter replied. “Once you clear it out, you should be fine.”

“Uh-oh,” Frank muttered. “More problems on the way.” A van with a satellite dish on the roof was speeding up the drive toward the house. Just behind it was a bright red sports car with the top down. A young woman with short blond hair was at the wheel. Frank had seen her face before, on television.

The van and sports car stopped a few feet behind the fire truck. Two guys in striped overalls got out of the van and started unloading video equipment.

The blond woman got out of her car, looked around, and walked straight to Tanya.