Chapter 13: Invasion!

“Who is this?!”  Nancy didn’t take kidnap threats lightly.

The voice didn’t answer; it merely continued with what it had been saying before.  “There’ll be four of them—they’ll have two cars.  One will stop in front of your house—the other will stop along the side.  Have all the doors and windows blocked—including the upstairs ones—and be ready to defend yourselves at one of the points.  This gang will stop at nothing, and they’re determined.  You have three minutes!”

“How do you know this?” Nancy asked.  “Are you with them, or—hello, hello?  Hello?!”

Her last words went unheeded.  The caller had hung up.

“Was that Ellen?” Frank asked, referring to his sister’s best friend.  “She’ll be pretty mad that you didn’t recognize her voice—”

“Ellen, nothing—it was a kidnapping warning.  For you!  You’re going to be kidnapped in—in three minutes!”

Susan, running back in the room, dropped her cup of cream soda in surprise.  “Kidnapped?” she gasped.  “Oh, how awful!”

A look of surprise crossed Frank’s face.  “You’re joking, right?”

“Not unless the person on the phone was, and considering all that’s happened lately—”

“We’d better take them seriously,” Frank said.  “Louis!  Call the police!”

His brother had already hopped up and raced to the phone.  As he picked it up, Frank started bossing his siblings around.  “Help me move that sofa in front of the front door.”

“What about the window—”

“Not tall enough.  We’ll cover it with something else.  Susan, go make sure all the upstairs windows are closed and locked.”

“Hello?  Hello?  Hello?”  Louis held the receiver to his ear, then hung up disgustedly.  “Frank!  The line’s dead!”

“Dead?” said Nancy.  “But it can’t be!  I just talked on it a moment ago!”

“They must already be going into action!” said Frank.  “We don’t have much time.  Let’s get the blinds shut!”

He quickly made sure the slats were closed on the large, picture windows.  “Turn out all the lights, too!  That’ll make it harder for them to see us.  They’ll need flashlights—we won’t!”

He was barking out orders quickly, but his siblings were efficient.  Susan came bounding down the stairs—tripping towards the bottom, but catching herself just in time.  She had a large pile of stuff gathered from her siblings’ closets.  “I thought these things might come in handy!”

“Sure will, thanks.  Go back upstairs and see if Mom or Dad left a cellphone in the bedroom.  If so, call the police.  That should work!”

Nodding, Susan bounded away.

“Are they after us, or just Frank—”

“All the person mentioned was Frank,” Nancy said.  “High voice—sounded almost like a girl’s—”

“Stephanie?” Frank asked.

“No, I hadn’t heard it before.”

“Brittany, then!  Or maybe—”

Whatever else Frank had been planning to say was interrupted as a pair of headlights pulled up outside, then flickered off.

“Is the garage door shut—”

“The overhead one is,” said Frank, “but let’s barricade the one that leads into the house.  The kitchen table, Louis!”

He and his brother got the Andersons’ heavy oak table positioned in front of it.  Meanwhile, Nancy (straining as hard as she could) pulled the big old TV over to the front of the backdoor.

“Of course, this only takes care of the doors,” she said, rejoining her brother.  “We haven’t had time to do the windows—”

“There is no time,” said Frank.  “Get your defense strategies ready, and pray, because when we hear a sound—”

Thunk!

That came from the backdoor—it was soon repeated.  The Andersons briefly had a glimpse of two shadows standing there before a blunt object smashed the light that led out to the backyard.

“Vandalism,” snorted Louis.

“That’s slightly better than kidnapping,” observed Frank.  “Hopefully, they don’t accomplish that tonight.”

There was another thunk, but it didn’t seem to do anything.  The door was pretty sturdy.

“Only two shadows?” whispered Nancy.  “That might mean that there’s—”

Thud!

That came from the front entrance.

“Let’s check on it,” said Frank.  “Try not to let them see you.”

It was dark enough inside the house that the three were able to slip to the front without flashlights.  Since it was their house, they could get around perfectly easily, lights or no lights.  Without even tripping, they made it over to the front door.

“Seems to be holding firm,” said Nancy.  “I feel like this is only Level 1—”

Susan interrupted.  “No phone!”

“Alright, then—the burglar alarm!  Louis, go type in the wrong password!”

“The wrong—”

“So it’ll go off!  Hurry!”

His brother ran off to find the keypad, while Frank and Nancy waited, guarding the door.  The front light revealed one shadow on the stoop.

“The person said four,” Nancy said.  “I wonder where the other one is—”

A squeal of tires soon answered that question.  The revving engine seemed pointless—until there was a squeal, a snap, a crash!!!  and then, the sound of heavy metal, sliding slowly across cement.  The house shook a little from the force.

“Goodness, what was that?” Nancy shrieked, looking around.

“Garage door!” said Frank.  “They probably think we left the inside one unlocked—”

Noises from the handle and banging soon confirmed his guess, and Frank was glad he hadn’t overlooked that detail.

Louis came running into the front hallway.  “The alarm’s not working!”

“Not working?” said Nancy.  “That can’t be!  We just had it serviced last week!”

“It might not be the alarm that’s the problem,” said Frank.  “Perhaps the gang’s got the signal blocked—in which case, it wouldn’t be any good—”

“What are we going to do?” shrieked Susan.  “If they get inside—”

“Wait, I’ve got it!” said Louis.  “Come with me, Susan.  This will probably work!”

He and his sister raced out of the room, off to get something.  Nancy turned to her brother.

“Well?”

“Well, let’s hope they’ve got a good plan up their sleeve.  Susan’s right, though.  We’d better watch the windows—”

Crash!

 A pane broke in the living room.  Grabbing a couple weapons out of the pile Susan had brought down, Frank and Nancy raced into the front—in time to catch someone climbing through the window!  A couple swings, and they had the intruder knocked out-with their baseball bats!

“I hope he’s alright,” Nancy said, looking down at the figure on the floor.  “These things can be dangerous.”

“You break into a house—whatever happens next is your fault.  I hope he’s alright, too.  Something seems too simple about this, though.  I mean, wouldn’t he realize when he broke the window that we’d know where to find him—”

Thunk!

“What was that?” Nancy whispered.

“It came from the hall,” said Frank.  “Sounds like someone bumped into—”

“Oof!” the voice rejoined.  Nancy stiffened.

“That’s not Louis or Susan!” she whispered stiffly.

Frank grabbed her arm, then put a finger to his lips—Nancy could just barely see him.  The two crept through the room, pausing at the edge of it.  They took up positions at either end of the arch that led to the hallway, and Frank slowly brought his head around—

In time to feel a puff of breath from another burglar’s face!

WHAM!!!

“You got him!” Nancy exclaimed, poking her head out.  “Two down, two to—”

“FREEZE!!!” yelled a voice.

Hair standing on their backs, Frank and Nancy whirled around in time to see—uh-oh, the window.  While they’d been knocking out the thug in the hallway, somebody had clambered in through the opening in the front.  That flashlight wasn’t all he had trained on him—he was also holing a gun.

Neither of the Andersons was close enough to hit him, but Nancy was right next to the light switch, and she flicked it on, revealing—

“Holy smokes!  Mugs Barnette!”

If the tough from Oklahoma City was pleased at being recognized, he made no show of it.

“You all got a warning in Bricktown, and you didn’t listen.  Now, one of you is going to disappear. The other one’s going to get hurt real—”

BEEEP!  BEEEP!  BEEEP!

Barnette glanced past the Andersons—momentarily shocked by the alarm.  It was followed by another— BEEEP!  BEEEP!  BEEEP!—

And another— BEEEP!  BEEEP!  BEEEP!

And another— BEEEP!  BEEEP!  BEEEP!

Until there was a whole chorus of BEEEP!  BEEEP!  BEEEP!s, echoing throughout the house!

Frank and Nancy dove into the hallway, then lined themselves up at either side of the arch.  They waited thirty seconds, then peered back into the room.  The unconscious thug was still lying at the window, but there was no sign of Barnette—until a car started and sped off out front.  A moment later, another one sped off—this one on Ponca Avenue.

Susan came hopping down the stairs, grinning like a lark.  “I got to play with the firelighter—I got to play with the firelighter—”  The smile left her face, replaced by an expression of shock as she saw the thug lying in the hall.  “Oh, my goodness!  Who’s that?!”

Frank took a look.  “You should know,” he said, kicking the unconscious figure over.  “We ran into him in Oklahoma City a few days ago.  That’s Slick Jordan!”

“The other one’s a stranger,” said Nancy, checking the one in the living room.

Louis, reaching the stairs, had overheard.  “Well, don’t worry,” he said.  “The fire department will be here in a few minutes, and they should bring the police and an ambulance.  That was a nice idea you had, Frank—to set off the smoke detectors!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I might lose, but you can’t win!”

He was good with a gun, brilliant, and almost as fast with his fists as he was with a racecar.  Nick Diamond was Oklahoma City’s finest sprint car racer/detective, and few things ever got in his way—until the girl went missing.  Hired to find her, Diamond followed a crooked trail to a boarding school, a burned-up oil derrick, and a hotel bar late at night—before winding up in the lair of Oklahoma City’s worst gangster.  That should have meant certain death, but all Diamond got out of it was a lump on the head and a promise that he’d never wrap up the case.  Was the most obvious suspect responsible, or was there something more sinister afoot?  Could Diamond defy predictions, or would OKC’s speediest detective lose for once?  Find out in—

NICK DIAMOND, PRIVATE EYE!

Set in 1960s Oklahoma City, a throwback similar to 1940s and 1950s detective films.  If you like those, you should like this as well—or, you may just enjoy recognizing familiar Oklahoma landmarks, should you be from the area.  A fast-paced story that’ll keep you on the edge of your seat.  Fun for the whole family.  Don’t lose your steering wheel!

Available at https://www.amazon.com/Nick-Diamond-Private-Matthew-Zisi/dp/1985645750/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1522063027&sr=8-1&keywords=Nick+Diamond%2C+Private+Eye+Zisi

Chapter 12: “In precisely four minutes, he’s going to get kidnapped!”

Just after 9:20 that night, the phone rang.  It was Mr. Anderson, who, much to the rest of his family’s disappointment, had to work late once again.  He was excited when he called, though.  “Good news, Frank!  We found another one of those dealerships!”

Frank knew what that meant.  “Another place where they’re selling the stolen cars?”

“Yes!  This one was Greg’s Auto World, over by Warr Acres.  About half the vehicles on his lot were reported stolen.  Just like Bob’s, they were from all over the state.”

“Excellent!” said Frank.  “You don’t suppose that one was their base, do you—”

“Afraid not,” Mr. Anderson said.  “A patrol officer in the area saw the dealership and put two and two together—that’s how we found it.  Anyway, there’s not a Subway within a mile, so it couldn’t be it.  Not if Bob’s clue was right.”

“I see,” said Frank.  “Interesting.  Very, very interesting.  Well, thanks for the update!”

“You’re welcome!” said his father.  “Everything going alright at home?  Mom called and said she made it to Waurika safely.”

Late that afternoon, Mrs. Anderson had gotten a call from her sister Lilly, asking her to come visit for the next couple nights.  Like most invitations, there was a reason for it.  In this case, it was sickness.  Not Aunt Lilly’s sickness—she was one of those people who never seemed to get a cold—but her neighbor’s pet goat.  It seems the poor animal had eaten something it wasn’t supposed to, the vet had written a prescription, but the harried owner had already made plans to travel that weekend.  Aunt Lilly had made a promise, and she was sticking to it, but a healthy goat was hard enough to handle, without any illness involved.  Like the good older sister she was, Mrs. Anderson had readily agreed to help her sibling—which meant that her children would be at home by themselves the rest of the night.  That was fine with the Andersons, though.  They rather liked evenings on their own—once in a while, anyway.

“Sure, things are going swell here,” replied Frank.

“Well, don’t wait up for me,” said Mr. Anderson.  “I probably won’t be back until hours after you go to bed—like three A.M.”

“After?” quipped Frank.  “You mean before!  Have a good night, Dad!”  Laughing, he hung up the phone.

“Before what?” Nancy asked.  She, Louis, and Susan were kneeling around the coffee table in the front living room, waiting for Frank to rejoin them on the puzzle they were working.  Actually, they weren’t waiting.  Mt. Rushmore had improved in the five minutes Frank had been on the phone—Roosevelt’s nose was now visible.

“Oh, nothing—private joke.”  Frank wandered back to the table, staring out the window at the pouring rain.  It had started sprinkling around four, and though the rain wasn’t coming down hard, it wasn’t stopping, either.  The orange streetlight glinted cheerily off the wet pavement, though the beam itself did not light the house much because of a tree in between.  Still, the Andersons had a ceiling light and two lamps on, giving them plenty of light to work the puzzle.  They had left the blinds open, in order to watch the occasional passing cars.

Susan was digging through the box, searching the umpteenth time for the last end piece.  “It must be here somewhere!” she insisted.

“Susan, we’ve had this puzzle for a while,” Nancy explained.  “I can’t remember if all the pieces are here or not.  Why don’t you work on another section—”

“Once I find the end piece!”

Frank smiled at his youngest sibling.  “I know you.  You’ll find that last piece even if you have to make one.”

“It’s easier than trying to put all the sky pieces together, like Louis is doing.”

“She does have a point there,” said Nancy.  “Why are you working so hard on the sky, Louis?  They’re all the same color!”

“Yes, but nothing else is,” replied Louis.  “The blue pieces stand out in the box.  It’s just a matter of making them fit together.”

“We ought to get one of those 3-D puzzles sometime,” Frank said.

Susan glanced up.  “3-D?  As in, something that actually stands up?”

“Exactly!” said Frank.  “Dick and Ellen have a SAFECO Field one—it’s the coolest thing!  Well, I take that back—a Wrigley Field one would be cooler, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Who plays at SAFECO again?” Louis asked.

“Mariners,” Nancy knowingly replied.  “I think their parents got it when they used to live in Washington.”

“The Whites’ parents, not the Mariners’ parents,” Frank said.

“Thanks,” said Louis, sarcastically.  “I was wondering what Nancy meant.”

“There!” said Nancy, putting in a piece. “Jefferson’s head is complete!”

“Good for you, Nancy!” Frank surveyed the clump of pieces.  “Looks like a nickel.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s the guy on the nickel,” Nancy said.

“Speaking of nickels,” spoke up Louis, “I found one of the 2004 ones today.  You know, the ones commemorating the Lewis and Clark expedition—”

“Oooh, did it have the hands shaking on the back?” Frank asked.

“No, it was the one with the boat,” said Louis.  “I’m going to hold on to it—”

“You do that,” said Frank.  “Mark my words—those are going to be worth a lot of money someday.  Especially since they were only made one year.  Like the 2009 pennies.  They’re common enough now, but in fifty years, in good shape—who knows how much they’ll be worth!”

Susan hopped up from the table.  “I’m going to get myself some cream soda.  Want anything?”

The others shook their heads.  “You need any help pouring it?”

“No thanks!  I can manage!”  Susan went racing out of the room, eager for one of her favorite drinks.

“That actually does sound good right now,” Nancy said, reconsidering.  “I think I’ll—no, I’ll wait until I finish George Washington.  It’s only two more pieces.  That shouldn’t take too long.”

“It wouldn’t,” said Frank, “except Louis probably has them in his pocket.”

“What are you talking about?” Louis asked.  “The only piece I’ve got in my pocket is that end one Susan’s looking for.”

“Louis!”

“Just kidding!”

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Nancy hopped up from the table.  “My turn to get it,” she said.  Darting across to the sofa, she plopped herself down and reached for the receiver.  Out of habit, her eyes strayed to the caller ID.  (405)781-4646.  Don’t know the number, but it’s somewhere around Oklahoma City.  “Anderson residence—Nancy speaking!”

“Frank Anderson’s sister?”

Nancy’s eyes glanced suspiciously towards the receiver in her hand.  That voice wasn’t familiar—yet it wasn’t one of those deep, raspy voices that seem to always call for threats.  It sounded like that of a kid, but if so, it wasn’t one Nancy knew.

“Y-yes, I’m his sister—”

“Alright, listen carefully!” the voice spoke urgently.  “It’s 9:26 now.  In precisely four minutes, he’s going to get kidnapped!”

Chapter 11: Titular Developments

“Yes.  Yes.  Hmmm, I see.  And they haven’t—no?  Ah, OK.  Well, if there are any new developments, be sure to call me.  Yes.  Yes.  Oh, no—you’re welcome.  Goodbye.”

Frank hung up his phone and picked up his pen—from the Captains Endowment Association of the New York City Police (his father had friends in the department).  Clicking it open, he crossed out a name on a sheet of paper.  Then, picking up the phone, he started to dial another number.

The door to the room swung gently open.  “What are you doing?” Susan asked.

Frank glanced over at her.  “Calling the police departments in major cities around the state and seeing if they’re having problems with car thefts.  I’ve already spoken with Guthrie, Ponca City, Woodward, Perry, and Chickasha—they’re all having car theft problems.  In each one, it’s cars that were made in the last twenty years.”

Susan made a face.  “Where’s Woodward?”

“Three hours from here.  The last town of any size before you reach the panhandle, or the end of civilization, as Mr. Hightower likes to put it.”[1]

Susan nodded.  “Why don’t you call Blackwell and see if they’ve been having trouble?”

Frank gave his sister a funny look.  “Uh, Susan!  We found that out from the beginning.  That’s probably why Brittany disappeared in the first place—”

“I mean since then!” insisted Susan.  “They might’ve made some progress in the case that you haven’t heard about.”

“Oh, I see,” said Frank.  He checked the clock.  “I guess that can’t hurt.  I’ll give them a call.”

Picking up the phone, he dialed the number.  Four rings went by before anyone answered, but Frank scored mightily with the pickup, as Chief Morris answered the phone.  He was reluctant to talk to someone Frank’s age about the case at first, but when he found out that Frank knew Brittany’s pen pal, his attitude softened somewhat.

“I wish we could say there was something new, but there isn’t.  Outside of car robberies.  Those thieves must read our mind!  Every time we think we know where they’ll strike, they do something new!  Last week, they scoped out a house and waited for the owner to go to work, then showed up in a tow truck and made off with the car!  We found the tow truck, abandoned—there hasn’t been a sign of the car since.”

“Clever,” marveled Frank.  “What about Brittany?”

“No, she and the other girl are still missing—”

“Wait a second!” Frank’s ears perked up.  “The other girl?”

“Sure, there were two missing.  I thought Porter told you about them.”

“He only mentioned Brittany.  Who’s the other one?”

Even as Frank asked the question, though, a guess had popped into his head.  When Chief Morris told him the name, he pumped his fist excitedly.  That guess was confirmed, and now, another piece of the puzzle was falling into place.  After a couple more questions, he was bursting with excitement.

“Thanks for the help, Chief,” Frank said.  “Have a wonderful day!”

“You as well,” said Morris.  “Good luck!”

Getting up from his seat, Frank ran to the door.  “Nancy?  Nancy?  Hey, Nancy!”

“She’s at the library!” Susan said, poking her head out of the room.  “Find out anything important?”

“I’ll say!” Frank exclaimed.  “Listen to this!”

Louis popped out of his room, having heard the commotion.  He and Susan listened intently as their big brother filled them in on the details.  Then, the three waited impatiently for Nancy to get home.  She’d just left, and an hour and a half passed before she finally reappeared on the street, but hardly had she stepped on the front walk before Frank swung open the door.

“You’ll never guess what I found out…” he started, but his voice trailed off as he saw the grin in her sister’s face.  She was clearly excited about something as well.

“No, you’ll never guess what I found out!” she said.  “It’s about Stephanie!”

“Stephanie!  What’s the news?”

“Well…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The nice thing about living in the city was that many things were in walking distance from the Anderson residence.  One of these was the Norman Library, which could be reached in less than a half hour at a leisurely pace.  Norman was safe enough that no one bothered Nancy as she walked there alone, all set to pick up books.  Once she walked into the children’s section, though, she was alone no longer.

“Nancy!” called a familiar voice, and Ashley Dale came running over.

“Good to see you, Ashley!” Nancy said, giving a hug to little Ron, who’d also come running up.  “Here to get books?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly come here to do a chemistry experiment, if that’s what you mean.”  Ashley smiled.  “Same for you?”

“Yep,” Nancy answered.  “I just finished this fascinating murder mystery by Agatha Christie!  You’ll never guess who did it!”

“How can I, if I haven’t read the book?” said Ashley.

“Even if you did, you probably wouldn’t guess.  I thought he’d be out of bounds, but not in her stories.  It was the narrator!”

Ashley gasped.  “You mean—wait, was it one of those stories that centers around the criminal—”

“Yes, and no,” said Nancy.  “The way it’s set up, you think the person’s trying to help the detective solve the case.  He conveniently glosses over the actual murder with some vague statements when he commits it, then covers up evidence.  It seems rather like Dr. Watson narrating a Holmes case—until you get to the end, that is!”

“Goodness!” said Ashley.  “What’s it called?”

Nancy grinned.  “I can’t tell you that!” she said.  “That would spoil it for you!  You’ll just have to hope you stumble across it one of these days—”

“Nancy, Ashley!” exclaimed a librarian, walking over to join the two.

“Hello, Mrs. Cuthbert,” Nancy said.  The elderly librarian had been a staple in the Norman Central children’s section for—goodness knows how long.  Probably since the building opened in the early ‘60s.  Tall and slender, with curly-white hair and steel-framed glasses, she was a favorite of children at the library.  She knew all their names by heart—as well as when they’d kept a book past its due date.

“Did you come by yourself?” the librarian asked Ashley, “or is your family with you?”

“Well, Ron’s right here, and the others are…somewhere around.”  Ashley glanced around and soon spotted several of her siblings, but she didn’t bother to point them out.  That would’ve taken too long.

“Well, if you see Stephanie before I do, you tell her that she needs to get those books returned!  They’ve been overdue for three days now!”

Ashley’s face fell.  “Didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?”

Nancy saved her friend the trouble by quickly explaining.  Instantly, a concerned look came over the librarian’s face.

“Oh, I had no idea!” she said.  “I’ll be praying that she turns up safe and sound!”

Ashley managed a wan smile.  “I appreciate it!”

Nancy, however, had an idea.  “Wait, you know that she has overdue books.  Would you happen to know which they are?”

“Certainly!” said the librarian.  “They’re Life of Thomas Edison by Jay Gibbons—”

“Hold on a second,” said Nancy, pulling a pen and paper out of her pocket.  “Okay, what were the books?”

“Life of Thomas Edison by Jay Gibbons, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: A Guide to Transportation by Jesse Orosco, and Jasper Dash and the Flame Pits of Delaware by M.T. Anderson.

“How do you spell Orosco?” Nancy asked, furiously writing.  The librarian spelled it, having no need to repeat it—Nancy was determined to get these titles written down!

“Someone actually broke in our house and stole them the other day,” explained Ashley.  “Otherwise I’d return them.”

Mrs. Cuthbert looked shocked.  “Stolen library books!  Who’d steal a library book?”

“That’s what we’re wondering,” said Nancy, putting the cap back on the pen.  “We thought there might be a clue in one of them.  Are there any other copies in the library system?”

“I’ll check on that,” said Mrs. Cuthbert.  “If you’ll follow me over to the computer…”  She looked up the information, but her only reaction was a headshake.  “Those seem to have been our only copies of those titles.  Maybe that’s why they were stolen.”

Nodding, Nancy said.  “Thanks, Mrs. Cuthbert.  You’ve been very helpful.  Very helpful, indeed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “So, what do you think?”  Nancy beamed as she finished her story.

“What do I think?” Frank asked.  “I think we’re off to Barnes & Noble!  Go get Mom; tell her to take us!  Louis, Susan!  Be ready in five minutes!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Anderson was available to drive her kids to the Barnes & Noble—seventeen minutes away, on the other side of town.  Navigating the traffic lights seemed like it would be the hardest part, but a greater obstacle awaited the Andersons at the store, where two of the books were unavailable.  The bookstore had a copy of Jasper Dash and the Flame Pits of Delaware, but the other titles wouldn’t arrive for another week.  Mrs. Anderson placed an order for those, and Frank and Nancy flipped through the Jasper Dash book on the way home.  They found it very entertaining, but they concluded upon their return that the clue must be in one of the other two books.

“The others aren’t fiction,” Nancy pointed out.  “Everything in them is real.”

“Delaware’s real,” quipped Frank.               

“Not that Delaware,” Nancy said.  “Anyway, I’ll bet one of those books mentioned something that had to do with the case.  Probably the transportation one.  It must talk a lot about cars—maybe there was some information in there that would give us a lead on the car thieves.”

Frank’s eyes widened.  “That would make sense!” he said.  “It would explain why Stephanie disappeared.  After all, she didn’t know anything about the car robberies, aside from what Brittany told her.”  He sighed.  “I just wish we didn’t have to wait a week to get it.”

“I can tell you one thing about cars,” Mrs. Anderson said, as she pulled the Expedition back into the driveway.  “They’ve changed a lot since I started driving them.”

“You’ve told us,” grinned Frank.  “A lot of motors have fallen out of your first model.”  Mrs. Anderson’s original vehicle had been a Yugo.  It was a terrible car, but she’d met Mr. Anderson as a result of a breakdown.  They’d known each other ever s—well, I guess that’s obvious.

“I don’t think those thieves would be stealing a Yugo,” said Louis.  “What would be the point of that?”

“Well, anyone else who has a Yugo would need new parts—”

“But not many people have Yugos,” Nancy said, as they got out of the car.  “You know that as well as anybody.”

“That’s a good point,” said Frank.  “Come to think of it, not many people have Chrysler Three Hundreds either—particularly not from the 1970s.  In fact, none of the cars stolen so far have been that old.”

“The thieves might not be trying to get rid of that one,” Nancy said.  “If the thieves are in Oklahoma City, it’s probably just lying around, wherever they’re located.  We could search for it and find their hideout that way!”

“You’re forgetting garages, though,” Frank pointed out.  “Plus, Oklahoma City’s pretty big.  We couldn’t search through it all.”

“Oh, you’re right,” said Nancy.  “I should’ve thought of that.”

“Still, it’s a useful observation,” Frank said, as they went inside.  “There’s no harm in keeping our eyes open for the Chrysler.”

---

[1] Deacon from the Andersons’ church, as you’d know if you’d read Book 2, Duet of Secrecy.

Chapter 10: Who Is ADR?

It took a while for the Andersons to get back to the police station.  First, the exit off of I-240 had to be closed off.  Four more cars hit the slick before Anderson and Rivera made it back to the main road with flashlights, to warn drivers not to take the exit.  Of those four, two actually did go off the road.  Ambulances were required, but they couldn’t go right up to the accident.  Special work trucks had to be brought in to clean up the mess before the tow trucks could even reach the crashed cars.   All told, it was about an hour by the time the group finally reached the police station.  Five officers were in the main room when the Andersons walked in, and Mr. Anderson could tell by their faces that the news wasn’t good.

“They lost the truck?” he asked Rogers, a former Texan who worked the night shift.

The officer nodded.  “Yalp.  It’s a durned shame our roadblocks didn’t work. We had I-44 blocked, all them exits stopped up, and he still gets by!  Ain’t a trace of an Atlas truck all night.”

“Not a one?”

“Walp, the closest we came was an Allied truck.  You know’s well as I do that it couldn’t have been the same one.  Atlas is Rangers colors—Allied is—uh—it’s, uh—

“Orange,” finished Frank.  “Clemson Tigers.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was going for.  Other than that, nothing.  The road’s emptier than downtown Normangee[1] on a Tuesday evenin’—except at the roadblock, where we’ve got them cars all bottled up.  ‘Course, maybe he’s just takin’ it slowly—”

“No, that wouldn’t be it,” sighed Mr. Anderson.  “He must have slipped through our fingers somehow.”  Sitting down in his chair, he pounded his desk disgustedly.  “If only it weren’t for that oil!”

“At least we know where he’s going!” Nancy said.  “Somewhere southwest of the city.”

“Did you get a look at him at all?” Mr. Anderson asked, glancing up at his son.

Frank shook his head.  “I was too busy ducking, but I’ll remember that voice again if I ever hear it.  Pretty deep-sounding—”

“Any voice would sound deep compared with that car dealer,” a fair-haired officer spoke up.  His nameplate identified him as Evans.

“What happened to him?” Frank asked.

“Banged up, but he’ll live,” Evans said.  “We’ll interview him as soon as he comes to, which hopefully won’t be long.  Apparently, he knew something about the gang—”

“I think he knew where their hideout was!” Frank said excitedly.  “He said something about, ‘They’ll be taking you off to that Subway they hide—,’ and then the other fellow came in.  I ducked, and—hey, who turned out the lights?”

The others stared at him questioningly.  “Uh, no one, Frank,” his sister replied.  “It’s perfectly bright in here—”

“No, I mean at the car dealership,” Frank said.  “When I hit the floor, the lights went out just before the shots were fired.”

“Shooter, mebbe?” Rogers said.  “Keep yuh from seein’ him?”

“No, he would’ve needed the light to be able to hit Bob,” Frank said.  “The way he wanted to, I mean.  Plus, there was someone else in the room!”

“Someone else?” exclaimed Evans.  “Who?”

“I don’t know,” said Frank, “but after the shots were fired, the door to the showroom slammed, and I heard running footsteps.  A few seconds passed before I started to get up.  Then, the door to the lot popped open, and someone else went running out—”

Nancy gasped.  “We saw that!”

“Did you get a look at the figure?” Frank asked.  To his surprise, his father shook his head.

“All we saw was the door open,” Mr. Anderson explained.  “When Nancy and I reached it, I looked around, but there wasn’t anyone in sight.  Whoever came out must have hidden among the parked cars while we went inside.”

“Unless it’s that dude in the truck,” Rogers suggested.

“No, that couldn’t be it,” said Frank.  “Whoever took the door to the lot couldn’t have gotten to the truck that fast.  There must have been two people besides Bob and myself.  Oh, if only we’d thought to look for the second one!”

“They’re probably miles away by now,” Mr. Anderson said.  “Were they there together, I wonder, or had the second one come for a different reason?  They didn’t leave with each other, obviously.”

“I think we need to go back to the dealership and have a look around,” Frank said.  “Maybe there’s something we missed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four policemen were already searching the office when the Andersons returned.  One of them was a little more familiar than the rest.  A look of surprise came over Mr. Anderson’s face as he saw who it was.

“Sellers?” he said.  “I thought you had the night off!”

His friend groaned.  “I thought I did too.  Between the Harcourt case and this, Jennings is calling out every man he can get his hands on.  Fortunately, I get to go back to bed as soon as we finish searching the place.”  He pointed around the room.  “Give it a look.  Maybe some less tired eyes will spot something I didn’t.”

Mr. Anderson nodded.  “Anything interesting, Bottomley?” he asked the officer in charge, a tall man with an unusually long mustache that bobbed up and down as he talked.[2]

“A few items,” the officer said in a very serious tone.  “First, we managed to identify one of the cars in the parking lot.  See that blue Kia Optima, parked under the streetlight out there?”

The others followed his pointed finger.  Nancy nodded her head.  “Paint looks nice and sparkly.”

“It is,” said the officer.  “That’s because it’s new.  Same with the Kia brand and the Sorento letters.  Henderson and Williams both examined it and figured out it was actually a Mitsubishi Mirage, rebuilt to look like a Kia.  There aren’t a whole lot of Mitsubishis in Oklahoma, so it was pretty easy for us to find out where it came from.”

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, then cleared his throat.  “The car’s registered in Wisconsin, but it was stolen in Oklahoma.  Its owner’s a Marine vet.  When he retired, he moved to Blackwell—”

“Blackwell!” repeated Frank.  “Another connection!”

“Exactly,” Bottomley stated.  “It seems that the Blackwell car thieves are disposing of their merchandise down here—”

“Bigger market for it,” Mr. Anderson agreed.  “Anything else?”

Sellers wandered over and picked up a book.  “Record of all the stolen cars Bob got.  They were half of his inventory.”

“I’m surprised they weren’t all of it,” Mr. Anderson said.  “No, I’m not surprised.  All would be suspicious.”

“It’d be a lot more suspicious if we knew what we were looking for,” Bottomley said.  “All the cars got heavily reworked.  New paint jobs, new upholstery—part replacement to cover up any habitual squeaks or perpetually misfiring warning lights.  Henderson and Williams also spotted two Fords that were really just Chevrolets with different body work put on!”

“All from Blackwell?” Mr. Anderson asked.

Bottomley shook his head, in ignorance.  “The book didn’t say, but we’re checking on it.”

“What about Subway?” Frank asked.  “Any mention of it?”

“Funny you should ask,” Sellers said.  “There was a wrapper from a foot-long in the trash can.”

“An analysis of the food particles would seem to indicate it was a spicy Italian sub on multigrain bread, with Italian dressing as the topping,” spoke up Officer Jacobs, the forensics man on the team.

“That doesn’t say which location it came from, does it?” Sellers asked, somewhat sarcastically.  “No?  Just wondering.”

“I’d be surprised if it was the same location,” Nancy remarked, “considering Bob wasn’t supposed to know about it.”

Frank wasn’t listening.  He’d been staring around at the walls of the room.  Now, suddenly, he darted over to the showroom door and flicked the lightswitch.

Nothing happened!

The officers stared at him curiously.  “What did you do that for?” Bottomley asked.

“Just a hunch,” said Frank.  There were two switches on the panel, and he tried the other one.  Also, no change.  The lights stayed the same.

Darting back across to the lightswitch by the door to the lot, he then tried that one.  The lights went out—then quickly came back on as the switch was released.

“The switch by the showroom door doesn’t work,” Frank said.  “That means that the person who fired the shots didn’t turn the lights out.  Whoever did was standing right by this door.”

“How could they, though?” Nancy asked.  “Wouldn’t you have seen them?”

“Not necessarily,” said Frank, glancing around.  “There’s a little room between the filing cabinets and the wall.”

“Not much, though,” noted Bottomley.  “I doubt I’d fit back there…”

His voice trailed off as he watched Frank squeeze in.  “Oof!  It’s tight, but doable,” he called, his muffled voice wafting out from behind the cabinets.  “I guess whoever was back here—hello, what’s this?”

“What’s what?” Nancy asked.

Frank didn’t answer, and when he reemerged a moment later, he wasn’t holding anything.  However, he promptly hit the ground, then reached back into the space behind the cabinets.  After groping around for a few seconds, his hand reemerged, holding—

“A keychain,” Mr. Anderson said, staring at his son’s find.  “A monogrammed keychain.”

“ARD,” read Nancy.  “An abbreviation for Ardmore?”

Frank shook his head.  “No, silly.  These monograms always have the first initial on the left, the middle on the right, and the surname one capitalized in the center.  Whoever dropped this has the initials ADR, and it’s not Bob.”

“Where was it exactly?” Bottomley asked.

Frank pointed back behind the cabinet.  “Over behind that second one.  You’ll notice it’s made of rubber, and the little loop that’s supposed to go around a keychain is broken.  My guess is that it got caught on something while whoever was back here was struggling out, and it fell off without their noticing.”

“ADR was back here, then,” said Nancy, looking at the keychain.  “Colors are green and yellow.  Wonder who he is?”

“Or she,” said Frank.  “Like I said, I didn’t have much time to see them.  It was impossible to tell for sure.  I do know this, though.”  He stared at the keychain.  “If we could find ADR, they’d be a big help in solving this case.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Andersons finally made it home around three o’clock in the morning.  If they thought the rest of their family would be waiting for them, they were mistaken.  Mrs. Anderson, Louis, and Susan were all sound asleep—they didn’t find out a thing about the previous night’s adventures until breakfast the next morning, when Frank filled them in on the details.

Mr. Anderson and Nancy slept late, but Oklahoma City’s best police officer (at least, that’s how his family referred to him) didn’t get the day off.  After a hearty meal that would be labelled breakfast if it was eaten a few hours earlier, Mr. Anderson left for work.  He arrived shortly after noon, then called Frank to give him some updates.

“Bob came to at four o’clock this morning.  The officers that interviewed him said he seemed pretty cooperative, but he wasn’t that helpful.  He’d overheard a couple of the gang members talk about storing cars at ‘the Subway,’ but he didn’t know which one they were referring to.  Besides that, he didn’t seem to know anything else—names, other dealerships, anything.  Not quite as promising as we’d hoped.”

“I see,” said Frank.  “Still, the Subway clue seems promising.  Has any work been done on that?”

“Been going on all day,” Mr. Anderson said.  “Police across the city have searched of all the Subways in Oklahoma City—starting around the I-44 corridor, then spreading to surrounding locations.  We even had the police in Moore, Edmond, and the other towns nearby check there’s out.  Nothing so far, but there are a few locations we haven’t checked yet.”

“Well, hopefully something will pan out,” said Frank.  “How about the other stolen cars?  Have you traced them?”

“Those cars are from all over the state!” Mr. Anderson said excitedly.  “Five or so were from Oklahoma City, but the others came from places like Enid, Ardmore, Lawton, Tulsa—we even found one from Altus.  They’re all ending up here!”

“All over the state?” exclaimed Frank.  “Did they go missing in Oklahoma City?”

“No, they went missing in their towns,” Mr. Anderson said.  “We even have camera footage of one of the ones from Lawton being stolen in that city.  These thieves are just transporting them here to sell.”

“Well, what do you know?” said Frank.  “Funny how ones from Tulsa are popping up here.  That’s a big enough place to sell a car.”

“The thieves must be headquartered around here,” Mr. Anderson explained.   “Otherwise, they wouldn’t need to bring their vehicles from Tulsa.”

“I see,” said Frank.  “Well, keep us posted.”  Hanging up, he told Nancy the news—she’d come to the living room to see what the conversation was about.

“They’re coming from all over,” Frank said.  “This means the thefts must be related.  Boy, are we making progress on this case!”

“Yes, but we still haven’t found Stephanie or Brittany,” said Nancy.  “Not a trace, and finding them’s our most important job!  I hope they’re alright!”

---

[1] Small town in the part of Texas Rogers was from.

[2] As Bottomley talked, not as Anderson talked. Just to be clear.