Chapter 16: The Mysterious Voice

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Frank didn’t answer right away—just stared at the phone.  There’d been a lot of phone calls this case, many of which had brought trouble.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer this one.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!  Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

Of course, if he didn’t, that phone would just keep ringing.  Besides, maybe it would be the mysterious person who’d delivered the warning—in fact, if that’s who it was…

Frank pressed a button—then, he picked up the phone.  “Anderson residence, Frank speaking.”

“Hi, Frank!”  The voice on the end was unfamiliar, but the speaker quickly introduced himself.  “This is Ronald Detwiler.  My servant informed me you paid a call on me this afternoon.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed.  “That is correct,” he said, trying not to show any emotion.

“Mm yes, well, at the time, we had no idea who might have called you.  Since then, though, we’ve figured out the answer.”

“Oh?” Frank still tried not to act too excited.  “Who?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone.  Could you come by my house at seven o’clock tonight?”

“Seven?” asked Frank.  “Sure, why not?  That’ll work.”

“Fine, see you then.  Goodbye.”

“Same to you,” Frank said, hanging up the phone.  His door swung open, and Nancy poked her head in.

“Who was that?”

“Goodness, Nancy, do you always have to listen outside the door?”

“I don’t always listen!” Nancy retorted indignantly.  “Sometimes I have Susan do it for me.”

“Oh…I see.  Well, if you want to know what was said, listen to this.” Frank pushed a button on the recorder, and the conversation started to play back.  Meanwhile, he started doing something on the computer.

Nancy listened to the call, a scowl of suspicion crossing over her face.  When the recording was over, she said, “Sounds fishy to me.  You’re not actually planning to go, are you?”

“Hold on a second,” said Frank.  “Listen to this!”

He clicked something, and the video of a news story began to play.

“Police say they have suspects in custody from last night’s gas station holdup at the McDonald’s on NE 10^th, thanks to this security video.”

That video was then played—it showed three masked men walking into a gas station.  The visual effect was a little blurry, but the audio was quite clear.  “Put up your hands!” yelled a voice.  “Back against the wall—all of you—”

Nancy gasped, as Frank stopped the video.  “That sounds like the voice you just recorded!”

“Probably is.  Also, it’s the one I overheard at Bob’s car dealership,” Frank tapped the screen.  “That man is Vince Hill.”

“The guy Officer Kurtz told us to watch out for?”  Nancy reached for the phone.  “We’d better call the police, and—”

“No, let’s not,” said Frank.  “Hill’s no freshman crook.  He’ll be watching for the police.”

“You can’t go yourself, though,” Nancy said.  “They can’t intend to let you go again!”

“I’ve got to make it look good, though,” Frank argued.  “Mr. Hill will have company this evening…it just might not be what he’s expecting.”

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

Ding-dong!

A smile on his face, Dooley wandered to the door, still wearing the striped coat from earlier.  He stretched out his left hand to turn the knob.  Meanwhile, his right hand—the one he was proficient with—rested in his coat pocket, fingers closed around a metal object most commonly associated with loud sounds and death.

“Yes?” he said, opening the door.  “Frank Anderson.”

“No, Frank couldn’t come, so he sent me instead.  I’m Dick White!”

Dick and Ellen White were some of the Andersons’ best friends—had been, ever since they’d moved to Norman a few months ago.  That was the first time the youths had met, but their fathers had known each other for years-partly because both were in law enforcement.  Mr. and Mrs. White were in the CIA—what they did exactly, as well as their location 40% of the time, was secret.  Nothing was secret about their children, though.  Dick could be described as having the same amount of confidence as Frank, but his hair was Nancy’s color, and his eyes were green instead of blue.

“Frank said you had something to tell him,” Dick continued.  “About a certain phone call.”

“Y-yes.”  Dooley stared glumly out the door, then closed it behind the lad.  “Uh, Detwiler’s in the back,” he said, wandering down the hall.  “Won’t you please follow?”

“OK by me,” Dick glanced around as he walked through the hallways.  “Wow, would you look at those paintings?  Nice!  Who’s that one by?”

“Mr. Detwiler could answer that better than I can,” Dooley said, leading the way into the living room.  “Uh, Detwiler?  We’ve got—”

“I see that!” retorted a man, who (from the description Frank had given him) Dick assumed to be Vince.  “What’s he doing here?  And where’s Frank?”

“At home,” said Dick.  “He had other plans, so he wanted me to come instead and deliver a message for him.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”  A malicious smile crossed Vince’s face.  “Well, you’ll deliver a message, alright.  Your very own ransom message!  Pick up the phone!”  He gestured to the telephone on his desk.  “Go on, move!”

If Dick was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“You don’t need to get tough with me, Mr. Detwiler.  Frank’ll be happy to do as you say.  It’s not like you’re a criminal or anything—unless, of course, you’re the one who shot Bob.”

It was a shot in the dark, but it hit its target.  Fear crossed Vince’s face for a second.  Just as quickly, it was replaced with rage.

“So, he did see me?” the man snarled.  “Too bad he had to tell you about it, you little brat.  That means you won’t be going home tonight—”

“It might interest you to know that Bob squealed before he went to the hospital,” Dick said.  “He told us all about the Subway.  It’s only a matter of time before the Oklahoma City Police Department uncovers the right one.”

“The OKCPD?”  Hill grinned sardonically.  “I don’t think so, young man.  The place that you speak of is too big for them to find.  It’s too big for anyone to find, except the right people—and you happen to be Mr. Wrong.  A couple Miss Wrongs have already found it, and they ain’t coming back.”

“So you do know where they are?”  Dick nodded in the direction of the driveway.  “I thought that car outside looked familiar.”

“Yeah, we ain’t letting him go, are we?”  Dooley scowled.  “I say shoot him, and be done with it—”

“Uh-uh,” Vince shook his head.  “The boss doesn’t want any killing—yet!”  He snarled at Dick.  “I’ve talked enough already.  Now, it’s your turn.  Pick up that phone, call Frank, and tell him exactly what I tell you to say.  If you don’t,” Hill motioned to his partner, “Dooley might get his wish before the night is over…if you understand what I mean.”

“I think so,” Dick picked up the phone and started to dial, but Hill cut him off.  “I’ll be the one pushing the buttons.”  Carefully, he dialed a number he’d recently learned—a number that Dick knew only too well.  “Whoever answers, ask for Frank,” Hill said, handing the boy back the receiver.  “And, when he comes on—”

“Hello?”

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but the words never came.  Not from his lips, anyway.

Instead, a creepy, deep-sounding laugh filled the room—just before the lights went out!

“What?!” screamed Vince.  “Hey, who said that?!  Who’s there?”

“This is ‘The Shadow,’” bellowed a voice, sounding like it was coming from upstairs.

“Where are you?” Vince called, flicking on a flashlight.  He swung it around.  “I can’t see you—”

“No man can see The Shadow!”  It was the same voice, but this time, it came from the arch leading into the room!

Vince’s flashlight beam swerved over to there, but no one was in sight!

“The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.  Crime does not pay!  The Shadow knows!”

Vince whirled in fright as the creepy laugh seemed to come right from the desk itself.

“Alright, Shadow!” he yelled.  Pulling his gun, he fired two shots—nowhere in particular.  He looked around for Dick, but Frank’s friend had wisely taken this opportunity to find a hiding place.  Scrambling towards the center of the room, Vince pulled open a secret trapdoor!

“Anyone who tries to follow me has bullets waiting for them!” he shouted.  “Come on, Dooley!”

The other thug was already heading through the trapdoor.  As it shut, the lights came on again.  Dick slipped out from his spot behind the sofa.

“Huh?” he said, looking around.  “What just happened?”

“I can tell you,” called a voice from upstairs.  Dick glanced up—in time to see Frank, standing on the balcony and staring down into the room below.

Only, he wasn’t alone.

Chapter 15: Car Chase 2!

At the door, the man with the striped coat watched Frank wander back to the car, not taking his eyes off him until he’d gotten in the car.  Then, the man wandered down a long hallway until he came to a room at the back of the house.  I guess you’d call it a living room, but it was furnished like a study.  There were no doors, just arches, and a staircase ran up one side of it going to the second floor.  The carpet was maple, the bookshelves were mahogany, and the curtains were magenta.  A desk stood along one wall—the occupant of this had his back turned to the entry.

“Hey, boss!” striped coat said.  “You’ll never believe who was just at the door!”

“Who was it, Dooley?”

“Frank Anderson!”

The chair swiveled, revealing a tall figure with a long face, topped by a buzz cut and ending in a square jaw.  There was no makeup covering the scar at the moment!  Vince stared back at Dooley, the picture of shock.

“Anderson?  Here?  What’d he want?”

“He said he got a call from here last night,” Dooley said.  “Around 9:27!  That’s when Mugs and the rest—”

“I know what time that was,” Vince chewed his lip.  “That punk’s got some nerve, showing up here after our attack.  I wonder how he found out about us.”

“Do you think he got a call?”

Vince laughed.  “Dooley, that’s the most absurd story I’ve ever heard.  No, he did not get a call.  It was his excuse to come case the joint.”

“He looked awful interested in the girl’s car—”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Vince thought a second.  “How did he get here?”

“I saw him getting in a red Chevy Bel Air, ‘50’s style—”

“Hot rod, huh?  That’ll be easy to follow.”  Vince pulled a pen out of his pocket and pointed at Dooley.

“Go find out where they went.  I’ll call Mugs and have them follow.  They’re probably on their way back to Norman, and once they get home, it’ll be too risky to do anything.  If you can catch them before they reach their house, though…well, you know what to do.”

Dooley nodded.  “You want me to fix ‘em up, boss?”

“Fix ‘em up real good, Dooley.  Good enough to get them off the case!”

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

“I thought that’s what it was when I was staring at the sheet,” Zach said.  “I guess great minds think alike.”

“Either that, or we’re both wrong, but I don’t think so,” Frank commented.  “That car could very well be Brittany’s.”

“Ooh, Braum’s!” said Susan.  “I want an ice cream cone!”

“Not in this car, Susan!” Nancy scolded.  “You’ll make a mess!”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want a cone in here…” Zach snuck a glance into the backseat.  “However, if we got a shake, that would have a lid!  Want something, Susan?”

“A milkshake?!  That sounds delicious!”

“Milkshake it is, then,” said Zach, turning into the parking lot.  “Anyone else want anything, you just let me know.”

The door of the Braum’s was just opening, and an elderly couple was strolling out.  The woman pointed at Zach’s vehicle.

“That’s what my first car looked like!” she told her husband.  He might have heard her—he might not have—anyway, he was entranced in the vehicle.

Zach pulled up to the speaker.  “Good afternoon,” he said.  “Can I get five milkshakes?”  He proceeded to list out the flavors.  Somehow, the clerk got them all right.

“If you’ll pull up to the window, we’ll have them ready for you in a moment,” her voice came through the speaker.  “Nice car!”

“Thanks!”  Zach obligingly drove up, behind the line of cars in front (only two).

Susan looked confused.  “How can they see your car over the radio?”

“They have a camera, Susan,” Frank explained.

“Hey, sweet ride!” a guy carrying two ice cream cones yelled over from the parking lot.  Zach nodded at him.

Two minutes passed, and then, it was the kids’ turn in line.  Zach pulled up at the window, where the clerk handed out the shakes.  Frank took them from the driver and passed them to the backseat.  “Could we have some extra napkins?” Zach asked.  He glanced back at the upholstery.  “I’d hate for anyone to spill anything.”

The clerk obliged with a small stack.  “How fast does it go?” she asked him.

“Don’t know,” remarked Zach.  “I’ve never had the opportunity to test it.  Thanks!”

“Everybody got the right flavors?” Nancy asked, as they pulled out.

“There’s something wrong with mine,” said Susan.  “It’s blue!”

“Well, sure it is!” said Louis.  “You ordered Party Cake, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but have you ever eaten a blue birthday cake?” his sister replied.

Louis laughed.  “Susan, that’s just the color of the ice cream flavor.”

Zach pulled up to the edge of the road and waited for a gap.  “Nobody coming,” he said, glancing around.  “Soon as this Sonata passes, I’ll be able to go.”

He was referring to a battered blue Hyundai sedan rolling his way.  The little car slowed as it neared the Braum’s, and Zach waited for it to turn into the driveway.  The driveway was its target, but it didn’t turn—instead, it pulled across the front and came to a dead stop.

“What are they doing?” Zach asked, tapping his horn.  “Of all the places to have car trouble—”

Frank gasped.  “It’s not car trouble!” he said, pointing at the vehicle.  “Look at the driver!  Mugs Barnette!”

It was indeed the gangster—along with two other mugs.  Barnette held a gun, and his partner was unbuckling his seatbelt.  He put a hand on the door and was just about to get out when—

CRASH!!!

Apparently, the driver of the Braum’s tractor-trailer turning into the lot hadn’t noticed that there was a car there.  Barnette noticed just in time to accelerate, which meant that the truck didn’t hit the gangsters dead center.  Instead, it merely brushed the left bumper.  That, however, was enough to send the car careening into a spin down N. MacArthur Boulevard.

Taking full advantage of the distraction, Zach hit the gas pedal and swung a hard right out of the parking lot.  Speeding past the crooks, he started south along MacArthur as fast as he could go.

“Looks like we’re going to find out just how fast this car goes!” he said.  “Hold on, everybody!”

“Are they out of it?” Frank asked.

Nancy glanced back.  “No, they’ve got the car under control.  They’re coming after us!”

“They’re gaining!” yelled Louis.  “Go faster!”

“I can’t speed up too much more!” called Zach.  “Besides, there’s a traffic light coming up!”

“Is it red?” Susan asked.

“Green,” said Frank—“no, yellow!”

“I’m not sure if I can make it,” said Zach.  He glanced in the rearview mirror.  “Then again, that guy has a gun.  Alright, kids—don’t try this at home!”

He did make it—just barely.

The crooks didn’t—that is, they didn’t beat the red light.  They did run it, however, getting through before the other cars had started going.

“They’re still following us!” Louis yelled.

“Are they, now?” asked Zach.  “Well, we’ll give them a run for their money!”  He swung a hard right onto Gaelic Glen Drive.

“Um, Zach, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Nancy asked.  “This is a housing development—it looks kind of like a dead end—”

“We’ve got friends who live on this street,” Zach said.  “It’ll work.  Trust me!”

Some cars were parked along the curbs, but the lane was wide enough Zach had no trouble getting through.  His move hadn’t fooled the crooks, who took the same turn and continued on the hot rod’s tail.  However, they couldn’t go quite as fast as Zach, who navigated each twist and turn with the skill of a Nascar driver.

“This’ll put us out at 122^nd,” he said.  “If I’m fast enough, I think I can lose them!”

Down the street they sped, the speedometer climbing in the Bel Air.  Thirty-forty-fifty—certainly faster than any expert would recommend for such a narrow road.

“Isn’t this speeding?” Susan asked.

“I wish a cop would pull us over,” Nancy said.  “Then we’d have someone to protect us.”

“We’re bound to meet one sooner or later,” Frank commented.  “Oklahoma City has a few.”

“None seem to be around at the moment,” observed Louis.

Twisting his way through the streets, Zach brought them back to 122^nd.  “Anyone coming?” he asked.  Without waiting for an answer, he swerved out into the street.

An astonished tanker driver quickly applied the brakes.  His cargo swayed, shook, shivered—but did not fall over, coming neatly to a stop along with his truck.  Eyes wide, the driver watched as Zach swerved out into the street, cut over to the right, and disappeared onto another side street.

“My rebuild!” he exclaimed.  “My first rebuild!  What a beautiful car!”

Remembering the good ‘ol days of nuts, bolts, and oil stains, he didn’t see the Sonata pull out into traffic, then take the turn down the same road that Zach took.

“Aw, nuts!” exclaimed Louis.  “They’re still on us!”

“Are they?” said Zach.  “Well, at least they’re not shooting.”

Bam!  Bam!  Bam!

“Can I take that back?” Zach asked.

“Certainly,” said Frank, “but I think you’d better go faster.”

“Not a bad idea.”  Zach zoomed down Olde Warwick Drive, then spun left on Woodridge—tires squealing.  He barely had time to check for oncoming traffic, and he was pretty sure the Sonata didn’t, as it followed.

“That guy’s driving like a maniac,” said Zach, “and if he doesn’t pay attention, then that’s how we’ll lose him.”

Reaching McArthur, he hooked left again—this time, heading north.

“Watch out for that school bus!” Nancy shouted.

“I see it!”  Zach barely got in the lane ahead of it, as the bus driver honked angrily.  “Any of those bullets hit us?”

“Not yet,” said Frank, “but we might want to stick to busier roads.  They didn’t shoot at us until that side street.”

“Well, we’re going to have to get on another one,” said Zach.  “It’s our best chance to lose them.”

“Can we?” Susan asked.

“You’ll see in a minute.”

The light for 122^nd was red, but Zach made a right turn, speeding past the NW Oklahoma City Library.  This building was marked by its oil derrick architecture, but the occupants of the Hyundai Sonata didn’t notice that as they skittered around the corner.  Barnette had an evil grin over his face as he pursued the car.

“Let’s put ‘em out of commission for good,” he said.  “These kids are making me sick.”

“But Mugs!” exclaimed one.  “What would the boss think?”

“Who cares what the boss’d think?  He’s never met me.  We can always tell Vince to tell him it was an accident—”

“They’re going down another side street,” the thug in the backseat pointed out.

“Are they?” Mugs smiled.  “Excellent.  Prepare to open fire on them again!”

Once they rounded the corner, they found that the Bel Air was much farther away than they’d expected.  Sixty-seventy-eighty-ninety-

“Glad these lights are all green!” said Zach.  “Alright, hold onto your seats!  I can’t keep this up much longer!”

“They’re not dropping back!” gasped Nancy.  “They must be going ninety too!”

Bam!  Bam!  Bam!

More shots flew through the air, barely missing the car.  Zach swerved a bit, quickly straightening out.

“How could you miss, Sal?”  Barnette glared at his passenger.  “Let Fred give it a try.  Hand him the pistol.”

“Watch those taillights,” Fred snarled.  “I’ll light ‘em up so fast, they’ll—”

All at once, the taillights lit up—so fast, the crooks almost didn’t realize what they were seeing.  The Bel Air skidded several feet down the road—perfectly straight—gradually losing speed until its momentum had dropped to twenty-five.  Suddenly, it hooked to the right, onto a cross street.  Barnette started to do the same—

“They’re coming back!” yelled Fred.  He fired, but his first shot was too early—his second too late.  The Bel Air sped across the intersection and disappeared, heading east.  Barnette was crossed up—he didn’t do anything for a minute, just held the wheel.

And that proved to be his mistake…because Meridian had run out!

The Sonata skidded off the road, then bounced down a hill until it came to Lake Hefner Drive.  Barnette fought with the wheel, but the front tires had come off the ground, rendering his steering useless.  Plunging through the barrier at the other side, the Sonata flew through the air—

Then splashed magnificently into Lake Hefner!

As it did its best submarine imitation, sinking to the bottom of the glassy blue lake, three suddenly-waterlogged crooks threw off their seatbelts and struggled to get out.

“It worked!” Nancy yelled.  “They’re in the lake!”

Zach held up his right hand, and Frank gave him a high five.  “Their aim wasn’t very good,” the oldest Anderson celebrated.  “Not even a scratch.”

“It’s hard to hit a moving target,” Zach agreed.  “What I’m concerned about are the seats.  You all didn’t spill anything back there, did you?”

“We’ve just been shot at, and you’re worried about our milkshakes?  Oh, Zach!” Nancy groaned.

Louis winked at the driver.  “Everything’s A-OK.”

“That’s good.”  Zach checked the rearview mirror once again.  “Huh, no police on our tails!  I guess they didn’t realize I was going ninety.  Oh, well.”  As he turned onto Highway 74 South, he smiled.  “That car will be so waterlogged, we won’t need to worry about any more—”

“Hey!” a voice yelled, as a motor rumbled up next to the car.  Zach looked up in time to see a big-wheeled GMC drive up in the left lane.  The window was rolled down, and a man leaned out, waving his arms at the vehicle.

“Awesome car, man!” the guy yelled.  “Awesome!”

A sigh of relief escaped Zach, and he nodded back at the guy.  Braking a bit, he allowed the truck to pass.  Then, he pulled into the lane behind it and remained there until it was time to get on I-240 West.

They didn’t have any other trouble on the way back to Norman.

Chapter 14: The Clue under the Blanket

Often, you get in trouble for bringing the fire department to your house on nonexistent emergencies.  In the Andersons’ case, though, it was an emergency—though not a fire-related one.  The firefighters more than understood when they heard the Andersons’ story—as did the police, who Frank had expected would come along.  Officers Kurtz and Muller showed up, as usual.

“Slick Jackson,” Kurtz instantly identified the Oklahoma City crook.  “Mugs Barnette was with him, I’ll bet.”

“We saw him earlier, but he escaped,” Frank said.  “There’s another one in the living room over here.”

Wandering in to examine the still-unconscious crook, Muller whistled.  “Colin Koenig!”

“Koenig?” exclaimed Kurtz.  “He’s in on this too?”

“I don’t know his name, I’m afraid,” Nancy said.  “We weren’t asking questions when he clambered through the window.”

Kurtz came in and took a look.  “Yep, that’s Koenig alright.  This is serious.  It means Hill’s in on the deal!”

“Hill?” said Frank.  “Who’s that?”

“You don’t want to know,” Muller said, sarcastically.

“Vince Hill.  One of the toughest racketeers this side of Oklahoma City.  He’s got a record as long as your arm.  Just got out of McAlester a few months ago, which means he’s way overdue to go back in.  Sentences will fix some birds—they won’t fix Hill.  He’s a bad egg, all around—and a toughie.  You kids better watch your step around him!”

“Vince!” said Frank.  “The guy who shot Bob!”

“Huh?”                     

Frank quickly explained about the incident at the car dealership, much to Kurtz’s interest.  “What does he look like?” Frank continued.

“Hang on—I’ll show you.”  Pushing a few buttons on his phone, Kurtz pulled up a photo of a man a long face, buzz cut, square jaw, and a jagged scar running down his left cheek.

“Scary looking!” said Nancy.  “I’ll watch out for the scar.”

“You won’t see it, if he’s up to no good,” Kurtz said.  “He usually has makeup on when we pick him up.  This was just his mug shot.”

“Do you know where he lives?” Louis asked.

Kurtz shook his head.  “He shows up for parole for about a week, then beats it.  If he just stayed in hiding, we might never catch up with him, but he always has to come out and get involved in another crime.  Once that starts, he’s not as good at covering up his tracks.  We’ll get him eventually.”

“As long as he doesn’t get us first,” Nancy said, giving the photo one last look.  Hill’s eyes glared back at her like those of a man who’s out of his mind—and maybe Hill was.  Many crooks are.

That didn’t make tussling with him any more pleasant, however.

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

Around nine o’clock the next morning, a shiny, red hot rod drove up and parked itself on the curb outside Boyd Street.  It was Zach Green, and his presence was no surprise to the Andersons, who instantly popped out the front door and raced across the yard to the vehicle.  Frank and Nancy hopped in front—Louis and Susan clambered into the back.  Reaching into his pocket, Frank pulled out a piece of paper.

“Drive us to 2450 Normandy Terrace in Oklahoma City,” Frank said.  “I traced the warning call we got last night, and it wasn’t a payphone.  Not unless they’ve got one in the middle of a neighborhood.”

Zach whistled as they drove off.  “Normandy Terrace is no payphone,” he said.  “I’ve heard of that area.  You think the homes in Brookhaven are big—wait’ll you see the ones there!”

“Well-to-do?” Nancy asked.

“Kevin Durant lived there when he was with the Thunder,” explained Zach.

“Well, Ronald Detwiler lives there now,” Frank said.  “I don’t think he was the one who made the call, unless his voice was really high.  It must have been made on his phone, though.”

“A friend of his, perhaps?” Zach asked.  “Or a family member?”

“The thing I can’t figure out is who could have made that call,” continued Frank.  “It wouldn’t have been the kidnappers themselves, so presumably it was someone trying to help us.  Why didn’t they identify themselves, though?”

“There probably just wasn’t time,” said Nancy.  “They only gave us three minutes’ warning.  There’s only so much you can say in a minute.”

“If they weren’t related to the gang, though, then how did they know what the gang was up to?” said Frank.  “Was it a kid, or just an adult with a high voice—or, someone disguising their—”  He shook his head.  “Hopefully, this visit will clear up all our questions.”

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

True to Zach’s word, the houses were huge.  So huge, in fact, there was a large fence surrounding the development, clearly designed to keep people out.  All roads leading in had gates, and Zach worried as he drove up he might not be able to access the area.  Fortunately, a Fed Ex truck was pulling out just as the Bel Air drove up, and Zach went on through like he’d been expected.

“That’s the nice thing about this car,” he said, patting the steering wheel.  “It looks fancy enough to belong in a neighborhood like this.”

“Look at the size of those buildings!” Louis marveled.  “I wonder how many bathrooms that one has.”

“Six, possibly!” Nancy commented.  “Maybe seven!”

“I think that’s the one we want,” Zach said, pulling up to the curb.  “The one with the turrets on front!”

Susan stared up at the cavernous structure.  “I’d love a house like that!”

What greeted their eyes was a gigantic, tan-brick structure.  It was only two stories tall, but they were pretty long stories.  Just the front part of the house was as wide as most one-story houses in Norman, but there were two huge wings wrapping around to the back.  Turrets rose up at the corners, with quaint, old-fashioned gables topping them off.  It was the picture of luxury—except for the area over on the left wing where a temporary fence, scaffolding, and a trash pipe indicated that renovation was going on.  Still, temporarily incomplete, the mansion was a gem.

“Who wouldn’t?” said Frank, hopping out.  “Nancy, you come with me.  The rest of you, wait here.  I don’t think anything will happen to us, but if something does, get help at once.”

Zach made an OK symbol (OK the expression, not OK the state).  “Will do!  Good luck!”

As she walked up the sidewalk with her brother, Nancy glanced at the driveway and laughed.  “They may have a lot of money, but that doesn’t stop them from owning an old clunker,” she said, pointing to a car with a sheet over it.

Frank shook his head.  “Sometimes the rich become rich just by adopting better spending habits than the rest of us—in other words, not spending so much.  Each dollar you save is a dollar you’ll have later on.  Once those add up—well, let’s just say there are a lot of millionaires who shop at Walmart, too.  It’s the secret to their success,” he said, ringing the doorbell.

“Trees are pretty thin,” Nancy said, glancing around.  “This house can’t be very old.  Oh, look!  There’s a wren!”

The little bird fluttered over to a branch, landed, and let out a “Peep!”  It repeated itself, then hopped along the branch until it came to a bird feeder, which it quickly peeked into.  Almost immediately, it flapped its wings and flew away.

“Aw, poor birdie,” said Nancy.  “There’s no food in it—”

“Yes, what is it?”

The door had been opened by a short, blond-haired man with a black-and-white striped jacket and khaki pants on.  It wasn’t the traditional butler outfit, but Frank and Nancy didn’t really care whether they were dealing with a butler or not.  If the man was surprised by his guests, he didn’t show it.

“Hi,” said Frank.  “Are you Mr. Detwiler?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s not available at the moment,” replied the man, who made no move to introduce himself.  “What do you want?”

“I’m Frank Anderson, and this is my sister, Nancy,” Frank said.  “We—it’s very strange—we got an odd phone call last night, and the number to this house came up on the caller ID.  I was wondering if someone here had been trying to get in touch with us!”

“Last night?” asked the man.  “What time?”

“9:27,” replied Nancy.

“Afraid I can’t help you,” the man replied.  “Detwiler was out late—so were the rest of us.  No one was around until 10:30.  If someone made a call at 9:27, we didn’t know about it.”

“I see,” said Frank.  “Figures.  Well, thanks for the help.”

Nodding, the man shut the door.  Nancy frowned.  “Friendly fellow, isn’t he?”

“I wonder,” said Frank, wandering back towards Zach’s car.  Even as he did so, he snuck a glance over to the driveway again.  “Do you see what I see?”

“What, the car?” Nancy asked.  “The one with the tarp over it?”

“What kind do you think it is?”

Nancy shrugged.  “You’re the car expert, not me.  Is it important?”

“I’ll say!”  Opening the car door, Frank started to ask Zach a question.  “Is that a 1970—”

“Chrysler Three Hundred?” Zach finished.  “Sure looks like it from here!”

Nancy gasped.  “The same kind Brittany was driving?”

“Not necessarily the same kind,” said Frank.  “Perhaps the same one.  The same, specific one!”  His eyes narrowed.  “I think this bears further investigation.”