Frank halted, turned to look back at Sharon and Kris — Joe hadn't followed? Figured. Frank rolled his eyes. "He's still up there laughing his butt off, Charlie. You should've seen them run." He grinned down at Iola and Angie. "The newspaper's going to want pictures. Got room on the roll, Sharon?"

"Tons." Sharon lifted the camera up, aimed at the two cheerleaders.

"Frank!" Iola wailed.

Not that Frank cared. Oh, he knew Iola and Angie couldn't be the thief; well, Angie, maybe, but Iola wouldn't do something like that. But no matter what, this was a stupid, mean trick — he couldn't believe Iola would do it, even if Angie had put her up to it.

Though…thinking about it…Iola was all googly-eyed over Joe. Maybe she'd been trying to butt into Frank and Joe's case, like she had during the whole Applegate thing. If that was the case, Frank would never let his little brother live it down.

"You should've thought of that before you did this," Charlie said to Iola. "And I meant what I said about keeping quiet. Sharon, put the camera away. Frank, the cops, please?"

"I'll go get Joe," Kris offered, and ran back upstairs.

Shaking his head, trying to stifle his laughter, Frank came down the stairs. Angie glared at him every step of the way, but Frank only smiled back with the superiority of a seventh-grader dealing with a measly little sixth-grade snot.

"My daddy's gonna hear about this," Angie hissed. "You'll be sorry then. We didn't do anything, and you guys are here, too!"

"We have permission." Frank went behind the counter and picked up the phone. "Keep blabbing, Angie. Your daddy never told you about the Fifth Amendment, I bet. You're just digging yourselves in deeper."

"She left her fingerprints all over the lockers, too," Sharon said. "I bet she knew you and Joe were on her trail, and was trying to scare you off the case."

The Case of the Cheating Cheerleaders — Frank could see the newspaper headline already; the reporters'd had a field day with the Applegate treasure that summer, after all. One of the cheerleaders being Attorney Thompson's daughter? The newspapers would go nuts. Frank bit back his grin and started to dial the number for the police…then paused, staring at the shelves under the cash register. Mrs. Bell kept all the books on hold back here, some wrapped and…and…Frank's breath caught.

He put the phone back, knelt to look over the wrapped books. Wrapped…and he'd seen that wrapping paper before. Two rolls of it were tucked beside the cash register. His breath sucked in as he pulled one out, noting the ragged edge, as if cut in a hurry: ivy-green with red holly berries.

The same paper he'd seen on Kris's and Joe's Secret Santa gifts.

"Frank?" Charlie said.

Frank held the roll of wrapping paper up.

Charlie froze. When he spoke, his voice held sharp command. "All four of you, get out of this store and run to the police station. Don't stop for anyone. Do you understand?"

"But…" Sharon started — as screams rang out from upstairs, then choked off.

"Do it!" Charlie snapped, and took off up the stairs.

"Move." Frank yanked Iola up off the couch and pushed her and Angie towards the doors. Angie and Iola stood as if frozen, staring in the direction of the screams. "Sharon, go with them."

Outraged, Iola shoved back. "Frank Hardy, don't you dare —"

"Don't argue," Frank snapped, grabbing her wrist and shoving her again towards the door; Angie had turned and fled. "Run! Get Chief Collig. It's Tag's dad!"

"Oh," Sharon breathed, eyes wide — then she pulled Iola after her, out the door, and both girls took off running.

Frank ran down to the basement. He'd noticed something weird earlier, something odd about the layout. The kids' area was round and organic; none of the walls had corners, in keeping with the soft, cushiony forest feel to the area. But it was an old house, one of the brick colonials…which meant square. There had to be space between the curve of the new walls and original stone of the basement — space which could hide a thief.

He pulled up short at the bottom of the stairs and fumbled for the light switch. Despite the darkness, Frank saw something moving around near the beginners' books, a shadow moving between two of the shelves at the curve of the back wall and…

…then wasn't there.

Frank's fingers found the light switch, snapped it on, and light flooded the area. No one, absolutely no one. He stood a moment, then shook himself. He was letting Tagalong's spooky stories get to him. His brain had created an illusion out of the shadows, that was all, like seeing shapes in the clouds.

But maybe his brain had figured something out subconsciously. He ran over to the spot where he'd seen the shadow and started to search, feeling along the wall and digging his fingers behind the bookshelves to try to move them. There, a definite cold spot — a draft! That meant, that had to mean…

Time to chance it. "Joe!"

# # #

Not bothering to be quiet, Kris climbed the back stairs up to third floor. Everything was just as they'd left it, the tape recorder and cardboard tube in the middle of the throw rug, the packet of floor plans and the books on the floor…and silent.

"Joe?" Kris said. "Charlie wants us downstairs."

Silence.

If Joe thought he was going to pull the same trick on her… "Joe. Come on."

Still silence. Kris listened — it was an empty silence. She went around the Home Decor shelves, where she'd thought Joe had been…and stopped.

On the floor, more books lay scattered and askew.

Kris stared. That made no sense. What was Joe trying to pull? There couldn't be anyone else up here, and he knew it. She and Joe and Frank would've heard them. The stairs were really creaky…

…and Joe had shown her how to get up the front stairs, and Frank must've known how to do the back stairs…

…and they'd managed to hide from Iola and Angie, after all…

Well, that wasn't fair. Her big brothers were really smart and knew detective stuff. Outwitting a couple cheerleaders was easy for them. Still…

Out of the corner of her eye, something moved, and Kris turned.

"Oh," she breathed.

He didn't look anything like Mr. Bell in the photos. Young, faint, blurry like an old photo, he looked barely older than Frank. Darkish crew-cut hair that had red tints if she looked slightly to one side, hollow cheeks, a wide, flat nose that looked as if it'd been broken. His uniform was definitely military-ish, a brownish wrap-jacket and slacks, but it didn't look anything Kris like had seen on the news or in the pictures Joshua had sent.

The boy didn't seem to see her at first, as he walked slowly among the bookshelves. Kris backed up a step or two, and he turned towards her.

Kris froze, staring into that sad, sad face.

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed like he was puzzled.

"Um, hi," Kris whispered. Sharon was going to killher for missing this.

He just stared at her.

"Um…I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to bother you. Um…I mean…um…I kind of did. We did, I mean. We wanted to get a picture of you. Me and Sharon, I mean. But…um…have you seen Joe?"

Still that stare.

"Oh," Kris said. "I'm Kris. Joe's my big brother. Sort of. We were playing a trick on some stupid cheerleaders and he was back here making ghost noises and pretending to be you, sort of…um…we thought…I mean, I thought you were Mr. Bell. Me and Sharon did."

He opened his mouth, then looked to one side, eyes widening…

…he wasn't there.

Kris moved to where he'd been; the spot was chilly. What had happened? She couldn't have scared him. She was on the small side, after all, and while he hadn't been anywhere near Charlie's height, he'd still been Frank's size, and Frank topped her by a few inches. The air had a weird smell to it, too, like cheap beer and…Old Spice…

Kris heard it a split instant before, something moving behind her, and she spun, backed up fast. The grimy fingers clenched on air — and Kris dodged around the bookshelves, screaming for Charlie, anyone, at the top of her lungs…

Her stocking feet slipped on the waxed wood, and she skidded, fell. Papa grabbed her, his hand clamping over her mouth with a wet cloth that stank of something slimy-sweet, as he hauled her towards one of the odd walls. Dizzy, heart racing, she squirmed, tried to bite, but his fist drove into her belly, and she gasped, wheezing, breathed in the smell and icy-cold burned into her lungs — then her hands went tingly and numb and her head was swimming…

…darkness.