‘Todd! Are you okay?” Joe cried out, charging down the stairs. Todd Coates was sprawled out on the basement landing. His glasses had flown off and lay beside him.
But before Joe reached Todd, the door to the men’s locker room opened to reveal a tall, orange- haired young man—Glen Revelle. “What’s going on out here?”
When Glen got a look at Joe and Frank, he snarled. “You two!” He quietly leaped over Todd to block their way to the boy. Glen’s fists were clenched, and he looked ready to swing at Joe. “What did they do to you, buddy?” Glen asked Todd. “If you want to lodge a complaint—”
But Todd didn’t hang around to talk. He scooped
up his glasses, scrambled to his feet, and dashed into the locker room. Glen still stood in their way, aching for a fight.
Joe was wondering if he’d have to go through Revelle to get to Todd when he heard a familiar voice.
“Is there some sort of problem, boys?” Joe turned to see Marvin Coates coming down the stairs. He was wearing sweats, and a white towel was wrapped around his neck.
“Hi, Mr. Coates,” Frank said. “We wanted to talk to your nephew, but he suddenly took off.”
“Oh,” Marvin said, toweling his face. “Well, don’t mind Todd. He was probably avoiding me, not you two.”
Glen Revelle looked confused for a moment. Then, with a snort of disgust, he thrust past the Hardys and Coates, heading up the stairs.
Coates watched him go. “That boy played on the Rocky River team, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “He took their loss pretty hard.”
“Speaking of which,” Coates said, “it was a shame about the game this afternoon. What happened to the Hooper boy in the second half?”
“He was poisoned Joe said bluntly. Coates gasped. “Poisoned? Are you sure?” Frank nodded. “The hospital lab analyzed the contents of his water bottle. It still held traces of rat poison. Not enough to kill, but more than enough to make even a big guy sick.”
“But why?” Coates asked.
“Obviously, someone wanted us to lose that game,” Joe said.
Coates shook his head in disbelief. “I can hardly believe it. Do you have any idea who would do that?”
“We’re doing our best to figure that out,” Frank said, not wanting to discuss the case with so many suspects in possible earshot.
Joe could see that Frank intended to say no more, so he quickly changed the subject. “Lucky for us we still have a chance to win the conference championship. There’s going to be another to morrow.”
“Yes I heard about that.” A bead of sweat trickled down Coates’s cheek, and he wiped it away. “Will the Hooper boy recover in time to play?”
“Probably,” Frank said.
“Fortunately, our buddy has a cast-iron stomach,” Joe commented. “It would take more than a little rat poison to sideline him.”
“Good, good,” Coates said. “Well, guess I’ll go for a quick dip before I hit the sauna. Good luck in tomorrow’s game.”
“Thanks, Mr. Coates,” the Hardys said together.
They followed Coates into the locker room, but
Todd was no longer there. “I bet he bombed right out of here,” Frank said, nodding toward the emergency exit. They quickly searched the locker area.
“Well, he’s not in the showers. But he could have ducked into the pool.” Joe pushed on the other door that led from the room.
The smell of chlorine hit Joe’s nose as he and Frank stepped into the pool area. A quick glance around showed a couple of swimmers, but no Todd. “Either he’s holding his breath in the pooi, or he’s hiding in the girls’ locker room.”
A loud splash drew the boys’ attention. Joe’s eyes picked up two bodies swimming underwater to ward them, side by side like twin torpedoes. Then two familiar faces suddenly broke the surface of the water near the edge of the pool where they were standing. Iola Morton and Callie Shaw grinned up at them.
“Think fast,” lola said, splashing water on Joe.
“Hey!” Joe said, taking a step back.
“Why don’t you guys join us for a swim?” Callie asked.
“We can’t right now.” Frank’s eyes darted restlessly about the pool area. “Have you seen Todd Coates?”
“I don’t think I’d know him if I saw him,” Callie said.
“Maybe I’ll check out the parking lot,” Frank said. “You coming, Joe?”
“I think I’ll swim a few laps before the rec center closes,” Joe said. “Report back to me at nine o’clock sharp.”
Frank grinned and gave his brother a little salute as he exited the pool area.
In the locker room, Joe pulled his swim trunks out of his locker. He changed, wadding up his clothes to stuff them into the cramped locker, already jammed tight with basketball trunks, sweats, unwashed T-shirts and socks, and several pairs of old sneakers.
Joe spotted Marvin Coates, off in one corner by himself, getting dressed. Marvin noticed Joe and gave him a friendly nod as he slipped on a pair of expensive-looking loafers. Joe waved back.
Grabbing a towel, Joe slipped into his rubber thongs and flip-flopped out of the locker room and back to the pool area. Leaving his flip-flops and towel on the bench near the locker-room entrance, he let out a war whoop and dove into the pool.
After Joe dunked Iola a few times in revenge for splashing him earlier, he told the girls about Biff being poisoned and about the ATM cards that had turned up in the back of their van.
“Why would someone try to frame you?” Iola asked. “It makes no sense.”
Joe shrugged. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. The cards looked the same as the ones the police confiscated when they busted the criminals Dad was chasing down.”
“Wow,” Callie said. “You’ve had a busy couple of days. Phone threats, attacks, windows broken, and now a brush with organized crime. i’m surprised you have time to play basketball.”
“Well, it is the championship, after all,” Joe said, splashing Callie playfully.
“Not only that, the whole school can’t wait to see that new scoreboard you’re going to win for us,” Iola said.
Callie splashed Joe back, then pushed off, going to one of the lanes for swimming laps. Joe and Iola hung on to the side of the pool and continued their conversation.
“It seems that no matter where I go, everyone is talking about Marvin Coates and that new score board,” Joe said.
“Then you should come to my house,” Iola said. “My father won’t let us even mention Marvin Coates.”
Joe’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”
“Dad is on the town planning commission, and he’s mad because Mr. Coates pulled his money out of the bay front project.”
“It didn’t say that in the newspaper story,” Joe said.
Iola shrugged. “Oh, Dad says that was all politics and string-pulling. But he wouldn’t trust Marvin Coates to come up with the price of a hot dog, much less a scoreboard.”
“Well, I can see why your dad’s upset. I guess
we’ll just have to keep on Mr. Coates’s case—after we win the championship.”
Laughing, lola pushed off from the side of the pool. “Spoken like a true sportsman,” When she was already a few feet ahead of Joe, she suddenly cried, “Race you!”
Joe pushed off and swam as fast as he could for the other side of the pool.
The three teenagers swam laps until ten to nine, then the girls pulled themselves out of the pool and left for the dressing room. Five minutes later Joe climbed out of the pool. The swim was just what he had needed. He felt relaxed, and his muscles tingled from the workout,
Joe strode over to the bench where he’d left his towel and thongs. He figured he’d just have time for a hot shower before Frank came back. He quickly toweled off, but where were his flip-flops? Joe searched beneath the bench, but his shoes weren’t there.
“Another one of Iola’s little jokes,” Joe muttered with a smile. Then he spotted the missing thongs over by the edge of the pool. He crossed over to them, slipped them on, and turned to leave the pool area.
Suddenly, his feet went flying out from under him.
Crack!
Joe’s head hit the concrete edge of the pool. He
could feel his body roll over, splashing into the pool, but was powerless to stop himself.
Joe’s muscles weren’t reacting to his brain’s frantic commands as he sank like a deadweight. He could only watch the surface recede as he sank deeper and deeper under the water.
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