he skidded from side to side Frank made out what the lights were for, and why those people were dressed in blue.
He was zigzagging straight at a police roadblock!
Chapter 10
The sound of Frank's tires screeching grew louder and louder. Through the windshield the light blue sawhorses loomed larger, as if they were growing in crazy time-lapse photos. Behind the sawhorses two police cars were parked nose to nose, their lights flashing. Frank clenched his jaw and waited for the crash.
His fingers were locked around the steering wheel. His teeth were bared, and his eyes were closed to shut out the moment of impact. But there was no crash. His brakes held.
When Frank opened his eyes the bright white message "Property of Devaron Police Dept." painted on a blue sawhorse was about three quarters of an inch from his front grille.
"Couldn't you get it a little closer?" came a gruff voice from the side of the road.
Frank spun around to see a broad-shouldered policeman strolling toward him. The reality of the situation came flooding back. Here he was on a strange road in the middle of northern Connecticut, dead tired at ten o'clock, trying to track down a man who might be following him. Now he was about to go to jail for almost wiping out an entire smalltown police department. "Sorry, officer," he said.
"You'll be even sorrier if you don't have your license and registration," the officer answered. Behind him three other officers stood impassively by the side of the road.
Frank took his license out of his wallet and opened the glove compartment for the rental registration. He handed them over. "I didn't expect something like this in the middle of - " He stopped himself, guarding his choice of words in an unfamiliar neighborhood.
"Nowhere? Is that what you were going to say?" The officer leaned down and pushed his face through Frank's window. There was a grin across his stubbled face.
"Well, I don't see roadblocks anywhere too often," Frank replied. He could see the other police officers sauntering closer.
The officer nodded silently. Frank fidgeted as the man's coal black eyes bore down on him. "You look a lot like your dad," he finally said.
Frank was sure he hadn't heard right. "Uh, excuse me?"
The officer stood and turned to the others. "Fenton Hardy's son. Pretty good resemblance, huh?"
Smiling, they nodded in agreement. Frank felt completely bewildered. "What's going on here? How do you know my dad?"
The officer stuck his hand out toward Frank. "Henry Singer, chief of Devaron Police. I'm an old colleague of your dad's from way back when we were on the New York City police force. He called a few hours back to warn me you'd be coming through here and might have a tag along breathing down your neck. I told him to route you along this road and I'd make sure you got to Marfield alone."
In front of him one of the officers had climbed into a police car, and another was moving a sawhorse away.
Frank's grin now mirrored Officer Singer's. "Thanks," he said as a feeling of relief washed away his tension.
"All right, now, why don't you pull over to the side?"
Frank felt a shudder of dread. Was he going to give him a ticket after all?
Officer Singer seemed to read Frank's mind. 'Don't worry. I brought my car for you to use." He indicated a small Firebird resting on the right shoulder. "In case anyone is' after you, this'll really throw them off. This car will be okay. Your dad gave me the address of the rental place, and I'll have one of my rookies return it tomorrow."
"But - your own car? I can't - "
"I've been trying to sell it for weeks," Officer Singer said, chuckling. "Hey, if you like it, maybe you can make me an offer."
Frank maneuvered his car to the side and got out. "I'll talk to my dad about it."
As Frank got in and started it up Officer Singer gave him a little salute. "Say hello to him for me," he said.
"You bet," Frank replied. He shifted into gear as the police car moved away, clearing the road.
"One other
He was zigzagging straight at a police roadblock!
Chapter 10
The sound of Frank's tires screeching grew louder and louder. Through the windshield the light blue sawhorses loomed larger, as if they were growing in crazy time-lapse photos. Behind the sawhorses two police cars were parked nose to nose, their lights flashing. Frank clenched his jaw and waited for the crash.
His fingers were locked around the steering wheel. His teeth were bared, and his eyes were closed to shut out the moment of impact. But there was no crash. His brakes held.
When Frank opened his eyes the bright white message "Property of Devaron Police Dept." painted on a blue sawhorse was about three quarters of an inch from his front grille.
"Couldn't you get it a little closer?" came a gruff voice from the side of the road.
Frank spun around to see a broad-shouldered policeman strolling toward him. The reality of the situation came flooding back. Here he was on a strange road in the middle of northern Connecticut, dead tired at ten o'clock, trying to track down a man who might be following him. Now he was about to go to jail for almost wiping out an entire smalltown police department. "Sorry, officer," he said.
"You'll be even sorrier if you don't have your license and registration," the officer answered. Behind him three other officers stood impassively by the side of the road.
Frank took his license out of his wallet and opened the glove compartment for the rental registration. He handed them over. "I didn't expect something like this in the middle of - " He stopped himself, guarding his choice of words in an unfamiliar neighborhood.
"Nowhere? Is that what you were going to say?" The officer leaned down and pushed his face through Frank's window. There was a grin across his stubbled face.
"Well, I don't see roadblocks anywhere too often," Frank replied. He could see the other police officers sauntering closer.
The officer nodded silently. Frank fidgeted as the man's coal black eyes bore down on him. "You look a lot like your dad," he finally said.
Frank was sure he hadn't heard right. "Uh, excuse me?"
The officer stood and turned to the others. "Fenton Hardy's son. Pretty good resemblance, huh?"
Smiling, they nodded in agreement. Frank felt completely bewildered. "What's going on here? How do you know my dad?"
The officer stuck his hand out toward Frank. "Henry Singer, chief of Devaron Police. I'm an old colleague of your dad's from way back when we were on the New York City police force. He called a few hours back to warn me you'd be coming through here and might have a tag along breathing down your neck. I told him to route you along this road and I'd make sure you got to Marfield alone."
In front of him one of the officers had climbed into a police car, and another was moving a sawhorse away.
Frank's grin now mirrored Officer Singer's. "Thanks," he said as a feeling of relief washed away his tension.
"All right, now, why don't you pull over to the side?"
Frank felt a shudder of dread. Was he going to give him a ticket after all?
Officer Singer seemed to read Frank's mind. 'Don't worry. I brought my car for you to use." He indicated a small Firebird resting on the right shoulder. "In case anyone is' after you, this'll really throw them off. This car will be okay. Your dad gave me the address of the rental place, and I'll have one of my rookies return it tomorrow."
"But - your own car? I can't - "
"I've been trying to sell it for weeks," Officer Singer said, chuckling. "Hey, if you like it, maybe you can make me an offer."
Frank maneuvered his car to the side and got out. "I'll talk to my dad about it."
As Frank got in and started it up Officer Singer gave him a little salute. "Say hello to him for me," he said.
"You bet," Frank replied. He shifted into gear as the police car moved away, clearing the road.
"One other
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