The Caribbean Cruise Caper by Franklin W. Dixon

the square.”
    Elizabeth’s face brightened.
    The boat docked alongside a palm-lined boulevard.Nearby, Frank spotted the colorful umbrellas of an outdoor café. From the harbor, the old town rose in level after level of white-stone buildings with lacy iron balconies and red-tile roofs. The green slopes of Mount Orange supplied a lush backdrop.
    Frank and Joe stood at the rail admiring the view. “Do you think they have a college here?” Joe wondered out loud. “I could handle four years in a place like this.”
    â€œHuh,” Frank replied. “You’d probably spend your four years lying on the beach waiting for a nice ripe guava to plop into your mouth.”
    Joe smiled. “You could do worse. But I like mangoes better.” He lowered his voice and added, “We should try to keep an eye on everyone while we’re ashore this afternoon. Why don’t I concentrate on Sylvie? That was her perfume in our room last night.”
    â€œGood idea,” Frank said. “And I’ll watch Elizabeth. There’s something I don’t get about her attitude.”
    â€œ Attitude ’s the word,” Joe said, rolling his eyes. “That girl is nothing but attitude!”
    As the teens left the boat, David warned them to be back by four o’clock. “Have a great time,” he added. “If you need to get in touch, you have the telephone number here. Bettina and I will both be on board.”
    The group stayed together just long enough toreach the first corner. Sylvie eyed the narrow cobbled street that twisted its way uphill under lines hung with brightly colored wash.
    â€œLet’s go this way,” she eagerly urged. “I bet we’ll find some awesome views up the hill.”
    Elizabeth sniffed. “A slum’s a slum,” she said. “Even in the Caribbean. I’d rather find the square and check out the shops.”
    â€œOkay. Have fun,” Sylvie said with a touch of sarcasm in her tone. She started up the little street. After a moment’s hesitation the others followed. Only Frank stayed behind. Elizabeth bit her lower lip as she watched the group walk away. Then she tossed her blond hair in a way that was meant to say, “Why should I care about them ?”
    â€œI detest sight-seeing,” Elizabeth told Frank. “It’s so boring. Our place in Virginia is just a mile from a Civil War battleground. One of my daddy’s relatives commanded a battalion there. But I’ve never visited. I can’t stand all those noisy, smelly charter buses. And the people with their camcorders! Sometimes they walk right up to our house and take each other’s pictures on our front porch. Can you imagine?”
    Frank started to say, “Maybe you should charge admission.” He thought better of it.
    Elizabeth didn’t notice. “I really thought there would be more people like me on this cruise. After all, a yacht in the Caribbean . . . I didn’t stop to think that a magazine like Teenway has to appeal toa pretty mixed bag. I do wish the others didn’t resent me for my advantages, though. I can’t help who I am or who my ancestors were, can I?”
    Frank was tempted to say that she might try not acting so stuck-up. He decided to keep his mouth shut. After all, he was a detective, not an advice columnist.
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    By three-thirty Joe was ready to bang his head against a wall. While sticking close to Sylvie, he was also trying to keep track of everyone else in his group. But how could he? All afternoon they kept wandering off, hanging back, dawdling in shops, hurrying ahead. It was as if they had all secretly decided to drive him bonkers!
    Now he was in a tiny square where five alleys—they were too narrow to be called streets—met. Against one of the house walls, a stone fountain burbled. Cesar held his cupped hands under the stream of water.
    â€œDon’t drink