Secret of the Red Arrow by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page A

deal.”
    I could tell that my normally coolheaded brother was starting to get frustrated. “Was this some kind of warped revenge thing?” he asked, moving closer. “Is that it? Because—”
    Suddenly Frank reached out and yanked down the sleeve of Neanderthal’s robe. Neanderthal jumped and grabbed at the sleeve, but not before we saw his shoulder and the top of his arm—which were covered in bruises.
    “Neal!” I cried, moving closer. “That doesn’t look like my idea of a joke.”
    Neanderthal backed away, yanking his robe back on andcrossing his arms. “You guys, come on. I think you should leave.”
    “Not before you explain what’s going on,” Frank insisted. He lowered his voice. “Why are you lying?” he asked. “What really happened tonight? You can tell us.”
    Neanderthal didn’t respond, just stared at the floor and shook his head. After a few seconds of silence—during which we didn’t leave—he finally raised his eyes to meet Frank’s.
    They were full of fear.
    “Please,” he said finally, in a low voice. “If you know what’s good for you—or me—you will forget that Sharelle ever asked you here. It was a misunderstanding, okay? I don’t need your help.”
    Frank frowned, then turned to me. I shook my head, mystified. What could it take to scare Neanderthal Bunyan—one of the biggest meatheads in school—this badly?
    “Okay,” I said after a minute or so. “We’ll take your word for it, Neal. If you want us to leave, we’ll leave.”
    I looked at Frank and raised my eyebrows, like, Shall we? Personally, I was done trying to make nice with Neanderthal. Obviously, something was going on with him. But if he didn’t want to tell us about it, so be it.
    Frank hesitated before nodding. Before he moved, though, he turned back to Neanderthal and lowered his voice. “If you ever want to tell us what’s really going on,” he said, “we’re here.”
    Clearly, Frank has more patience than I do. I was already fantasizing about my nice warm bed and the four or so hours of sleep I could still get if we hightailed it home. But when we turned to walk out the door, something jumped out at me.
    It was right over Neal’s bedroom door—just above the center of the door frame.
    A tiny red triangle with what looked like little legs coming out of it. Painted on, like with a stencil.
    It definitely hadn’t been there when Frank and I had come by earlier.
    In fact, it was shiny. Was the paint still wet?
    I pointed. “Neal—what the heck is that?”
    Neal’s reaction was brief but intense. His face turned scarlet and his eyes widened like a ghost had appeared behind us. But then he looked down at the floor and shook his head, and when he faced us again, he looked totally nonchalant.
    “What do you mean?” he asked. “That red thing? Just something stupid Sharelle and I painted up there when I was little.”
    Frank stared at the symbol. “I could swear that wasn’t there be—”
    But Neal kept talking, drowning him out. “We were into Native Americans. Arrowheads. You know.”
    He walked around his bed toward us, then opened the door and raised his voice. “Well, bye now. You two sleep well.”
    My brother and I regarded each other warily. Neanderthal’s parents could clearly hear us now. No way he was going to reveal anything else.
    “Okay,” I said, strolling through the door. “Well, good night.”
    Frank didn’t look terribly eager to leave, but it was clear he got the message too. We walked down the hallway to the living room and the front door. As we were about to leave, a figure jumped up off the couch in the darkened room, startling us.
    Sharelle.
    She walked over, not quite meeting our eyes. “Good night, guys,” she said, and then, lowering her voice so only we could hear her, “Sorry.”
    Frank leaned closer and lowered his voice to match hers. “I don’t suppose you want to tell us what’s really going on?” he whispered.
    Sharelle looked up at him. Her eyes