Terror at High Tide by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page B

the red lobster insignia!
    â€œDo you see what I see?” Joe asked.
    â€œYup,” Frank said. “Go for it.”
    Joe started up the engine and accelerated out of the parking space. At that moment the dune buggy headed straight across the intersection on the street that crossed Oak Street. After stopping at the stop sign, Joe hung a left. The dune buggy was a block ahead.
    â€œDo you think it’s Ferrier?” Frank asked.
    Joe hunched forward over the steering wheel, squinting against the sunlight reflected off the back of the buggy. “Look, Frank! The driver’s wearing a cap—just like the guy who ran us off the road.”
    â€œDon’t take your eyes off him,” Frank said as the vehicle turned right up Main Street.
    â€œAre you nuts? My eyeballs are glued to him.” Joe pressed the accelerator, and the Jeep bumped along the cobblestone street, skirting bicyclists and pedestrians.
    â€œHe’s heading left out of town,” Callie said. “Hurry, or we’ll lose him.”
    Joe wheeled the Jeep to the left onto a smoothly paved side street. The dune buggy was a shiny blue blur several blocks ahead.
    â€œGun it, Joe,” Frank said. “He’s getting away.”
    Joe switched to third gear as the traffic and pedestrians thinned out, and the Jeep roared up the empty road.
    â€œHave we lost him?” Frank asked, leaning forward. He saw a flash of blue heading right as the road forked up ahead. “Joe, go right!”
    â€œI can’t—I’m going too fast!” Joe yelled as he sped down the left-hand fork.
    â€œIf you turn right at the next street, it will feed into the road you missed,” Alicia said.
    Joe slammed on the brakes as much as he dared. With a shower of sand and gravel, he turned the Jeep right.
    The buggy was slowly bumping along ahead of them. “This road leads to the Corn Mill two miles down,” Alicia explained.
    â€œDon’t get away from me now, buddy,” Joe begged. He had stopped the Jeep for a moment, waiting for some bicyclists to move from the middle of the road. Just then the buggy disappeared around a curve. “Rats!” he exclaimed, punching the steering wheel. Finally the cyclists moved to the side, and Joe drove on.
    â€œDo you see it anywhere?” Joe asked as he rounded a curve.
    â€œNot yet,” Alicia said. Three pairs of eyes scanned the empty road ahead as Joe gunned the accelerator.
    â€œThere!” Callie said. “To the right. It’s parkedon that little road next to Mehanuck Pond—right by the Corn Mill.”
    Joe slowed. Sure enough, the buggy was parked in front of a small pond in the middle of a field.
    â€œBingo,” Frank said. “We’ve got the car, but where’s the driver?”
    â€œDo you think he went into the Corn Mill?” Callie asked. Joe brought the Jeep to a halt behind the dune buggy, and he and Frank looked across the pond at the windmill, a gray-shingled building that looked to Frank like a pepper shaker. The sails spun around in the breeze.
    Joe glanced at a row of bushes next to the parked cars. “He could be anywhere.”
    Frank’s dark eyes flickered with sudden awareness. Turning to Callie, he said, “Ferrier knew we were headed to the Corn Mill. He was with us on the street when you invited us along.”
    â€œI still don’t believe he’s involved in this,” she said. “I’m sure Scarlatti’s the one.”
    â€œWhoever it is, I wonder what’s up his sleeve,” Joe said. “This whole setup strikes me as fishy.”
    â€œMaybe we shouldn’t go in,” Alicia said nervously. “I don’t want to march into some trap this guy’s rigged, like some sort of lamebrain.”
    Frank smiled. “Then why don’t you stay in the Jeep?” he suggested. “That way we’ll have all bases covered.”
    â€œOkay,” Alicia said. She