The Crisscross Crime by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online

seemed to be okay.
    The woman nodded. “And you must be somebody Hardy.”
    â€œI’m Frank.” Sylvia looked to be in her early twenties. Frank guessed she’d just gotten back from a jog—she wore running shoes and a navy blue shorts and tank-top outfit. “Where’s my brother?” Frank asked.
    â€œThis way.” Sylvia led Frank around the hedgerow. “Are you by any chance related to Fenton Hardy?”
    â€œHe’s my dad,” Frank said. “How do you know him?”
    â€œHe did some work for my father last year,” Sylvia said. “My father’s investment company opened an office in Europe, and your father helped with background checks on all the new employees.”
    They stepped into the side yard. There was Joe, perched high in a tree. Another Doberman, this one light brown, sat at the base of the tree, looking up hungrily.
    â€œOff, Lemmy!” The dog trotted over to Sylvia.
    â€œLemmy?”
    â€œShort for Lemming,” Sylvia said, smiling. “He’s very loyal.”
    Frank grinned. “So loyal he’d follow you over a cliff, right?”
    Joe dropped down from the tree and strode over. “What’s the idea of siccing those dogs on us?” he asked angrily.
    Sylvia’s smile disappeared. “What’s the idea of trespassing on my parents’ property?”
    Frank looked at his brother. “She’s got you there.”
    Joe was still miffed. “Your parents’ house? We thought this was your place.”
    Sylvia attached leashes to Bunny and Lemmy. “You thought I could afford a place like this?” she said, giggling. “You must’ve fallen on your head when you jumped the fence.”
    Sylvia started walking toward the house, motioning for Frank and Joe to follow. “My parents spend summers at a cabin in the mountains,” she continued. “I’m house-sitting for them. In the fall I move back to my crummy apartment.”
    â€œSee, Joe,” Frank said. “Nothing suspicious in that.”
    Inside the house, Sylvia let the dogs loose and sent them scampering off.
    â€œI overheard you guys talking about Dad,” Joe said. “Just because our fathers know each other doesn’t mean there’s nothing crooked going on.”
    Sylvia froze. “Are you talking about the robbery?”
    Joe nodded.
    â€œIs your father investigating it?”
    â€œHe’s in Switzerland,” Frank said. “But Joe and I had some questions.”
    â€œThat moron Stendahl sent you here, didn’t he?” Sylvia said, leading the Hardys to a book-lined library.
    â€œYou and Stendahl don’t get along?” Joe asked.
    Sylvia sank into an overstuffed chair. “I’m going in this afternoon to tell him I quit.”
    â€œIt’s that bad?” Frank asked.
    â€œI can’t keep working for someone who thinks I’m a criminal,” Sylvia said. “Besides, he treats his employees like dirt. Even though he’s only president of tiny little Bayport Savings, he pretends to be some kind of jet-setter, flying overseas all the time. He leaves me to do all the work.”
    Frank wandered over to a shelf and looked at the books. They all seemed to be very old. “Stendahl says the bank robber had information only you could’ve given him.”
    â€œThe police have already grilled me aboutthat,” Sylvia said. “I didn’t know anything about it.”
    Joe headed to an antique writing desk against the back wall. “Do you know a guy named Bart Meredith?”
    â€œNever heard of him.” Sylvia looked at Frank. “You believe me, don’t you?”
    Frank didn’t say anything.
    â€œI was the one who sounded the alarm. Did Stendahl tell you that?”
    â€œNo,” Joe answered.
    â€œWell, I did. Stendahl came running out of his office like a chicken with its head cut off. That’s the dumbest thing to do.