The Dead Season by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page B

with.
    The storm was at its peak now. The water in the boathouse had risen to a point several inches over his head, and a fierce undertow was pulling at Frank's legs.
    The undertow dragged him under.
    Frank was trapped at the back of the building underwater, and there seemed to be no way out.

Chapter 9
    Now the pounding surf was pulling Frank in many directions all at once.
    He fought the current, but more important, he also fought the urge to panic. He told himself that he could survive if only he kept his head.
    The current was strongest in the center of the building, and Frank reasoned that if he could work his way to a side, he'd have a better chance of escaping. It was the longer route, he knew, but the force of the waves would be less, and he'd have the wall to hang on to.
    Strange, he thought as he fought the rising tide, the undertow seemed to be pulling his legs toward the back of the building, when it should be pulling in the direction of the doorway and out to sea.
    With slow, measured strokes he gradually made his way to the side of the building.
    The chilly gray water was laced with salty foam, and Frank had never felt so tired. His clothes were soaked, and the added weight only made his effort harder.
    He had no idea how long it had taken, but finally Frank was up against the wall of the building and pulled himself up high enough to keep his head above water.
    He was safe, but he wasn't out of the building yet. Frank inched his way to the entrance.
    He rested for a minute in the front corner of the building, gathering all his strength to fight his way out.
    He tightened his grip on the wall frame and moved through the pounding surf to the open doorway without letting go of the wall. Then he forced his way outside, only to be slammed against the side of the building by an enormous wave.
    Treading water, he moved along the outside of the boathouse toward the high ground behind the building.
    At last his feet touched firm sand and Frank began to run, slogging as fast as he could up the hill through the rain to the hotel and safety ***
    An hour or so later Frank was sitting in the dining room wearing dry clothes and wrapped in a blanket against the chill. He wondered when he would feel warm again. After all, he was in the tropics.
    Police Sergeant Chester Wrenn stood in a corner of the room.
    "Any sign of Joe?" Frank asked.
    Sergeant Wrenn shook his head no. "But you shouldn't worry too much. I understand your brother is strong and healthy. Chances are good he's somewhere safe waiting for the storm to end."
    "I hope you're right," said Frank.
    "More tea, Frank?" asked Callie.
    "Thanks."
    Frank sipped the warm, sweet tea and knew he'd soon recover. He also knew there was so much to be done.
    "Has Tyler's body been picked up?" asked Frank.
    "Yes," replied Gary. "The sergeant and I got it."
    Janet entered the room carrying a tray of sandwiches. "Help yourselves, everyone," she offered.
    "Where's Heather?" asked Frank.
    "Asleep," Callie told him.
    Sergeant Wrenn said, "Now that everybody's here, I'd like to ask a few questions."
    "Of course," said Gary, "but this isn't everybody."
    Frank nodded as he sipped his tea. As an outsider, he didn't want to come on too strong and was happy that Gary was speaking up.
    "Who's not here?" asked Wrenn. He was slender and young and a native islander. He had not acquired the hard edge of an overworked police officer yet.
    Janet said, "Two of our guests - Mr. Gaines and Mr. Logan. They're in their rooms, but I'll go get them if you like."
    "No," said the sergeant. "I'll speak to them later."
    He turned to Frank first and said, "Well, why don't you tell me what you know."
    "Right now, what I know is that my brother is out there somewhere," said Frank, gesturing to the storm that continued to rage outside. "And we've got to find him. He may be hurt."
    With a patience that seemed genuine, Wrenn said, "We'll do what we can when we can. There's nothing we can do till the storm breaks. I was