Extreme Danger by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2005-06-28T16:00:00+00:00

9 Who Is Mr. X?

Ollie? Murdered?

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Our prime suspect had just become the latest victim.

“How did it happen?” Frank asked the reporter.

“He was poisoned,” Max told us. “I overheard the cops talking. They think someone slipped something into Ollie’s coffee. They’re sending a sample off to the lab to be tested.”

Ollie? Murdered? I kept thinking. Who would want to murder Ollie?

Then I remembered the way he snapped at those customers in his shop last night. Ollie may have owned the best skateboard shop in Philly, but he certainly seemed to have a lot of enemies. According to Jeb, everybody hated the guy.

But did they hate him enough to kill him?

Max raised his camera and snapped more shots of the crime scene. “Mr. X strikes again,” he said.

“Who’s Mr. X?” I asked.

“Haven’t you seen the evening edition of the Freedom Press?”

“No. It’s only two o’clock now.”

“We went to press early today. Had to beat the other papers with our scoop,” Max explained. “Anyway, the cover story is by yours truly. Photos, exclusive interviews … all mine! Even Mr. X was my idea.”

“Phantom of the Big Air Games,” Frank muttered.

Max looked at Frank. “Yeah, I came up with that, but … I thought you hadn’t seen the evening edition yet.”

Frank pointed to the crime scene. Lying in the doorway of Ollie’s shop was a crumpled copy of the Freedom Press. The headline read, WHO IS MR. X? PHANTOM OF THE BIG AIR GAMES ATTACKS XTREME ATHLETES IN PARK.

“Mr. X Xtreme sports. Get it?” said Max.

“We get it,” I said.

“Better yet, buy it,” the reporter added. “My editor-in-chief is hoping to double, even triple, our circulation with this story.”

“We’ll grab a copy on our way back to the hotel,” Frank promised.

“Aw, heck. Officer! Excuse me!” Max yelled and waved to a police officer in front of Ollie’s shop. “Toss me that newspaper! There, on the ground!”

The officer glanced down at the rumpled paper in the doorway. “Sorry, sir!” he shouted back. “It’s evidence!”

“Evidence,” Max muttered to us. “It’s the biggest story of my career, and that joker calls it evidence. Can you believe it? He’s probably just too cheap to buy his own copy! Evidence, my foot.”

I shot a glance at Frank and twirled a finger at my temple.

What a fruit loop.

“Mr. Monroe. You said Ollie was poisoned,” my brother said, trying to change the subject. “Did you see his body before they put him in the ambulance?”

“You bet I did,” answered the reporter, patting his camera. “Got it all on film. He was already dead when they loaded him in. I wanted to get a shot of his face, but he was covered up by the time I got here. I did get a good shot of his cane lying next to him on the stretcher, though.”

“How did you hear about it?” Frank asked.

“I didn’t. I was on my way here to talk to Ollie. He called and left a message at my office. Said he wanted to talk to me about Mr.

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