Hurricane Joe by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2006-02-23T16:00:00+00:00

9 Death in a Bottle

Poison?

I stared down at Velma, stunned and helpless.

“What happened?” I asked her.

She looked at me with pain in her eyes and nodded at a half-empty soda bottle on the floor.

Someone put poison in her soda.

I reached for the bottle, but Frank stopped me. “Don’t touch it, Joe! There might be fingerprints on it!”

Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. “We need an ambulance at Velma’s Pawnshop on Southside Alley,” he told the operator. “Velma’s been poisoned.”

Velma grabbed my hand and squeezed.

“Who did this to you?” I asked her.

She raised her head and tried to speak. I leaned in closer, tilting my ear toward her mouth.

“W …”

That’s all I heard—a W sound.

Then she closed her eyes and slumped back.

No!

I was starting to check her pulse when someone yelled from the doorway.

“Step aside, boys!”

It was Officer Welch and his partner, Officer Warner. They rushed into the tiny shop, practically knocking Frank and me to the floor. Warner, the dark-haired one, knelt down over Velma’s body. Welch picked up the soda bottle.

He’s touching the evidence.

I was ready to point out his faulty police work when an ambulance came roaring down the alley. Lights flashing and siren blaring, it screeched to a stop in front of the store. Two paramedics jumped out and rushed inside.

“Hurry,” I said. “We think she’s been poisoned.”

Officer Warner stood up to let the paramedics examine the body. Then he turned and stared at Frank and me.

“What were you boys doing here?” he asked.

“We wanted to ask Velma about the stolen Zbox,” I said without hesitation.

Frank smacked my arm.

Officer Warner frowned. “That’s our job, boys.”

“Really?” I said. “It seems to me that you and your partner aren’t very interested in the case.”

Warner’s face turned red. “Look here,” he said, scowling. “I understand that your father used to be some big-time detective back in New York. But this is Bayport, and it’s our beat now. So butt out.”

I started to protest, but Frank grabbed my arm.

Then Officer Welch stepped in. “Okay, enough is enough. You boys should go home now,” he said. “Leave the police work to the professionals.”

Frank pushed me toward the door and into the alley. As we started to go, one of the paramedics stood up over Velma’s body and announced something to the officers, who turned to us.

“Too late,” he said. “She’s dead.”

When we got home, we told our father everything that had happened at the police station and Velma’s Pawnshop. He leaned back in his office chair and listened carefully.

“What were the names of the two officers?” he asked.

“Welch and Warner,” I told him.

Dad made a face and rolled his eyes. “Oh, those guys. They’re fresh out of the police academy, and nobody on the force likes them.”

“Do you think they could be involved?” asked Frank.

Dad shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt it. They’re just a couple of jerks who think they know everything.”

We talked a little more about Velma and the stolen Zbox. Dad thought she probably knew the merchandise was stolen—and that’s why she was silenced.

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