The Ice-cold Case by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

9 Sore Losers

* * *

Joe waited to the last second before passing the puck to Frank. In the same motion, he lunged headfirst onto the ice.

“Look out!” John shouted, but it was too late. He and Vinnie were going too fast to stop. They crashed into each other with such force that they bounced backward onto the ice.

Frank was the only one left standing. He skated casually to the goal, then stopped before gently tapping the puck through.

“Score,” he said quietly.

“The Hardys win,” Ray announced.

Joe got up and waved to the Kwans, who were applauding the victory.

Frank skated over to Joe as Vinnie and John rubbed their bruises.

“So, who’s going to wipe who off the ice?” Joe said to Vinnie.

“You won. No big deal,” Vinnie said. “Sorry to cut short your victory, but we’ve got to get to work.”

“What time is it, anyway?” John asked.

Ray checked his watch. “It’s nearly five.”

“You like working the night shift?” Frank asked.

“Would you like flipping burgers from six to two in the morning?” John said before he and Vinnie skated back to Ray’s truck.

“Good game,” Joe shouted as he and Frank skated to their van. “Good for us at least,” he added under his breath.

“We should check the schedule at Burger World,” Frank said, hopping into the driver’s seat. “If they were working when Lang was attacked, I’d say they’re in the clear.”

“Let’s go see if Hank can tell us something about the guy who owns that shanty we were locked in last night,” Joe said.

At Green’s Salvage, Red greeted them, barking and wagging his tail. Hank came out of his office to see what Red was so excited about.

“Hey there—how’re you doing?” Hank asked as Frank and Joe got out of the van.

“We just played some hockey, so we’re feeling pretty good,” Joe said, still enjoying the win over Vinnie and John.

“Speak for yourself, Joe. I’m starting to feel pretty sore,” Frank said. He rubbed his side where John had rammed into him.

“How about some hot cider?” Hank said. “Come inside.”

They went into Hank’s cluttered trailer and managed to pull three chairs up to Hank’s table.

“I can’t believe you ever find anything in here,” Frank said as he moved an air filter off a chair.

“Oh, I know where everything is,” Hank said. “Unless someone else comes in and moves something. Then I’m in big trouble,” he added, with a chuckle.

Hank took a pot off a little electric hot plate and poured three cups of steaming cider. Frank and Joe wrapped their cold hands around the hot mugs.

“So, what brings you here?” Hank asked as he sat back in his chair.

“We had a run-in with someone on the lake last night after you left,” Frank said.

“They locked us in one of the shanties,” Joe added.

“Whoever it was must have been expecting us. The shanty was all sealed up,” Frank said.

“Whose shanty was it?” Hank asked.

“Paul Rizzo’s,” Frank said.

“There’s no way that Rizzo is involved,” Hank said without a hint of hesitation. “Little guy, maybe seventy-five years old.

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