Long Shot - Stine Megan (библиотека книг бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗

“I didn’t get it either,” said Sarah.

“Must be a private joke,” Jupe said, watching the evidence he almost had in his hands slip away.

“Telephone for Pete Crenshaw!” someone was shouting. “Yo! Pete Crenshaw! Is he here?”

Jupe watched Pete move through the crowd toward the guy with the phone.

“Well, Jupiter, are you going to ask me to dance?” Sarah said.

“Huh?” Jupe said. Suddenly his mind was split in two. Half of it wanted to dance with Sarah so badly he’d do anything—even go on the One-Quarter Diet if that would help. But the other half of his mind was watching Pete head for the phone. Who would be calling him — here?

Sarah saw the faraway look on Jupe’s face and said, “Well, I guess you’re not interested.” Before Jupe could recover, she had walked away.

A moment later Pete came back to the living room, motioning for Jupe to join him.

“I just got a phone call,” Pete said. “Some guy gave me a warning. He said, ‘It’s not safe to snoop around other people’s business.’ ”

“Was the voice familiar?”

 “Nope. He also said if I wanted to see what he meant, go look out the window.”

Jupe and Pete hurried out onto the balcony. Just as they reached the railing there was a huge booming fireball explosion — coming from a car on the street.

“Oh, no! My Porsche!” Pete shouted.

12

Arresting Developments

Pete watched the ball of fire turn into a cloud of black smoke. Pieces of the blue Porsche fell from the air. People on the street were running for cover.

Miraculously, no one had gotten hurt. But Jupe’s heart was pounding as if he had just barely escaped with his life.

“Call the police.” Jupe delivered it like an order, partly to steady his own nerves and partly to snap his friend out of his dazed stare. “Call the police, Pete!”

But Pete didn’t move. And people inside Cory Brand’s condo came rushing out onto the balcony to see what the noise was.

Jupe pushed his way back inside to call the cops himself. Cory’s apartment was in Rocky Beach, so Jupe knew the phone number by heart. How many times had Jupe called the police to ask for help in a case? Zillions. But he’d never had to report a car bombing before — not of Pete’s own car, anyway! He hurried back to Pete as soon as he hung up.

Pete was still staring, his hands gripping the balcony railing. Fire engines had arrived. The firefighters scrambled around, connecting hoses and squirting foam. Jupe’s stomach turned over when he saw how long the fire burned — and how hard it was to extinguish the flames.

The doorbell rang and Jupe saw a Rocky Beach police officer come into the condo.

“Hey — we weren’t making any noise,” Cory Brand said the minute the officer stepped in.

The officer surveyed the party scene. “Someone here phoned to report that car bombing.”

“That was I,” Jupe said. He spoke over the general mumbles of the group as he stepped from the balcony back into the living room.

“I’d like to speak to you,” said the officer, motioning Jupe toward the front doorway for a private conference.

Jupe tapped Pete, who still looked dazed, and got him to follow.

“I’m Jupiter Jones and this is my friend Pete Crenshaw. That’s his car that was blown up,” Jupe said, his voice cracking slightly on the last sentence.

“Do you have the registration?” the officer asked Pete.

“Well, no... ” Pete looked at Jupe for help. But before Jupe could explain, the officer took two pairs of handcuffs from a pouch on his belt.

“Hold out your hands, boys,” the officer said.

“Why? Hey, wait a minute. Jupe can explain!” Pete said.

The officer grabbed Jupe’s wrists and clamped on the cuffs.

“Wait a — ow! — what are you doing? This is absurd,” Jupe sputtered. “Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

“Yeah — you’re one of the Three Investigators, aren’t you?” the officer sneered.

Jupe pulled himself up to his full height.

“I am a personal friend of Chief Reynolds,” Jupe said, trying to maintain his composure. “Is this what you do when citizens report an incident?”

“This is what we do when we’re bringing in suspects,” said the officer as he roughly grabbed and cuffed Pete.

Suspects? Jupe thought. Suspects? “That’s ridiculous. We didn’t blow up that car! Where’s your evidence?” Jupe demanded.

“I’m taking you in on suspicion of auto theft,” said the officer. “We’ll talk about it at the station.”

When they got to the police station, the cuffs were finally taken off. The two friends sat next to each other on a hard wooden bench outside Police Chief Reynolds’s office.

Pete stared at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. He felt like he was living a nightmare. “We could have been killed,” he said.

“I know,” Jupe said, his stomach turning over again.

“I don’t think we were intended to die. But we might have been killed accidentally. It’s clear we haven’t been careful enough. Someone knew we were going to be at that party.”

“But if they didn’t want to kill us, why blow up the car?”

“To scare us,” Jupe said. “Obviously we are getting close to something — too close.”

Just then the door to Police Chief Reynolds’s office opened. Officer Klint, the cop who’d picked up the guys, motioned them in.

“Hello, Chief,” said Jupiter as he entered.

“Jupiter. Pete,” said the burly, balding man behind the desk. He was half hidden by a mess of files and notes and notepads.

“Chief,” said Jupiter as if speaking to an old friend. Which of course he was. The Rocky Beach police chief had helped the Three Investigators a number of times. And vice versa. Bob liked to say they were “partners in crime-solving.” So Jupe was startled to be hauled in like a common thief. “Why the use of hand-cuffs?” Jupe asked.

“Jupe,” said the chief in a surprisingly unfriendly voice. “I’m going to do all the questioning for once.” Suddenly he smiled pleasantly. “Well, Pete — that’s quite a car.”

It seemed like he was changing the subject, but Jupe knew Chief Reynolds too well. He knew his interrogation techniques. Make the suspect comfortable. Talk about something easy, gain his confidence — then spring the trap. But why was he using his techniques on Pete and Jupe?

“Yeah, it sure was,” Pete said. “And maybe you should be out looking for the joker who blew it up.”

“Pete,” snapped the chief, “mind your manners. I know my job. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. How long have you had that car?”

“Since Friday,” Jupe answered because Pete was biting a fingernail.

“How’d you boys get it?”

“A man gave it to me,” Pete answered.

Chief Reynolds crossed his arms and sniffed. “I don’t like that answer,” he said. Then he leaned forward with his elbows on his desk. “Try again.”

“What do you want me to say?” Pete asked. “It followed me home? I told you the truth.”

“All right, Pete. I’ve known you boys a long time, and I’m inclined to believe you. But there’s more than one side to the truth here. The other side is that that car was reported stolen this afternoon.”

“Stolen?” Pete said.

“By whom?” asked Jupe.

“By its owner. Barry Norman,” said the chief.

“Barry Norman, why that’s the — ” Pete started to say. But Jupe interrupted him loudly.

“Pete, I think it’s time to tell Chief Reynolds that we’re working on a case and that that car was a part of it, and that we can’t expose our client, right? ”

“What? Oh, yeah, right,” Pete said.

“What case?” asked Chief Reynolds.

Jupe shook his head. “I can’t tell you,” he said. “We’ve promised our client that we’d protect his interests by keeping this quiet.”

The chief threw up his hands.

“If you keep me in the dark, I’ve got to go by the rule book, boys,” said the chief.

“So do we,” Jupe said.