Trouble Island (Hardy Boys Adventures)($7.99Value)

Description

Brother detectives Frank and Joe cook up a new case as a series of accidents threatens a remote island in the twenty-second book in the thrilling Hardy Boys Adventures series. When Aunt Trudy wins a competition to intern with celebrity chef Colton Spark, she invites Frank and Joe to join her on her trip to the remote Rubble Island off the coast of Maine, where she’ll be helping Colton cook for the prestigious Golden Claw Awards. They’ll be staying at the island’s beautiful Seaspray Inn where the event is being hosted, and though it’s the off-season, the boys will be free to check out the rocky beaches, learn about lobstering, and take in all the close-knit community has to offer. Still, even before the Hardys reach the island, it becomes clear that the locals are not big fans of Colton. As the big day approaches, the Seaspray Inn encounters a series of mishaps. Is it bad luck, or is someone trying to scare Colton off? And then, the night before the awards, the Golden Claw goes missing! But before the police can make it over from the mainland to investigate, a huge storm blows in. Cut off from the world, tensions on the island are higher than ever. Will Frank and Joe be able to figure out who’s behind the crimes before someone gets hurt? Or is this troubled island more than they can handle? Franklin W. Dixon is the author of the ever-popular Hardy Boys books. Chapter 1: Gone with the Wind 1 GONE WITH THE WIND Six months later FRANK JUSTIN LI DID NOT LOOK pleased. “So nobody took my money,” he said, frowning up at us from the driver’s seat of his Mazda 3 in the high school parking lot. The wind started up, icy and mean, making my brother Joe and me hug ourselves and look over longingly at our own car, parked a few rows away. It was that depressing part of spring, before it warms up, when it’s just thinking about not being winter anymore. “Well… no human did,” I corrected Justin with a little chuckle. “Is the wind a ‘body’? Does it have intention? I guess that’s a question for the philosoph—” “You’re saying the wind blew that huge wad of cash off the table at the café, and then into the river?” he said, clearly finding the situation not the least bit funny. “That is what the security footage from the car dealership seemed to reveal,” Joe said, lifting up his smartphone for Justin to see. “Would you like to watch it again?” It had been really hard for us to get that footage, actually, but Justin clearly didn’t care. He shook his head, taking on a thousand-yard stare. I glanced at Joe nervously, and his expression confirmed that he too had noticed what I feared: Justin was going to the dark place. Since Justin was six foot four and at least two hundred pounds, this was troubling. “All my barista money,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he stared past us. “Over four hundy. Do you know how many lattes I had to make? How many ladies I had to argue with about whether I’d put enough vanilla syrup in? That was my guitar money. Do you know how many girls I was going to get with that thing?” When Joe and I didn’t respond quickly enough, Justin looked annoyed, like we weren’t following. “The guitar ,” he said. “I can see you’re disappointed,” I replied, trying to take on the soothing tone my mom uses when she talks me down from a major blow. “But all things considered, isn’t it better that no human took your money? The wind is a bummer, sure, but it’s also a fluke. You don’t have to feel all mopey about the vicissitudes of human nature, or anything like that.” Justin looked up at me then. From his scowl and the sharp angle of his eyebrows, it was clear he was irritated. “Vississi-what?” he asked. “Never mind,” Joe said. “Look, Justin, we’re really sorry about your guitar money. Maybe next time, don’t carry so much cash around? And definitely don’t leave it in an envelope on an outdoor café table on a windy day.” Justin shook his head. “If it was a dude, I could punch him, at least. You can’t punch the wind .” This is factually untrue, but I decided not to call him on it. He didn’t seem to be in the right frame of mind. “I’m really sorry,” I said. Justin sighed, then pulled his long legs into his Mazda. “Well, at least I didn’t pay you anything.” “Yeah,” Joe said dryly. “At least that .” Justin had closed the door and started up the car by then, so if he picked up on Joe’s tone, he showed no sign of it. He rolled the window back down an inch. “Thanks, I guess,” he said with another sigh before backing out of his parking space and taking off. Joe and I both watched the spot where Justin’s car had been for a few seconds. I don’t think either of us really knew what to say. “That was an anticlimax,” Joe finally commented. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Good thing he didn’t pay us.” Joe let out a hard snort. “I can’t blame him, though. There’s nothing satisfying about knowing your guitar money’s at the bottom of a muddy river and there’s nobody to blame but yourself.” I nodde