The Ice-cold Case by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

moving,” Phil said.
    â€œOkay, let’s roll,” Frank said as he got up from the ice.
    They found the next spot and looked around the ice as they had in the place before. They found what they thought was another hole that had frozen over, but it was difficult to be certain. The ice was mottled with refrozen patches where snow had been stuck between layers of lake ice.
    â€œCan’t see much of anything here,” Frank said, frustrated that they hadn’t found a definite pattern. “Let’s check another.”
    â€œIt’s cold out here,” Phil protested.
    â€œYes, it is,” Frank said as he took a look at Phil’s map.
    At the third spot, they repeated their steps, clearing a circle and examining the ice. This spot was much like the first one. They found some ridges at the edge of what had likely been a refrozen hole. In the middle of this one was another wad of tinfoil.
    â€œLook—” Phil began.
    â€œShh!” Joe said as he turned off his flashlight. Frank and Phil turned off their flashlights, too.
    â€œWhat is it?” Phil whispered.
    â€œI heard something,” Joe whispered. “Like an engine.”
    The ice beneath them rumbled. The rumbling grew stronger and then Joe heard the unmistakable sound of an engine roaring to life. He quickly turned on his flashlight and waved it in the direction of the noise. The light caught the gleam of shining chrome.
    â€œRun!” Frank shouted.
    Frank and Phil dove to one side and Joe ran to the other just as a truck came barreling right at them. It missed Frank by inches. Just as it went by, he saw the words painted on the door: Green’s Salvage.

13 Something’s Fishy
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    The truck roared by and disappeared into the darkness.
    â€œJoe, you okay?” Frank called out.
    â€œYeah. You guys?” Joe replied.
    â€œI’m okay,” Phil said, “but I’ve had enough.”
    â€œWe must be onto something,” Joe said as he looked around in the darkness for the truck.
    â€œThat was Hank’s truck,” Frank said, getting to his feet.
    â€œWe’d better make sure he’s okay,” Joe said. He searched for his walking stick. He wasn’t going to risk falling through the ice on the way back to the van.
    â€œDo you think they were really trying to kill us?” Phil asked.
    â€œI doubt it,” Frank said. “They came through only once.”
    â€œThey were just trying to scare us. Hurting us would have been a bonus,” Joe added.
    Soon they were back in the van and on the road that led to Green’s Salvage. When they got there, Frank pulled the van off the road opposite the driveway.
    â€œLook at that,” Frank said, pointing at the entrance to Green’s. “Fresh tire tracks.”
    They got out of the van, and Frank went to inspect the tracks.
    â€œNot much snow. They must have been here within the last hour or so,” Frank said.
    â€œYou notice something missing?” Joe asked.
    Frank looked around and listened to the howling wind as it made eerie whistling sounds through the junked cars.
    â€œWhere’s Red?” Frank asked.
    Hank’s dog wasn’t barking.
    â€œRed? Here, boy,” Joe called out.
    Frank took the flashlight from Joe, went to the office, and shined the flashlight in the window. He saw the furniture and newspapers strewn about. Then he saw a slab of raw meat on the floor. Next to the meat was Red.
    Frank continued looking. “There’s something.”
    Joe and Phil peered in and saw Red.
    â€œHe’s just sleeping, right?” Phil asked.
    Frank saw the dog’s ribs moving. “He’s breathing. My guess is he’s been drugged.”
    â€œWhere’s Hank?” Joe asked.
    â€œWe’d better look around,” Frank said. “Let’s split up.”
    They each walked down a different row ofbroken-down cars, scanning the ground, looking for footprints in the snow.