Terror at High Tide by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

Clouds covered the moon, but Frank saw that they were under the gazebo in Scarlatti’s backyard. A light was on in the house—Scarlatti’s upstairs bedroom, Frank guessed.
    Frank climbed out, followed by Callie, Alicia, and Joe. In the dim light cast by the house, Frank could just make out their faces streaked with dirt and cobwebs.
    â€œEven though we didn’t find Dad, I’m still considering Roberto our number-one suspect,” Alicia declared.
    â€œThat reminds me,” Joe said. He reached into his pocket, took out the cuff link, and handed it to Alicia. “Could this cuff link be your dad’s?”
    â€œI don’t recognize it,” Alicia said, peering at it closely. “It looks like an anchor, but I can barely see it in the dark.”
    â€œIt has the initials EP on it,” Joe said, taking the cuff link from Alicia. He told Alicia about finding it in the cranberry bog while they were chasing the mystery man.
    â€œI’m pretty sure Dad was wearing a shirt with regular button cuffs the night he disappeared,” Alicia said. “I don’t think he even has any shirtsthat need cuff links. Could it belong to the kidnapper?”
    Joe shrugged. “I’d like to ask Scarlatti about it. Even though it’s late, he shouldn’t mind answering questions that might help us find a missing person.” Joe grinned. “If he’s innocent, that is.”
    â€œWe’ll wait for you in the Jeep,” Frank said. “Four people at his door at this hour would be enough to make anyone clam up.”
    â€œI’ll bet it’s going to rain,” Alicia commented, glancing toward the sky. “I’ll put the top on the Jeep.”
    Five minutes later Joe approached the Jeep, shaking his head. “That was a bust,” he announced as he hopped into the front seat next to Frank. “Scarlatti wasn’t too happy to see me, especially when I told him I was investigating Mr. Geovanis’s disappearance. He said he hasn’t seen Mr. Geovanis since their argument at the museum, but he’s sure Mr. Geovanis is fine. He was just about to close the door in my face when I showed him the cuff link.”
    â€œWhat did he do then?” Frank asked.
    â€œHe told me he’d never seen it before. He said it was the kind of cuff link a ship’s officer might wear for a formal party, and he thought EP probably does stand for the Ebony Pearl.”
    â€œA ship’s officer?” Frank said. He thought for a moment, then added, “I’d like to search thatcranberry bog again—even if we have to go there tonight. Mr. Geovanis needs help, and it can’t wait until tomorrow.”
    â€œI have an idea,” Alicia said. “A friend of mine named Bud Cortez works the night shift at the airport. He’s a helicopter pilot. He might be willing to take us up in his helicopter and turn on the searchlight. That would be faster and safer than searching on the ground.”
    â€œCount me out, please,” Callie murmured as rain suddenly spattered the Jeep’s windshield. A gust of wind whipped the branches of a maple tree in Scarlatti’s yard, while the bushes beside his front porch tossed around in a frenzy. “It’s not a great night for helicopters,” she added.
    â€œOkay, Callie,” Alicia said, “we’ll drop you at home. But you really don’t need to worry. Bud’s a pro.”
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    It was past ten when Frank, Joe, and Alicia followed Bud Cortez onto the tarmac at the airport. By now it was raining hard. Joe heard ominous rumbles of thunder in the distance.
    â€œIt’s okay to fly a helicopter in this weather, but I usually don’t recommend going out unless it’s a real emergency,” Bud said. He was a slight, dark-haired man in his early twenties. “And I think this qualifies as an emergency,” he added, glancing at