Free Warehouse Rumble by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

stations.
    Joe pointed at one of the satellite trucks. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that Willingham invited the press.”
    “I don’t see Stacia Allen’s WSDS truck, though,” Frank noted.
    “Maybe she’s annoyed Willingham enough for one day,” Chet suggested.
    They found a parking spot two blocks away and walked back to the restaurant.
    Java John’s was fairly narrow but very deep. Mirrors along one sidewall gave the impression that the eatery was wider than it actually was. The front area had the coffee shop and a traditional soda fountain. The rear dining area had been roped off for the party.
    A crowd of local reporters snapped the teens’ pictures as the four friends moved to the back of the restaurant to join the festivities.
    “I’ll be signing autographs in the greenroom later,” Chet said, pointing toward the kitchen to indicate where the media should meet him. The Hardys and Daphne laughed.
    The food was good, and the fruit punch was just what they wanted after the long day. They mingled with the other contestants and members of the show’s crew. Despite Chet’s earlier joke, all four of them avoided talking to the media as much as possible.
    Willingham’s own people were covering the event as well, and the teens did a few interviews with them. “It’s in your contract,” the Hardys heard a staff cameraman remind Lily.
    “I thought we were the only camera-shy folks here,” Joe commented to Frank.
    “I guess most people who didn’t want publicity would skip this event altogether,” Frank said. “I notice Lily’s here, but I don’t see her brother. I wonder if his ankle’s acting up?”
    “I see Missy Gates, too,” Daphne said, “but not Jay Stone.”
    “I see Bo Reid,” Chet said. “Unfortunately.”
    Reid was standing near the front of the party room, talking animatedly with a local reporter. After a while he gave up and headed for the refreshmenttables, near where the four friends were standing. Reid spotted them and gave a sneering half-smile.
    Chet waved at him.
    “Don’t press your luck,” Joe whispered to him.
    “It looks like Chet isn’t the only one pressing his luck,” Frank said. “Look.”
    Stacia Allen and her cameraman appeared at the front door of Java John’s and headed toward the party. Ward Willingham moved to intercept her.
    Allen and Willingham spoke heatedly for several minutes. Then Willingham stepped aside with a slight bow, and Allen and her cameraman swept in.
    “Another victory for diplomacy at lens-point,” Daphne said.
    Willingham walked with Allen for a while, smiling obsequiously. Then—when he seemed certain that she wouldn’t be trouble—he went back to mingle with the other members of the news media. The Hardys and their friends noticed, though, that Ms. Kendall was keeping a close eye on the reporters from WSDS.
    “I could use a refill,” Chet said, holding up his empty punch glass.
    “Me too,” agreed Frank.
    All four of them headed toward the punch bowl. They ignored Ms. Allen, who was hovering around the food, cornering people with her microphone. Bo was her current target, though the Hardys andtheir friends had trouble feeling sorry for him.
    As they refilled their glasses, Bo stormed out of the restaurant.
    “Is applause appropriate?” Chet asked.
    “Since we don’t have tomatoes to throw,” Daphne replied, taking a sip of her drink.
    As Ms. Allen spotted the teens and began angling in their direction, the friends ducked back into the crowd. The restaurant had grown more crowded as the evening progressed. It was now quite hot, and almost unbearably noisy.
    “I’ve had about enough of this,” Frank said to the rest.
    Joe nodded his agreement. “Let’s thank Willingham for inviting us, and then head out.”
    “Wha—?” Daphne asked. She looked very bleary-eyed and disoriented.
    “Are you all right?” Frank asked.
    Daphne didn’t respond, but Chet said, “I feel kind of woozy myself.” He tottered back and