Free A Race Against Time by Carolyn Keene

talked to Officer Rainey, too, I assume, since he was hired to keep just such a disaster from happening,” I guessed.
    “Of course,” he answered. “Did he mention a guy in red shorts? He hustled this man away from the safe when it was being displayed at the starting line. A guy with a mountain bike.”
    “I don’t remember.”
    This was one of the most frustrating things about dealing with Chief McGinnis. He and I often have different ideas about how to solve a case. For example, if I had interrogated the one security officer guarding the cash before it was stolen, I’d remember every word he said.
    “He had on biking shorts, so I thought he was on one of the racing teams.”
    “Okay, correct me if I’m wrong—and I’m sure you will,” Chief McGinnis continued. “There were a lot of people running around this morning. In shorts. With bikes.”
    “But this guy was different. He had this mountain bike, for one thing. And I’d never seen him around town before.”
    “There are several people in the race from out of town. And contrary to public opinion, you actually don’t know everyone. ” For the first time inour conversation, Chief McGinnis really smiled.
    We were halfway to the end of the alley when I heard people talking behind us. I turned just in time to see two officers in normal clothes escorting Ralph Holman out of the bank and into the unmarked black car.
    “He’s handcuffed!” I whispered to Chief McGinnis. “Mr. Holman is handcuffed!”
    “That’s right, he is,” the chief said. “Now get out of here—and keep your mouth shut about this. If it gets out to the public before we release it, I’ll know who leaked it, and it will be the last piece of information that you will ever get from me about any case I’m working on. Ever! Do you understand? Don’t think I’m kidding about this. I mean it.”
    “Is Mr. Holman being arrested for the theft?” I asked. “Just tell me that much.”
    “Nancy, you already know more than you’re supposed to. Do us both a favor. Let’s end this conversation while we’re still friends.”
    I couldn’t resist just one more question as Chief McGinnis left me where the alley emptied into the street.
    “I assume you set up roadblocks and guards at all the boat landings, right?” I called out to his retreating back.
    He didn’t answer me or turn around, but henodded and gave me a thumbs-up. Then he hurried back to the unmarked car.
    I watched them drive away—the two plainclothesmen, Chief McGinnis, and their prisoner, Ralph Holman.
    I walked around to the front of the bank and searched the ground near the race’s start/finish line. There was nothing to clue me in on what had happened that morning. If there had been any evidence still there, the herd of investigators I’d seen swarming around earlier had gathered it all up.
    I visualized the interaction between Mr. Holman, Officer Rainey, and the man in the red shorts. Then I walked to the tree where Red Shorts had been leaning when I first saw him. I crouched at the foot of the tree and brushed at the thick grass and weeds. There in the dirt was a perfect print of a bike tire—a thick mountain bike tire. The print was about six inches long. And it was precisely in the spot where Red Shorts had leaned his bike against the tree.
    I reached in my backpack for my pocketknife and sliced a border in the dirt around the print. Then I looked around and spied a poster lying on the sidewalk announcing the race.
    I wedged the edge of the poster into the cut I hadmade in the dirt. Then, very carefully, I wiggled the cardboard under the tire print, working my way up the whole length. Using the poster as a tray, I lifted the block of dirt up out of the ground.
    Carrying my treasure from under the tree, I headed quickly back down Highland Avenue to Dad’s law office. I put the tire print on my dad’s desk and photographed it with the instant camera he keeps in the credenza behind his desk.
    When I had a picture