Free A Will to Survive by Franklin W. Dixon

interns is trying to wreck the center? The reason may go deep into the past . . . and not even his or her own past!”
    Frank asked Tanya for a list of the trustees. Then he went down the list with her, asking questions about each of the names. He listened for something—anything—that might be a clue to a grudge against the center. Nothing struck him. Finally he went off to look for Joe and Callie.
    They were in the dining room having coffee and freshly baked doughnuts. Frank snagged a doughnut off Joe’s plate on his way to the coffee urn.
    When he returned, Joe said, “So, a smudge pot ismissing from the storage shed. From the marks on the floor, all of them were shifted recently. I’d say someone used the others to top off the tank on the one that had the most oil.”
    â€œNo lock on the shed?” Frank mumbled, through a mouthful of doughnut.
    Joe shook his head. “There’s a hasp, but no padlock. Just a piece of wood stuck through it to keep the door from swinging open. I asked Carl about it. He told me the area is off-limits to the public, and nothing in the shed is worth stealing. So it’s easier to leave it unlocked. Moral? A five-year-old could have made off with that smudge pot.”
    Callie leaned forward. “Okay,” she said. “But what about getting it here? You wouldn’t want anyone to see you. And it’s too big to tuck under your shirt.”
    Frank and Joe looked at each other. “Darkness,” Joe said.
    â€œRight,” Frank said. “But you’d have to leave it somewhere between last night and this morning.”
    Frank finished his coffee and added, “How ’bout we go hunting for oil stains?”
    As they started up the stairs, they met Bruce coming down. He gave them a steely look.
    â€œDon’t you three have anything to do?” he demanded. “I know we had a fire, but we can’t allow that to throw off our whole schedule.”
    â€œTanya asked us to work on a new project,” Callie said. “We’re gathering notes for a history of Shorewood.Can I talk to you sometime today? I need to ask a bunch of questions about Mr. Parent.”
    Bruce glanced at his watch. “I can spare you a quarter hour. Be in my office in five minutes.”
    â€œThanks,” Callie started to say, but Bruce was already disappearing through the dining-room door.
    â€œWell!” Callie gave a short laugh. “I’d better grab that guy while I have the chance. You’ll have to search for oil stains without me. Oh—don’t forget to check the service stairs. There’s a door to them at the back of the entrance hall.”
    â€œNear where the smudge pot was?” Joe asked.
    A startled look crossed Callie’s face. “I didn’t think of that,” she said. “Very near!”
    â€œLet’s try there first,” Frank suggested.
    They climbed together to the main floor. Callie pointed out the service door, then went to her appointment with Bruce.
    Frank looked around. The smell of smoke still hung in the air. Carl had tried to wash the wall and ceiling, but it was easy to see where the smudge pot had been. The door to the service stairs was just a few feet away, set into the paneling.
    How long would it take someone to pop out of the doorway, set down the smudge pot, light it, and vanish again into the wall? Frank wondered. Only a few seconds. Did that explain why the smudge pot had been placed in this particular spot?
    Joe pushed open the door. They entered theservice area. Beyond the stairs, a narrow hall stretched off in either direction. The plain plaster walls needed a fresh coat of paint.
    â€œIf I were the bad guy,” Joe mused, “I don’t think I’d risk leaving the smudge pot in plain sight. Someone might notice it. Worse, they might decide it belonged somewhere else and take it away.”
    â€œRight,” Frank said. “But the