Free The Chase for the Mystery Twister by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

Joe,” Frank said sharply, then turned to Kanner. “Please accept our apology,Mr. Kanner. If you’ve come to help rebuild the Parlettes’ barn, you’re obviously not in a hurry to leave Lone Wolf.”
    â€œI—I—” Kanner stammered. “I am here to help, that’s right.”
    â€œWell, then, let’s get back to it,” Snowdon said. The crowd broke up and returned to work.
    Joe was still fuming when Frank pulled him aside. “I think Kanner is guilty, Joe. But we’ve got some holes in the mystery we have to fill before we go after him.”
    â€œSo your polite apology was just an act?” Joe asked.
    Frank nodded. “Now we’ve got Kanner stuck here building a barn. The longer we can stall him, the better.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Joe,” Phil said. “Mr. Bixby is sending a team of insurance investigators to Kanner’s farm. We’ll nail him sooner or later.”
    â€œI wouldn’t bet on Bixby sending anyone,” Frank remarked.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Phil asked.
    â€œHow did Kanner know we had accused him of lying about phoning Bixby from his farm after the twister hit?” Frank asked. “The only person I’ve mentioned it to is Bixby, and thirty minutes later Kanner shows up here brandishing a cellular phone.”
    â€œSo Bixby and Kanner are in this together,” Joe said.
    â€œIt’s possible,” Frank replied.
    Frank noticed a man with curly black hair and a black mustache who had been edging closer and closer to them while measuring a support beam. He kept turning his ear toward them, as if trying to catch the conversation.
    Frank lowered his voice, “But Snowdon had a good point. Even if Bixby and Kanner are working together, how could they predict a tornado?”
    Frank thought hard, recalling everything he had seen at the site of the Kanner place—the strange markings on the toppled trees and telephone poles, and the debris patterns that even an expert like Lemar Jansen couldn’t explain. “What if there never was a twister?” he said slowly.
    â€œWhat?” Phil asked.
    â€œWhat if Kanner was somehow able to recreate tornado damage by some other means?” Frank said.
    â€œIt would take the mystery out of the mystery twister,” Joe pointed out.
    â€œAnd give us a motive for why someone jammed radar transmissions,” Phil added. “No one would be able to verify that the tornado ever existed.”
    â€œJoe, could you and Phil give me a hand moving this support beam?” Snowdon called. Phil and Joe moved to help, and Frank turned to see if the black-haired man was still trying to listen in. The man was nowhere to be seen.
    Joe heard a loud creaking noise. From his viewpoint, he could see the ropes that were holding up one of the new walls begin to give way. He realized his brother was right beneath the wall.
    â€œFrank, get out of the way! The ropes are breaking!” he screamed.
    Frank looked up just as one of the ropes snapped. The two-story barn wall was about to fall down on top of him!

9 The Black-Haired Man
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    Frank knew he couldn’t run beyond the height or width of the great wall before it crashed to the ground. Thinking fast, he took one long stride left and tried to time his leap so that his body would end up in the space left open for the loft’s door frame.
    â€œFrank!” Joe screamed again as the wall crashed to the ground with a thundering boom, sending a cloud of dust shooting in every direction.
    Joe ran through the cloud, desperate to free his brother from the heavy wooden structure. Joe lifted with all his might, but it wouldn’t budge. “Help me get my brother out from under here!” he shouted to the onlookers.
    â€œForget it,” a voice from the midst of the dust cloud said. “I’m over here.” Standing in the open door frame, unhurt, was Frank Hardy. Coughing up some dust, he