Free Crime in the Cards by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

get ready for the tournament on Tuesday.”
    â€œAnd I’m betting our bikes need some work as well,” Joe said, sighing.
    â€œI think you can sort all that out in the morning,” Mr. Hardy said. “That is, if any of you are up before noon.”
    The whole group chuckled and headed for the door. They ran into Gerry Wise and his father, who were leaving at the same time. Mr. Wise scowled at the Hardys.
    Gerry grinned sheepishly at the brothers. “Sorry about this, guys,” he said. “It was all just a big misunderstanding. I’m glad nobody really got hurt.”
    â€œUs, too,” Frank said. “We’ll lend you a hand repairing any damage.”
    â€œI’ll say you will,” Mr. Wise said angrily. “You’re lucky we don’t have you boys up for assault!”
    â€œHey, cool it, Dad,” Gerry said.
    â€œI think the kids can settle this on their own,” Mr. Hardy said calmly. “There’s nothing that a few apologies and some elbow grease can’t fix.”
    Mr. Wise frowned but didn’t say anything more.
    As they all walked down the front steps, Gerry hung back with the others and whispered, “Chet, I hope you’ll play next month. This kind of stuff doesn’t usually happen.”
    â€œI can’t believe that you’d—” Joe began.
    Frank cut him off. “Gerry, did you know all the players at the game?”
    â€œMost of them, yeah,” Gerry said.
    â€œAnd you supplied the masks?” Frank asked.
    â€œMost of them,” Gerry repeated.
    â€œSo, who was the demon-masked guy who started all the trouble?” Joe asked.
    Gerry shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Some of the players wear their own masks when they show up. They don’t want anyone guessing who they are. That way, their card strategies remain a complete secret.”
    â€œToo bad,” Joe muttered.
    Gerry waved goodbye and got into his father’s limo. The teens piled into the Hardys’ van, and Fenton Hardy went to his own car.
    â€œCome straight home as soon as you’ve dropped everyone off,” Fenton said to his sons.
    Joe and Frank nodded. “Don’t worry, Dad,” Joe said. “The only place we’re going tonight is to bed.”
    Frank and Joe did get up before noon, but not much before noon. They spent the remainder of Saturday morning working on their bikes, which their father had reclaimed from the police. The bicycles were pretty badly beaten up.
    Chet Morton showed up around one with Iola and Callie.
    â€œHey, guys,” Chet said. “How’s it going?”
    â€œWe’ve had better mornings,” Joe said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a grease-stained towel. He cleaned his hands on the towel and said, “Hi, Callie. Hi, Iola.”
    â€œChet’s been pacing around like a caged lion all morning,” Iola said.
    Chet sighed with frustration. “I’m out forty-five bucks,” he said, “and I’m not much closer to having my deck rebuilt.”
    â€œWhat about that Internet site Daphne mentioned?” Frank asked.
    â€œI used most of the search engines available, but I couldn’t find it,” Chet said forlornly. “Every time I typed in ‘Black Knight,’ I kept coming up with role-playing game sites.”
    Frank wiped the bicycle grease from his hands. “Maybe we should ask Daphne to show us the site personally.”
    â€œGood idea,” Joe said.
    â€œIola and I did some checking this morning,” Callie said. “It turns out that Gerry, Daphne, and Pete all live in that same subdivision.”
    Frank gave his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Not only beautiful, but smart, too.”
    â€œSo either Pete or Daphne could have been the cyclist we chased into Magus Hills,” Joe said. “I’ve seen them both riding motorcycles, too.”
    â€œI don’t think Daphne could