Chapter Three - The Case of Team Xtreme's Missing Racecar

Frank and Joe walked down the driveway to where Chet, Biff and Tony were working on the jalopy. Just as the Hardys approached, Chet put the hood down.

“Looks like we're just in time,” Frank said. “Is she road worthy?”

“Better than ever!” Chet exclaimed. “I was just about to take her for a spin.”

Joe explained to the three boys that they needed to make a trip to Elmira to look at a racecar that was just put up for sale. Chet quickly volunteered to drive, and Tony volunteered to stay behind in case the Hardys needed someone to do some online research while they were gone.

Frank, Joe, Chet and Biff quickly headed down the state highway, past the Seneca Lodge where Mr. Cohen was staying, and towards Elmira. Chet opened it up a little and let the new carburetor under the hood bring the old jalopy well in excess of the speed limit.

“Easy there big fella,” Joe said. “This isn't the backstretch at The Glen! Let's leave the speed for the professionals!”

“Good idea,” Chet said and he backed the speed down to the legal limit. After a few more minutes, Chet noticed a motorcyle quickly approaching from behind. Before the boys knew it, the motorcycle was alongside and the rider was peering over at them through his full-face helmet. He reached into his leather jacket and in an instant a loud bang was heard and the jalopy was out of control!

Chet fought for control as the motorcyle sped off into the distance. The mysterious rider had shot out the front tire of the jalopy and Chet nearly found himself in the same ditch the Hardys ended up in just a few hours earlier.

“Did you get the license number on that motorcycle Joe?” Frank said as he struggled to catch his breath. “I couldn't get it. All I know is that was some sort of foreign motorcycle.”

“I didn't get the license either, Frank. We need to report this to the local police. I am afraid we've gotten outselves into something we might not be able to get out of.”

Chet had climbed out of the jalopy and was visibly shaken. He trembled as he looked at the tire that was now torn to shreds under the front fender.

“Chet, that was some dandy driving right there,” Joe said reassuringly. “I don't know many men outside of a professional racecar driver that could have saved that. Maybe you have a new career in front of you.”

The Hardys quickly got the jack out of the trunk and Biff and Chet quickly changed the tire. In less than ten minutes, the boys were back on the road to Elmira.

The followed the directions on their GPS down a narrow lane to a small ramshackle house. In the driveway was parked a blue pickup truck that was nearly as old as Chet's jalopy. It hardly looked like the place a valuable racecar would be kept, even if it was stolen.

They knocked on the door and were met by a gray-haired gentleman that appeared to be several years older than their father.

“You the boys I spoke to on the phone?” he said gruffly. “You want to look at the racecar?” 

“Sure thing,” Joe said. “We're working with a man from New York that wants to enter a car in the race this weekend.”

“Let's go out to the barn and I'll show you what I have.”

The four boys walked to the barn with the older gentleman, who had yet to offer his name. 

“I am Frank Hardy, this is my brother Joe and our friends Chet and Biff,” Frank said. “May we ask your name?”

The man kept walking toward the barn at the back of the property. The boys started feeling nervous since their strange host offered no response to their query.

As they reached the barn, Frank noticed the door was ajar. Just as the old gentleman went to reach for it, the door opened quickly from the inside! The man was knocked backwards and a man wearing a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket sprinted past him and dashed into the woods!

Joe took off into the woods after him without giving any thought to what the rider had done to the front tire of Chet's jalopy just a few minutes earlier. Joe, a star on the Bayport High School track team, quickly caught up to his adversary and attempted to tackle him. 

But before Joe could subdue him, the man swung and connected to Joe's jaw with a solid right hook! Joe fought back and landed a solid jab to the man's ribs, but the helmet meant for protection on the road meant Joe had no chance. The man swung Joe around and took one more wild swing, connecting solidly into Joe's solar plexus!

Joe crumpled to the ground and the man disappeared into the woods. Frank arrived on the scene and helped his brother to his feet. They walked the short distance back to the barn where Chet and Biff were assisting the old gentleman with a slight cut to his forehead.

“This is Oma Kimbrough,” Chet said. “He owns a racecar that he keeps here in the barn.”

“And I don't have my hearing aids in boys, so that's why I didn't hear you as we were walking to the barn. Many years of being around these loud racecars have cost me much of my hearing I'm afraid.”

“Hear that Chet,” Joe said. 

“He does now, ask him again in fifteen years!” Frank laughed.

“In any case, the years have finally caught up to me and maintaining a racecar is just not something I can do so I decided to put it up for sale since many racers are going to be in the area this week. Chet here told me you were thinking this might be Mr. Cohen's stolen racecar but I have all the paperwork inside. I am glad to show you if you'd like.”

“That won't be necessary Mr. Kimbrough,” Frank said. “We'll take you on your word. Besides, if your car was the stolen one, why would someone be trying to steal it for the second time today?”

Frank and Joe filled Mr. Kimbrough in on the details of the theft earlier in the day, and then discussed the theory that a ring of racecar thieves was operating in the area. 

“I don't come out to the barn as often as I used to, but I have noticed some of my things have come up missing lately,” Kimbrough said. “Nothing major, but a tool here or a piece of equipment there. I figured I loaned it to someone and just didn't remember but now that you're saying there are thieves in the area it's putting me on edge.”

“Mr. Kimbrough, we're relieved you're okay,” Joe said. “Thank you for your time, you've been a lot of help.”

“And if you don't mind, maybe I could come back tomorrow and look under the hood of that beast in there,” Chet said. 

“Actually, that is a great idea Chet,” Frank said. “Now that we know that car is a target, having at least one of us here is smart.”

Kimbrough and Chet agreed to meet again the next day and the boys climbed back into the jalopy for the ride back to the Hardy lake house. 

Frank called Tony Prito from the back seat.

“Tony, have you seen anything from our dad come in via email?” he asked.

“No, I haven't. No word at all. But Mr. Cohen is here. He said there is a new development in the case. You should get back here as quick as possible.”

Chapter Two - The Case of Team Xtreme's Missing Racecar

        With Cohen trailing behind, Frank and Joe dashed out the front door and down the long tree-lined  driveway to the street. When they reached the end, they found Chet under the hood of his yellow jalopy. Two other boys, Biff Hooper and Tony Prito, were also there.
“Chet! Is all that noise coming your car?” Frank asked breathlessly.
“Of course!” Chet said with a smile. “Biff and Tony were on their way through town and they met a man that sold them this carburetor. I've been reading up on ways to soup up the old jalopy and it was an easy switch. It sounds just like a racecar now doesn't it?”
As the boys listened to the sound from Chet's jalopy reverberate through the woods, Mr. Cohen finally made his way to the end of the long driveway. He peered under the hood and a shocked look appeared on his face.
“Boys, where did you get that?” he asked, pointing to the new carburetor that sat atop the jalopy's engine.
“We stopped for some chow just outside of town and a stranger saw us decked out in our racing garb and struck up a conversation with us,” Biff said. “We told him we were headed to the races this weekend. We made some small talk and mentioned that one of our friends, you Chet, had taken up shade-tree mechanics as a hobby. We told him what kind of car you have and he asked if we'd be interested in buying a carburetor to give the car some more horsepower. It wasn't a lot of money so we bought it from him.”
Mr. Cohen looked dismayed.
“Just as I feared. Boys, that carburetor is yours to keep. Consider it part of my fee. But that came from the trailer that was stolen from me earlier today. It seems like a ring of thieves has stolen my racecar and equipment and is selling it for money.”
Chet looked as though he had seen a ghost. His cheeks, normally red with color, were as white as a sheet.
“We had no idea,” he said. “We thought it was just too good to be true. Unfortunately it was.”
Frank and Joe stepped back from the car.
“Biff, do you remember anything about the man who sold you this carburetor?” Joe asked.
“Well sure,” Biff said. “He wasn't very tall, but very heavy set. He had a thin moustache and wore dark sunglasses. He had on a dark shirt and blue jeans. We thought it was a little odd because he even wore those sunglasses when he was indoors.”
“Interesting,” Joe said pensively. “It seems like whoever sold you Mr. Cohen's carburetor doesn't want anyone to get a good look at him.”
Meanwhile, Chet looked to Mr. Cohen apologetically.
“I'm mighty sorry we caused so much fuss. We had no idea. Honest. All we wanted to do was give the old girl a little more pep in her step.”
“No harm done, at least not by you boys,” Mr. Cohen said. “But I am afraid it just means we have to find whoever did this quickly, otherwise whatever was in that trailer will be sold on the black market.”
Reassured, Chet, Biff and Tony went back under the raised hood of the yellow jalopy and finished tuning up the engine. Mr. Cohen walked back to the front porch of the lake house with the Hardys.
“It's just as I feared boys. If the right buyers are found, everything in that trailer could be sold within days and I would be out of business.”
The Hardys were amazed. “We didn't realize there was a market for race equipment other than for actual race cars. We never would have guessed a racing carburetor could be used on an old jalopy like Chet's.”
“Oh yes, there are many people who use racing equipment on their cars,” Mr. Cohen said. “Many find their parts and pieces from legitimate sources, but there is a growing segment that has moved underground. There has been a ring of thieves that has stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars of racing equipment that has never been recovered. I fear that we won't be able to find it and my time in racing will be over. I am a man of some means, if you can solve this case before the race this weekend I will make it worth your while.”
“We don't charge for our sleuthing services,” Joe said.
Mr. Cohen was astonished. “You solve your cases for nothing?”
“If we are able to help you find your racecar, it will be on that basis,” Frank said reassuringly.
“Wow, no one in racing does anything for nothing. How refreshing. Boys, somehow I will make this worth your while.”
He again explained the urgency, then told the boys he was staying at the Seneca Lodge just down the state highway from Hardy lake house, and he could be reached there if anything should develop.
Mr. Cohen then excused himself and made his way back to his vehicle, eventually disappearing from sight down the long wooded driveway. Frank and Joe went inside and immediately called Chief Collig to see if he had any additional details on the case. Chief Collig often assisted them on their cases, and listened intently as Frank described being run off the road by the out-of-control pickup truck.
“This sounds serious, boys,” Chief Collig said. “I'll notify the state police to keep an eye out for a black dually pickup like you described. I doubt he would be driving around with the trailer still attached so I will have them keep an eye open for pickups with and without.”
The boys thanked Chief Collig and hung up. As they walked back onto the front porch of the lake house they saw Chet, Biff and Tony still tinkering under the hood of the yellow jalopy and the sound of horsepower rumbling through the woods.
“Looks like we are back in business,” Joe said. “Let's take on the case.”
Frank looked worried.
“This isn't just any ring of thieves,” he said. “Otherwise, why run us off the road and into the ditch? We could have been seriously injured, or worse. I am afraid we're going to have to be extra careful on this one. We could be dealing with some real desperadoes.”
“It would be fun to find a racecar and help him get into the race this weekend,” Joe said. “Time is of the essence.”
The boys went into the house, and wandered into the kitchen. There they were greeted by their petite mother and their tall, angular Aunt Gertrude. She was Mr. Hardy's sister, who lived with the Hardys. When she heard of the Mr. Cohen's offer and the boys being forced off the road and into a ditch, she exclaimed:
“Another case and more danger! There's always something underhanded about these cases! This one sounds too dangerous! Mark my words!”
Mrs. Hardy also had a look of worry on her face.
“I wish your father was here instead of in Mexico,” she said.
“Dad!” Frank exclaimed. “We could have dad look up any known criminal activity in the racing world!”
Mrs. Hardy reminded the boys that their father was on a big case in Mexico and would only be able to be contacted via e-mail but because cellphone service was very spotty.
“We might not get a response for several days,” Joe said. “We don't have a lot of time to wait. Let's send dad the details we know and get started. We may have to go it alone without him on this one. But maybe he can get back to us and offer us some guidance.”
“I'll call Cohen and let him know,” Frank said. He dialed the Seneca Lodge. Cohen was not in so he left a message with the desk clerk.
“Let's get online and start checking to see if we can find some websites that have used racing equipment for sale,” Joe said.
“Maybe Aunt Gertrude can help us,” Joe said. “She sells her pies all over the country through some of these websites. She can definitely help us with which ones are legit and which ones are a waste of time.”
Aunt Gertrude spoke with the boys and gave them the name of several websites to look at. After  nearly an hour of browsing, the boys found a lead. A new listing for a used racecar caught their eye. And it was listed in nearby Elmira.
The boys called the contact number. A gruff voice answered and set a time to meet in just over an hour. That gave the boys enough time to make the drive to see the racecar.

Chapter One - The Case of Team Extreme's Stolen Racecar

“Don't forget Frank, any driver you get your picture taken with, I want my picture taken with him too!” Blond, seventeen year-old Joe Hardy grinned. He was dressed head to toe in the colors of his favorite NASCAR driver as he and his older brother were going to watch the stock car drivers race at Watkins Glen International, just a few hours away from their home in Bayport. 

Their father, former New York City detective Fenton Hardy, owned a vacation home on Lake Seneca, a few miles from the track and whenever the loud, colorful racecars were in town the boys never missed an opportunity to go watch.

“I'll be happy to take whatever picture you want, Joe. But I want us both to get our picture taken with Danica.” He was similarly attired, wearing a bright green ballcap with a large number 10 on the front. 

They had just made the turn onto the highway that leads into the small town of Watkins Glen when a black dually pickup truck with a white trailer came into view. It looked like the truck was moving at a high rate of speed, and the driver was swerving back and forth between lanes. As the truck approached, it crossed the double yellow line and headed straight for the Hardys' car!

“Frank, watch out!”

Joe reached over from the passenger seat and grabbed the wheel, turning it sharply to the right, sending their car into the ditch on the side of the road with a loud thud. 

They looked behind them and saw the tail of the white trailer disappear around a bend in the road. The driver, whoever it was, was obviously in a hurry and was not at all concerned about the condition of the Hardy boys.

“Let's go after him,” Frank said, not realizing their car was stuck in the soft ground in the ditch.

“I'm afraid that's not possible. The car's sunk up to its axles in mud. We're going to need someone to help us out of here if we're going to get to the lake house before tomorrow.”

Joe took out his cellphone. He dialed up Chet Morton, the boys' best friend. Chet was also on his way to the lake house for the weekend, but was about ten minutes behind. Chet, a rotund boy who played center for Bayport's football team, would be just what was needed to give them a push out of their predicament.

“Chet, when you turn onto the highway into town you'll see us on the side of the road. We'll need some help out of the ditch. We had a little incident with an out of control pickup truck,” Joe said. Chet responded he would be there as soon as he could, and Joe returned his phone to his pocket.

“I wish we knew why that guy was in such a hurry,” Frank said. “It's almost as if he purposely tried to force us off the road.”

Within minutes, Chet arrived in his old yellow jalopy. 

“I don't know how you can still drive that old thing,” Frank laughed as his rotund friend walked over to their distressed car. The boys loved Chet, and had been best friends with him since the second grade, but never missed an opportunity to tease him.

“Keep laughing and you'll be walking to the lake house,” Chet said. “I have some great steaks in the trunk and I am hungry enough to eat all of them without you!”

Joe climbed into the car to steer while Frank and Chet pushed the stricken car back onto the road. Once out of the ditch, Frank climbed back in and the boys all drove in tandem to the Hardy family's lake house without any further incident.

Once there, they grilled Chet's steaks and enjoyed some time on the dock fishing. Just as Joe reeled in a smallmouth bass, the boys heard a car traveling down their driveway at a high rate of speed.

“Now what?” Frank wondered.

They heard a car door shut and moments later a portly man stumbled down the stone steps from the house down to the lake. He was breathing heavily, obviously out of breath. 

“Can we help you?” Joe asked.

“Please tell me you are the world famous Hardy boys,” the man said, trying to catch his breath. “I have been to about ten houses on the lake and going up and down these stairways is killing me.”

Frank laughed. “Well stranger, you finally found us. But that only leaves us wondering why you're looking for us!”

“I need you for a detecting job. Let's go sit down so I can catch my breath and I will be glad to fill you in,” the man said.

After a couple of minutes at the dock, the man had recovered enough to walk back up to the house. It was about 200 yards, but very steeply uphill. Once back to the house, the boys offered the man a drink and brought him onto the porch to discuss what brought him to their lake house.

“My name is John Cohen. I am from New York. I was going through Bayport on the way up here when one of my associates called me and told me my racecar entered in this weekend's race had been stolen. I immediately went to the Bayport police to see what I could do. Chief Collig told me the best thing I could do was get Fenton Hardy on the case, but he is out of the country on a case. He said the next best thing would be to get in touch with Mr. Hardy's two sons, who have solved many mysteries on their own. He told me you two were both racing fans and would be up here for the weekend. I must have misplaced the address he gave me so it took me a while to track you down.”

Fenton Hardy was a crack detective on the New York City Police Force was now an internationally famous private investigator. His sons, star athletes at Bayport High School, often helped him on his cases and also solved many cases on their own.

Their first case was The Tower Treasure, and only recently they had many hair-raising adventures in the Showdown at Widow Creek. Now they were excited at the prospect of a new mystery.

They listened intently as Mr. Cohen explained the details of the case. They both felt tingles run down their spines when he said the missing racecar was taken from a hotel parking lot as it sat in a white trailer parked behind a black dually pickup.

“Good night!” Joe exclaimed. “We were run off the road earlier today by a black dually pickup towing a white trailer! The driver was driving like a maniac. I bet you that was the man who stole your racecar! It also explains why he purposely ran us off the road and into the ditch!”

“Boys, it's critical we get that racecar back as soon as possible,” Mr. Cohen said. “The race is coming up this weekend and without that car, my team will have to go out of business.” 

Just as Mr. Cohen was finishing his sentence, the room was filled with the deafening roar of an engine! It sounded just like a racing engine! 

“It came from up at the top of the driveway!” Frank yelled to Joe. They both leapt to their feet and sprinted out the front door of the lake house and towards the street.