Pete gave a small nod.
“Well, at least we got away,” Jupe said.
“We’re not the only ones,” Pete answered, frowning. “When I got to the parking lot, the black Thunderbird was gone. Michael Anthony gave us the slip!”
“But Jupe, give me a break. It’s Saturday morning,” Pete said. “I can’t wait here all day.” He looked longingly out the window at the blue sports car in his driveway. “That car’s not safe out there.”
Jupe raised one eyebrow. “What?”
“Guys were calling me all last night begging to drive it — I didn’t even know who half of them were.” Pete was obviously getting agitated because he poured orange juice in his cereal instead of milk. “I told my parents the car’s part of a case we’re working on. You know what they said?”
“What?” asked Bob.
“They asked me if
Pete rolled his eyes. “That car is probably the only reason you’re here today and not working at the talent agency.”
“That reminds me,” Bob said. “Sax wants to drive it, too.”
Pete was about to fling a spoonful of cereal at Bob when the phone rang.
“I told you he’d call,” Jupe said. He jumped to turn on the tape recorder. “Keep him talking as long as you can, Pete. He’s our only lead.”
Pete switched on the speaker phone so they could all listen. But it was Kelly calling from Lake Tahoe.
“The skiing is great, but I miss you, Pete,” she said. “Miss me?”
“Uh, sure,” Pete said. “But give me a break, Kel. I’ve got you on the speaker phone.”
“Oh. Hi, Bob. Hi, Jupe — I mean, Mr. Collegiate,” she added with a giggle.
Jupe snarled at the speaker phone.
“What have you been doing? Working on the Ark, Petey?”
“Nope,” Pete said, giving Jupe and Bob a wink. “As a matter of fact, I don’t even know where it is. I’m driving something else.”
“You traded cars already? That’s a record. What’d you get this time?”
“A Porsche.”
“Petey, we’ve got a bad connection. It sounded like you said Porsche.”
“1986. 911 Targa. A totally cool blue.”
“Come on, you guys. What’s the joke?”
“It’s true,” Bob said. “Pete’s got a Porsche. It’s the next installment from the guy who’s bribing him.”
Kelly was silent for a moment. “Pete, if you care about me at all, you’ll promise not to solve this case until I get home and drive that car.”
“See what I mean?” moaned Pete, looking at his friends.
“The way things are going,” said Jupe gloomily, “that’s a promise he can almost guarantee.”
At 10:15, the phone rang again. Bob answered. It was Valerie this time. She and Bob talked for about five minutes before they discovered that they didn’t know each other. Valerie had dialed the wrong number. However, they still set up a date to go see a movie.
“When I get wrong numbers, they want to sell me magazines,” said Jupe with a sigh.
A third phone call came at exactly 11:00. Jupe was nearest, so he answered. The voice on the other end surprised him. It was Chuck Harper, president of Shoremont College. The call-forwarding button on the HQ phone had bumped Harper’s call over to Pete’s house.
“Jupe, could you and your guys come to my office at four o’clock this afternoon?” Harper said.
“Of course,” Jupe said. Afterward he looked at the clock. Now they had the next five hours to wonder why President Harper sounded so worried — and why Michael Anthony hadn’t called.
For the rest of the day the phone didn’t ring. By two P.M., Pete was so fidgety he was driving Jupe and Bob crazy.
“Are you going to give up on this guy Michael Anthony, or what?” Pete asked as he repeatedly tossed the keys to the Porsche into the air and caught them again.
“I’m beginning to suspect he won’t call,” Jupe agreed. “He must have spotted us when we were tailing him yesterday.”
“What a shame,” Pete said, although a huge smile began spreading across his face. “All right, I’m out of here!”
“Drop me at Sax’s,” Bob said. “I can’t make the four o’clock meeting. Gotta work tonight and tomorrow. And Monday.”
“Right,” Jupe and Pete groaned in unison.
The three of them piled into the Porsche and drove Bob to the talent agency. Then Pete and Jupe cruised until it was time to head for Shoremont.
The administration building was empty and quiet, as usual for a Saturday afternoon. Pete and Jupe found President Harper sitting behind his desk instead of on it. He was unbending paper clips at a rapid rate and wearing a very solemn face. With him was a second man, seated in a tall-backed leather chair.
“Jupiter Jones and Pete Crenshaw, this is John Hemingway Powers,” said President Harper.
Oh, yes, Jupe remembered, you are Mr. Check-book, who offered to pay for a new gym.
The man stood up. His height wasn’t impressive. He had dark wavy hair and a small mustache. He looked like any successful business executive in an expensive blue suit — except for his eyes. They were dark and seemed to bore into the two teenagers as he shook hands.
“I have been informed by President Harper that you received bribery money to enroll at Shoremont,” he said tersely to Pete. “And you,” he said when his eyes turned to Jupe, “are posing as a student to find out who sent the money.”
President Harper cleared his throat. “Mr. Powers and I played tennis this morning,” he explained. “And during the match, he mentioned that he wanted to contribute an additional sum of money — to increase Coach Duggan’s discretionary budget. I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea right now and tried to leave it at that. However — ”
Powers interrupted in a strong, to-the-point voice. “When someone tells me there’s something I can’t do, I start asking why.”
President Harper continued, sounding slightly uncomfortable. “Well, finally I decided it was only fair to let John know about our suspicions. Fortunately, John understands and respects the way we’re dealing with this problem. He has graciously offered to help with the investigation in any way he can. But of course he’s as concerned as I am to avoid a scandal.”
“Well?” Powers said, staring at Jupe and Pete. Jupe understood: John Hemingway Powers wanted to know what was going on — and he wanted to know now.
“I think we are getting very close to uncovering which players are receiving bribery money and who is behind the plot,” Jupe said, putting on his most confident face. “A man calling himself Michael Anthony contacted Pete in person. He gave Pete a car — ”
“A Porsche,” interrupted Pete.
“And he also admitted that he is working for someone else. But we don’t know for whom yet.”
“Best guess,” Powers demanded.
“Coach Duggan,” said President Harper.
“True,” said Jupe, “but it’s also possible that Bernie Mehl is trying to frame Coach Duggan.”
“Yeah. We followed Michael Anthony to Costa Verde’s campus,” added Pete.
“Guys, I don’t care who it is,” said President Harper. “I just want you to get the proof you need and settle this fast. We’ve got to clean house before this leaks out. Because if the press finds out, they won’t
Then Powers gave one of his penetrating stares. “I hope, young man, you won’t get the wrong idea about Shoremont. The things I learned here when I was a student helped me become what I am today. It’s a wonderful school. And if you really are an outstanding athlete, we’d be pleased to have you enroll — but not for money.”
As Jupe and Pete left the building Pete said, “That Powers is something else. I’ll bet he could tell an earthquake what to do.”
“I’m certain he’d try,” agreed Jupe. “I think he expects us to solve this case by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. What are the chances?”
“It all depends on what I find out from Walt Klinglesmith. I’m supposed to tutor him in chemistry in an hour. See you later.”
Jupe waited for Walt in the student center, going over strategies in his mind.
Strategy #1 was to pump Walt. He’d start with simple, casual questions. Questions like: “Who recruited you for the Shoremont team?” and “What made you decide to take the offer?” If a subtle approach didn’t work, he might just come out and ask Walt about the bribes. Jupe figured if anyone was going to open up to him, it would be Walt.
Strategy #2 was a thorough search of Coach Duggan’s office. Duggan was still the number-one suspect, but so far Jupe hadn’t been able to get close enough to him to find out a thing.
Strategy #3 was on the back burner. It was Pete’s idea — a full-fledged investigation of the Costa Verde coach, Bernie Mehl. Jupe had to admit it was a logical ploy. But as he told Pete, there was no way he was going to spend another second on the Costa Verde campus. Not with those Costa Verde jocks still hungry for the parrot’s blood! Jupe suggested Pete investigate Bernie Mehl alone, to which Pete replied, “It’s bad enough being the Two Investigators with Bob gone all the time. But the One Investigator? No way!”
“Hi, Jupiter,” called a girl, bringing Jupe back to reality.
Jupe turned and saw Cathy, the cheerleader who talked so fast Jupe wondered if she were trying to break the sound barrier. She came up to him as he sat in the student center lobby.
“Hi. How’s it going? You were great at the game. You’re going to be the parrot again this week, aren’t you? Because Steve’s still limping around.”
“Uh, gee, I guess so,” Jupe stammered.
Cathy sat down close to him. “Jupiter, could I talk to you about a philosophy paper I’m supposed to write? I bet you have a lot of good ideas. What do you say?”
Just what I don’t need, Jupe thought. Real homework and real papers to write! So far, by skipping around from class to class, he’d avoided doing any real class work at all. And Jupe wanted to keep it that way.
Jupe stumbled around, trying to answer without saying anything. Finally Walt Klinglesmith arrived.
“Sorry I’m late, Jupe,” Walt said. “Hi, Cathy.”
“Hi, Walt,” Cathy said.
“Jupiter, sorry, but I’m whipped. I can’t study today. Coach practically killed us in practice. I’m going home to Z out.”
Jupe frowned, hearing that his chance to find out more about the bribery scheme was going to take a nap.
“Hey, don’t look so serious,” Walt said. “Why don’t you come party with us at Cory Brand’s condo on Tuesday night? Big crowd. Bring a friend if you want.”
“Good idea, Jupe. Maybe we can talk philosophy’ there,” Cathy teased.
“Yeah, sure,” said Jupe with a smile.
* * *
A party at Cory’s condo — it sounded like a terrific place to get information about the case. But the case couldn’t wait until Tuesday night. Time was running out and the pressure was on — especially now that moneyman Powers was breathing down their necks. Jupe decided to spend Sunday morning focusing on their prime suspect: Duggan. A trip to Duggan’s office was long overdue, and the gym should be empty at that hour, Jupe thought as he hurried across campus.
Wrong. The sound of bouncing basketballs echoed through the halls the minute Jupe entered the building. Jupe peeked into the gym and saw the whole team. Duggan worked them hard, Jupe realized, calling practices all weekend long. No wonder the team was planning a party on Tuesday night. With a Sunday-morning practice they didn’t dare party on Saturday night!
Jupe sneaked toward Duggan’s office, taking the hallway that ran behind the gym so he wouldn’t be noticed. Maybe this was a lucky break in disguise.
Jupe’s heart pounded. If Duggan came back while Jupe was snooping around... if Jupe got caught... it would blow the case and destroy his cover.
He paused in the hallway outside Duggan’s office, looked both ways, then tried the doorknob. It opened. Quickly Jupe slipped inside and stood in the outer office. Now he had to work fast.
With slightly sweaty hands, Jupe put a piece of paper in the secretary’s typewriter and typed a few words. Then he held it up to the light with one of the bribery notes behind it. Did the typefaces match? It took a moment to decide — but no. So Jupe moved quietly into the coach’s private office and closed the door.
Immediately he powered up the coach’s computer so that he could print something out and compare it with Pete’s note. But the noise of the printer made him nervous. Could it be heard outside the office? Maybe. Worse yet, it prevented him from hearing anyone who might be coming in.
While the printer hammered away, Jupe went through the papers on Duggan’s desk, being careful not to move them. He read memos, scouting reports, game-play books, and equipment invoices. He even looked through the coach’s own personal checkbook register, which was sitting there in full view.
But three quarters of an hour later Jupe had to give up. There was absolutely nothing on the desk to incriminate Duggan. And the computer printout didn’t match the note.
Now what? Jupe wondered. Did this mean Duggan was clean? Or was Duggan simply too smart for them? Or was there another suspect entirely — someone they had overlooked?
There was one other possibility, Jupe decided as he rode home on the bus. Maybe the mysterious Michael Anthony wasn’t working for anyone. Maybe he was working for himself!
So Jupe and Pete spent the day hanging out at Headquarters, playing video games and tinkering with electronic equipment. It was the closest thing to a vacation day they’d had since the two-week winter break began.
Tuesday, however, was different. Jupe had a gut feeling that something big was going to break in the case. Maybe it would be a clue or a lead at Cory Brand’s party that night. Jupe spent the afternoon in his workshop getting ready for the party.
When Jupe heard the workshop door open behind him, he snapped off the VCR.
“Jupe, I’ve got news,” Pete said, rushing in. “Hey, what were you watching? An old movie?”
“No, nothing,” Jupe said. He tried to change the subject quickly. “What’s your news?”
Pete stared at Jupe’s guilty face. “What were you watching?”
“
“Then why’s the monitor on, and why do you have the remote in your hand? I’m one of the Three
“Let’s see it.”
Jupe tried to block Pete as he made a move for the VCR. But Pete dodged and hit the play button.
The video started and onto the screen came Jupiter Jones, standing in the workshop wearing blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt that said: I want a second opinion. Jupe turned around, modeling his outfit for the camera. Side view... back view... Then the picture flickered, and in the next shot Jupe was wearing a pair of bright-colored shorts and a T-shirt that said: if life’s a feast, why am I on a diet? Then the picture changed again. This time Jupe was wearing sweatpants with a T-shirt that said: verbal jogger: I RUN OFF AT THE MOUTH.
“What
?” Pete asked.