Boardwalk Bust by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

night.”
    Frank and I both screamed as loudly as we could, hoping to get the attention of the driver. The light seemed to turn our way and get brighter. The machine kept coming, and the engine was now drowning out both the surf and our screams.
    â€œWe’re saved!” Frank kept shouting like an idiot. “We’re saved!”
    I wasn’t so sure. It was pitch dark out here, and in spite of the headlights, the driver might not see our heads poking out of the sand. He might just mistake our heads for plastic garbage bags or something, and rake them up into the jaws of his machine.
    Our cries for help became screams of terror as the “grim reaper” descended on us. There was no way the driver could possibly hear us over the roar of the vehicle’s engine.
    Then, at the last second, there was a shriek ofbrakes. The metal monster came to a stop about three feet from our heads.
    As if that weren’t enough, a big wave chose that very moment to crash over us. When it retreated, we were left gasping and coughing.
    Help came in the form of a beautiful dark angel’s face, bending over mine. “Whoa!” the angel said. “What the … What are you two doing here?”
    Good question.
    â€œIt’s a long story,” Frank said. “But we haven’t got much time. Could you please just dig us out first?”
    â€œUm, yeah, sure,” the angel said. “You’re lucky I’ve got a shovel in there.”
    She went over to her tractor and came back with one. She started digging Frank out while I had to chill, holding my breath whenever the waves came crashing over me.
    Pretty soon Frank was able to use his arms to haul himself out. Then the two of them came over to dig me up.
    Her name was Naomi, she told us—Naomi Thompson. She was wearing sweats, and her hair was done in cornrows. She was the one who embossed the advertisements in the sand, using her tractor and its nifty rear attachment to make those amazing drawings.
    â€œYou’re lucky I spotted you,” she said. “I just happened to be circling back around, or I wouldn’t have had my lights pointed so close to the water.”
    â€œWell, thanks for saving us,” Frank said.
    â€œNo problem. Are you gonna tell me how you wound up like that?”
    â€œSure,” I said. “How about we tell you all about it over lunch tomorrow?”
    She gave me a look. “I’ve heard that line before. How ’bout you tell me first, and
then
we decide about lunch?”
    So we told her everything we knew. She’s been out on the beach every night; if anybody’d been out there, scattering jewelry in the sand for tourists to find, Naomi might have seen him—or her.
    But no. Apparently, it had been pretty quiet. “I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff poking out of the sand since I started working here,” she said. “That’s why I bring the shovel with me. But I’ve never seen anything as weird as two guys’ heads.”
    We borrowed her shovel and filled the two holes back up. That way, in case anyone came by the next day to check on us, they wouldn’t know we’d escaped.
    â€œWell now,” I said to Naomi when we were done. “What about our lunch date?”
    â€œUm, Joe,” Frank said quickly. “Let me remind you about something.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œWhoever tried to kill us—at this point, they think we’re dead.”
    â€œYeah? So?”
    â€œIf we want them to keep thinking that, we can’t go around in broad daylight, taking girls out to lunch in restaurants.”
    â€œSorry, Naomi,” I said, realizing he was right.
    â€œThat’s okay. Maybe after your eyes heal up.”
    Ouch. Forgot about those.
    She got back into the driver’s seat. “Gotta get back to work.”
    â€œWhere can we find you?” I asked.
    â€œMe? I’m out here every night, from 3 A.M . to 5 A.M .