Bonfire Masquerade by Franklin W. Dixon

provide us some cover for climbing. And there was a set of patio doors that should be easy to jimmy open. Now if George could take care of the cameras, we’d be set.
    â€œAll right, it’s a LockJaw system,” said George. “This will be easy. Do you know where you’ll be coming in?”
    â€œThe backyard,” I whispered.
    â€œAre you guys in position?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOkay. On the count of five, the cameras are going to go down for twenty seconds due to a localized power outage. Any longer than that and the alarms go off automatically, so move fast.”
    I counted down under my breath. Right on five, the little red dots on the cameras went out, and they stopped swiveling on their bases.
    â€œGo!” I said to Frank. “We’ve got twenty seconds.”
    Twenty, nineteen, eighteen … I counted in my head.
    We raced to the cover of the trees and threw ourselves on the fence. We were up and over in record time, racing for the house.
    Thirteen, twelve, eleven …
    That was when the dogs hit us.
    They came streaking out of nowhere, two all-black Doberman pinschers. They opened their mouths to bark, but no sound came out. They must have had their voice boxes removed, something people frequently did when they had dogs that were meant not to just scare people away—but to hurt them.
    I pushed a button on the base of my glove. I could feel the sudden tingle in my hands as they powered up,just in time. One of the dogs jumped at me. I ducked and swatted it on its side. A blue spark leaped from my hand. The dog whined once, and then passed out. The Taser had worked perfectly. The dog was down, but breathing. A few feet away, I saw Frank do the same. They’d wake up in two hours with a slight bruise.
    Five, four, three …
    We made it to the patio, and I already knew we were too late. We had three seconds to get the lock open before the motion sensors turned on and the alarms went off. There was no way we could pick a lock in that time.
    Thankfully, we didn’t have to. Frank grabbed the door—and it slid right open. We slipped inside and closed it behind us, right as the detectors came back to life.
    â€œBest security systems in the world are useless if you don’t remember to lock the doors,” whispered George in my ear, her laughter barely contained.
    The house was dark on the inside. We slipped on our masks. In the hole where the eye should be was a carefully constructed infrared lens, made out of a flexible plastic. With the masks on, the inside of the house was lit with a dim red light.
    â€œAccording to his contract with LockJaw, there are no detectors within the house. Looks like anyone who works for him has the night off for Mardi Gras. So get to it!” said George.
    We didn’t need any more encouragement. We started at the bottom of the house and planned to work our way up, but we didn’t even have to.
    The fourth door we opened was clearly an office of some kind. Or really, a trophy room. The walls were covered with photos—Andrew with a gun standing over a dead deer. Andrew with his arm around various beautiful women. Andrew shaking the hand of Louisiana’s governor.
    And there, on one whole wall, were photos of buildings on fire.
    â€œAre you getting this?” I asked George.
    â€œAlready matching them up with the police files. Those are our robberies. Good job, guys!”
    Andrew was our man. Or at least, one of them.

CHAPTER 13
    NANCY KNOCKING THE CASE OUT
    At any moment I thought I might scream. Never had I been so horribly tortured. It just went on and on and on.
    â€œAnd then, remember that time in 2007? All the monkeys? That was the best ball ever.”
    Andrew droned on and on about Mardi Gras parties and costumes and insane cakes and famous guests. It was like listening to the gossip column in some local newspaper being read on repeat. And we were only on our appetizers. At least the restaurant we