Skin and Bones by Franklin W. Dixon

fishing down there.”
    â€œI want to keep going this way,” Joe said. “Okay, it’s not a path exactly, but someone’s been through here—maybe someone who dropped the skull.”
    The trail led deeper into the forest about sixty yards, and then the air changed. The heavy danksmell of wood and forest undergrowth gave way to the crisper air of ocean and fog.
    Joe, Frank, Deb, and Cody followed the makeshift trail until they arrived at the edge of a bluff fringed with a wide stand of cypress trees. At last they could put away their flashlights. A steep path led down to a strip of beach.
    â€œHey, that’s not my beach,” Cody said, gazing down from the edge of the bluff. The ocean rolled in around several enormous rocks to a small strip of sand. The rocks served as a windbreak, protecting the small inlet.
    â€œWe’ve come this far,” Joe said, “I’m not stopping now.” He began the steep descent down the bluff. Frank, Deb, and Cody followed.
    When they reached the bottom of the bluff, they came to a wire fence. “This probably means this is private property,” Deb pointed out.
    â€œMaybe,” Joe said. “Maybe not.”
    â€œWhat’s this?” Frank asked, stopping suddenly. He reached through the fence. Something had blown up against the other side and was stuck. It looked like a piece of fabric, about six inches square. But Frank was pretty sure it was something much more exotic.
    â€œCody, you have to see this,” Deb said.
    Gingerly Frank peeled the thin scrap off the wireand pulled it through to his side of the fence. It was tan with a light pink pattern like patchwork. “Snake-skin?” he asked.
    â€œIt sure is,” Cody said. “Probably an Argentine pink aboma,” he added. “A pretty strange find out here.”
    â€œWhy?” Joe asked.
    â€œThey’re not native to California,” Cody said.
    â€œSo how did it get here?” Frank wondered. “Come on, let’s get closer.” He was over the fence in seconds and walking toward a large rocky bluff.
    The others followed quickly. They continued walking along the fence, but on the ocean side. As they neared the bluff, Frank stopped, gesturing for the others to be quiet. “Listen,” he whispered. He could hear noises from around the bluff. There were no voices, just a few thuds and slamming noises.
    His heart tripping in anticipation, Frank led the others around the bluff. When he reached the point where he could see the other side, he stopped again, holding the others back.
    A large speedboat bobbed in the water, tied to a pier next to a small boatshack. As they watched, someone carried a wooden box from the shack onto the boat and disappeared belowdecks.
    Using rocks and scrubgrass as shields, Frank, Joe,Deb, and Cody crept toward the shack. But before they could reach it, the boat zoomed away.
    Joe led the way to the shack. The door was padlocked. One window was locked, the other warped tightly shut. After a few minutes Frank and Joe pried it open, using sheer strength and Sergeant Chang’s screwdriver.
    A faint smell hit them immediately. It was the sweet sickening smell of meat that was old and going bad. It wasn’t strong enough to make them gag, but it hung in the air, mingling with the fog that stole in through the window.
    â€œThere have been specimens stored in here,” Cody said in a low voice.
    â€œWe get stuff sometimes from overseas that isn’t cleaned well before it’s sent,” Deb told the Hardys. “This smell reminds me of that.”
    â€œWood shavings—excelsior,” Joe said, picking up a few shreds off the floor.
    â€œSome countries still use this for packing. We get it sometimes with bones,” Deb told him.
    â€œLook, here’s something,” Deb cried out from the corner. She shone her flashlight on a piece of paper. It was shaped like a triangle, with two cut edges