We’re supposed to be on vacation! Joe set his teeth and plodded on, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other. He tried to remember when he’d been so utterly miserable before, without much success. I’m all for solving mysteries and good detective work, but sometimes a guy needs to relax, and not worry about solving a crime a month – or a week…or a day, damn it! I wanted to spend time with Vanessa and catch some rays on the beach! Being stranded in the mountains of Nevada is not my idea of a good time!

Joe had progressed perhaps another hundred yards when he realized that he hadn’t heard Frank in some time. He paused and glanced over his shoulder, peering at Frank’s ashen face in consternation. Frank’s features had gone slack; he wasn’t just being quiet, he was unconscious. Joe felt his heart constrict. I tried so hard to keep him awake! he protested silently. I tried so hard! Maybe Frank hadn’t slipped into a coma, perhaps he had merely passed out from exhaustion, but even so, Joe knew time was against them now. He couldn’t stop to check, he had to keep moving. Joe plunged forward, leaning against the weight of the travois, jerking it with a vengeance down the rocky, rutted path. Maybe I could have tried attaching it to my cycle – but no…it wasn’t strong enough for that...even if the cycle was usable, and I’m not sure it was….

"Joe…"

Joe jumped when he heard the voice. Frank was awake again! And his voice was clearer! Joe halted and gently lowered the travois to the ground, then knelt beside it.

"How ya doin’?" He located the water bottle where he had tucked it in beside Frank, took a hasty swig, then held it to his brother’s lips.

"You’ve got to – listen to reason," Frank muttered. "Go on by yourself. Leave me here – and go. It’ll – be faster."

"Stop talking like that," Joe snapped. "Remember that goon with the rifle? I knocked him out, but what’s to stop him from waking up and following us? I unloaded his gun and threw the bullets away, but I didn’t have time to do anything more than that!" Joe was glad Frank was awake and talking – and rational! – but they needed to get moving; time was against them.

"Then let me walk," Frank said softly. "It’ll go faster."

"No way!" Joe protested. "You’d kill yourself! You’ll bleed to death! Maybe you didn’t notice it, brother mine, but you’ve got something stuck in your shoulder! And you don’t have enough strength to walk, anyway."

Frank glanced at his arm, and his lips twisted in a faint semblance of a smile. "I noticed it….It would go faster, Joe; you could help me….It can’t – be easy, dragging me."

"It would be easier if you would lay off the Chunky Monkey," Joe countered, in a desperate effort to make a joke. Frank hardly ever ate ice cream; the other day had been the first time Joe had seen him have it in a month. Please laugh, Frank…please, we’ve got to lighten this situation a little, or I’m gonna go bonkers…!

And somehow, Frank came through for him, as he almost always did. "For sure," he whispered, and managed a little chuckle.

Joe hoisted the travois again, and forged ahead. He plodded in silence for some time, head down, and eyes on the pathway just ahead of his feet, concentrating on setting one foot in front of the other. When he raised his head to look around, however, he found himself staring blankly at a split in the pathway. He didn’t remember the road forking.

"Frank?" He glanced over his shoulder. "You awake? Do you remember there being a fork in the access road?"

"Huh?" Frank’s voice sounded blurry again, but he was trying his best. "A fork? No….I can’t see it, Joe, how can I tell?" He was trying to twist around to get a view of the path."

Joe shook his head. Great. Nothing can ever be easy, can it? "Stop struggling, Frank. You’re making it harder for me. Just stay still." He mentally flipped a coin, and started off down one of the trails.

Less than a minute later, he felt the travois start to buckle, the vines finally giving way to the stresses placed on them. He quickly lowered it to the ground, and went to untie Frank.

"What’s wrong?" Frank blinked uncertainly. "Why’d we stop?"

"I need to fix this." Joe indicated the pine boughs. "I’m sorry, but I’ll have to move you off, so that I can work on it."

"I can move…myself." Frank tried to shift sideways. "I can…get up."

"You lamebrain, stop it! You can’t!" Joe nearly ran out of patience. What was making Frank so damned stubborn?

"Yes…I…can." Gasping with the effort and gritting his teeth against the pain, Frank was somehow levering himself up on his good elbow, pulling his knees up, trying his hardest to sit up.

Groaning with exasperation but knowing that Frank wasn’t about to be talked out of it, Joe put his arms about his brother and raised him to his feet, then half-carried him a few steps and eased him down, propping his back against a tree.

As gently as he could, Joe checked the stick protruding from Frank’s arm. The bandages were bloody, but not completely soaked; the bleeding seemed to be under control for the moment. Frank grimaced with pain, and not just from the pain in his arm.

"My back aches," he admitted. "It really aches…and my side…."

"You shouldn’t be doing this," Joe told him. "You could have internal injuries, and moving around like this could—"

"If I do, then I’m already dead!" Frank snapped, with sudden vigor. "If I have internal injuries, we can’t get out of here in time for any doctor to do me any good, even if a car came by right now! Just let me rest for a minute." His head lolled forward against his chest.

Joe sighed, and returned to his task of repairing the travois. Sometimes Frank has great ideas, he mused, and sometimes he has really STUPID ones! Like thinking he can walk himself out of here – that’s one of his all-time stupidest! Savagely, Joe yanked at the knotted cords.

When the carry-all was as sturdy as he could make it, Joe crouched beside Frank once again. "Hey pal, let’s hit the road. Time to get you back on your litter, O Great Caesar."

Frank lifted his head and stared at his brother. "There is no way on God’s green earth that I am getting back on that thing." he said firmly.

Joe blinked in surprise. "You don’t have a choice," he retorted. "And just when did you become the stubborn one, huh? That’s my territory you’re horning in on, bud!"

Frank laughed softly, and winced. "Darn it, will you stop cracking the jokes? It hurts too much to laugh!"

"Only if you stop being a stubborn idiot. Less argument, more action; that’s the key. Now come on, let’s get you on the travois."

But Frank simply refused. Finally Joe looped one of the cords of the travois around his shoulder, then bent and put his arms about Frank and lifted him to his feet. At least I’ll have my back-up handy, when Frank admits he can’t walk, he thought. He drew Frank’s right arm across his shoulder, and wrapped his own arm about Frank’s waist. Slowly, they took one step…and then another.

Frank’s breath was harsh in Joe’s ear, and he had to labor for each step. But he persisted; one step, then another…and yet another.

"Frank, give it up; lie down and let me drag you."

"N…no…little…further…."

Another thirty feet traversed. The unused travois dragged at Joe’s aching shoulder. "Frank, use the travois, huh?"

"…no…not yet…."

Who would ever have thought a few yards would be such a monumental task? They’d both scampered up and down football fields with no thought for the distance. Now as Joe imagined ten-yard markers in the road ahead, each one seemed an insurmountable distance away.

Before he could once again urge Frank to let himself be carried, Joe felt his brother’s body sag limply. Frank’s knees buckled, and he collapsed against Joe, his eyes closed.

*****

"Randall…and Lisa?" Laura couldn’t believe it. "No way could that nice couple have murdered that boy!" she declared.

"Why not?" Fenton asked mildly.

"Motive! What sort of motive?" she demanded.

"Honey, I just said he has a knife like that," Fenton said soothingly. "I don’t necessarily think he’s a suspect. It’s just…strange…that he would be in town the very time a man is killed by a specialty knife that he owns. And then, there’s the glasses…."

"The letter ‘C’," Vanessa said again. "C for Claremont?"

"I’m not sure." Fenton shook his head. "It’s all speculation at this point, anyway, until we have more information. It could be anyone. It could be someone who has a knife like that but bought it privately somewhere. It’s not like knives are in a national registry. His name came up because it was an unusual piece, that he bought at an auction a few months back. It got flagged because of the size of the weapon."

Laura still looked unhappy.

"Don’t let it worry you, sweetheart." Fenton reassured her, but his thoughts were troubled too. It’s too coincidental – the Claremonts here in town, they own the knife, they had time that morning, before the cruise started…. Shaking himself free of the Claremonts for the moment, Fenton checked his watch – and immediately had another worry on his mind. "Have you girls heard anything from Frank or Joe?"

Both Megan and Vanessa shook their heads. "Not a word." Vanessa said. She got up and went to the front desk to check for messages, followed by Laura. There was nothing for any of them.

"Well…." Fenton murmured. "Well…I’ll give them until five or so, and then we send out a search team."

Laura looked a little worried, but she knew that anything could have come up. "Just because we haven’t heard from them doesn’t mean there’s something wrong." she said. "But I swear, I’m going to ream them thoroughly for worrying us unnecessarily by not calling, when I see them again!" Evidently the former subject was still weighing on Laura’s mind, for she suddenly burst out: "The Claremonts said they were going to Reno – or, at least ‘going north,’ for a few days. How could they have been here to do anything?"

Fenton gazed at her sympathetically. "Honey," he reminded her gently. "just because they said they were going doesn’t mean they actually did. Nobody’s seen them around, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still in Stateline."

At that moment, an unwelcome visitor arrived, in the shape of Cameron Jacobs, who breezed into the Caesars lobby as if he owned the place. Spotting the Hardy group, he made his way over to them, smiling cordially.

"I’m glad I caught you down here!" he said. "I came to invite you to the Grand Tahoe tonight, to attend a show being put on by a couple of well-known comedians and I’d be honored if you, Laura, and your husband and sons, and these two lovely young ladies, would attend as my guests. I still feel badly about that Wheel of Fortune falling on Mr. Hardy, and I’d like to make it up to you."

Laura glanced at Fenton, half-turning her back to Jacobs so that he couldn’t see the expresssion on her face. She was frowning, and mouthing no! no! Laura would rather do anything else than be Cameron Jacobs’ guest. But Fenton was looking intrigued. He wanted to talk to Jacobs, and here was the perfect opportunity.

"Let’s discuss it." he said briefly, and drew the other man a short distance from the ladies.

Jacobs was free with details. There were two shows, one beginning at 7 p.m., the other at 9. Cocktails were included with the show tickets. Either show would be fine; it didn’t matter which one they preferred to attend.

Fenton said they’d consider it…and then went on to ask Jacobs, softly, if he knew anything about Evan Reed’s girlfriend Emily.

Jacobs nodded, morosely. "Yes, that was a bad business. I had to let her go, because she was caught stealing from a guest – a rather sizeable sum of money, too. The guest intended to charge her with theft – I tried to talk him out of going to the police, but he insisted! – and she killed herself that night."

Fenton’s eyes narrowed slightly. This didn’t quite match the story Laura had related. "Any notion why she’d have stolen the money?"

"Unfortunately, I suspect she was trying to get cash to help Evan Reed pay off his gambling debts." Jacobs told him. "I wish they’d come to me for help – I would have been more than happy to give him a hand, and to see about getting him some help with his gambling problem. Now he’s lost his life too…it’s very sad."

"Yes, it certainly is. Do you know anything about the people that Reed was in debt to?"

The resort owner shrugged. "A little. From what I gather, one of the groups from Vegas is trying to make some inroads in Tahoe. From what I’ve read on the subject, that’s how they work: send in loan sharks to help out-of-luck gamblers, or send in people to provide ‘protection.’ Reed had been in a while back, begging me for money, and then two days later, he seemed to have plenty. He kept saying he had to help his mother with an operation – that’s the oldest story in the book, isn’t it?"

"Yes, that’s a pretty shopworn excuse." Fenton agreed, but inwardly, his mind was racing. So he did come to you for money and you refused to help him…I wonder if, for once, the story about a parent’s operation might not actually have been true? And what about Randall Claremont? Could the over-achiever from Sacramento actually be a front man for the Mob? It was a definite possibility. Aloud, he continued: "Well, Mr. Jacobs, if the boys are back from their errand by then, we’ll consider going to one of the shows tonight, and thank you very much for the offer."

"That’s great!" Jacobs enthused. "I’ll leave the tickets at Will-Call, for both shows, and you can pick them up at your convenience. Hope to see you later! Goodbye, girls…see you tonight, Laura." And with that suggestive remark and one lingering glance at Laura, Cameron Jacobs took his departure.

"Ooohhhh!" Laura shuddered. "That man!"

Her husband laughed. "He’s got good taste in women, honey. Well, we’ve been stuck inside for a while – who would like to take a nice, leisurely walk on the beach?" All three women answered in the affirmative, and they walked to the entrance, emerging onto the sidewalk once more.

"This is going to be slow," Laura cautioned. "We’re accommodating a certain someone’s still-healing back, remember?"

Fenton grinned down at her, and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "Fussbudget," he murmured, and was about to kiss her when he stopped, staring straight ahead. "For Pete’s sake!" he muttered. For there on the sidewalk stood a person with a very familiar face – it was the boy who had jumped from the Royal Tahoe into the lake! The boy was staring at Fenton, looking as if he was trying to decide something.

"Excuse me, girls; I’ll be right back." Mr. Hardy squeezed Laura’s shoulders briefly, and walked as rapidly as he could, to the little shop.

When he went in, he found the young man standing hesitantly beside a rack of decorated shirts, watching the door. Fenton smiled encouragingly at him.

"I’m glad to see you up and around," he greeted the boy, who looked to be about Joe’s age. He had brownish hair and hazel eyes – altogether nondescript in features and coloring, and wearing a worried expresssion.

"I wanted to thank you for saving me," the young man said shyly. "I’d never gone off the cruise boat into the lake before – it was harder than I expected. Oh…my name is Streeter – Thomas Streeter."

"And I’m Fenton Hardy." The detective paused a beat, trying to phrase his question diplomatically. "Thomas, why did you run, and jump off the boat?"

Streeter flushed guiltily, and stared down at his feet. "I heard Cec talking about me – she thought I poisoned those passengers!" he muttered. "But I didn’t!" he insisted, looking up into Fenton’s eyes. "But…but…."

"But…?"

"…but I have a record," Thomas Streeter admitted. "I stole some jewelry once – when I was younger – but I got a real light sentence. I’ve been trying to stay away from trouble, but it doesn’t seem to be working out. I was afraid no one would believe me, if I was accused of poisoning people." He suddenly looked very nervous. "But I do know who was behind it."

"Who?" Fenton demanded, but the boy shook his head violently.

"No – no! I can’t tell you! I’d be in even bigger trouble!"

"Thomas, I won’t tell anyone…" Mr. Hardy began, but Streeter just shook his head harder.

"No! If I’m even seen talkin’ to you, I could be in deep trouble!" Thomas glanced around, surreptitiously. "I just wanted to thank you for rescuing me, and to tell you why I ran – that’s all. I shouldn’t have said that, about knowing who was behind the food poisoning. It might not be true, anyway…."

Fenton was going to question him further, request his help – he had found, over the years, that asking someone for help often got more results than demanding answers – when abruptly, Thomas’ eyes widened, and the boy ducked around behind a counter, and darted toward the rear of the store. The next second, the bang! of the back door was heard.

Fenton turned around, looking to see what had spooked the boy, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed, and went back out to the sidewalk, to rejoin Laura and the girls.

When he reached them, Fenton took Laura’s arm and headed them for the beach. "Let’s get that walk taken." he suggested, and as they paced slowly toward the shore, he filled them in on his strange conversation with Thomas Streeter.

"Do you think there’s any chance you might be able to talk him into telling you?" Laura asked, when he finished.

He wrinkled his nose expressively, for a moment looking a great deal more like Joe than Frank! "Doubtful."

Megan leaned in to make a comment, as they crowded close together on the sidewalk. "Maybe Vanessa or I could try talking to him." She dimpled suddenly, and her contagious giggle rippled out. "Sometimes girls can get guys to say things they wouldn’t tell anyone else."

Vanessa chuckled. "I’m willing – just as long as you two are ready to call off Joe, if he happens to hear about it!"

Fenton and Laura laughed, and the four of them started again towards the beach. But before they had taken more than a few steps, a burly man suddenly appeared in front of them, knocked Megan backwards, snatched the camera from her grasp, and took off through the crowd!