"What's so interesting?" asked seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy of his year older brother.

"Hmm?" brown-headed Frank responded, never lifting his brown eyes from the article he was reading in the morning paper.

"What are you reading?" Joe demanded, plucking the paper from his brother's hands.  His sharp blue eyes scanned the page.  "Wow!  They finally caught the guy who killed Devon Miller three years ago."

"Maybe," Frank said, looking annoyed.  "Do you mind?" he asked, taking back the paper.  "There's another article you skipped."  He laid the paper down and pointed it out.

Joe looked over Frank's shoulder at the article.  "It says here Jim Barley was arrested yesterday for murdering Devon but he had taken a lie detector test last year and had passed."

"Lie detectors aren't even allowed in court" Frank reminded his brother as he watched Joe run a hand through his wavy blond hair.  "There are ways to get around them."

"True," admitted Joe.  "But I know Jim.  He's not too bright and he's the nervous sort."

"Joe," Frank tried to interrupt, but Joe kept talking.

"To fool the lie detector for any length of time you have to be calm.  You know that.  We have to take one every time we get our bonding licenses renewed," Joe finished, looking straight at Frank.

"You think he's innocent?" Frank asked.

"Yeah," Joe admitted.  "We should see what kind of evidence they have against him."

"Okay," Frank agreed, reaching across the table and picking up his keys from where he had tossed them the previous evening.  "Let's go."

At the police station, the brothers headed for the desk of Sergeant Con Riley.  "Not now," the young, brown-haired officer said, seeing the Hardys come up to his desk.

"We want to know what kind of evidence you have against Jim Barley," Joe said, ignoring the warning look in Con's eyes.

"Joe," Frank said softly, laying a hand on Joe's arm and nodding in the direction of three men wearing suits who had perked up at Joe's demand.

Joe lowered his voice and leaned closer to his friend on the force.  "Who are the suits?"

"SBI," Con told Joe.  Joe knew that stood for State Bureau of Investigation, which was basically a local branch of the FBI.  "They're in charge of the Miller murder," Con continued.  "That's all I can tell you."

"Hello," said one of the agents as all three came over to the Hardys.  "Agent Patrick," he introduced himself, showing the boys his badge.  He was two inches taller than Frank's six foot one frame and had brown hair and green eyes, which were looking hard at Joe.  "How do you know Jim Barley?" he asked.

"Who are your friends?" Joe asked coolly, ignoring the question.

"These are Agents Davidson and Fredericks," Con interrupted, trying to control the situation because he knew how temperamental Joe was.  "Meet Frank and Joe Hardy."

Davidson was six feet tall with curly black hair and brown eyes.  His eyes were also locked on Joe.  Agent Fredericks, with his green eyes and brown hair seemed by far the friendlier with his bright smile.  He acknowledged the introduction with a brief nod, then looked back to where he had been a moment before.

"If you will excuse me," Agent Fredericks said.  "I'd best get back to the chief," he added, referring to Ezra Collig, Bayport's tall and graying Chief of Police who stood at the door of his office watching the three men and the Hardys.

"How do you know Jim Barley?" Agent Patrick repeated his earlier question, never taking his eyes from Joe's.

"We shoot hoops at the park," Joe replied, enjoying the cat and mouse game the agent seemed to be playing.

"How long have you know him?" Agent Patrick demanded.

"Oh, about three years," Joe stated with a mischievous grin.

"Did you know Devon Miller?"

"I met him a few times," Joe acknowledged to Frank's and Con's surprise.

"Why don't you come over here with me and we'll talk," Agent Patrick said, taking hold of Joe's arm and pulling him away.  Frank started to follow only to have Agent Davidson step in front of him.

"Let's talk," Agent Davidson said, leading Frank over to a chair.  "How do you know Jim Barley and Devon Miller?" he asked.

"I don't," Frank replied.  "I've never met either of them."

"Then why are you here asking about Barley?" demanded the agent.

"My brother knows him and doesn't believe he killed Miller," Frank responded, although he was looking over at Joe and Agent Patrick while he spoke.

Agent Davidson looked over his shoulder to see what was holding Frank's interest.  "Stay here," he ordered Frank, then went to join his partner and Joe.

Joe was standing up and was only a few inches from Agent Patrick's face.  "No comment," Joe said, repeating what Agent Patrick had replied when he had inquired about the evidence against Jim.

"You're making this difficult for yourself," Agent Patrick informed Joe in a steely voice, his green eyes flashing in anger.

"Oh?" Joe said, leaning away from the agent and smiling.  "Am I under arrest?"

"No," Agent Patrick replied, although he clearly wished the opposite were true.

"Am I a suspect in a crime?" Joe asked calmly.

"Not at this time," Agent Patrick stated, scowling.

"Then I don't have to answer any of your questions.  If you need me," Joe offered a bit sarcastically, "you can find me.  The police know where I live," he added before walking over to Frank and grabbing his arm and leading him from the building.

"I didn't know you knew Devon Miller," Frank said once they were back in the van.

"He was at the park with Jim a few times," Joe informed him.  "They don't even believe Jim's guilty," he continued in disgust.  "Agent Patrick was all over me.  He wouldn't have asked half the questions he did if he thought Jim had killed Devon."

"He might if he believed Jim had an accessory," Frank pointed out.

"Jim didn't do it," Joe insisted.  "Look, I admit I don't know Jim as well as I do most people, but I do know he couldn't have fooled the lie detector test.  He's simply not capable."

"Why?" Frank demanded.  "A tack put on the inside of his shoe could help fool it."

"He's not that smart," Joe denied a bit ruefully.

"What?" Frank asked, glancing over at Joe.

"Jim's mentally retarded," Joe explained.  "He couldn't have lied about killing Devon."

"Was Devon retarded?" Frank asked.

"No," Joe told him.  "Devon was pretty bright, especially for his age."

"What do you mean?"

"He was a senior at Bayport High when he was killed," Joe informed him.  "But he was only thirteen."

"Then why would he hang around Jim?" Frank wondered aloud.

"Probably because Jim didn't act weird around him," Joe said.  Frank looked askance.  "Devon was a genius," Joe explained.  "When I met him, I didn't know.  We shot hoops for almost an hour then his dad came and picked him up.  He said he had to get ready for his graduation.  I flipped.  And I reacted badly," he admitted, not too proud of himself.

"How?" Frank asked.

"I treated him like he was a freak," Joe admitted.  At Frank's look of disbelief, he continued.  "I didn't know how to act, so I started treating him like an adult.  He didn't like it.  By the next time I saw him I had realized what a jerk I had been and apologized. The three of us played together once or twice more after that.  He was killed soon thereafter."

"Let's talk to Dad," Frank suggested, pulling into the driveway.  "He can probably find out why Jim was arrested."

They went upstairs to the room their father had converted into an office and told him about their visit to the police station.  "So, now you are a suspect in Devon's death?" brown-haired, brown-eyed Fenton Hardy said to his youngest son in a severe tone.  "Why didn't you try and talk to Agent Patrick instead of antagonize him?"

"I don't like him," Joe answered.  "He knows Jim didn't kill Devon."

Mr. Hardy frowned at him then walked behind his desk and sat down.  Picking up the phone, he called Chief Collig.  After a few minutes, he hung up.  "I'll have to go down to the station to find out about Jim," he told his sons.  "Ezra said Agent Patrick was all over him because of you," he added to Joe.  "No more dissension," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Joe promised.

"What are you two going to do now?" Mr. Hardy inquired.

"We're going over to talk with Jim's family," Frank said, pulling Joe up and leading him out of the room.

***

"Hello, Mrs. Barley," Joe said when she answered the door.  "I just found out about Jim," he said.  "This is my brother, Frank," he added, making introductions.

"Jim's not here," she replied.

"We know," Franks said.  "We would like to help."

"How can you help?" she asked, looking up at Frank with a weary expression.

"Mrs. Barley," Joe addressed the small woman with graying-black hair and blue eyes beneath a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.  "Frank and I are detectives," he informed her.  "I know Jim and don't for one minute believe he would ever have hurt Devon, let alone killed him."

"Come in," she said after looking into Joe's concerned blue eyes.  She led them into the living room and took a seat in a green over-stuffed chair.  Frank and Joe sat on the green and brown plaid couch.  Mrs. Barley picked up a picture of her son and Devon and held it while she spoke.

"They arrested Jim yesterday.  They have set the bail at half a million dollars."  She started crying.  "Poor Jimmy.  He doesn't understand what's going on."

"Why did they arrest him?" Frank asked gently.  "I mean, what evidence do they have?"

"Devon's mother found his diary," Mrs. Barley told them.  "His last entry said he was going to meet Jim at the park.  Devon wrote that Jim had said he had a surprise for Devon that would slay him."

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