Frank turned the wheel hard to the right, fighting the urge to hit the brakes.  He felt his car shudder as the other passed by, almost taking the side mirror with it.  He brought the car to a stop on the side of the road and got out.  He stood leaning against the driver's door with the rain pouring down on him as he regained his composure.

Five minutes alter, Frank climbed back into the car.  He turned the radio to a hard rock station and rolled down his window.  He drove the rest of the way home, singing along with the radio.

"Joe, you have a phone call," Mrs. Barley said, coming into Jim's room and interrupting the two boys.

"Thank you," Joe said, lying down the paper he held in his hand.  "I'll be right back," he promised Jim, who nodded and started talking to his mom as Joe left the room.

"Hello," Joe said, picking up the receiver as he reached the end table in the living room.  "It's me."

"Hey, Me," Frank's voice greeted him.  "How's Jim?" he asked.

"He's doing okay," Joe answered, then told Frank about the attack at the church.

"Why would someone follow you to church and attack you?" Frank asked.  "It doesn't make sense.  Not if Jim is the real target."

"I don't know," Joe replied.  "It makes even less sense that the only person I can think of who answers the description Father Ramster gave me is Agent Patrick.  And he's the only person Jim can remember seeing after the diary was found that he saw before it had been found."

"Did he see Devon with Agent Patrick at any time?" Frank asked.

"I don't think Jim could remember that far back," Joe told him.  "But, I'll ask him if he does anyway.  What about you?"  Joe asked.  "Learn anything from the step-grandmother?"

Frank filled Joe in on his visit.  He thought about telling Joe about his near miss earlier, but decided against it.  On the off chance the tea hadn't been drugged, and admittedly, it was a far stretch to think it had been because it was a long time after he had drank it before he had gotten sleepy, he didn't want Joe to think it was his fault.  The truth was, he was exhausted from having stayed up with Joe in the hospital and telling Joe he had fallen asleep at the wheel would just make him feel guilty for something which wasn't his fault.  Frank told Joe about his and Callie's plans for the next day, then rung off.  

Joe returned to Jim's room where Mrs. Barley had helped Jim put his drawings away and was turning down the covers.  She looked up as Joe entered.  "You and Jim can finish looking at the pictures tomorrow," she told him.  "It's Jim's bed time."

"Sounds good to me," Joe replied, grinning and stretching his arms at the same time.

Mrs. Barley finished with the cover and stood up straight.  "You can use Jim's sleeping bag and sleep on the floor in here or you can sleep on the sofa in the living room," she said.

"The sofa sounds great," Joe replied, not really wanting to sleep on the floor.

"I'll fix it up for you," she said.

"I can do that," Joe said quickly, not wanting to cause her any extra work.  "Just tell me where I can find a quilt and I'm all set."

"I'm ready, mama," Jim said, coming into the bedroom from the bathroom.

Mrs. Barley kissed her son on his forehead and ushered him into bed.  "Joe, will you read me a story?" Jim asked.

"Sure," Joe replied.  "Do you have a favorite?"

"I'll make up the couch," Mrs. Barley said, turning and starting through the door.  "This is going to take awhile."

Jim turned on his side and reached under the bed.  He pulled out a thick book and opened it up to the middle.  "This one," Jim said, scooting over so Joe could set beside him to read.

Joe took the book and looked at the story Jim had chosen.  "Little One Eye, Little Two Eyes, and Little Three Eyes," Joe read the title.  He flipped the book over and saw the title, Fairy Tales of the Brother's Grim.  "This is your favorite?" Joe asked.  Jim nodded.  "Okay, let's begin."

Joe had almost finished the story before Jim fell asleep.  Joe closed the book and quietly stood up.  He put the book back where Jim had it, pulled the quilt up over Jim's arms, turned the light out and left the room, leaving the bedroom door open.

"Get it finished?" Mrs. Barley asked Joe as he came into the living room.

"Almost," Joe answered, smiling at her.

"Come on into the kitchen.  I'll make us some cocoa before we turn in," she offered, leading the way.

"Mrs. Barley, before this mess with Devon's diary, had you seen Agent Patrick before?" Joe asked, sitting down at the table.

"Oh, yes," she replied wearily.  "Agent Patrick started coming around almost five months ago to talk to Jim.  He kept trying to get Jim to remember when Devon was murdered, but Jim only remembers good things."

"Did Agent Patrick think Jim was intentionally hiding something?" Joe quiered.

"I don't believe so," Mrs. Barley said.  "He seemed to like Jim, but then the diary was found and he changed.  He started accusing Jim of killing Devon.  He wouldn't believe anything I said to the contrary."

"Did he actually accuse Jim or just tell you he thought Jim was guilty?" Joe asked her to clarify.

"After the diary was found, Agent Patrick wouldn't get near Jim.  He even let someone else arrest him," she answered.  "I still don't understand that," she continued.  "If he believed Jim was the killer, then why did he keep avoiding him after the diary had been found?"

***

After breakfast the next morning, Frank drove over to the Shaw's to pick up Callie.  When he came to a stop in front of her house, he could see her on the steps waiting for him.   She ran down the steps and quickly climbed into the passenger's seat.  "You look more alive this morning," she said, leaning over and kissing him on the lips.

"Mmm," he agreed.  "I had a good night's sleep."

"Ready to find Devon's killer?" she asked him.

"The sooner, the better," Frank said, missing having Joe at home already.

"Let's go," Callie said, buckling up as Frank pulled back onto the road.  They arrived over an hour later, having gotten caught in a construction line.

Frank opened the car door for Callie and helped her out.  They made their way to the front door where Frank pushed the button for the doorbell.

A rather squat man, roughly five foot five, answered the door.  "May I help you?" he asked, looking at the two teens curiously.

"My name is Frank Hardy and this is Callie Shaw," Frank introduced himself and Callie.  "Could we please ask you a few questions?"

"About Devon," the man said with a sigh, recognizing the boy as the son of Fenton Hardy, with whom he had spoken with the previous day.  He unlatched the screen door and let the two inside, leading them into the living room.

"We already talked to your father," Mrs. Lenin said as she joined her husband and the two teenagers in the living room.  

"Yes, Ma'am," Frank said.  "But I went to see Mrs. Lenin yesterday and I have a couple of questions I would appreciate being answered."

"And they are?" asked Mr. Lenin, his face revealing no emotion at the moment.

"Why did you think your mother may have murdered Devon?" Frank asked Mr. Lenin.

"We never thought that," Mrs. Lenin declared, shocked at the idea.

Mr. Lenin gave his wife a guilty look before answering.  "My mother didn't like Leslie or Devon," he said.  "Since Devon was killed in the middle of the night, I thought his killer had to be someone we knew.  And my mother is the only person who ever..." he trailed off.

"Who ever what, Mr. Lenin?" Callie prompted.

"She's the only one who ever said he would have been better off had he not been born," Mr. Lenin finished, grabbing his wife's hand and squeezing it.

"But if she and Devon hated each other, why would he have sneaked out to see her?" Callie asked.

"My mother had a key," Mr. Leinin stated.  "She could have come in and taken him."

"But wouldn't you have heard Devon fighting her if that had been the case?" Callie demanded. 

"I only met Mrs. Lenin once," Frank said, when they never replied.  "She doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would kill someone.  And," he added, before he could be interrupted.   "And she seems to genuinely want Devon's murderer found."

"If she is innocent, you will have to prove it," Mr. Lenin asserted.  "I can't make amends with her when she may have killed my son."

"And if she didn't and we find the real killer, it may be too late to make amends," Frank pointed out.

"Was there anything else?" Mrs. Lenin asked wearily.

"Did Devon know Agent Patrick?" Frank inquired.

"I don't see how he could have," replied Mr. Lenin.  "We didn't become associated with the SBI until after Devon's death."

"Thank you for your time," Frank said, standing up.

"It's we who should be thanking you," Mr. Lenin countered, also standing up.  "If only someone could find Devon's murderer and lay this all to rest."

"We'll do our best," Frank promised, shaking his hand before he and Callie left.

They left the car where it was at and walked next door to the Donalds'.  Tim Donalds had already left for work so Frank and Callie returned to the car and drove to the Barley's.  As Frank pulled to a stop, several voices released blood-curdling screams from inside the house!

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