Frank and Joe left the hospital the next morning after seeing Mrs. Barley and Jim and promised to stop by and see them later that evening.  "I still think we should get someone to keep an eye on Jim," Joe told Frank as they climbed into their mother's car.  The van would not be fixed for several days.

"Chet?" Frank asked, glancing over at Joe in the passenger seat.

"Perfect," Joe replied grinning.  "Let's go and ask him."

"Let's stop by and pick up Callie first," Frank said. "She was planning on coming back to the hospital this morning."

When they arrived at Callie's, they found her in the driveway with Iola and Chet.  "Joe!  You're okay!" Iola shouted happily as Joe got out of the car.  She ran over and gave him a hug.

"Oooh-easy," Joe groaned, wincing as she squeezed him. "My ribs are sore."

"I'm sorry," she said, her brown eyes staring up into Joe's blue ones.  "I was so worried about you."

"Yeah, man," Chet said, coming over.  "When Callie called last night, we flipped!"

"If Callie hadn't said we couldn't see you until this morning, we would have been at the hospital last night," Iola said.

Joe smiled down at her.  "I'm okay," he assured her.  "Honest.  Actually, we were going to pick Callie up and head out to your place."

"You need help?" Chet asked, his eyes remarkably serious.  Chet was normally easy going, but when his friends wee in trouble, a better friend couldn't be found.

"We want you to keep an eye on Jim," Frank said.

"But he's in jail," Iola said.

"Let's go grab something to eat and we'll bring you three up to date," Joe suggested, putting an arm around Iola.

Frank tossed the car keys to Chet.  "Joe's not supposed to drive for awhile," he told him before getting into Callie's car.

"Why aren't you supposed to drive?" Chet asked as he got behind the wheel and Joe climbed in beside him.  Iola climbed into the back seat.  "They don't think last night was your fault, do they?"

"No," Joe replied with a smile.  "But I hit my head pretty hard and although the doctor released me, I'm not supposed to drive or operate any heavy machinery for another twenty-four hours.  It's just a precaution," he added, seeing Iola's face clouding over.

"Do you have any idea who caused the wreck?" Iola asked.

Joe shook his head.  "But I think Jim may know who the killer is," he said, his face taking on a thoughtful expression.

"Why do you think that?" Chet demanded.

"It makes sense," Joe said.  "Devon's murderer tried to frame Jim knowing he couldn't defend himself.  Then, when Jim was released, the murderer tried to kill him."

"Or someone was trying to kill you," Chet said.

"Why?" Joe asked.  "All I did was help Jim, which, again, would make Jim the obvious target," he pointed out.

"All this happened three years ago," Iola said, a little confused.  "Why try to frame Jim for the murder now?"

"I don't know," Joe admitted.  "But if we could find out, we may find out why Devon was murdered in the first place.  Pull over a minute," Joe ordered Chet.  Chet did as he was told and Joe got out of the car as Callie pulled in behind them.  He went to the window where Frank sat.

"What's wrong?" Frank demanded, his expression questioning.

"We still haven't gotten any info from dad," Joe stated.

"You're right," Frank agreed.  "And he did work on the investigation.  Let's go home and talk to him," he said.

"Right," Joe agreed and went back to rejoin the Morton's.  "Our house," he told Chet.

When they arrived at the Hardy home, everyone gathered in the living room.  Frank and Joe took turns updating everyone on their investigation.  After they had finished, Mr. Hardy stood up.  He gave a deep sigh, then looked straight at Joe.

"I'm sorry, Son," he said.  "When Devon was murdered, I was asked to help with the investigation.  After two days, I was called to Washington to work on a project for the senate.  By the time I had finished, the case had been turned over to an Agent Michael Thompson."

"I thought agents assigned to a case were given at least six months before being reassigned," Frank said, looking at his dad thoughtfully.

"Normally, yes," Mr. Hardy agreed.  "But the agent who requested my help had a heart attack and the case had to be reassigned."

"Don't FBI agents have to be in top physical condition?" Joe demanded, his face as puzzled as his brother's.

"Yes," agreed Mr. Hardy.  "But Agent Peters developed a case of Athlete's Heart," he continued his explanation.  "It was sudden, starting soon after his last physical, apparently, with no symptoms until his heart became too enlarged.  He died of a heart attack the day after I left for Washington."

"Did you find out anything at all before you left?" Joe asked.

Mr. Hardy shook his head.  "Not much," he said.  '"Devon was a quiet boy with few friends.  As I recall, one of the boys who was under suspicion was cleared because he was out of the country with his parents, and the other boy, Jeffery Thompson,  I believe his name was, was staying a couple of nights upstate with his grandparents."

"That's weird," Chet said, grinning.

"What is?" asked Mr. Hardy.

"Jeff and the agent who took the case over have the same last name," Chet observed.

"So they do," agreed Mr. Hardy with a smile.  "But Thompson is a common name in these parts," he reminded Chet.

"I know," Chet admitted.  "But it is neat they are the same in the same case."

"Yeah, quite a coincidence," Frank agreed, thoughtfully.  "Dad, does Agent Thompson have any children?"

"No," Mr. Hardy replied.  "And Jeff's parents were Fred and Gail Thompson."

"Were?" Joe asked.

"I seem to remember reading about their having died in a car crash last year," Mr. Hardy said.

"Do you know where Michael Thompson lives?" Frank asked.  "Maybe we could talk to him?"

"I'll call and ask him to talk to you," Mr. Hardy promised. 

"What about the Lenins?" Joe asked.  "You need to talk to them.  There's no way they will talk to us," he added glumly.

"I will do that," Mr. Hardy assured his son.  "In the meantime, what about Jim?"

"I'll go stay with him," Chet said.  "I'll make sure no one hurts him."

"Me too," Iola said.  "I'm sure Mrs. Barley would enjoy the company."

"Mom made me promise to be back soon," Callie apologized.  "She wanted me to go with her to see my Aunt Denise."

"Well, how about some lunch before you all get started?" Mrs. Hardy suggested, standing up.  "I'll have it ready in no time."

"We'll help," Callie and Iola offered, rising and following Mrs. Hardy into the kitchen. 

Chet, and Iola headed over to the Barleys after first dropping Callie off at her house. And Frank and Joe climbed into their mother's car and headed to Southport to see Agent Thompson who was happy to talk with the boys about the case.

"I hope he can help us out," Joe said.  "We've got one attempted murder and one murder and we still don't know who or why."

Frank glanced over at Joe.  "Maybe we are going about this all wrong," Frank said.

"What do you mean?" Joe asked.

"Well, we'll talk to Agent Thompson now because Dad has already arranged it, but maybe we should concentrate on why someone tried to frame Jim now instead of who killed Devon," Frank suggested.

"But it has to be the same person," Joe pointed out.

"I agree," Frank concurred.  "But it would be easier to find out when the diary was found and what Jim was doing and who he was around right before the diary was found, than to follow clues and leads that are years old."

Joe's face took on a thoughtful look.  "You think whoever tried to frame Jim maybe killed Devon and for the same reason?"

"It's possible.  They both found out something, but at different times," Frank stated, slowing down as they entered the curving mountainous terrain leading out of town.

"Too improbable," Joe disagreed. "But maybe the person didn't know Jim knew until recently and is afraid Jim might accidentally let something slip."

Frank and Joe arrived at Agent Thompson's house in a little over an hour.  They went up to the door and knocked.  Soon, a man, roughly six foot four with dark hair and hazel eyes, answered.

"Frank and Joe Hardy," Thompson greeted them with a smile.  "Come in, come in," he said, stepping aside so they could enter.  "Your father called and said you would be coming over."

"Thank you for seeing us," Frank said, once the three had entered the living room and taken seats.

"I'm just glad to hear you two are looking into the matter," Thompson replied.

"Oh?" Frank asked with the lift of a brow.

Thompson gave a sheepish grin as he explained.  "I've been following your careers now for awhile," he admitted.  "I think it's wonderful you two are following in your father's footsteps.  You two have proven quite successful in all your investigative undertakings.  I think it quite possible you two will succeed where the department has failed."

"Thank you," both boys murmured.

"Sir, could you tell us about your investigation?" Joe asked.

"You mean you want our lists of suspects and why they were cleared?" Thompson asked.

"Yes, please," Joe replied.

"Greg Petrie," Thompson began.  "But he was in Mexico with his parents at the time of the murder.  Then, there was Jeff Thompson.  But according to his parents, he was at home in bed."

"Just curious," Joe interrupted, "but is Jeff Thompson any relation of yours?"

Thompson frowned, then answered truthfully.  "He's my nephew."

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