"Is there?" Joe asked, relieved. He now had a little time to stall before telling Frank about the barbeque. Joe knew he was going to go ballistic and while he didn’t blame him, he didn’t look forward to it either.

"A couple of people," Frank replied. "Karen Lynne and Aaron Terrence."

"Who do you want to check out first?" Joe asked.

"Let’s talk to the owner first," Frank decided after giving it some thought.

"Got his address?" inquired Joe.

"Yes," Frank said. "And more," he added, grinning. "I got a lot of information yesterday." Frank ran upstairs while Joe foraged in the kitchen for some pop tarts.

"I pulled this info off the net," Frank said, entering the kitchen as Joe pulled two boxed orange juices from the refrigerator. He handed Frank one and a pack of pop tarts then took the papers Frank was offering him. The boys devoured their makeshift breakfast before heading outside.

Outside, Joe climbed into the passenger side of the van and buckled up. While Frank drove, Joe went through the papers. "You really did your homework," Joe complimented Frank, seeing the reports on all the museum personnel who had the opportunity to filch the painting.

"Yeah, but none of them seem the type to do this sort of thing," Frank said. He had gone over the printouts last night after returning home and finding Joe already in bed fast asleep.

Joe looked at the papers again. Frank was right. The most telling thing on any one of them was a speeding ticket. "This is why you called Benson," Joe guessed. "To see if there were any more suspects."

"Right," affirmed Frank. "Sorrel, Lynne and Terrance."

"And, of course, Philip Langley," Joe added. "It wouldn’t be the first time someone has "stolen" their own stuff for the insurance."

"Not bad, Baby Brother," Frank stated, grinning. "I had forgotten that was a possibility. We’ll have to see if Langley or the museum gets the money if something happens to the painting."

"Either way, Langley would win," Joe pointed out. "The Renoir is on loan, which means the museum would have to reimburse him if anything happened to it."

Frank turned off the highway and onto a side street. Three miles and one more turn brought them to the address he had gotten from the museum’s curator earlier.

"Wait up," Frank said after he had parked the van and Joe prepared to alight. "I want to call Sam and have him check out the insurance on the painting first." He pulled out his cell phone and put through a call to Sam Radley, an operative of his father’s and a first class investigator in his own right. Sam promised to check it out and call Frank back but warned him it might be the next day before he could get the information since it was Sunday.

"Not much of a place for someone who owns one of the most valuable paintings in existence," Joe commented as he and Frank made their way up the concrete walk to the modest brick ranch-style house which was obviously in need of repair.

"Mmm-hmm," agreed Frank. The boys reached the front door and Joe pushed the doorbell. Almost a minute later, the door opened to reveal a man in his late twenties with green eyes, brown hair and a brown mustache. He was roughly three inches shorter than Frank but solidly built.

"May I help you?" the man inquired, lifting a bushy brow.

"My name is Frank Hardy and this is my brother Joe. Mr. Benson has asked us to locate the missing Renoir," Frank identified himself and Joe.

"Of course," Langley said, stepping aside so they could enter. "Ralph said he had obtained the service of a couple of private investigators when he informed me of the theft. But, to be honest, I expected you to be older."

"We may be young, but we do know what we’re doing," Frank assured the man, trying hard to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. He, and Joe, were getting really tired of having to prove themselves. "Joe and I have been solving mysteries for quite some time."

"Hardy, you say?" Langley asked as their last name finally registered. "You aren’t related to Fenton Hardy by any chance?"

"He’s our father," Joe replied.

"In that case, I won’t worry about your ages," Langley said, smiling. "I’m sure your father has trained you well otherwise he wouldn’t allow you to do this sort of thing."

"You know our father?" Joe asked.

"No," Langley replied. "But I doubt there’s anyone of the East Coast who hasn’t at least heard of him. Come in," he continued, leading the two into a comfortable living area. "Have a seat," he added, waving to the sofa covered by an afghan and a couple of throw pillows.

"Thank you, Sir," Frank said, taking a seat with Joe. Langley sat down in a nearby chair. "We wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Of course," Langley agreed to the request.

"Has anyone approached you about purchasing the Renoir?" Frank asked.

"Not directly, no," Langley answered. "There have been three offers but all three were through the museum."

"Would you be willing to sell if a proper offer presented itself?" Joe inquired, thinking of Sorrel.

"Actually, I would gladly get rid of the thing," Langley said, surprising both boys. "As you can tell, I could use the money. However, my grandfather is the one who arranged the loan to the museum and although we, I now that my father has passed away, retain ownership, the museum controls it," he added, his expression sour. "My grandfather arranged it so the painting could not be sold except by mutual agreement."

"So it is possible to sell the painting?" Frank asked.

"It would be if the museum’s board of directors would agree, however, they chose not to when my father wished to sell and they refuse to allow its sale now," Langley responded, obviously angry.

They chatted for a bit longer then Joe looked at his watch and stood up. "Thank you for talking to us," he said politely.

"It’s been my pleasure," Langley returned as he and Frank rose. "Don’t hesitate to call on me if I can be of any further service."

"Thank you," Frank said, shaking his hand. He and Joe left Langley’s and climbed back into the van.

"Nice enough guy," Joe commented once they were under way.

"Yeah," Frank agreed, frowning. Something was bothering him but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

"Earth to Frank," Joe said a moment later.

"Huh? Oh, sorry Joe," Frank apologized. He shook his head to clear it. "I feel sorry for Langley," he said. "To own something like that and not be able to sell it when you need the money."

"Sounds like a motive to me," Joe responded. "He could have taken the painting so he could sell it."

"True," agreed Frank. "And we still don’t know who gets the insurance if the painting can’t be found."

"Hey!" Joe shouted, his eyes widening as the wheel suddenly jerked in Frank’s hands.