Marie screamed as Joe made a nosedive behind the brick wall. The car clipped the side of the brick, knocking a chunk out before speeding down the street out of sight.

“Joe! Are you all right?” Marie demanded as she raced to him.

Joe picked himself up off the ground and swiped at the spots of dirt that clung to him. “I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Dad,” Marie said, turning to her father with worried eyes. “Maybe he should see a doctor. Look, he’s bleeding,” she added, turning back to Joe.

Joe looked at his upper left arm where a small bit of blood was trickling from a cut. He pulled out the bandana he normally kept tucked in his pocket and pressed it against the wound. “It’s no biggie,” Joe insisted. “This kind of stuff happens all the time.”

“You get hurt all the time,” Marie said in mock sincerity. “Please.”

“Seriously,” Joe said. “This is nothing. Just a scratch.”

“Which could become infected,” Sorrel stated, frowning.

“Not with all the tetanus shots I’ve had this year,“ Joe disagreed, shaking his head ruefully. “I’ve been shot and stabbed; not to mention being in a wreck or two.” Instead of appeasing Marie this only served to make her more apprehensive.

“It goes with the territory,” he told Marie. “But I’m tough. I’m still here,” he added softly as she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his chest.

Sorrel ordered one of the men to retrieve Joe’s bike that had managed to survive any harm during the escapade. Marie led Joe inside followed by most of the other guests. Sorrel, Piers and a few other men remained outside to talk.

***

When Joe arrived home that night, he found his brother just exiting their father’s office. “I thought you were going into research mode earlier today,” Joe said, quirking an eyebrow.

Frank shrugged. “I decided to see Callie first,” he said. Frank’s sharp brown eyes saw the fresh cut on Joe’s shoulder. “What happened to you?” he demanded.

Joe told him about the incident involving his motorcycle. “It could have been someone at the cookout,” Frank commented, frowning.

“Doubtful,” Joe disagreed. “Less than half of the guests seemed to know what Sorrel really does.

“I still think you should avoid them,” Frank said.

“Can’t,” Joe said, shaking his head. “Tomorrow is Marie’s birthday. I’ve been invited to attend a dinner party.”

“You have school,” Frank argued, stubbornly.

“It’s not until seven,” Joe said. “I can skip lunch to pick her out a gift. After school, we will still have a few hours to work on the case before I have to be there.”

“Fine,” Frank replied tight-lipped. He could almost swear Joe sounded happy with the plan. “Come on into my room and I’ll tell you what I learned about Kyle Terrance.”

“What about that Lynne woman?” Joe asked following Frank into his room. He sat down on Frank’s bed while Frank looked through a bureau drawer for some pajamas.

“She’s a no-go,” Frank answered. “She was attempting to purchase it for the Smithsonian.”

“Terrance is an avid art collector,” Frank began. “His collection is worth one point four billion dollars.”

Joe gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Too much,” Frank continued. “If you take away his art collection his net worth is just a little over a million dollars.”

“I’d hate to have all my money tied up in art,” Joe commented. “You think he might have taken the painting because he couldn’t afford to increase his offer?”

“It’s a distinct possibility,” Frank affirmed.

“So we have two suspects,” Joe stated. “Terrance and Langley.”

“Three,” Frank corrected stonily. “You forgot Sorrel.”

“Fine,” Joe agreed in exasperation. “Three. But I think we’re wasting our time with Sorrel.”

***

After school the next afternoon, Frank and Joe headed toward Bridgeport where Terrance lived. “What did you get Marie for her birthday?” Frank asked, his eyes flitting to his side mirror for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

“I found her a necklace on sale,” Joe replied. “It’s an hourglass filled with diamond dust. And what are you doing?” he ended, grabbing the dashboard to steady himself as Frank made a sharp right.

“We’re being followed,” Frank answered.

Joe swiveled around to look in his side mirror. “Which one?”

“Black SUV,” Frank answered. “Three cars back.”

“Got it,” Joe said, narrowing his focus. “I can’t get a fix on the driver.”

“Hang on,” Frank ordered. “I’m going to lose him.” Frank made a series of turns that soon had Joe losing his bearings.

“I don’t see the SUV anymore,” Joe said.

“Good.”

Joe looked around. “Do you know where we are?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Frank admitted with a grin. “One more turn and we’re back where we started,” he said. Frank made the required turn left turn and the two continued their trip.

Frank pulled the van to a stop in front of a modest two-story house. “This is it?” Joe asked, raising an eyebrow. “Langley’s place looked better.”

Frank agreed but never spoke as he followed Joe from the van and up to the front door. Joe was just about to knock when a heavy pitter-patter could be heard from their left. The boys turned toward the sound.

“Oh no,” groaned Joe, preparing himself for a struggle while Frank stood frozen, his brown eyes wide in horror as two large German Shepherds came barreling at them.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.