"This is where I want to be!" Perry exclaimed, his eyes shining. "I really want to be in the music business, and I want to do it as a sound technician!"

"Really?" Joe was surprised. "You can sing, and I know you play piano and guitar - why not be a musician, instead?"

Perry laughed ruefully. "There are hundreds of guys around who can play a little and sing a little…but I like the tech side of the business. My Uncle Jeff’s a sound engineer for one of Bayport’s TV stations. I’ve hung out with him quite a bit, and I’ve seen what it’s like. I was hooked from the get-go."

"Well, it looks like fun." Joe admitted, casting an admiring glance around the little room.

As they were preparing to leave, the door to the sound booth opened unexpectedly, and to Joe’s shock, Sergeant Mike Fogle entered.

"Sgt. Fogle!" Joe exclaimed.

"Hello, boys." Fogle said quietly. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Joe privately." he went on, addressing Perry.

"S-sure, okay….See you later, Joe." Perry exited hastily, and Fogle closed the door firmly behind him.

"What brings you here?" Joe asked warily, very conscious of the things he and Frank had found out about this two-faced police officer.

"I had some new information for you," Fogle said. "I went to the hotel, but Frank wasn’t there. I recalled that you were going to be cutting your school CD today, and I thought Frank must have come along with you. So I figured I’d catch you both here."

"Sorry, but Frank’s not here; it’s just me." Joe apologized.

"Oh, do you know where he is?" the police officer asked casually. "Maybe I can get hold of him yet."

Joe hesitated a split second, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Fogle sounded too nonchalant. "No," he finally replied. "He wasn’t awake when I left this morning." It’s not really a total lie, he comforted himself. Frank wasn’t very awake when I left, after all! "But I’ll pass on the information to him as soon as I see him. What did you find out?"

Fogle didn’t look happy about this, but had little choice. "I found out that Mackenzie Daniels and Steve Parker had a big fight a while back." he said. "If it wasn’t for the fact that Parker is Daniels’ brother-in-law, he would have had him fired."

"What’s that have to do with Donald Tremaine’s murder?" Joe inquired.

"I’m not too sure," Fogle admitted. "I thought perhaps Tremaine found out that Parker was planning on stealing the artwork, or short-changing the event - if Parker discovered that Tremaine knew, he could have had him killed."

Joe shook his head dubiously. "I don’t think so. Parker seemed very open with us, and nice. He was more than willing to give Frank and me security clearance for the museum. I can’t believe he would have done that if he’d murdered Tremaine." He took a step toward the door of the sound booth. "Was there anything else?"

"Mackenzie Daniels isn’t going to show at the Parthenon this week after all. I heard this morning that he had an emergency appendectomy, and won’t be attending. And Steve Parker won’t be here either." Fogle ended.

"So Daniels is giving away a million dollars, and not one member of his family will be here to represent him?" Joe asked for clarification. This seemed very surprising. At the very least, it was a missed photo/publicity opportunity.

"Affirmative," concurred Fogle. "Parker and his wife will be at the hospital with Daniels. The board of trustees now has the job of making sure the money is distributed according to Daniels’ wishes."

"If Parker isn’t going to attend, that would pretty much eliminate him as a suspect, wouldn’t it?" Joe demanded, wondering why Fogle hadn’t thought of this himself.

Joe felt his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Why would Fogle be extending this invitation? He really didn’t have any yen to be the man’s guest for dinner, and he suspected Frank didn’t, either. But we might learn something…shouldn’t turn down the chance, I guess.

"Sure, that would be great," Joe said aloud. "At your place?"

"No, I’m a lousy cook." Fogle chuckled. "How about if I treat you two to dinner at Franklin’s, on Beacon Street? It’s the best restaurant in town where you don’t have to wear a tie!"

Joe had to grin a little at the restaurant’s name - ‘Franklin’s’ seemed very appropriate, somehow, considering his older brother! He wondered if Fogle had chosen it for a joke.

As the two gazed through the glass partition, they could see Joe’s classmates returning to the studio, ready to start work on the CD once more.

"Or will you be too tired, after the day’s activities?" Sgt. Fogle amended. "If you think you will be, I’ll understand."

"No, no - I’ll be fine." Joe assured him. "We’d enjoy having dinner with you, Sergeant Fogle."

"You kids going to the zoo today, then? It’s a great one; I hope you get to see it."

"I don’t think we’ll get to the zoo this trip." Joe replied. "After we cut the CD, we’re going to lunch, and I’m not sure where we’re going after that. Nothing too strenuous!" he added, laughing. No way am I telling him where we’re going!

"No, I guess not." the sergeant agreed. "Well, I think you need to join your class, Joe. I’ll see you tonight. Let’s say seven o’clock, at Franklin’s." He opened the door and stepped out of the sound booth, leaving Joe to follow.

As Fogle made his way to the exit, he bumped into red-headed Rich Sutton. "Thanks for telling me where I could find Joe." he said to the teenager.

Rich nodded, but didn’t comment, obviously waiting for the police officer to move on so that he could join his classmates.

Fogle took a couple of steps, then turned back. "Shoot - I forgot where Joe said you were heading this afternoon," he said. "I guess I’ll have to go back and ask him."

"We’re going to lunch and then to the Aquarium," Rich informed him. He frowned. "Why would you need to know that? Are you keeping tabs on Joe?"

"Well…" Fogle glanced around surreptitiously. "Sort of. I’m afraid that someone is out to hurt Joe and his brother. But they’re too stubborn to accept my help."

"Tell me about it!" Rich snorted. "Would you like me to keep an eye on them for you?" he added eagerly.

"Could you?" Fogle exclaimed. "I’d appreciate it. Maybe you could give me a call and let me know where Joe’s going, when he leaves?"

"Sure, I could do that." Rich smiled happily. He had secretly admired the Hardys’ lifestyle, not realizing how dangerous that lifestyle sometimes was, and was pleased to be a part of their investigations. He pocketed the business card Fogle handed him with his cell phone number on it, and moved off to rejoin the other students.

What am I going to do? Frank wondered frantically, his gaze flicking between the two adversaries approaching the van. Two thugs, one with a gun, and the van with two flat tires!

"Oh, man - I really hate to do this!" he grumbled aloud, and stepped on the gas pedal. The van hurtled backwards, lurching on the flattened rear tires. Frank shoved it into Drive, and again floored the accelerator, groaning as he felt the wobble of the wheels. He knew he was doing considerable damage to the van, but he had no choice. Behind him, the two men were running towards the red truck, but he had a long lead, even with the ruined tires.

Once in a well-traveled area, surrounded by traffic and lots of people, Frank pulled over to the curb by the first pay phone he spotted. He took out his Triple-A card and called for a tow truck.

At yet another automotive repair shop, Frank waited while the mechanic called across town to a supply store. He knew he was going to have to buy new tires and new wheels; driving on the rims had ruined the ones on the van. He winced at the quoted price, but nodded, and pulled the credit card Fenton had given him for emergencies out of his wallet.

"It will be a couple of hours," he was told. "You can either wait here or come back and pick it up."

"I’ll wait." Frank decided. He felt safe here, for one thing, and for another, he had had enough of buses and taxis.

He poured himself a cup of coffee in the waiting area, and settled down to do just that - wait. At least I have some uninterrupted time to think about the case!

Frank wanted very much to tell Len Henderson about the scrapbook he had seen at Mike Fogle’s place, but he realized that would entail his admitting to breaking into Fogle’s house. That wouldn’t be such a smart idea! It would go over with Henderson and the Chief - and Kevin Barnes! - like a lead balloon!

He craned his neck to view the van, sitting forlornly waiting for its new wheels. I have to report the attack to the police, he mused. Oh blast it! I need to tell Joe, but I have no way of contacting him! He glanced at his watch. They should be done at the studio by now, but I can’t remember where they were going after that!

Exasperated, Frank slumped into his chair and morosely sipped his coffee. He would have to wait and fill Joe in on the ominous events later. But now, he needed to talk to Henderson and Barnes about the masked thugs who had attacked him. He went to the pay phone just outside the shop, and dialed.

Unfortunately, when Frank reached the police station, neither Len Henderson nor Kevin Barnes were there. After some mental deliberation, Frank asked if he could speak to Chief Winslow, and to his surprise, was connected to the chief’s office almost immediately.

"Chief Winslow, I wouldn’t have bothered you, but neither Sgt. Henderson nor Mr. Barnes is available-" he began, somewhat hesitantly.

"That’s all right; let’s hear what you have to say." Winslow encouraged him, and listened intently as Frank recounted the episode with the bullets, the red truck, and the two masked men. "I’ll let Henderson and Barnes know." he promised, as Frank concluded his story. "There’s been no word yet from Barnes on the investigation of Fogle by Internal Affairs," he went on. "but Len Henderson secured a search warrant for Bradley Brookshire’s place. When they checked it out, they found a picture of Donald Tremaine - and one more thing…."

"What?" Frank demanded, excitedly.

"A painting." Winslow stated somberly. "A large painting, signed by Francois Boucher!"