Frank tried to sit up, but the stranger gently pushed him back down. "Stay put," the man ordered. "You have a nasty bruise on the back of your head, but I don’t believe there’s a concussion. You should probably have a cat scan done to make sure there is no damage, though."

"I'm okay," Frank said, although his head was pounding. "Who are you?"

"This is Dr. Danton, the hotel’s physician-on-call." Sergeant Fogle said, coming closer to the bed. "A guest heard a noise from room 319 and pushed open the door. He said two men were getting ready to kill you."

"To kill me?" Frank gulped. Suddenly his head felt worse. "Yeah, I heard one in the bathroom." He took a deep breath, trying to remember details. "The other one snuck up on me from behind."

"Well, I've done all I can." Dr. Danton said, standing up. "If you feel any dizziness or nausea, go to the emergency room and get that head checked out." he advised Frank. "And I suggest you stay quiet for the rest of the day."

"Thank you," Frank said. "I will." He didn’t bother mentioning that he already felt dizzy; he’d been hit enough times to know that the sensation would go away eventually.

After Dr. Danton departed, Sergeant Fogle turned stern brown eyes on Frank. "What were you doing in that room?" he demanded.

"I don't know, exactly." Frank replied, pushing himself to a sitting position and waiting for the room to stop spinning before swinging his legs off the bed. "I just thought I'd check the room out." He decided not to mention exactly how he had gained admittance to that room – he’d let Fogle assume the door had been ajar!

"Why? Do you know who the victim was?" Fogle asked.

Frank nodded. "Donald Tremaine." he replied. "He was a security adviser."

"What else do you know about this case?" Fogle questioned, slightly amazed at Frank’s knowledge.

"That's all so far." Frank stated. He realized too late that he had just admitted he planned on finding out more.

"I have a novel idea." Sergeant Fogle said. "Why don't we work together?"

Frank gave him a rueful grin.

"How does this strike you?" the sergeant proposed. "If you keep me informed of your and your brother's efforts in this investigation, I’ll supply you with any information I find which is allowed."

"Meaning, you'll tell us what you want us to know." Frank accused, raising an eyebrow at the other man.

"Meaning, Mr. Tremaine was involved in security matters, some of which may be classified." Sergeant Fogle clarified.

"Understood." Frank said with an apologetic smile. "What can you tell me about Mr. Tremaine?" he asked, then.

"First, what do you know about him?" Sgt. Fogle parried.

"Dad mentioned working with him a few times." Frank replied with a slight shrug. "All he ever said was Mr. Tremaine was an excellent security expert."

"And what did your father tell you about him when you called him today?" Sgt. Fogle asked sharply.

"Not a word." Frank retorted, slightly miffed. "My parents are on their second honeymoon, in Hawaii." he said tersely. "Joe and I won't get to talk to them for at least a week, unless there’s an emergency."

"Sorry," Sgt. Fogle said sheepishly. "I just assumed you had queried your father about Mr. Tremaine. Well…Donald Tremaine came to Nashville to maintain security for Mackenzie Daniels' art collection." he informed Frank. "The collection is being shown at the Parthenon this coming weekend. Tremaine was hired by Mr. Daniels' attorney, Steve Parker."

"Daniels' brother-in-law," Frank added. Sgt. Fogle raised his eyes questioningly at this show of knowledge. "I read an article in the paper about it this morning," Frank confided.

"Well, what the paper did not report was that Mr. Daniels will also be putting in an appearance at the opening of the show. Not only do the proceeds for admission go to charity, but Mr. Daniels has also made a donation of one million dollars to the charity. He is going to present it to the board of representatives for Nashville's Homeless Fund at the opening."

"Getting the chief of security out of the way would definitely make it easier to breach security." Frank commented. "But still, stealing a million dollar check would be pointless. No one would cash it."

"That would be true – except for the fact Daniels is giving the million dollars in cash." Sgt. Fogle replied. Frank jerked straight up in shock.

"Cash?" he shouted. "Why? That's trouble just waiting to happen." He winced, abruptly realizing that bouncing around didn’t agree with his headache.

"Daniels agreed to allow the representatives to use the donations at the Parthenon any way they saw fit." Fogle explained. "But according to Parker, Daniels was adamant that his donation was to be distributed to the people who had been listed as homeless – according to the shelters – for the longest amount of time. Each person or family is to receive ten thousand dollars to give them a fresh start.

"According to Parker," Fogle continued. "Daniels believes it is better to give one family the means to better themselves than to give a hundred families enough money for one day's meals. The ten thousand dollar dividend to Nashville's homeless constituents was a stipulation for the show."

"How many people knew about the donation?" Frank inquired.

"Daniels, Parker, the board of representatives of the charity committee, and Ratkin and Blake." was the reply.

"Who are Ratkin and Blake?" Frank asked, his eyes narrowing as he tried to remember if he had heard those names before.

"Theodore Ratkin is the museum's administrator." Sgt. Fogle told him. "He tried to fight the display because of the money situation. Like you, he felt that this would cause more trouble than it was worth. However," he continued, "when the museum's owner, Blake, heard about it, he insisted it would be great publicity and overruled Ratkin."

"Who is on the charity committee?" Frank reached for the hotel pen and notepad on the bedside table, and began jotting down notes.

"Tracy Malone, Nathan Russell, Gail Smith, and Matthew Pruitt," Fogle answered, after checking a page in his notebook. He gazed at the Hardy boy thoughtfully, his brown eyes serious. "I’ll make a deal with you." he proposed.

"What?" Frank asked warily.

"Come down to the station with me, and look at some mug shots. Maybe you can spot the guy from the elevator last night, or one of the people who attacked you today."

"I never saw anyone today." Frank reminded him. He stood up carefully, waiting for a momentary wooziness to pass. "But I can try looking for the man from last night. So what’s the deal?"

"I’ll give you the addresses that go with those names you just wrote down—and their alibis." Sergeant Fogle stood up too, a mischievous twinkle now evident in his eyes.

"Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse." Frank said, grinning.

The two left the hotel room, and a few minutes later emerged from the hotel into the afternoon sun.

"You must have worked fast to establish alibis for everyone already." Frank commented, stopping beside his van. He preferred to take his own vehicle to the police station, rather than ride with the sergeant; it would be too easy to get stranded there if something came up that kept Fogle from bringing him back to the hotel.

"Actually, it was too easy." Fogle admitted. "At the time of death, there was a meeting going on, concerning the display at the Parthenon. Except for Tremaine, and Mr. Daniels, who is still out of town, everyone involved was at the meeting."