Frank arrived at Braun Enterprises a little after five that afternoon. Curtis wasn't around so Frank couldn't talk to him and he doubted searching his office would provide any legitimate leads so he left the area and went to Matthew's office.
Frank found a note tacked to the door when he arrived. Frank, I had to go to a meeting. Go on in and pick up where we left off yesterday. I shouldn't be too long.
Frank pulled the note from the door and went inside. Closing the door he set his things down, opened the document he was working on yesterday and then set about searching the office. Aware Matthews could return at any minute, Frank went through the desk trying to be quick but also trying not to leave anything out of place. After he finished with the desk he moved to the file cabinets. He was halfway through with no success when he heard voices from behind the door. He replaced the folder he held in his hand, shut the drawer and raced to his seat. When Matthews and one of the men from the previous day entered the office Frank was busy at the keyboard.
"You okay?" asked Phil as Joe exited the locker room and made his way to the mats.
"Yeah," Joe fibbed. He was hot and his throat was dry even though he had consumed a massive amount of water from the water cooler before exiting the locker room.
Phil frowned as Joe moved away. He could tell something was wrong with Joe but until he admitted it there wasn't anything he could do.
"What's wrong with Joe?" asked Biff coming over to join Phil fifteen minutes into practice. Biff had noticed how slow Joe seemed to be moving and the errors he seemed to keep making. Even the coach was getting worried.
"I don't know," Phil admitted. "But he doesn't look so good."
Joe fell to the floor on his knees. "Hardy!" Anderson bellowed. "That was a lousy performance. What's wrong with you today?"
Joe shrugged and wiped his brow. He was sweating even though he hadn't really done enough to work one up. "My throat is scratchy and I'm hot," Joe answered.
"Great," grumbled Anderson. "On top of everything else, you're getting sick. Go home and get some rest," he ordered, aware it was not the boy's fault.
Phil and Biff followed Joe home. "I've got to run," Biff apologized after escorting Joe inside and making sure it was deserted.
"I understand," Joe said. "Thanks for helping out."
"Anytime, Pal," Biff returned. "Get some rest."
"I will," Joe promised.
Phil came into the living room after Biff left holding a note he had found tacked to the bulletin board. "It's from your dad," Phil informed Joe. "He's at the hospital with your mom but should be bringing her home soon."
"That's good," Joe said. "Why don't you head on home?" he suggested. "I'm going to take a nap."
"I'll hang around until your folks get here," Phil said, not wanting to leave Joe unprotected.
"I'll turn on the alarm as soon as you leave," promised Joe.
"Your dad did that last time," Phil reminded him.
"But we searched the house this time," Joe pointed out. "No one is here but us."
"Okay," Phil gave in grudgingly. "But call me if you need anything or if you want to go anywhere."
"I will," Joe said. "I promise," he added when he could see Phil was still wavering. "Your mom probably needs you at home," he continued. "Didn't you say in history that she was going to spend some time with your uncle at the hospital?"
"I'm going," Phil said. He couldn't deny his mom did want him at home to do a few things. "But call me."
"I will," Joe promised again. "I'll even call you when Frank gets home if that will make you feel better."
"It will," Phil agreed.
"It's a deal then," Joe said, smiling. He saw Phil out and turned on the alarm and then headed upstairs for a nap. Not only was he hot and his throat sore but now his stomach was starting to cramp and he was feeling a bit nauseous.
Frank left Braun Enterprises at a little after seven. Matthews had called in saying he wouldn't be able to get back after all and for Frank to just lock up and call it a day. He stopped by the burger place in town for something to eat and then drove to Wilson's address.
He came to a stop in front of a modest two-story house and got out of the car. The front door opened as he approached and a man with a square jaw line wearing a pair of faded jeans and an old button up shirt with the first two buttons hanging open stepped out onto the porch.
"Can I help you, young man?" asked the man who appeared to be in his late forties.
"I was looking for Michael Wilson," Frank said.
"Why?" the man demanded suspiciously.
"It's about his truck," Frank replied. "It was found by the Bayport Police Department last Friday."
"I know it was found," Wilson said. "They called and told me but also said it was involved in a crime so I couldn't have it back just yet."
"So you are Mr. Wilson," Frank stated.
"Who are you and what do you really want?" Wilson demanded.
"My name is Frank Hardy and I want to find out who stole your truck," Frank answered. "It was used to attack some high school students and nearly ran me down on Friday."
"Are you with the police?" Wilson asked.
"No, Sir," Frank replied. "My brother is one of the contestants in the gymnastics tournament that the person who stole your truck seems to be targeting."
"I see," Wilson said. "I don't know how I can help you though," he continued. "I didn't see who took my truck."
"You used to work at Braun Enterprises, did you not?" asked Frank.
"Yes," Wilson answered. "But I was let go awhile back."
"Do you mind my asking why?" Frank asked.
Wilson scowled. "Because they're a no good, stingy, stinking, thieving lot of bastards," he spat.
"Excuse me?" Frank asked, acting surprised.
"Let's just say I'm better off not working there anymore," Wilson stated. "And no one should work there. They'll get done dirty just like I was."
"How did they do you dirty?" asked Frank.
"They..." Wilson began then stopped. "What's this got to do with my truck?" he demanded.
"It's possible that someone you worked with stole your truck," Frank said.
"Why would you think that?" Wilson asked, watching Frank's face curiously.
"Since the truck was used in a crime that is, in a way, associated with Braun Enterprises, then it stands to reason that someone from there is involved," Frank explained.
"I guess," Wilson answered hesitantly. "But the people I worked with were all right. It was them ones that were in charge that were doing wrong."
"Can you tell me anything about them?" asked Frank.
"No," Wilson answered, obviously deciding he had said enough. "I rarely saw them. You'll have to ask someone else about them. Now if that's all, my wife and I were having dinner."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Frank apologized for his intrusion. "Thank you for your help," he added as he left. He returned to the car and climbed in. He drove out of sight and parked the car and then doubled back to the house on foot. Wilson definitely had a grudge against Braun Enterprises and Frank was going to do a bit of further investigating before calling it quits.
Frank took up position outside of the partially open dining room window. Wilson hadn't lied about being in the middle of dinner. But he had lied about who was present for said meal. Inside sat Wilson and, presumably, his wife, but next to her was Matthews!
"That pesky Hardy kid," Matthews was saying. "I knew he was going to be trouble."
"Well, it was a good thing you gave him a briefcase that wasn't bugged," said Mrs. Wilson. "That way if they suspect that was how we knew what was going on and looked at it they would tear it up and not bother checking the ones you gave the principals and the superintendent," she said to Matthews.
"Yes," agreed Wilson. "But bugging the briefcases was genius. We knew exactly who to go after."
"Not that it has done any good," Matthews said in disgust. "All these attacks and Braun still hasn't gotten any blame."
"Only because no one has died yet," Mrs. Wilson said with a faint smile on her face.
"Not for lack of trying," Matthews said.
Wilson looked worried. "I just wish we didn't have to do this," he said.
"We tried just hurting the kids but it hasn't worked," Mrs. Wilson told her husband, placing a hand on his arm. "And unless something happens, Braun Enterprises will go on doing what they have been doing. If one teenager has to die to stop it then that is what will have to happen."
"But these kids are innocent," Wilson argued. "They haven't done anything."
"One of them has," Mrs. Wilson pointed out. "His brother and father are trying to stop us. They are trying to help Braun Enterprises continued hurting people like you."
"My sister is right," Matthews agreed. "Joe Hardy isn't an innocent and his death will bring about the recognition we have been trying so hard to get."
"How much longer does he have?" Wilson asked.
"He should be dead by tonight if not already," Mrs. Wilson answered. "The poison I used said it took between six and twelve hours to kill if ingested."
Frank backed away from the window in horror. He turned and fell over a tray of flowers that had been set out to be transplanted. Before he could get to his feet he was looking down the barrel Wilson's shot gun.
Frank found a note tacked to the door when he arrived. Frank, I had to go to a meeting. Go on in and pick up where we left off yesterday. I shouldn't be too long.
Frank pulled the note from the door and went inside. Closing the door he set his things down, opened the document he was working on yesterday and then set about searching the office. Aware Matthews could return at any minute, Frank went through the desk trying to be quick but also trying not to leave anything out of place. After he finished with the desk he moved to the file cabinets. He was halfway through with no success when he heard voices from behind the door. He replaced the folder he held in his hand, shut the drawer and raced to his seat. When Matthews and one of the men from the previous day entered the office Frank was busy at the keyboard.
"You okay?" asked Phil as Joe exited the locker room and made his way to the mats.
"Yeah," Joe fibbed. He was hot and his throat was dry even though he had consumed a massive amount of water from the water cooler before exiting the locker room.
Phil frowned as Joe moved away. He could tell something was wrong with Joe but until he admitted it there wasn't anything he could do.
"What's wrong with Joe?" asked Biff coming over to join Phil fifteen minutes into practice. Biff had noticed how slow Joe seemed to be moving and the errors he seemed to keep making. Even the coach was getting worried.
"I don't know," Phil admitted. "But he doesn't look so good."
Joe fell to the floor on his knees. "Hardy!" Anderson bellowed. "That was a lousy performance. What's wrong with you today?"
Joe shrugged and wiped his brow. He was sweating even though he hadn't really done enough to work one up. "My throat is scratchy and I'm hot," Joe answered.
"Great," grumbled Anderson. "On top of everything else, you're getting sick. Go home and get some rest," he ordered, aware it was not the boy's fault.
Phil and Biff followed Joe home. "I've got to run," Biff apologized after escorting Joe inside and making sure it was deserted.
"I understand," Joe said. "Thanks for helping out."
"Anytime, Pal," Biff returned. "Get some rest."
"I will," Joe promised.
Phil came into the living room after Biff left holding a note he had found tacked to the bulletin board. "It's from your dad," Phil informed Joe. "He's at the hospital with your mom but should be bringing her home soon."
"That's good," Joe said. "Why don't you head on home?" he suggested. "I'm going to take a nap."
"I'll hang around until your folks get here," Phil said, not wanting to leave Joe unprotected.
"I'll turn on the alarm as soon as you leave," promised Joe.
"Your dad did that last time," Phil reminded him.
"But we searched the house this time," Joe pointed out. "No one is here but us."
"Okay," Phil gave in grudgingly. "But call me if you need anything or if you want to go anywhere."
"I will," Joe said. "I promise," he added when he could see Phil was still wavering. "Your mom probably needs you at home," he continued. "Didn't you say in history that she was going to spend some time with your uncle at the hospital?"
"I'm going," Phil said. He couldn't deny his mom did want him at home to do a few things. "But call me."
"I will," Joe promised again. "I'll even call you when Frank gets home if that will make you feel better."
"It will," Phil agreed.
"It's a deal then," Joe said, smiling. He saw Phil out and turned on the alarm and then headed upstairs for a nap. Not only was he hot and his throat sore but now his stomach was starting to cramp and he was feeling a bit nauseous.
Frank left Braun Enterprises at a little after seven. Matthews had called in saying he wouldn't be able to get back after all and for Frank to just lock up and call it a day. He stopped by the burger place in town for something to eat and then drove to Wilson's address.
He came to a stop in front of a modest two-story house and got out of the car. The front door opened as he approached and a man with a square jaw line wearing a pair of faded jeans and an old button up shirt with the first two buttons hanging open stepped out onto the porch.
"Can I help you, young man?" asked the man who appeared to be in his late forties.
"I was looking for Michael Wilson," Frank said.
"Why?" the man demanded suspiciously.
"It's about his truck," Frank replied. "It was found by the Bayport Police Department last Friday."
"I know it was found," Wilson said. "They called and told me but also said it was involved in a crime so I couldn't have it back just yet."
"So you are Mr. Wilson," Frank stated.
"Who are you and what do you really want?" Wilson demanded.
"My name is Frank Hardy and I want to find out who stole your truck," Frank answered. "It was used to attack some high school students and nearly ran me down on Friday."
"Are you with the police?" Wilson asked.
"No, Sir," Frank replied. "My brother is one of the contestants in the gymnastics tournament that the person who stole your truck seems to be targeting."
"I see," Wilson said. "I don't know how I can help you though," he continued. "I didn't see who took my truck."
"You used to work at Braun Enterprises, did you not?" asked Frank.
"Yes," Wilson answered. "But I was let go awhile back."
"Do you mind my asking why?" Frank asked.
Wilson scowled. "Because they're a no good, stingy, stinking, thieving lot of bastards," he spat.
"Excuse me?" Frank asked, acting surprised.
"Let's just say I'm better off not working there anymore," Wilson stated. "And no one should work there. They'll get done dirty just like I was."
"How did they do you dirty?" asked Frank.
"They..." Wilson began then stopped. "What's this got to do with my truck?" he demanded.
"It's possible that someone you worked with stole your truck," Frank said.
"Why would you think that?" Wilson asked, watching Frank's face curiously.
"Since the truck was used in a crime that is, in a way, associated with Braun Enterprises, then it stands to reason that someone from there is involved," Frank explained.
"I guess," Wilson answered hesitantly. "But the people I worked with were all right. It was them ones that were in charge that were doing wrong."
"Can you tell me anything about them?" asked Frank.
"No," Wilson answered, obviously deciding he had said enough. "I rarely saw them. You'll have to ask someone else about them. Now if that's all, my wife and I were having dinner."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Frank apologized for his intrusion. "Thank you for your help," he added as he left. He returned to the car and climbed in. He drove out of sight and parked the car and then doubled back to the house on foot. Wilson definitely had a grudge against Braun Enterprises and Frank was going to do a bit of further investigating before calling it quits.
Frank took up position outside of the partially open dining room window. Wilson hadn't lied about being in the middle of dinner. But he had lied about who was present for said meal. Inside sat Wilson and, presumably, his wife, but next to her was Matthews!
"That pesky Hardy kid," Matthews was saying. "I knew he was going to be trouble."
"Well, it was a good thing you gave him a briefcase that wasn't bugged," said Mrs. Wilson. "That way if they suspect that was how we knew what was going on and looked at it they would tear it up and not bother checking the ones you gave the principals and the superintendent," she said to Matthews.
"Yes," agreed Wilson. "But bugging the briefcases was genius. We knew exactly who to go after."
"Not that it has done any good," Matthews said in disgust. "All these attacks and Braun still hasn't gotten any blame."
"Only because no one has died yet," Mrs. Wilson said with a faint smile on her face.
"Not for lack of trying," Matthews said.
Wilson looked worried. "I just wish we didn't have to do this," he said.
"We tried just hurting the kids but it hasn't worked," Mrs. Wilson told her husband, placing a hand on his arm. "And unless something happens, Braun Enterprises will go on doing what they have been doing. If one teenager has to die to stop it then that is what will have to happen."
"But these kids are innocent," Wilson argued. "They haven't done anything."
"One of them has," Mrs. Wilson pointed out. "His brother and father are trying to stop us. They are trying to help Braun Enterprises continued hurting people like you."
"My sister is right," Matthews agreed. "Joe Hardy isn't an innocent and his death will bring about the recognition we have been trying so hard to get."
"How much longer does he have?" Wilson asked.
"He should be dead by tonight if not already," Mrs. Wilson answered. "The poison I used said it took between six and twelve hours to kill if ingested."
Frank backed away from the window in horror. He turned and fell over a tray of flowers that had been set out to be transplanted. Before he could get to his feet he was looking down the barrel Wilson's shot gun.
