"You saw them," Frank said. "They were hugging each other."
"I saw Callie hugging Joe," Biff said. "But I don't think it was a romantic hug."
"Then you're blind," Frank spat back at him.
"Maybe you are," Biff said. "Joe said he needed help. He's your brother. Are you really going to let him down?" Biff moved to the back of the room. He wasn't feeling much like sitting beside Frank anymore.
Frank had trouble concentrating during class and he was more than a little relieved later that day, when the bell sounded, ending classes. He decided to walk home rather than beg a ride because he needed to clear his head and the cool air might help. By the time he got home it was almost six o'clock. He expected to see the van in the driveway, but it was nowhere to be seen.
"I'm home," Frank said, coming in the front door.
"Hey," Mrs. Hardy said, coming in from the kitchen to meet him. "What kept you so long? We were starting to worry."
Frank put his backpack down and followed her into the kitchen where his dad was sitting at the table having a cup of coffee. "Joe and I had a fight," he told them, sitting down. "He took the van and I walked home," he added, not telling them Joe had left school before the end of classes.
"Three hours?" Mr. Hardy inquired, raising his eyebrows.
"I needed to think," Frank said by way of explanation. "Where's Joe?"
"He left a few minutes ago," Mr. Hardy said. "I can't believe that kid," he added angrily. "I forbade him from working on any mysteries and what do I find him doing? He was on my computer accessing the FBI files." Mr. Hardy set his cup down on the table and leaned back in the chair. "I grounded him. Told him he wasn't allowed to go anywhere but school for the rest of the month. An hour later, he walks into the living room and tells me he has arranged to get private tutoring for his history class. I tried to argue with him, but he said he had to have the tutoring or he wouldn't pass the class and you'd never forgive him."
Mrs. Hardy came over and sat down with the two. "What did he mean by that?" she asked Frank.
"I caught him and Callie behind the bleachers," Frank said, his face contorting into a frown. "I told him if he ever wanted me to forgive him then he would have to prove he had more on his mind than girls."
"I don't believe it," Mrs. Hardy said, her blue eyes wide. "Joe would never do that to you."
"Yeah, I used to think that too," Frank said, looking down.
"Do you think maybe Joe is losing it?" Frank asked when no one had said anything for a few minutes.
"The thought had crossed my mind," Mr. Hardy admitted. "He's been through so much this last year. First losing Iola, then Vanessa leaving for England with her mom. He's been kidnapped at least five times this year and hospitalized three. He's only seventeen," he added and looked over at Frank. "You and your brother are such great detectives, I tend to forget you are still kids. Maybe I've been pushing too hard."
"Don't," Frank told his dad. "Iola wasn't your fault and Joe and Vanessa were already on the verge of breaking up when she left," Frank reminded him.
"He came to me and asked for help today, but I wouldn't listen to him," Mr. Hardy continued with a twinge of guilt, not even hearing Frank. "I should have listened."
"I tried to get him to talk to me, but he wouldn't," Frank said. "It can't be too bad," he reasoned.
Across town, Joe pulled the van to a stop in front of Mr. Johnson's house. His stomach hurt and he felt like throwing up, but he didn't know what else he could do. His dad didn't want anything to do with him unless he passed. His mom had told him before he had returned to school that she wasn't going to get involved. This was between him and his father. And Frank... And Frank, Joe thought. Frank was the real reason he was here. He could handle not solving any more mysteries. He couldn't handle losing his brother. If it meant doing this, then he would. He took a couple of deep breaths and got out of the van.
He knocked on the door. Mr. Johnson opened the door and smiled at Joe. "Hi," Joe said. "I'm here for my tutoring session."
"Come on in," Mr. Johnson said. Joe walked inside, and the door closed behind him.
Across the street, a young man was watching the scene with a frown on his face. After the door closed, he crossed the street and crouched in the bushes beneath the living room window. He peered inside to watch.
"Sit down Joe," Mr. Johnson said, showing Joe to the sofa. Joe sat down. "How about a drink?"
"No thank you, Sir," Joe said, sitting stiff.
"Let's not be so formal here," Mr. Johnson said, opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. "Call me Brad." He walked over and sat down beside Joe. He took Joe's hand and put the glass into it. "Drink it," he ordered. "It will help you loosen up."
Joe took the glass and lifted it to his lips. He took a little sip. It tasted like carbonated punch. He downed the rest of the contents in one gulp.
"Easy," Brad said, laughing softly. "First glass, huh?" Joe nodded and leaned over to set the glass down but Brad took it from him, touching his hand. Joe's stomach churned and he jerked away.
Brad sat back. "You really don't want to be here, do you?" he asked, looking at Joe's stiff profile.
"What do you think?" Joe asked softly.
"I'll be gentle, I promise," Brad said, reaching over and unbuttoning Joe's shirt. "After tonight, it won't be so bad. You're just dreading it because you don't know what to expect," he assured Joe. He had finished unbuttoning Joe's shirt and ran a finger down the length of Joe's chest. Joe swallowed anxiously.
Brad reached for the buckle on Joe's belt. "I want to see you," Brad said. Joe closed his eyes and sat still as Brad began unbuckling his belt.