"So, how long have you been Demar's assistant?" Joe asked after their waiter had left.
"About two years," Kenny replied. "Listen, the reason I brought you out to dinner is so I could ask you something," he said, changing the subject.
"Ask away," Joe invited, mystified.
"How long have you been a model?" Kenny inquired, although Joe could tell this was just a lead question.
"This is my first real gig," Joe answered truthfully. "But that kind of stuff is in my bio," he added.
"How would you feel about another modeling job?" Kenny asked Joe.
"Great!" Joe gave the appropriate response with enthusiasm. "But don't I have to finish this one first?" he asked. "I think there was something in my contract."
"Oh, there was," Kenny readily admitted with a slick smile. "But since I work for Demar and this job is for me, you wouldn't be breaking your contract," he assured Joe.
Yeah, right, thought Joe. "Sounds great," he said out loud. Kenny was treating him like a dumb jock. Maybe if he just played along he would learn more. "When do I start?"
Kenny smiled at Joe's eagerness. "I'll let you know," he promised. "But it's top secret. Don't mention this to anyone."
"I won't," Joe promised. "Thanks, uh...do I get paid or is this part of my Demar contract?"
"Of course you get paid," Kenny said then named a sum.
"Cool," Joe stated but said no more because the waiter had arrived with their dinner.
"How do you like Artie?" Kenny asked Joe as they ate.
"Harsh," Joe replied honestly. "He kind of makes me feel like I'm not even human."
Kenny nodded. "He has that effect on people."
"Will he be doing the shoot for you?" Joe asked.
"No," Kenny said but did not elaborate. After dinner, they went to Kenny's car. "Shall I drop you off somewhere?" he asked Joe.
"The studio is fine," Joe replied. "My wheels are there."
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Arriving back at the studio, they found an ambulance and a police car on the scene. Joe jumped out of the car and ran over, followed closely by Kenny who hadn't even bothered parking. "What's going on?" Kenny demanded.
Sergeant Con Riley, a man in his mid twenties with curly brown hair and brown eyes turned and looked at the newcomers. He was a friend of the Hardys and immediately assumed they were on a case. "There was an attack in the studio," Con informed them. "The photographer's assistant was knocked unconscious but the paramedics checked him out and he's fine," Con added this last part for Joe's benefit.
"Was anything taken?" Kenny demanded, not caring about Frank.
"Several cameras were stolen," Con informed him stonily, taking an instant dislike to the young man. "Mr. Winfield is doing an extensive inventory now," he added.
"Bother," Kenny murmured and ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Joe, you had better go and get some rest. Circles under the eyes are a no no," he said. "I will go and help Artie," he added, walking away.
"Where's Frank?" Joe asked after Kenny was out of earshot. "Is he really all right?"
"He's fine," Con assured Joe. "He called Chet to come and take him home. What's going on here?" he asked, figuring the theft and attack had something to do with the case the boys were working on.
"Two missing models and sabotage," Joe answered. "That's all we've got so far." He looked at the studio entrance and saw Kenny starting back out. Artie must not have wanted any help, he thought. "I'd better go," He said to Con. "Let us know what you find out?" he asked Con, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.
"Will do," Con promised as Joe took off at a trot toward his van.
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Joe arrived home to have his blond-headed, petite mother, Laura, tell him Frank was okay but she had sent him to bed. Joe talked to his mother about life in front of a camera while she warmed up some fried chicken and apple pie. After eating, Joe cleaned his dishes and kissed his mom good night then went to bed after looking in on his brother and finding him sleeping peacefully.
"Wake-up Joe," he heard the familiar voice. Joe groaned and rolled onto his back, his eyes flying open and sitting up as he remembered what had taken place the night before.
"Are you okay?" Joe asked, not bothering to smother the yawn that accompanied his words.
"I have a world-class headache, but other than that, I'm fine," Frank said with a smile that turned into a grimace of pain. He reached his hand back and gingerly felt the lump on the back of his head.
"Want to stay home?" Joe inquired. "After last night, no one would blame you."
"Nah," Frank replied. "I'm okay. Really," he insisted as Joe raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"What happened?" Joe asked, stretching and then climbing out of bed.
Frank sat down on Joe's bed as he watched Joe rifle through his closet for something to wear. "Someone came into the studio as I was putting Artie's equipment away and slugged me from behind," Frank told him. "I didn't even see him."
"Well, we can cross Kenny off the list of suspects," Joe told him. "Directly, anyway," he amended. "He was with me all evening."
"Speaking of which, did you find out anything?" Frank asked.
Joe told Frank about the "job" offer. "Kenny's up to something. Maybe he asked Troy and Jeff and they threatened to tell Demar," he suggested. "That would be a motive to get rid of them."
"Could be," Frank concurred. "But assuming all the sabotage is connected to the disappearances, who is helping Kenny?"
Joe shrugged and headed into the bathroom to get ready. Twenty minutes later he came into the kitchen where their mother was just taking up the last of some pancakes. "Sit down," she ordered him, smiling. "You probably won't get much to eat until you get home tonight."
"I don't see how they do it," Joe said, sitting down and picking up the maple syrup. "Why would anyone want to starve themselves to have that kind of a job?"
Frank smiled at Joe as he dug into his breakfast with gusto. "Artie said you didn't have the heart for modeling," he told Joe. "What he should have said was you would never have the appetite."
"I don't see you going hungry," Joe kidded Frank as he polished off his pancakes and reached for a banana. Frank just grinned and began peeling it.
"You two be careful," Laura told her sons. "I heard from your father this morning," she added. "He's almost finished and should be home by this weekend."
"Great!" Joe said. "Maybe we can wrap this case up over the next three days and then we can all go camping."
"Hey, that's right," Frank agreed. "Dad did promise a family camping trip when his schedule opened up."
Laura smiled at her sons' enthusiasm. Fenton may not always be around, but he was a good father. "Fenton mentioned the trip on the phone," she told them. "He said something about having it in the Smokies."
After breakfast, Frank took a cab to the studio. He had left his mother's car there the previous evening. Joe didn't have to be there for another hour so he called police headquarters and asked to speak with Con. He knew Con's shift ended at eight am. "What did you find?" Joe asked when Con greeted him from his extension.
"Nothing," was the reply. "Frank's and Winfield's were the only prints on the equipment. There was no sign of forced entry," Con concluded.
"What was taken?" Joe asked.
"Three cameras and twelve lenses," Con replied. "Frank said he had locked the cabinet containing the lenses so that whoever took them had to have had a key."
"Who has keys?" Joe asked.
"Demar wasn't sure," Con told him. "Winfield, Parsons, Crenshaw, Frank and maybe a few others."
"Thanks Con," Joe said. "Keep us posted?" he requested before hanging up. "The photographer, the assistant designer and the developer," Joe said out loud. "Neither of them would need to steal equipment unless Kenny needs the cameras for his shoot. Maybe Beverly Crenshaw is the photographer Kenny's got lined up."
Joe drove to the studio and was told to report to Shelia Masters. She dressed Joe and sent him to join Danny and Paul. The three of them were then driven to the town park for the outdoor shoot.
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Frank had arrived at Demar's offices fifteen minutes early. He wanted to check in with Demar and make sure Artie had stayed with him last night. He didn't think Artie would steal his own equipment but a good detective covered all the bases.
Demar wasn't an easy person to get to know. His answers were usually curt and to the point. His attitude combined with his big mustache strongly reminded Frank of the villain who tied the girl to the tracks. Of course, there the resemblance ended. Demar was, basically, a nice person, if you could handle his eccentricities.
"Sir," Frank said, rapping gently on the half-open door.
Demar looked up. "Come in," he said. "Close it," he ordered Frank as he pushed the door open the rest of the way to enter.
Frank did as he was told then took a seat in front of Demar's desk. "Did Artie leave you at any time before the theft was discovered?" Frank asked.
"No," Demar answered, closing the folder he had been looking at and putting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands. He put his chin on his hands and looked intently at Frank. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Frank assured him. "Just a headache. Who found me?" he asked.
"Artie and I did," Demar answered. "We had returned to the studio to figure out which props to use in the park. Do you or your brother have any leads?"
"We have a couple of suspects," Frank said. "But we do need to see your personnel files," he added.
Demar got up and walked over to a file cabinet and withdrew a disk. "This contains information on everyone who does or has worked for me this year," he said, handing it over. "I have a back up, but I would still like it returned," he added.
Frank took the disk and stood up. "I'll go over it tonight and bring it back tomorrow," Frank promised. "I'd better get to work," he added, heading toward the door. Demar nodded but said nothing; his attention had already returned to the folder on his desk.
Frank went to the studio and loaded the props needed for the day's shoot then drove with Artie to the park and began setting up the equipment. Joe and the other models would be there soon.
"Can we help?" Frank heard a familiar voice from behind him.
"No," Artie told the two girls who had come up. "You have to leave. This is a private shoot."
"In the park?" demanded the brown-eyed, slender blond, putting her hands on her hips.
"We have a permit," Artie informed her haughtily. "You may stand out of range and watch but you may not interfere."
"Harrumph," Callie snorted.
"You will have to leave," Frank said, walking over and taking the blond, his seventeen year old girlfriend, Callie Shaw, by the arm and pulling gently. Sixteen year old, brown eyed, Iola Morton grinned at her boyfriend's brother and followed him and Callie to a spot roughly thirty yards away. "We're blocking the area off," he told them once they were out of earshot. "No one knows Joe and I know each other," he warned them so they wouldn't blow his and Joe's covers.
"Isn't it too dangerous for you two to be working around here undercover?" Iola asked, worried. "Just about everybody knows you guys."
"No one is going to see me and no one's going to be able to get close enough to Joe to be sure it's him," Frank assured her.
"Why?"
Frank smiled. "He's one of the models," he informed them. Iola's eyes grew wide and Callie burst out laughing as Frank ran back to the van to get the posts and tape to block off the shoot area.
The models arrived just as Frank and Artie finished setting up the lights. By this time, a crowd had formed around the perimeter and the Hardys' other friends, Iola's brother, Chet, Tony Prito, and his girlfriend, Tanya Lane, Biff Hooper and Liz Johnson had joined Iola and Callie.
Everyone watched and gave catcalls as the three good looking teens climbed out of the limousine dressed only in tight fitting latex shorts. Artie placed the three boys on the set but a breeze began to blow and the set kept getting messed up.
"This is ridiculous!" Artie shouted in frustration. "Frank, let's move this to the oak tree over there," he said, pointing to a tree near the Hardys' friends. "If the wind wishes to blow, we will make use of it," he stated. He and Frank moved the lights and boxed up the pieces that kept trying to blow away. Artie then had Danny, Paul, and Joe move over beneath the oak tree.
Half an hour into the shoot the wind had picked up so much that the crowd, except for the Hardys friends, had dispersed. "This isn't working," Artie said after a big gust of wind messed up the models' hair so bad they had to halt the session. "Let's pack it up," he ordered. "We'll try again tomorrow."
Joe arose from the hard ground where he had been sitting and stretched. He heard a loud crack followed by the collective startled intake of breath nixed with screams. He started to turn and see what was wrong but something fell on him from above and he fell to the ground beneath the heavy weight.