a smash-up. Lost the other van." Quickly, he told Fenton about Lightfoot.
"Sounds like a good lead," Mr. Hardy said when he'd heard Frank's story and was reassured that Frank was okay. "I'll call you back as soon as I have a fix on it."
Frank stopped for the light, then turned left. He might as well see if he could pick up Lightfoot's signal again as the messenger returned from the branch office.
Meanwhile, Joe had returned to SpeedWay and asked Gus for the afternoon off. He'd prepared a couple of excuses in case Gus seemed reluctant, but the dispatcher only shrugged.
"Yeah, go on," he growled. "There's plenty who want to work, if you don't." He looked up. "Hey, Gypsy, Hot Dog's cutting out. You're taking his place in the rotation."
Several blocks later, Joe raised Frank on the radio. "I'm headed to World-Wide for a talk with Tiffany," he said. "How'd you make out with the van?"
"Lost it," Frank said disgustedly. "Dad's tracking the license. I'll let you know when I hear. What's your line with Tiffany?"
Joe grinned. "What do you think? I'm going to ask her out. In fact, if she weren't involved in the case, I would have done it already." The truth was, Joe knew, that he liked Tiffany, and it wasn't just because she reminded him of Iola. Tiffany was special in her own way.
"Watch it, Joe," Frank said. "We're not on vacation, you know."
"Well, you know what they say," Joe joked, appreciatively eyeing three pretty girls clustered on the corner. "All work and no play ..."
"Yeah, well better a dull boy than a dead detective, right, brother?" Joe sobered as he thought of Frank's warning. He did need to be careful here. All signs pointed to the probability that Tiffany was seriously involved in the case.
Tiffany was standing at the counter of the mailroom window, leafing through a stack of invoices. As Joe moved toward her, he noticed that she was surprised to see him, but her smile wasn't forced. It seemed warm and very genuine.
"Hi, Joe," she said. "I wasn't expecting any deliveries this afternoon. Have you got something for us?"
"Well, actually," Joe said, looking down at his fingernails, "I was just passing by on a return run. I thought I'd stop and say hello — thought maybe you'd like to go out for a soda or something."
"Spending your school money?" Tiffany teased with a grin. "You're a nice guy, Joe. I'd love to, but I can't right now. I just got back from an early lunch." A shadow crossed her face. "And my boss — my dad, that is — frowns on long lunches. He's been known to fire people who weren't back in an hour."
Joe grinned. "Such dedication ought to go rewarded," he said promptly. "How about dinner?"
The shadow darkened. "I can't, Joe. I have to work late tonight to get out a mailing." She sighed heavily and Joe leaned forward.
"Troubles?" he asked gently.
"Trouble in big doses," Tiffany said. She half turned away. "But I'm sure you're not interested in family stuff."
Joe reached for her hand. "But I am interested," he said. "I'd like to hear what's bothering you." It was true. He was genuinely interested. Why did her mouth tighten whenever she talked about her father? Was she angry because he wouldn't give her a better job in the company? Or was there something deeper?
Tiffany looked down at their hands, but she didn't try to pull her fingers away. "It's my father," she said, her voice so low he could hardly hear her. "Sometimes I almost think he hates me!"
Joe blinked. "Hates you? Why?"
"Because of the way I ... " She paused and then looked up, pulling her hand away. She pushed her hair back from her eyes in a gesture Iola had used. Tears welled up in her eyes. "It's because of the way I look," she said.
"But you're beautiful!" Joe exclaimed disbelievingly. "Why would he be angry about that?"
Tiffany blushed and lowered her eyes. "I look like my mother," she explained. "He hates her. He'd do anything to hurt her — anything." She swallowed hard. "She left him two years ago. Sometimes I think
"Sounds like a good lead," Mr. Hardy said when he'd heard Frank's story and was reassured that Frank was okay. "I'll call you back as soon as I have a fix on it."
Frank stopped for the light, then turned left. He might as well see if he could pick up Lightfoot's signal again as the messenger returned from the branch office.
Meanwhile, Joe had returned to SpeedWay and asked Gus for the afternoon off. He'd prepared a couple of excuses in case Gus seemed reluctant, but the dispatcher only shrugged.
"Yeah, go on," he growled. "There's plenty who want to work, if you don't." He looked up. "Hey, Gypsy, Hot Dog's cutting out. You're taking his place in the rotation."
Several blocks later, Joe raised Frank on the radio. "I'm headed to World-Wide for a talk with Tiffany," he said. "How'd you make out with the van?"
"Lost it," Frank said disgustedly. "Dad's tracking the license. I'll let you know when I hear. What's your line with Tiffany?"
Joe grinned. "What do you think? I'm going to ask her out. In fact, if she weren't involved in the case, I would have done it already." The truth was, Joe knew, that he liked Tiffany, and it wasn't just because she reminded him of Iola. Tiffany was special in her own way.
"Watch it, Joe," Frank said. "We're not on vacation, you know."
"Well, you know what they say," Joe joked, appreciatively eyeing three pretty girls clustered on the corner. "All work and no play ..."
"Yeah, well better a dull boy than a dead detective, right, brother?" Joe sobered as he thought of Frank's warning. He did need to be careful here. All signs pointed to the probability that Tiffany was seriously involved in the case.
Tiffany was standing at the counter of the mailroom window, leafing through a stack of invoices. As Joe moved toward her, he noticed that she was surprised to see him, but her smile wasn't forced. It seemed warm and very genuine.
"Hi, Joe," she said. "I wasn't expecting any deliveries this afternoon. Have you got something for us?"
"Well, actually," Joe said, looking down at his fingernails, "I was just passing by on a return run. I thought I'd stop and say hello — thought maybe you'd like to go out for a soda or something."
"Spending your school money?" Tiffany teased with a grin. "You're a nice guy, Joe. I'd love to, but I can't right now. I just got back from an early lunch." A shadow crossed her face. "And my boss — my dad, that is — frowns on long lunches. He's been known to fire people who weren't back in an hour."
Joe grinned. "Such dedication ought to go rewarded," he said promptly. "How about dinner?"
The shadow darkened. "I can't, Joe. I have to work late tonight to get out a mailing." She sighed heavily and Joe leaned forward.
"Troubles?" he asked gently.
"Trouble in big doses," Tiffany said. She half turned away. "But I'm sure you're not interested in family stuff."
Joe reached for her hand. "But I am interested," he said. "I'd like to hear what's bothering you." It was true. He was genuinely interested. Why did her mouth tighten whenever she talked about her father? Was she angry because he wouldn't give her a better job in the company? Or was there something deeper?
Tiffany looked down at their hands, but she didn't try to pull her fingers away. "It's my father," she said, her voice so low he could hardly hear her. "Sometimes I almost think he hates me!"
Joe blinked. "Hates you? Why?"
"Because of the way I ... " She paused and then looked up, pulling her hand away. She pushed her hair back from her eyes in a gesture Iola had used. Tears welled up in her eyes. "It's because of the way I look," she said.
"But you're beautiful!" Joe exclaimed disbelievingly. "Why would he be angry about that?"
Tiffany blushed and lowered her eyes. "I look like my mother," she explained. "He hates her. He'd do anything to hurt her — anything." She swallowed hard. "She left him two years ago. Sometimes I think
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