Hardy Boys Casefiles 11 Brother Against Brother (ORIGINAL)

Chapter 4

"Can you tell me anything more? Please try to remember," Frank Hardy said. "It's really important." He leaned across the rental car counter at Stapleton Airport. In his hand was his one slim lead to Joe, the jackalope postcard which Joe had sent him.

The clerk, a young woman with a stiff blond hairdo, thought for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry. There's a few conventions in town, plus the usual tourists. I showed you our records, so you know what kind of car he rented. But I just don't remember anything else about him."

"He may have asked directions to the mountains. Does that help?" Frank asked.

"I just can't remember your brother," the clerk said. "I mean, I remember helping someone who looks like that picture you showed me. But that was a few days ago. If he was headed for the mountains, you've got a big job ahead of you."

Frank glanced over the clerk's shoulder. On the wall was tacked a road map of Colorado and the surrounding states. And the mountains filled an enormous part of the map. If Joe were lost up there, it would take a miracle to find him, Frank thought to himself. But he knew the route Joe was supposed to follow, and now he knew what Joe was driving. That was a start.

It had taken some doing to convince his father to let him try this missionâ€"they had argued well into the night. Finally, as much because of exhaustion as discussion, Fenton Hardy agreed to let Frank go. If they waited much longer, Joe's trail might be too cold to follow.

"We can only hope Joe's alive," Fenton finally said. "And you'll have to find our witnessâ€"and that Hitman."

frank barely had time to pack a bag before his father was hurrying him to the airport.

"I'm giving you twenty-four hours," Fenton had warned Frank. "If there's no sign of Joe or the hit man, I want you home. Understand?"

"Okay, Dad." Frank looked up at his father's pale, drawn face. "Everything will turn out all right. I promise."

The rental car clerk's voice cut through his thoughts. "Sorry I couldn't be of more help. Good luck in finding your brother."

"Thanks, anyway," Frank said, flipping the postcard against his palm. Suddenly an idea came to him.

"Can I bother you one more second?" he said to the clerk.

"No bother."

"Have you ever seen one of these?" Frank asked, showing her the postcard.

The clerk studied the postcard, then grinned. "Well, it's not too easy to see a jackalopeâ€"since it doesn't exist. It's only a gag postcard, understand. Tourists buy them by the gross."

"Where are they sold?" Frank asked.

"All over the state," the clerk said. "May I see it?"

"There's no clue on it," Frank said. "Just a joke message from Joe."

"But there's also a postmark," said the clerk. "Maybe I'll recognize where it's from."

Frank handed over the postcard, and she examined the inky postmark which had cancelled the stamp. "Summit County," she said. "I know where that is. Up in the mountains, about sixty miles due west of here. And I bet that I know exactly where your brother bought this."

"Really? Where?"

"There's a tourist shop right off the highway. It's built to look like an Indian tent. The owner loves this sort of junk."

Frank took back the postcard. "Thanks. At least it's a start."

In a rental car of his own, Frank began to trace Joe's tracks from the Denver airport. On the highway, heading west, Frank turned on the radio. It was too much to hope for news about Joe, but he wanted a weather report. Already his mind was working, trying to estimate the driving time to the mountains, taking into consideration the weather and amount of traffic.