Flesh and Blood by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0671716298
Google: a7ytNAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0671020331
Goodreads: 1130319
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 1990-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Joe didn't reply but sat silently thinking. He digested the information Frank had just given him and came to the same conclusion.

"That may explain the bruise on his cheek," Joe finally said.

"What?"

"When I fought with Bobby Mock in the ICU ward, I hit him with a good right to his left cheek. It would have left a pretty decent bruise."

"And when we were talking to Liz at the paper yesterday, Don knew that Bobby's mother had died when Bobby was three. How could he have known that?"

"Unless he is Bobby Mock," Joe conceded.

"What bothers me is how your shoulder got hurt," Frank said as they neared the Hardy home.

Joe rubbed his sore shoulder. "I know. I still can't explain it. It was like hitting a brick wall."

"Yesterday you said it felt like steel or something metal."

"Yesterday I wouldn't have believed a tornado could hit Bayport," Joe said. "Why are we going back home?"

"I want to check Dad's files again. I must have missed something this morning. Perhaps a newspaper photo or something on young Bobby Mock. We can't go to the police with what we know now. Chief Collig would laugh us out of his office."

Having arrived home, Frank immediately headed downstairs for his dad's files.

"Hey, I thought you were going to check Dad's files," Joe said at the top of the stairs.

Frank turned around and looked up at his brother. "I've already done a thorough search of his computer files. What I'm looking for can't be found on a disk. I'm checking his paper files one more time. Much easier to overlook a piece of paper."

"Oh," Joe said, heading for the kitchen. "Let me know if you need any help."

Frank smiled and shook his head. They had eaten breakfast approximately an hour earlier, but Joe was like a great white shark on a feeding frenzy that day.

Mr. Hardy's paper files were located in one corner of the basement the Hardys used for storage. He found the Mock file and sat down to read it. Although a fast reader, Frank forced himself to slowly reread the yellowing papers his father had typed years earlier. He searched for any clue as to the identity of Bobby Mock. He found nothing.

Frank sat back in the chair and sighed. Fenton Hardy was as meticulous about keeping accurate accounts of his cases as he was about solving them. There had to be something identifying Bobby Mock. A photo. A newsclipping. Anything.

"That's it!" Frank shouted as he snapped his fingers. Frank jumped up and ran up the stairs. His dad's old scrapbook. Actually, it was a scrapbook that the boys' aunt Gertrude kept on all the cases Mr. Hardy had solved throughout the years.

Once upstairs Frank hesitated outside his aunt's bedroom door. She would be very upset if she found out Frank had been snooping around in her bedroom. Frank shrugged and opened the door.

Aunt Gertrude's room was neat and tidy and smelled of talcum powder, hair spray, and expensive perfume. Frank flipped on the light switch and walked over to his aunt's desk.

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