Read Online Tagged for Terror by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online

double-parked outside and he didn't want to get a ticket."
    Joe waited until they were back outside to say, "Something tells me that Danny knows only one person with a Corvette — Ted Nance."
    "The way Nance talked, though," Frank responded, "you'd think he was just as hard up for cash as Danny."
    "I'm surprised Ted would go to the trouble to bail Danny out," Joe said.
    "Unless they're both in this together," Frank ventured. "Ted might be afraid that Danny would talk."
    They drove back to Danny's apartment and discovered that all his personal stuff was gone. His closet was empty, and his textbooks had been cleared out of his bedroom. Frank noted that even the cheap manual typewriter that Danny used for his homework had vanished.
    "Either we're dealing with a very selective and not very bright burglar," Joe said, "or our friend has moved out."
    "My guess is he went back home," Frank said. "What was the name of that town?"
    "Porterville," Joe answered, remembering the name of the high school Danny had graduated from on Forrester's computer.
    Frank rummaged around in his travel bag and pulled out a Georgia road map. "Here it is," he said, pointing to a tiny speck. "It's about ninety miles south of Atlanta." He glanced at his watch. "We'll go down there in the morning."
    "Ted's family lives right here in Atlanta," Joe responded. "I remember how surprised I was that he lives with them even though he tries hard to reject them. Why don't we visit him tonight?"
    In the phone book, Frank found the Nances' home address. A half hour later the Hardys were getting out of their rental car in front of a three-story, modern brick-and-glass house with a wide, manicured lawn and a fenced-in tennis court.
    "Nice place," Joe remarked as they walked up to the front door. "At least we know that Danny told the truth when he said Ted's family had money."
    He pushed the doorbell, and deep, rich chimes rang inside the large house. A uniformed maid answered the door and let them in after Frank explained that they were Ted's friends. She left them standing on the marble floor of the foyer while she went to announce them.
    Joe tilted his head back and stared at the high, vaulted ceiling. "I'd hate to have to pay to heat this place."
    "This is Atlanta," Frank reminded him. "It never gets very cold here."
    "Oh, right," Joe mumbled.
    A tall woman with white hair, dressed in a tailored gray business suit, came into the entrance hall. "I'm Helena Nance," she introduced herself. "I'm Ted's mother."
    Frank took her outstretched hand. "I'm Frank Hardy, and this is my brother, Joe. We work with Ted at Eddings Air."
    "I see," she said in a reserved tone.
    "Ted didn't show up for work today, and he didn't call in," Joe said. "We wanted to make sure he was all right."
    "He's not sick, if that's what you mean," Mrs. Nance responded. "But I don't know if he's all right. When I got home from my office, I found him throwing some clothes into a suitcase. He seemed very upset about something. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me he was old enough to take care of himself. Then he stormed out of the house. I have no idea where he went!"
    Having failed to locate Ted, Frank thought it was even more important now to find Danny and talk to him. So Frank was up and ready to go at four the next morning.'
    Joe was definitely not ready to go, but Frank dragged him along, anyway. "It's too early," Joe complained as Frank drove south toward Danny's hometown in the predawn haze. "Everybody will still be in bed."
    "It'll be two hours later by the time we get to Porterville," Frank countered, "and people get up early in the country."
    "Two hours!" Joe groaned. "I don't suppose we could stop and get something to eat on the way?"
    Frank chuckled. "It's too early. Nothing's open. But we'll probably find some kind of restaurant or coffee shop in Porterville. We'll stop there, have breakfast, and see if we can get directions to the Minifee farm. If we're lucky, we may find some folks