“You boys did a good job with these pictures,” Chester Morton said as he and Frank walked out of the town library.

“Yes,” Frank agreed, “Too bad they haven’t been much help yet.”

“There’s a park,” Mr. Morton pointed out. 

“Good call,” Frank smiled.  “Let’s go see if anyone recognizes this lighter.”

* * *

“I can’t believe no one recognizes this lighter,” Chet Morton said with a sigh.

“We’re not giving up yet, Chet ol’ boy,” Joe responded with a grin as the pair walked away from the convenience store. “Let’s head to that little diner next door.  I’ll even buy you a nice cold cola!”

“Oh, I’m overwhelmed by your generosity!” Chet replied sarcastically.

* * *

Morris Grafton watched the two teenagers walk into ‘Percy’s Diner’.  He recognized the one boy from the County Line Bridge.  Morris smiled as he pictured the pretty blond girl that was also on the bridge that night.  “Oh yeah, that was sweet.”

He quickly walked across the street to a blue panel van.  “Watch those two boys; the ones that just went into the diner,” Morris instructed the man in the van.  “I’m goin’ to call on my friend, Vern.”  He climbed into his late model Chevy Impala and headed for the nearby trailer park.

* * *

“Well, I’ll tell ya,” David Neel began in his southern drawl, “I don’t reckon I go ‘long with the police, Mr. Hardy.  That boy was mighty upset when I done pulled ‘im outta the river.

“He started bab’lin’ ‘bout his cousin bein’ in the ‘Warrior’.  He was more concerned ‘bout her than himself, I tell ya that.”

“You told this to the police, Mr. Neel?” Fenton questioned.  He had come to see the older man after he’d been unable to reach his partner, Sam Radley.

“Nope,” David replied.

Fenton frowned.  “Why not?”

“They didn’t ask,” David responded, peering at Fenton over the rim of his bifocals.

“They didn’t ask?”

“Nope, but that’s not unusual son,” David added.  “The police ‘round ‘bout here tend to jes’ do what needs doin’ – no more, no less.

* * *

Morris Grafton smiled.  “I got a plan, Vern.”

Brian Jackson and Vernon Dixon looked skeptically at Morris.  “Those kids might’a found Job’s lighter on the bridge,” Vernon stated.

Morris stood and casually draped an arm around each of the other two men.  “Like I said, I got a plan.  It’s all taken care of, boys.”

“So wha’cha gonna do, Mo?” Jackson asked.

“Well,” Morris grinned, “I figure if one of them kids was to, ah, fall prey to a terrible accident, the rest of them will back off.”

“An accident?” Vernon smiled.  “You gonna throw one of them junior detective kids into the Black Warrior?”

“Something like that.”

* * *

“Hey, there’s them boys Grafton told us to watch,” Sonny Black said, poking the man beside him.

“Yep,” agreed Tommy Hall.  “We supposed to tail ‘em or what?”

“Let’s follow them until we hear…” Gene Burress started to suggest from the back of the van.

Sonny’s cell phone jingled to life.  “Yeah, Black here.”

“What’s going on there?” Morris Grafton asked.

“Those two boys just left the diner and are headed south on Main Street.  Wha’cha want us to do?” Sonny questioned.

“There’s an alley at the end of Main Street before the Cross Roads Bridge,” Morris instructed, “Be there when those kids get there.  Hold ‘em. I’m on my way.”

* * *

“Can the charges against my client be dropped now?”

“I have never seen such a screwed up investigation in my life,” District Attorney Valerie St. James declared as she faced Sean Prescott.  “Sean, your client is not only released from all charges, I may bring the state up against the arresting officers!”

“Chief Struthers won’t be a happy camper,” Sean gave the woman a wry grin.

Valerie tapped a well-manicured fingernail beneath her glossy red lips.  “Calhoun and Masters stepped over the line and acted too fast.  I’m not saying your client is innocent, Sean.  I’m merely telling you that there was no evidence to arrest your client.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Sean responded, standing up.  He took in a whiff of her perfume and wished he had the nerve to ask Valerie out to dinner.  He silently sighed. “I’d better get back to Moundville and give the Mortons the good news.”

“Sean?”

The young attorney stopped and turned to face the beautiful D. A.  “Yes, Ms. St. James?”

“Are you in a hurry to get back to Moundville?  I mean, if you could postpone your trip for, say, an hour or two…well, I know this wonderful little bistro on the east end of town.  Would you care to join me for dinner?”

“Why, Ms. St. James, are you asking me for a date?”

* * *

“What did you say this was about, kid?”

“I didn’t say, sir,” Frank Hardy smiled at the man on the park bench who was staring at the picture of the lighter Joe found on the County Line Bridge.  “We are just trying to find the owner of this lighter.”

“I can’t say for sure who it belongs to,” the man said, glancing up at Frank and Chester Morton, “but I certainly recognize it.”

“You do?” Frank asked, sounding hopeful.

“I recognize it ‘cause it’s my work,” the man replied and stood to face them.  “I’m Max Boyle and I own a gift shop here in town.  I do a lot of engraving and that lighter is one of my regular sales.”

“Oh no,” Mr. Morton said dejectedly, “If it’s a common sale item, we may never find the owner.”