While Sam Radley and Jack Wayne helped get Betty and Iola Morton settled in their room at the motel, Fenton and Frank tried to find Chester Morton.

“Mr. Hardy?”

Fenton turned and saw the motel’s desk clerk waving a sheet of paper.  He walked up to the man.

“This was left for you,” the clerk simply stated.

“Is it from Joe and Chet?” Frank asked hopefully.

Fenton shook his head.  “It’s from Sean Prescott.  He and Chester are searching for the boys.”

“That means Joe and Chet never got back here,” Frank responded, no longer trying to hide his worry.

“What’s up?” Sam Radley asked as he joined the pair.  Fenton quickly filled him in on all they knew.  Sam frowned deeply as he contemplated everything Fenton told him.

“You know, we are going to have to find those boys on our own,” Sam said as Fenton finished.

“Yes,” Fenton agreed.  “The local cops aren’t going to be all that willing to help.”

“Maybe we need to call Sean or Mr. Morton so we can meet up with them,” Frank suggested.  “We should probably retrace Joe and Chet’s steps from the last time we saw them.”

“That would be when we all split up to go different directions,” Fenton nodded slowly.  “Frank, you know where they were headed, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, let’s go to town and start looking around,” the elder Hardy stated.  “We’ll call Sean and Chester on the way and meet them somewhere.”

Fenton looked at Sam, “Where’s Jack?”

“I asked him to stay with the women,” Sam replied.  “I didn’t want them to be stuck here alone.”

“Good idea,” Fenton agreed.  “Let’s go.”

* * *

Joe Hardy studied the snake.  The pattern of red, yellow and black stripes was familiar.  He tried to remember the little rhyme his father had taught him as a young boy. It had something to do with the order of the colors.  One pattern was for the highly poisonous coral snake, the other was for a harmless king snake.  Red on yellow or red on black – which one was the coral snake?

Without warning, a clump of mud under Joe’s right foot fell away.  Joe instinctively reached for a tighter grip to keep from falling, momentarily forgetting about the snake.  As he felt the fangs pierce the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger, he pulled his hand toward him, flinging the reptile over his head and into the darkness of the swamp.

“Aaaugh,” Joe hissed between clenched teeth as he hung precariously by one hand and one rather shaky foothold.  His right hand burned with a fiery pain that was already shooting up his entire arm.

Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, the coarse grass he was holding with his left hand came loose from the muddy soil.  Joe groped wildly for a hold, but felt himself falling down into the pit again.

As he fell, he remembered the rhyme – “Red on black, won’t attack; Red on yellow, kills a fellow.”

* * *

Chester Morton and Sean Prescott had also thought to retrace the path Joe Hardy and Chet Morton had taken earlier that day.  While they met several people who had seen the boys, no one knew where they were now.

“Sean! Look at this!”

Sean Prescott moved into the alley where Chester Morton was standing.

“What is it?”

“Joe’s watch!  I’d know it anywhere!”

Sean took the timepiece from Chester.  It looked pretty non-descript to him.  “How do you know this is Joe’s?”

“On the back,” Chester said confidently.

Sean flipped it over.  Engraved were the words, ‘Forever Your Friend, I.M.’

Sean looked up at Chester.  “My daughter bought it for Joe for his birthday.  They have a special friendship.”

“Then the boys were in this alley,” Sean rubbed his chin.  “I’m calling Fenton back and telling them to meet us right here.  This may be the last place Joe and Chet were before they disappeared.”

* * *

Brian Jackson was worried.  Things were getting out of hand and he wasn’t the one that threw that girl off the bridge.  There was no way he was going down for murder – Vernon and Morris would have to deal with the cops.

Brian threw a few belongings into his station wagon.  He started getting in when he heard a noise coming from the pine woods across the street.  He stared curiously and moved a little closer.

Now all he could hear was the rushing of the Black Warrior River just beyond the trees.  He could barely see the bulking shape of the bridge, black against the darkening evening sky.  Brian shivered.  He needed to get away and put this all behind him.

He started to turn, but slipped on some wet leaves.  Normally an agile man, he twisted wrong and landed hard on his leg.  He felt something snap and Brian cried out in pain.  He tried to turn around, but everything was wet and slippery.  The more he struggled, the deeper he slid down the bank toward the river.

Cursing, he ignored the pain in his leg and tried to grab anything to stop himself.  No matter what he gripped, it would slide from his fingers as he continued to move with increasing speed toward the river.

Brian couldn’t understand it.  He had walked along this side of the river hundreds of times, but he couldn’t remember the bank being this steep.  As he hit the chilling water, Brian glanced up at the County Line Bridge.  It was the last thing he ever saw.

* * *

Beneath the dark waters of the Black Warrior River, cradled between rocks on the silt bottom, the decomposing body of Lydia Morton swayed gently with the current.  Her tangled blond hair momentarily parted, revealing her pale face.  You could almost see her colorless lips curve into a smile.