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doggone place they want."
    "Come on." Joe grabbed his brother's arm. "We'll find out when we've caught up with him."
    It took them another hour to catch up with the Fayetteville bus.
    Frank was at the wheel of the rental car, a worn sedan with sloppy alignment and virtually no pickup. "This crate was not built for speed," he said as they jarred against a rut. "Especially on a road like this."
    The bus did not go on the interstates. Instead, it took dark, back country roads that twisted maddeningly through the hills and pine forests.
    It was not a route to drive blind. But that was what Frank was doing, sometimes going into wild tire-screaming skids as they navigated lethal hairpin turns in the middle of nowhere.
    "How about staying on the road?" Joe asked, unable to resist needling his brother.
    "Why don't you — " Frank stopped and concentrated on avoiding a tree. "This stupid wheel keeps pulling to the right." He breathed a sigh of relief when their high beams finally picked up the rear of the bus.
    Joe stared intently through the bug-splattered windshield of the car.
    "Pull up alongside. Maybe we can get a glimpse of him."
    "Lots of luck," Frank muttered, shaking his head.
    "Just do it, will you? How else can I see if Biff is in there?"
    Frank swung the car to the left and stepped on the gas. The road veered, but at least there were no lights coming toward them. The rental car inched up beside the bus.
    One of the unwashed, center windows of the bus was lit. Someone was sitting up, head tilted down, obviously reading.
    Joe rolled down his window, as if that could help him see through the mud-smeared bus window.
    Then he reached back and grabbed at Frank's arm. They hit a rut just then, and the car went swerving over toward the wheezing bus.
    "Let go!" Frank yelled, getting the car back under control. "If you're going to start acting like a maniac, at least give me some warning."
    But Joe was paying no attention to his brother. His eyes were locked on the bus window. "It's Biff!" he shouted, astounded. "It's got to be!"

Chapter 6
    "MAKE THIS GUY pull over!" Joe urged, never taking his eyes from the bus window.
    "Cut off a bus while going down a hill?" Frank stared at his brother for a second, then shrugged. "Sure, why not? We've been driving like maniacs all night."
    They were nearing the outskirts of a small town—little more than a widening in the road. The buildings were all dark, clustered at the foot of the hillside.
    But Joe's attention was focused on that half-visible face in the bus. Come on, pal, turn toward me, he thought. He could see unruly blond hair, but the features were blurred by the film of dried mud on the glass. The head was still bent.
    "Biff's probably checking up on the latest survival tactics," Joe said. "And he'll need them. I'm going to hit him over the head for all the grief he's given us."
    Frank leaned on the horn as he speeded up to pass the bus. The driver didn't give Frank an inch, staying right in the middle of the road. The rental car's wheels whined on the gravel shoulder.
    With a quick twist of the wheel, Frank swung the car in front of the bus. Then he began slowing down. In his rear-view mirror, he could see the bus driver glaring in disbelief as he hit his brakes.
    The bus groaned to a stop. Joe leapt out of the car before Frank had completely stopped and raced up the hill to the bus. Its doors remained firmly shut.
    Joe hammered on the glass. "Please, open up! It's an emergency!"
    The bus driver merely stared down at him, scowling.
    Frank joined Joe at the bus door. "Sir, we're assisting the police in searching for a missing person who may be aboard this bus. I'm Frank Hardy and this is my brother, Joe. We're detectives."
    The driver pulled on the lever that swung the door wide. "Detectives!" He gave them a long, suspicious look. "You two look like a pair of punks to me. Now beat it."
    Joe ignored the bus driver's command, leaping up the steps. He ran past the driver and down the