The Prime-Time Crime by Franklin W. Dixon

out. Maybe I’ve been hanging around Steve and Debbie too long.”
    â€œYeah,” Frank agreed. “That pair is starting to take the edge off my detective technique, too.”
    Joe glanced at his watch. “Maybe we should call it a day and go home to get some dinner. I’m convinced we’ll be back to our normal sharp-witted selves in the morning.”
    â€œI hate to quit at all,” Frank said. “Clarence is still out there someplace, depending on somebody to find him. And it looks like we’re the ones who will have to do it, not the police.”
    â€œWell, he’ll probably still be there tomorrow,” Joe said. “Let’s go.”
    Frank and Joe walked back into the parking lot and climbed into the van. Joe decided to take the driver’s seat this time. Frank unlocked the passenger side and climbed into the seat.
    Joe frowned as he pulled open the door. “Didn’t you lock the driver’s side of the van when we got out earlier?” he asked.
    â€œI’m almost positive I did,” Frank said. “Why? Was it unlocked?”
    â€œYeah,” Joe said. “But maybe you forgot to lock it when you got out, after all the confusion.”
    â€œCould be,” Frank said. “Don’t worry about it.”
    â€œMaybe we’d better have a talk with Steve and Debbie tomorrow,” Joe said, as he drove down Bayport’s main street. “If we let them run freely around the TV station looking for clues, they may cause more problems than they solve.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Frank said, leaning back and stretching his legs. “They’re smart enough to be on the quiz show, but sometimes they do some dumb things. Maybe we should try to call them tonight. What do you think?”
    Frank turned and looked out the window of the van. He was beginning to relax a little now that they were away from the station. He hoped their investigation would go better after a night’s sleep.
    It was several seconds before he noticed that Joe hadn’t answered his last question.
    He turned to see his brother, perched at the wheel of the van, staring glassy-eyed out the front window. Then he noticed an acrid smell in the air, like ammonia or rubbing alcohol.
    â€œJoe?” Frank asked. “Are you okay?”
    Suddenly Joe slumped forward onto the steeringwheel. Like a heavy stone, his foot plunged down on the accelerator, and the van shot forward. Then it swerved to the right.
    Frank looked through the windshield and realized that they were heading straight toward the front window of a store.

9 Deadly Fumes
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    Frank shoved his unconscious brother aside, grabbed the steering wheel, and desperately turned it to the left. The van skidded back onto the road. Frank heaved a sigh of relief.
    But they weren’t out of danger yet. As it veered away from the sidewalk, the van swung in front of a delivery truck that was barreling down the road. Frank grabbed the wheel and turned it just in time to avoid the truck. He swung back onto the road—right into the path of a car that was pulling out of a parking space. With another quick turn of the wheel, he avoided the car, too.
    Other drivers had begun to honk loudly as the van zigzagged back and forth down the street.Frank jostled his brother urgently, trying to bring him back to consciousness.
    â€œJoe!” Frank shouted loudly. “What’s the matter with you?”
    His brother didn’t respond. Instead, he slumped down into the seat. As he did, his foot slipped off the accelerator. Frank pushed him against the door of the van, then he squeezed halfway into the driver’s seat, and stomped on the brake with his foot.
    The van screeched to a halt in the center of the road. Trembling, Frank put the van into park, turned on the flashers, and then fell back into his seat. Suddenly he realized that his head was spinning—and not just from the effort of trying to