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Jansen?” Frank asked. “What do you know about Ming vases?”
    â€œThey were made in China during the Ming dynasty,” Jansen replied. “That’s about all I know.”
    â€œHave you heard of Occupied Japan?” Joe asked.
    â€œYes,” Jansen replied. “But what does that have to do with Ming vases?”
    â€œOh,” Joe said thoughtfully. “I thought it might be possible that a Ming vase could have been made in Occupied Japan.”
    Jansen laughed. “Most definitely not, Joe. The Ming dynasty was thousands of years ago. Occupied Japan existed for only a short period after World War Two.”
    Joe exchanged a look with Frank. “I think there’s more than unusual debris patterns that need to be explained here.”
    The boys told Jansen about the piece of porcelain they had discovered.
    â€œLet me take a look at it,” Jansen said.
    â€œProblem,” Joe replied. “We lost it. But we’re trying to find it now.”
    Just then everyone’s attention was taken by Kanner, whose shouting could be heard from thirty yards away. “I’m too upset to have everybody wandering all over my property, gawking at my misfortune. Now git!”
    The neighbors, newspeople, and storm chasers all began to gather their things and reluctantly cleared the property. Phil started up the Blue Bomber, and he and the Hardys followed Jansen’sred bus back toward Lone Wolf and Windstormer headquarters.
    Joe noticed a white tractor-trailer parked along the shoulder on a side road. It was the same truck that had sped by them on their way in from the airport. The driver, a man with long black hair and a mustache, was casually leaning against the rear bumper.
    â€œHe sure was in a hurry to get nowhere,” Joe commented.
    â€œYeah,” Frank said, rubbing his bottom lip. “I wonder what that’s all about.”
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    The Windstormers were headquartered in a modest group of buildings that, Phil explained, used to be part of an old ranch. He showed the Hardys to their “room,” a corner of an equipment storage area where two sleeping bags had been rolled out. “This used to be a dog kennel. The old owners bred sheepdogs.”
    â€œThat’s comforting to know,” Joe said.
    â€œSorry, guys. Not much extra space at Club Jansen,” their friend said, laughing.
    â€œHonestly, Phil, it’s fine,” Frank said. “We’ll be happy to sit quietly for a few hours.”
    â€œCool,” Phil said. “Because it’s my turn to clean the bathrooms.”
    Joe laughed. “Hey, who said being an intern wasn’t glamorous?”
    Phil showed the boys to the kitchen before leaving them. After grabbing two sandwichesand a couple of sodas from the refrigerator, Frank and Joe sat down to sort through all the strange happenings in Lone Wolf and Tulip that day.
    â€œIn Tulip,” Frank began, “we have Hal Kanner trying to collect on a fishy insurance claim.”
    â€œAnd in Lone Wolf,” Joe continued, “we have the disappearance of Toby Gill.”
    Frank posed a question to his brother. “Who would benefit from Toby Gill being out of the way?”
    â€œHenry Low River,” Joe replied through a mouthful of ham and cheese. “It would satisfy his grudge.”
    â€œOr Alvin Bixby,” Frank suggested, “the other insurance guy. That’s certainly one way of getting rid of the competition.”
    â€œLet’s work on the Kanner problem first,” Joe suggested, sucking down the rest of his soda. “I’d like to inspect the Kanner farm more closely, when there aren’t so many people around.”
    â€œGood idea. The whole tornado aftermath seemed scripted,” Frank said.
    â€œScripted?” Joe asked.
    â€œYeah. Too perfect,” Frank explained. “Not a single witness to verify Kanner’s story. If we can find some