HDA - Where Troubles Melt by Cherylann Rivers Introduction

Callie and Frank arrived at the home of Jeremy Wilkins close to an hour after they had started out. As they pulled into the driveway, Callie tried to fight back the feeling of nausea that was beginning to come over her. She faced the air conditioning vents on her and waited to cool down. She was also trying not to panic as she blinked her eyes and the double vision that she’d been experiencing kept coming on and off. Trying to remain calm, she reached into her purse and pulled out the pair of prescription glasses that her parents had forced her to get. They helped… a little. She still had to concentrate very hard to focus, and she didn’t feel well at all. Still, she wasn’t about to let Frank see that.

Frank had decided, meanwhile, that the best course of action was to be as realistic as possible. No one would believe that he was a cop. Although he planned on changing his last name, since clearly he wouldn’t be welcome, he figured that he and Callie could pull off being reporters for a college newspaper. Together, Frank thought they had a pretty decent chance of getting at least some information.

Turning to his girlfriend, he was surprised at the fact hat she was wearing glasses. She looked a bit more pale than normal as well, and Frank was alarmed at once.

"Cal? What’s the matter?" He asked, turning to her. "Are you sick? We can turn around right now."

Callie met his eyes and controlled her sickness to the best of her ability. "I’m fine. Let’s go," she said curtly.

"Callie…"

"Frank. Really, I’m okay. Let’s get to business." She opened the car door, and felt a little better as the fresh air hit her.

Together, Callie and Frank walked up to the door of the Wilkins’ home. Callie knocked slowly. To the surprise of both Frank and Callie, the door opened at once, and an older woman answered it. She had a scowl on her face.

Frank began to speak. "Mrs. Wilkins, I presume?" he asked.

"Who wants to know?" was the reply. Callie couldn’t help but to notice the slightest trace of a smirk on the woman’s face.

"I’m Frank, and this is my friend, Callie. We’re reporters from…"

He was interrupted at once, as the old woman smiled. Callie felt chills run down her spine. She didn’t like this a bit. The old woman spoke. "Don’t lie. I know who you are. I figured you’d get here sooner or later. You’re Fenton Hardy’s kid; the older one, I think."

Frank and Callie looked at one another, stunned. Neither of them knew what to do.

"Come in," she offered.

"Um, well, okay," Frank replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank caught the look on Callie’s face, and noticed that she looked hesitant. As Frank was about to follow Wilkins into the home, he stopped as he heard Callie’s voice.

"Mrs. Wilkins? Why do you want us in your home? Clearly, Frank’s dad was responsible for putting your son in prison. Maybe it’s not a good idea that we’re here."

Mrs. Wilkins stared at Callie for a moment, and then chuckled softly. Callie swallowed hard. It was not a friendly sound. The old woman turned to her.

"Perhaps you’re right, my dear. We can speak here. You don’t even have to tell me why you’re here. I know about the robberies in the jewelry stores, and I know you suspect my son. Well, you’re wrong—dead wrong. It’s not him, I can assure you of that. But I will say this—you WILL suffer for what you did to my son, and your entire family will pay for it. Wait—the time is close at hand."

Frank was shocked. "Wh… what do you mean? Have you heard from your son? Has he been in contact with you? This is an ongoing investigation, and with-holding evidence can be considered a federal…"

The door slammed shut before Frank could finish his sentence.

He was about to knock on it again when Callie caught his arm. "Don’t, Frank. I suspect that we won’t get any more answers out of her. She’s clearly hiding something, but I don’t think she’ll tell us. Let’s go." She turned around to the car, taking deep breaths and trying to focus. Her legs felt wobbly, and she just wanted to sit down. Reaching the car, Callie got in and closed her eyes. She felt the beginning of a headache coming on. Not again, she prayed silently.

Moments later, she heard the door open and Frank get in. She struggled to remain calm and focused as she looked at him. "Frank, you’re in danger. I don’t know how that woman knew you were coming here, but something’s up."

Frank was puzzled, too, as he started the engine. "I wouldn’t worry too much about her, Callie. She hates my father, obviously, so she’d probably say anything to try and put a scare into us. It is weird, though, that she knew I was coming. That means she has to be in contact with her son."

"She swore it wasn’t him," Callie replied, weakly.

"I know." Frank looked at Callie more closely and felt his heart skip a beat. She was sick—he just felt it. Before he pulled out of the driveway, he reached over and tenderly stroked her hair. "We can go home now, Cal. I think we should."

Callie gave him a small smile. "Nope. We still have the family of a dead man to go and visit. Now, I’ll really be concerned if you think that family is in touch with Chris Ramses. He’d be a real "wizard" then," Callie joked faintly, making a pun of his nickname.

Frank couldn’t argue with her. Callie was doing what she wanted to; she always had. With a small sigh, he leaned over and gave Callie a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. "Okay, Cal. Let’s go."

"Thanks," she replied to him, before closing her eyes.

"You’re welcome," he answered her, sadly.

Callie gave a small thumbs up sign, and Frank choked back the lump forming in his throat as he drove to the next destination.

Almost forty minutes later, Frank pulled into the street besides Chris Ramses’ former home. Looking over at Callie, he realized that she had fallen asleep, and he was glad. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that Callie was hurting much more than she was letting on. Frank left the car on and the air conditioner running. Concentrate on this case, Frank, he told himself. That’s all you have left.

With one last quick glance to check on Callie, he walked up to the door and knocked. After several minutes, a little girl answered the door. Frank had to smile. She couldn’t have been more than five years old, and she had dark curly hair and big brown eyes. She was adorable. He almost forgot what a dangerous place this could potentially be. Bending down to her, he said, "Hello there."

She looked up at him and smiled, two dimples coming to her cheeks. "Hi," she said.

"Is mommy or daddy at home?" he asked her.

She nodded, and ran back into the house. A minute later, a young woman in her mid-twenties stepped out and smiled at Frank. "Well, hey there," she said in a thick Boston accent. "I see you parked your car by the driveway there. Can I help you?"

Frank liked her; he didn’t know why. With her thick accent, it sounded more like "PAK the CAH," and she looked innocent enough. Frank shook himself out of it. He’d been around long enough to know that looks were often deceiving.

"Um, ma’am? I’m sorry to bother you," he began.

"No bother, honey," she finished.

Frank smiled. "Are you Mrs. Ramses by any chance?"

Her smile fell. "No, honey, I’m not. My name is Georgia Tracey, and the little girl you met is my daughter, Rosa."

"She’s adorable," Frank said, sincerely. "Can I ask you why you looked upset a minute ago? I was looking for the home of a family that goes by the name of Ramses. I guess it’s possible I got the wrong address. If so, I apologize."

The woman sighed. "No—you have the right address. Actually, you HAD it. We moved in here about a year ago. The house was pretty much abandoned. Apparently, the person who owned the home prior to this was killed in prison or something. Some stuff was left behind, but most of the stuff here was taken off by family members prior to my family moving in."

"Oh," Frank said. "I see."

"It’s just that…" she began, and her voice trailed off.

"Yes?" Frank questioned. "Please, I’m working on an investigation regarding Chris Ramses, and I’m just trying to find out some facts. Anything you might have to offer would be a great help." He saw no reason to lie to her.

"Well, in the past month or so, I’ve been bothered by a lot of people looking for information on Ramses. One guy even asked to look through a box of old belongings left by Ramses."

"Did he identify himself?" Frank asked, trying not to look too anxious.

"Well, yes, honey. He said he was an old friend, and I saw no harm in letting him have some of that old stuff. It was just taking up space."

"What did he take? Please, it’s important that you remember."

The young woman narrowed her eyes in concentration. "Well, funny you should ask. There were lots of old photo albums, which I thought a friend would want, along with personal belongings. But all this man took was a small box of computer disks and …"

"And?" Frank prodded.

"Some sort of gold medallion. It creeped me out. He said his friend died wearing it, and he asked to have it."

Frank sucked in his breath. Something was wrong with this picture. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Normal looking guy. Brown hair and eyes, I think. Maybe hazel eyes."

"And this was about a month ago?"

"Yup."

Frank heard crying from inside the house, and the young woman smiled apologetically. "I have to go, honey. That’s really all I can tell you. I have a little one inside who needs attending to."

She headed inside. Before she went indoors, Frank got her attention one last time. "Ma’am?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"You didn’t happen to remember a name, did you?"

She smiled at Frank. "Actually, yes. It just came to me now that you asked. He said his name was Fenton Hardy." She went inside and closed the door.

Frank stood staring in shock after her.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow them without express permission of the authors.