Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

"I agree, but it won’t be easy," Frank said. The Hardys had moved across the room to peer out the window. They expected that their foe was still watching them from the front of the house, but checked the back yard to be sure.

"Why don’t you think she’ll go? I think this…this incident might have convinced her that she needs to get out of this town," Joe stated.

Frank nodded in agreement, but said, "I’m sure Trista will be willing to go now, but I’m not so sure our sicko-buddy outside will let her."

Joe’s eyes opened wide in realization. "He could try to shoot her if she goes to the car or shoot at the car once she’s in it."

"So what can we do that will keep him from seeing her leave?" Frank questioned.

"We could split up," Joe suggested, "He can’t follow us all."

"Yeah, but who can say which one of us he’ll follow?" Frank countered. "I would think he’d go for Trista first; he tried to get her once already tonight."

"So we need him to think Trista is with us and draw him away from the house," Joe said, smiling. "That way, Trista can sneak out the back and drive away."

Frank looked at Joe. A smile slowly crossed his handsome face. Joe swallowed. When Frank smiled like that, it usually meant Frank was going to have Joe do something stupid or embarrassing.

"Brilliant idea, Joe!" Frank grinned.

"Ah, right. I mean, of course!" Joe said apprehensively.

"Joe, go upstairs and get some clothes for Trista to change into," Frank ordered, "I’ll fill in Trista."

Joe nodded and crawled back through the carnage in the living room, forcing himself not to look at the four bodies on the floor. He hastily ran up the stairs and began rummaging through drawers in the bedrooms.

He’d come up with a dark blue sweatsuit that looked small enough for Trista. He quickly made his way back to the kitchen.

Frank had Trista’s jeans and was stuffing them with garbage bags, newspaper and kitchen towels. Trista was no where in sight.

Frank looked up as Joe entered the room. "Pass those sweats to Trista. She’s in the pantry. Then help me make this dummy."

Joe smiled, once again thankful for his brother’s quick thinking. He knocked softly on the door of the pantry. Trista opened it a crack and passed her t-shirt to Joe in exchange for the sweatsuit.

Joe joined his brother and helped stuff Trista’s clothes. They made a head from a dark garbage bag and found a ball cap to put on top. The dummy was crude, but from a distance, would probably fool their murderous pursuer.

Trista immerged from the pantry in the too-big sweatsuit. It was decided that she would head to Keen, where her parents were staying. She would explain to them what was happening in Reedville, and have them go with her to the police. Frank also gave Trista his cell-phone and Mr. Hardy’s cell phone number. She would call Mr. Hardy as soon as she had enough coverage to do so.

The boys went with her to the Lumina. Joe silently prayed that the car would start without any loud coughing. The engine caught silently and within minutes, Trista was on her way out of town.

Frank and Joe re-entered the house. They picked up the ‘Trista’ dummy as if she had fainted or was hurt. The brother’s carefully cradled their dummy between them and moved out the front door.

They moved silently, sensing that the killer was watching them closely. Would he tire of the game and decide to shoot them down? They could almost feel arrows piercing their backs. That thought kept both brothers moving at a good clip. Soon they entered the town square.

"We need to go back in to the church," Frank whispered.

"Somehow," Joe reasoned, "I think the church is important to this whole thing."

"I think you’re right, Joe," Frank responded, "He could have used any of these buildings, but chose the church. There has to be a reason."

Once back in the church, they ran to the alter area to see if the girl’s body was still there. She lay where Frank had left her.

Joe stashed the ‘Trista’ dummy in the empty choir loft and joined Frank on the platform. He saw his brother staring at the red circle with the number ‘13’ painted in the middle.

"What do you make of this, Joe?"

Joe shrugged, "I think it has something to do with the demolition of these buildings. There was a ‘13’ on the outside of the church, too." Frank frowned and rubbed his chin.

"Why would it be here? On this platform?"

"I don’t know for sure, but I think there are more numbers painted on the front pew over there," Joe said, pointing.

Frank followed his brother’s finger and walked to the pew. There were twelve red circles painted on the pew. Each circle bore a number, in sequence, from one through twelve.

"Twelve," Frank whispered, turning back to the alter. "Joe, think. What does the number 12 have to do with the church?" Joe thought a moment.

"There were 12 disciples that followed Jesus during His earthly ministry," Joe said, "Is that what you mean?"

"Exactly," Frank smiled, "but one wasn’t who he pretended to be. In the end, he betrayed Jesus."

"Judas Iscariot?" Joe questioned.

"Right," Frank nodded. "Some theologians call Judas the ‘thirteenth disciple’. After Judas killed himself, the rest of the disciples chose a replacement. A man named Matthias, I think."

"So how does this all tie in with the murders and us?" Joe asked, trying to pick up Frank’s train of thought.

"I think our killer believes he’s Judas," Frank answered.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency 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 original characters without express permission of the authors.