Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Franklin Warren Hardy sat in his easy chair, reading the Sunday paper. No, that wasn’t correct. He had been reading the paper, but now found his mind wandering.

He could hear his wife, Esther Mae bustling about in the kitchen. He glanced at his watch. It would be several hours before the kids arrived, but you couldn’t tell Esther that.

Laying the paper aside, he walked to the mantle above the fireplace and looked at the pictures; his life, his heritage.

“We did a decent job,” Franklin reflected softly. He lifted the high school graduation portrait of his eldest son. Franklin Warren the second preferred to be called ‘Junior’; a title he bore proudly.

“Who would have guessed you’d die less than a year after this picture was taken?” Franklin reminisced. His eyes clouded with tears as he remembered a conversation with his son shortly after the picture was taken.

“But Dad,” the dark haired youth began, “Lots of guys are nurses these days. It’s not a woman’s job anymore!”

“Why not go all the way, Junior?” his father argued. “If I’m going to put you through Medical School, I’d like to get a doctor in the family out of the deal.”

“It takes longer,” Junior countered. “I want to get through school as quick as I can so I can start helping people.”

“I thought you’d consider police work, you know,” the older man said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“Dad, Fent is planning to follow in your footsteps,” Junior replied, referring to his younger brother. “Look at it this way, you and Fent go after the bad guys while I fix up their victims!”

“Never got that chance,” Franklin murmured. He remembered vividly the phone call during the night; the two hour drive to the university; the vigil at the hospital. Junior died that night from injuries sustained in a car accident, at the age of nineteen.

“Life wasn’t very fair to you, Junior,” the man said, wiping a tear from his cheek. He gently placed the photo back on the mantle and picked up the next one.

“My Gertie,” he smiled. Gertrude Ann Hardy’s senior portrait showed an unsmiling young woman with chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes. “You were always too serious and too opinionated for your own good. Ha, truth be told, you still are!

“If Gertie hadn’t been such a stubborn, headstrong girl,” Franklin pondered quietly, “maybe she would have married that Russell boy she met at college.”

“Daddy,” Gert wailed, “I’m not ready to get tied down to some boy! I want to be my own person for a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Gertie?” her father questioned.

“Daddy, I love you, but,” Gert continued, “I’m either your daughter or Junior’s sister! I have no name for myself! Women have choices now. I don’t want marriage and children for a long time!”

Franklin chuckled at the memory. ‘Might have missed your opportunity, Gertie. Could very well be why you’re so taken with Fent’s two young ones.’ He moved on to the next portrait.

“Fenton Michael Hardy,” the man smiled, “came along seven years after your sister.” He recalled how precocious seven year old Gertie told all their friends and family that Fenton was ‘her’ baby.

Fenton shared his father’s dark hair and eyes, but more importantly, he shared his father’s love for justice. Fenton had an interest in his father’s profession as a police officer from the time he was a small boy.

“Looks like I made a good choice when I decided to tell you about my work,” Franklin said to the photo. “Look at you now, with your own P. I. practice.”

“I’m a little concerned Dad,” Fenton began. “It will mean long hours and a lot of time away from Laura.”

“Not just Laura,” his father reminded him. “You’ve got a four-year-old that worships you and Joey, well he’s just a little tyke now, but both of them are going to need their father.”

“I know. But Dad, I feel so limited working for the police force,” Fenton argued. “I’m going to talk to Laura. If she’s willing to make the change and endure a few years of sacrifice, I’m going to get my private investigator’s license.”

“Fent, I love you and I’m behind you, no matter what the decision,” Franklin responded. “In fact, if you decide to come back home to Bayport, you and Laura can have the house. It’s far too big for just Mother and me.”

‘Hard to believe that was just three years ago,’ he placed the picture back in its place. He picked up the portrait of his youngest.

“Where did we go wrong with you, Owen? Why do you hate us so much?” he asked out loud. Owen Glen Hardy had run away from home three days after his eighteenth birthday.

The police and the FBI spent a year searching, but since the boy was legally an adult, there was little more they could do.

Then, three years after the search was officially ended, the family had heard from Owen. He was living in Canada with a wife named Camille and a baby girl named Monica. Monica was ten now, but Franklin and Esther had never been invited to see the child.

“Guess we should be grateful that he’s alright,” Franklin stated, returning the picture. The next picture showed Fenton and his lovely wife, Laura on their wedding day.

“You found a good girl, Fent,” Franklin smiled, passing over the picture to reach the next one on the mantle. He picked it up and looked into the eager faces of the two small boys.

In just a few hours, he’d have Frankie and Joey on his lap playing pony. Yes, his two grandsons were what made life worth living.

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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.