DISSONANCE
by
Duckling
Chapter 26
The Chapters
It didn’t take long for word to buzz through Bayport High on Tuesday morning that once again Joe Hardy had been hospitalized as a result of a kidnapping. But the rumor that generated the most discussion was the one placing Frank Hardy back in Bayport. Unfortunately, Joe Hardy getting seriously injured was not news; Frank Hardy mysteriously disappearing and then reappearing, however, was. Students cast furtive, speculative glances at the Hardy friends at every opportunity, strategically hovering close to the group in the hopes of overhearing some snippet of juicy gossip.
Callie snorted in disgust as she flung her books down in her seat. Phil, a step behind her slowly lowered the lunch tray he was carrying to the table. There was just enough room on the tray for two plates, two glasses of iced tea and some cookies. Chet looked up at the couple, met Callie’s angry eyes, and twisted his features into a mask of sympathy. Tony, Biff and Iola smiled grimly. The feeling of exasperation and anger was mutual. Not one of them had been spared from the storm of nosy questions.
“Jerks,” Callie muttered under her breath. “Stupid, insensitive, vulgar vultures! Why don’t they just mind their own business!”
“They’ve been extra brutal to you today?” Iola asked gently.
Callie’s brown eyes glittered with anger. “Jana Davis had the gall,” the petite blonde spat out, “to ask me in front of everyone what I would do, now that Frank is back in town.”
Iola’s own green eyes darkened with fury.
Callie continued. “Poor Phil was standing right beside me.” Phil reddened slightly. “And that . . . cow asked me how long it would be before I “traded this geek” back for “that hunk of Hardy!”
Phil had gone from a pale pink to a flaming red during Callie’s tirade. Suddenly turning to the embarrassed boy, Callie took his hand and smiled. “You are not a geek,” she declared gently. “And even if you were, I’d never trade you in for Frank Hardy.” Her voice softened. “Frank was good to me, don’t get me wrong. But you have been better by far, Mr. Phil Cohen. And I will not have any ill-dressed busybody say otherwise.”
The gang had remained perfectly motionless throughout this speech. Chet suddenly remembered he still had a slice of meatloaf on his plate and hastily attacked it. Iola was busy rummaging around in her purse for something which she obviously could not, and would not, find. Tony and Biff, after unsuccessfully trying to assume an air of general boredom settled on a close scrutiny of their respective lunch trays.
Iola, after finally selecting her compact and drawing it out of her bag, addressed Callie. “Wow, Cal,” she said as she scrutinized her features carefully in the mirror, “I rarely ever hear you get riled up enough to speak that way about anyone.”
Five pairs of eyes turned to look at the girl.
“I mean, to actually say she’s ill-dressed. That’s not the sort of thing you toss out lightly,” Iola declared demurely as she snapped the compact shut, satisfied with what she had seen.
Grins of amused astonishment broke out around the table. Callie’s eyes lit up and she cooed happily, “Oh yes. Just get me mad enough and you’ll be surprised at just how insulting I can be.” She slipped her arm through Phil’s and smiled at him sweetly.
“But it’s true,” Callie added quickly. “That girl is a walking fashion disaster.”
Chet winked his thanks to his sister. You could always rely on either Iola or Joe to lighten the mood.
“So,” Tony ventured after the general laughter had subsided, “is anyone game to go into the city this afternoon and visit a certain invalid?”
“Poor Joe,” sighed Iola. “He’s probably going crazy stuck in a stupid old hospital again.”
“I think you mean ‘Poor Hospital Staff,’ sis,” Chet teased gently. “I bet they’re the ones who might be going crazy. Joe doesn’t like hospitals, and he definitely is not one to suffer in silence when it comes to that.”
The group laughed. It was true. Joe was impetuous and impatient even in the best of health. A sick or injured Joe could easily become almost unbearable. The blond boy’s only redeeming quality at such times was his ability to endear himself to the very people he was annoying the most. Any other person might come across as irritatingly difficult; Joe however managed to keep his nursing staff laughing with his blend of mild complaint, wit, and charm.
As they finished making plans for that afternoon, the bell sounded, signaling the end of the lunch hour. The cafeteria resounded with groans as the students stood up, gathered their things and scurried away to their classes.
***
Ruth Baker Ruthers sat at her kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of her.
It had to be an obvious murder, she decided. Fenton would never feel the keen sorrow she felt daily if Joe’s death were attributed to Carl’s botched attempt. She wanted the investigator to suffer; suffer not only from Joe’s death, but from the tormenting question as to who and why. To this day, she did not know with any certainty whose bullet it was that had killed her son. This never-knowing-exactly-who-to-blame, other than Fenton Hardy, made any effort to put Charlie’s death behind her impossible. Carl was supposed to have killed the boy in such a way that Fenton would experience these same emotions. But, the woman frowned angrily, Carl had bungled the job, as usual.
She had several ideas. The difficulty, however, lay in how to arrange it so as to escape all trace of suspicion. Even though she had gone back to using her maiden name after her divorce, Fenton Hardy might easily catch on to her connection to Ruthers.
The woman sat there for some time, her fingers absently twisting and folding a dirty napkin. Suddenly she smiled. Her decision made, she stood up and placed the empty cup in the sink. She could wash it later; she had preparations to make before she reported for her evening shift.
***
Joe Hardy stared at the sunlight streaming through his window and sighed. His parents had just left for the day, and he expected Frank any moment now. His body still ached, but he felt much better than he had been feeling; good enough, in fact, to feel a bit restless and bored. The animosity between his brother and parents only made things worse, making Joe all the more desperate to get out of this stupid hospital and away, anywhere away, from the clouds of tense anger that smothered him every time they came to visit.
Joe sighed again, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the sheet. His family didn’t realize how their emotions clung to them like the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Even though they conscientiously refrained from letting any of the animosity slip, it was still there, permeating and tainting the very air.
Suddenly, a soft knock sounded on the door, and Sam poked his head inside the room.
“Hi,” he said cheerfully, “Do you mind if I come in?”
Joe exhaled a sigh of relief and smiled. Here, finally, was someone who would not poison the atmosphere with barely suppressed fury. “Not at all,” the blond boy smiled. “Come on in.”
Sam entered the room and sat himself in the chair next to Joe’s bed.
“How ya doing, kiddo?” Sam asked as he good-naturedly tousled Joe’s hair. Not many people were allowed the twin liberties of calling him kiddo and rumpling his hair; Sam, however, was, and this mild display of affectionate concern comforted Joe.
Joe was about to answer that he was fine but thought better of it. He really needed to talk to someone about this whole mess, someone who wasn’t part of it. So he replied instead with a sigh, “Okay, I guess.”
Sam regarded the boy critically as he waited for Joe to continue.
When Joe remained silent, Sam asked gently, “What’s bothering you, Joe?”
Joe looked over at Sam with sorrowful eyes and whispered, “Frank, Mom, and Dad.”
Sam reached out and gently squeezed Joe’s hand as he nodded his head in understanding.
“You know,” Sam said gently. “I don’t think they realize just how all this is affecting you.”
“I know,” Joe groaned. “That’s half of the problem. If I say anything about it, then they’ll all feel incredibly guilty.”
“And that will just compound the problem, won’t it,” Sam continued. “The added weight of their guilt on top of their anger is liable to crush you.”
Joe closed his eyes and nodded his agreement. Sam understood. Opening his eyes, he looked at Sam. “Yes. That’s it precisely.”
Sam patted the boy’s hand. “Well,” the sandy-haired investigator said gently, “That’s why I decided to stop by when I knew no one else was here. I thought you could use a visitor without any emotional baggage.”
Joe smiled, his eyes bright with gratitude and relief that Sam should think of him, and understand. “Thanks, Sam. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
Sam returned the smile, but did not say anything as they fell into a restful, companionable silence. But his hazel eyes seemed to say: No, Joe, I think I do.
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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 original characters without express permission of the authors.