THE NIFTIEST IDEA IN THE WORLD

by

Duckling

Chapter 3

The Chapters

INTRO

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

“I think we should postpone lunch for a bit,” Laura stated decisively. “Fent, have Joey come downstairs. I think it only fair that we all listen to his side.”  

Fenton nodded his agreement before heading up the stairs. Soon father and son came back down, the child’s small hand firmly in the grasp of his father’s.  

Joey stopped on the last step. He caught sight of his brother and suddenly became nervous. Fenton picked up on this and squeezed his son’s hand encouragingly. The blond boy looked up at his dad and gave him a bashful smile.  

“Let’s go into the living room,” Laura suggested and the others dutifully followed. She and Gertrude each sat in a chair while Frank perched on the couch. Joey, however, remained by his father’s side, standing.  

Settling down into a recliner, Fenton pulled the small boy onto his lap. “Now, Joey,” he said with a gentle smile. “Tell us what happened.”  

The blond boy looked down at his hands nervously. Where should he start? He didn’t want them to know that it was Frank and Biff who had placed the cans on the sidewalk.  

“Joey?”  

The child sighed. “Um  . . .”  

“Joey,” his Aunt Gertrude said quietly, “When Mrs. Addleson was here you said you didn’t do it.”  

Suddenly wide blue eyes looked up at her. “I didn’t!” The boy replied, his voice high, “I didn’t! I had just found it and I was looking at it and I didn’t think it was safe and then Mrs. Willows . . . and I didn’t have time to warn her-” Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, he began to cry.  

Fenton wrapped his arms around his distressed child. Looking over at the other little boy, he was surprised to see Frank even paler than he had been before. Apparently, seeing his younger brother so upset was having its effect on him.  

“But were you in Mrs. Addleson’s hydrangeas, Joey?” Laura asked softly.  

“Yes ma’am,” the child responded truthfully. “I thought I could wait there.”  Then, suddenly realizing he might have said too much, Joey bit hard on his lip as he shot his brother a worried glance.  

Fenton and Laura had been watching the strange interactions between the brothers. “What do you mean, son,” Fenton prodded gently, “that you thought you could wait there?”  

Frank was a bundle of conflicting emotions. He couldn’t let Joey take the blame but he was terrified of confessing his crime. The younger boy’s reluctance to tell on awed him, tying his tongue into further knots. Holding his breath, he waited for Joey to respond.  

Joey didn’t know what to say. He was normally a truthful child, and he knew his parents would be mad at him if he lied. But telling the truth would get Frank into trouble, and he just couldn’t do that. Then Frank would hate him forever.  

“Joey?” Fenton stated firmly, but gently. “Son, we’re waiting for your answer.”  

Frank had finally had enough. “I did it Dad,” he said, his eyes averted in shame. “Biff and I. Joey came and found us in Biff’s yard preparing the trap. I made him leave. I guess he stayed nearby in Mrs. Addleson’s yard.”  

“Is that true, Joey?”  

The blond boy only sniffed and nodded his head.  

“And?”  

“And then Biff and I set it up. We were going to watch and see what happened, but then we heard some of the other boys laughing down the street. So we went and checked it out.”  

Now Joey spoke up, his voice a bit shaky: “And that’s when I went and looked at it, Dad. I promise that’s all I did!”  

“I believe you, Joey,” his father responded with a reassuring squeeze.  

Laura turned to address her eldest son. “And just how long were you going to remain silent and let your brother take the blame?”  

Frank wiggled on the sofa.  

“Frank Hardy!” His mother commanded, “Look at me and answer when I ask you a question.”  

The nine year-old slowly looked up at his mother, his brown eyes full of remorse. “I don’t know,” he whispered. Then, dropping his head, “I’m sorry.”  

Fenton and Laura exchanged glances. Without a word Gertrude got up and set about putting lunch away. Right now she doubted whether anyone would have much of an appetite. Instead, she poured a glass of milk for each of the boys. It would help tide them over until they ate in an hour or so.  

Laura tugged her blond son from his father’s embrace and prodded him gently into the kitchen for his milk. She had decided to spend the next hour reading to him, an activity she rarely indulged in nowadays.  

Frank found himself alone in the living room with his father. Suddenly, he wished he had never heard of Biff’s niftiest idea in the world. It wasn’t, the boy decided morosely, nifty at all.  

Fenton got up from the recliner and crossed over to sit beside the dark-haired child on the sofa.  

Before he could even begin his lecture, Frank turned sorrowful eyes on him and began to speak: “I’m so sorry, Dad! Really and truly I am! I didn’t mean to make Joey almost cry and I didn’t want anyone to get hurt and I-”  

Fenton held up a hand to stop the boy. “Whoa, son. Easy. I’m sure you’re sorry. But let’s start from the beginning, okay?”  

The nine year-old nodded before dutifully recounting the events of the whole morning, pausing every now and then to sniff back any tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He explained how the boys had just wanted to play a prank on some of their friends and how no one was supposed to get injured.  

“I guess it really wasn’t such a great idea,” the boy sighed in conclusion. “And definitely not the niftiest one of all.”  

Fenton had listened to his young son carefully. Now he allowed a minute to pass before replying: “You know, son, the fact that you and Biff set up a prank that went wrong doesn’t concern me as much as something else you did.”  

Frank looked up into his father’s eyes. Usually, they were bright with love and approval; now the boy only saw a seriousness reflected in those rich depths.  

“What really concerns me,” the detective continued, “is that you were willing to let your brother take the blame for what you and Biff did.”  

“But I said Joey didn’t do it,” the dark-haired child stated in agitation.  

“True,” his father agreed. “But you could have very easily explained your part in the prank as soon as Aunt Gertrude had told us what happened. Instead, you allowed us all to think Joey was to blame.”  

The nine year-old was surprised to find his eyes filling with tears. Fiercely wiping them away, he sniffed once before saying softly: “I didn’t mean to, Dad. Honest. I was just so scared of getting into trouble.”  

Fenton reached out and patted his son on the arm. “I understand that son, but allowing someone else to take the blame for something you did isn’t right, even if it could be proven later that the other person was innocent.”  

The boy sighed deeply. “I guess that’s another thing I did today that wasn’t really such a nifty idea,” he stated sadly.  

“I would have to agree with you there, son,” his father said gently.  

“Now,” the investigator continued, “I need to discuss your punishment with your mother. Until then, I want you to stay in the house. Understood?”  

“Yes sir,” Frank replied sadly. He felt downright rotten. Not only was he in trouble, which had been the very thing he had been trying to avoid, but he had gotten his brother into trouble too. As the boy meekly ascended the stairs to his room, he wondered if Joey could ever forgive him.

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