Laura Hardy waited, outwardly calm, but inwardly quaking. Would she be allowed to enter? The housekeeper eyed her curiously, and hesitated a long moment, then swung the door open and gestured for her to come in.

"Wait here. I’ll find out if he can see you." She turned and went down a long hallway, leaving Laura to stand in the entry, surveying her surroundings with interest.

The house was old; well-built and beautifully furnished, from what she could see. A distinct air of riches and power seemed to emanate from the very walls; from the polished hardwood of the entry hall to the crystal chandelier hanging above it. Glimpses of beautifully-appointed rooms on either side made Laura half envious…and Laura Whittier had been used to beautifully appointed rooms and expensive furnishings, during her growing-up years.

Footsteps approaching announced the housekeeper’s return. She still was giving Laura curious glances, but all she said was:

"Follow me, please."

Laura did as she was bid, her heart hammering. Suddenly she wondered what had made her decide to come here. What would Antonio Scarpetti be like? She had never seen a picture of him, or a newspaper photo. Visions of Marlon Brando’s "Godfather" flashed through her mind. Just how sinister would an Italian mob boss be?

"In here, please." Laura was escorted through wide double doors, solid oak, from the looks of them, and into a spacious room dominated by a large desk. Behind this desk, a man was seated, apparently doing paperwork. He laid down his pen and looked calmly at his visitor. Laura heard the doors quietly being closed behind her, and gulped.

"Mrs. Hardy? I am Antonio Scarpetti. How may I be of service?"

Laura took a deep breath and looked at her host…and was instantly relieved. Where she had envisioned Marlon Brando, instead, she saw a silver-haired aristocrat with chiseled features. Cesar Romero! the errant thought flitted through her mind. But almost as quickly, she knew she couldn’t relax; Antonio Scarpetti might be suave and sophisticated and handsome and possess courtly manners…but he was still extremely dangerous!

"Mr. Scarpetti, I – I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to speak to you about something very important. A – family matter." Too late, Laura realized the connotations her words might possess. But it is a family matter! His family…my family…our mutual family. She hadn’t considered that aspect before; she was technically related to this man!

"A family matter? And that would be?" Scarpetti raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"My sister Linda…was married to your youngest son, Marco." Laura watched the man’s eyes narrow slightly. "She came to my home two days ago. But she died shortly after her arrival."

"How terribly unfortunate!" he exclaimed. "My sympathies, Mrs. Hardy."

"Thank you. Due to the circumstances of her death, Mr. Scarpetti, an autopsy was performed – and the results showed that Linda died from kidney failure – a result of the administration of arsenic. In other words, she was being poisoned."

"That is indeed disturbing. I understand why you are upset about it." Antonio toyed with the gold pen on his desk. "But I don’t understand why you believe I can help you."

"My husband is a private investigator; perhaps you have heard of him…Fenton Hardy?" Laura waited for his response, and was rewarded by a brief nod. "Naturally, he is looking into the circumstances of Linda’s death. I came here hoping that you might be able to shed some light on the situation."

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Hardy, I am unable to do that. You are surely aware that my son was estranged from me and the rest of his family. I had nothing to do with Marco and his wife since the day he turned his back on us. I could have made his life easy…but he didn’t want my help."

To her surprise, Laura found herself sympathizing. Although she realized that Antonio Scarpetti was as crooked as a spiral staircase, she heard real sorrow in his voice when he spoke of Marco.

"You know, of course, that Marco was killed a short time ago?" she asked then. "During a robbery attempt at his restaurant?"

"I know." Scarpetti’s voice was very quiet, and suddenly there was a rumbling, lethal note in its deep, silky tones. "The person responsible for Marco’s death has been dealt with."

Laura swallowed; and felt a shudder run through her. She suspected that Antonio’s vigilante justice had been swift, in retaliation for his son’s death. "And you know that there is a young daughter left orphaned because of my sister’s death?"

"I know of Isabelle, yes." Now Antonio’s handsome face crinkled with a smile, and Laura found herself instinctively smiling in response. Damn this man and his Italian charm!

"Although we have never met, I have heard about her." He straightened his already arrow-straight back and met Laura’s eyes squarely. "I won’t lie to you, Mrs. Hardy. Marco disappointed me greatly by leaving the family, but the thing that disappoints me most is that I’ve spent 17 years not knowing my granddaughter. I don’t wish to let that become 18 years. I would like very much to meet her; get to know her; make her part of my family."

Make her part of your family? Linda’s daughter part of "The Scarpetti Family"? No, no way!

Now Antonio was rising to his feet, indicating that the interview was over. "I am very sorry about your sister’s death – but I am afraid that I cannot be of any help to you in apprehending the person who caused it." He walked to the doors and opened them; the very soul of courtesy. "Good day, Mrs. Hardy."

Laura admitted defeat. She inclined her head in a brief nod. "Goodbye, Mr. Scarpetti. Thank you for seeing me." As she stepped into the hallway, however, the old man reached to put a hand on her arm.

"Mrs. Hardy – please give my most sincere sympathies to Isabella." There was genuine pleading in the dark eyes…and then suddenly the pleading was replaced by a glimmer of admiration and respect. "And to you, on the loss of your sister."

She nodded. "All right, Mr. Scarpetti…I will tell Bella. And thank you."

Laura walked down the hall to the front door, where the stern-visaged housekeeper waited to show her out. Once outside the house, however, her control cracked. She leaned limply against the heavy front door, and felt her knees quivering beneath her. Oh Fenton, you’re never going to believe this one!

* * * * *

Seated behind his desk once more, a scowling Antonio Scarpetti reached for the telephone and dialed a certain number. When it was answered….

"What’s this about Marco’s widow dying of arsenic poisoning? Killing her wasn’t in the plan! I didn’t want her hurt – just out of the way!"

"I didn’t mean to kill her," came the reply. "I was simply trying to make it appear that she was incompetent, so that Isabella wouldn’t listen to her. Her death was an…unfortunate…side effect."

"You made a bad mistake. Don’t you know who she was? Her sister is married to Fenton Hardy, you asino deficiente! Fenton Hardy, the investigator!" Scarpetti paused, but the person on the other end of the line remained silent. Finally, Antonio resumed speaking. "This had better not backfire…if your bungling brings Hardy down on me – anymore than having his wife show up at my door – there will be trouble…for them and for you! Now, no more mistakes!" The receiver slammed down.

* * * * *

Frank Hardy sat up straight in his chair and arched his back gingerly. He was stiff and cramped from bending over file folders, and his eyes ached; he rubbed them with his fists. So far, the financial books at Marco’s looked absolutely beyond reproach; Linda had kept records in an impeccable fashion.

Frank glanced at the digital clock on the desk. Three-thirty. He decided to switch from financial records to personnel files for a bit. He opened a desk drawer full of hanging files and began searching through them.

 

When a light tap sounded on the door, Frank jumped in his chair. He had been totally immersed in reading the information contained in one of the personnel files. Before he could say anything, the door opened, and Joe popped his head into the room.

"It’s getting pretty late, Frank. I’m done with work for the day. The dinner shift’s on now." Joe closed the office door behind himself, and walked over to survey the desk, which was covered with file folders. "How’s it going?"

"Well, I’ve found that Marco’s was making money, and that Linda seemed to be good at taking care of it. But I’ve also found something else very interesting. Look here…." He tapped the folder he had been reading so intently. Joe leaned over his shoulder to scan the page.

"Alexander Harrington, hmmm? What about him?"

Frank sighed inwardly. He had hoped Joe would read and figure it out for himself, instead of waiting for him to translate. "About five years ago, Marco’s changed from being a small, simple Italian restaurant to being a much more upscale place; the way it is now. To do that takes money…and apparently Marco and Linda didn’t have enough money to do what they wanted. Look at what happened: Alexander Harrington appears out of nowhere, and puts up enough money for the renovations. He owns 40% of Marco’s, Joe! Bella is still the major owner, but Harrington is a large minor holder."

"Bella said he was trying to get Linda to sell, after Marco’s death." Joe observed. "But what’s wrong with that, Frank? It isn’t unusual, is it?"

"No, it’s not unusual, except in this case, where the owners have both died recently in strange circumstances." Frank replied. "And where Alexander Harrington seems to be on fairly good terms with Dominic Scarpetti…it’s unusual enough that I’m going to ask Dad to get every scrap of information he can about him."

"Dominic Scarpetti!" Joe cried incredulously. "How do you know that?"

"Because he was here; I met him." Frank answered calmly. "He looks exactly what you’d think an Italian Mafia person should look like…sort of like Paul Anka."

"Who’s Paul Anka?" his brother inquired, his forehead creasing in a puzzled frown.

"Singer from the early sixties. Forget Paul Anka; he’s not important! The important thing is that Dominic is on friendly terms with Alexander Harrington. And that Alex is a major shareholder in this restaurant."

"You can call Dad from the apartment on your cell; you don’t want to do it from here. You never can tell when someone might have bugged the phones." Joe warned him, as Frank had automatically reached for the telephone. Frank nodded at the reminder, grinning as he thought You and those phone taps! If there’s a bugged phone anywhere in the vicinity, you either found it, or you placed it! He began to close folders and replace them in the hanging files.

"I’m absolutely bushed!" the elder Hardy commented. He glanced briefly at Joe. "You’ve already changed out of your tux, I see!" he teased. "Are we eating here tonight? And where’s Bella? Did she stick around, or did she go back to her house?"

"She’s still here. She’s talking to people…and flirting with Tony! Yeah, let’s eat here again. The food’s great, and that way I can get an idea of who all works the evening shift; there’s a whole new bunch of waiters and busboys!" Joe watched Frank tidy up the desk and re-lock drawers. "Other than the info on Harrington, anything else turn up?"

"Nope." Frank got to his feet, stretching tiredly again. "Let’s get out of here, find Tony, and get some dinner!"

The boys soon found themselves seated in one of the smaller dining areas. Joe and Tony joked a bit with their waiter, a young man named Daniel who had come on with the evening shift, but all three of them were tired from their day’s work, and conversation lagged. Just as they were finishing their entrees, Bella joined them.

"How did the afternoon go?" she asked, her blue eyes searching each face in turn. "Did everything go all right?" She dug in a pocket. "Here are more apartment keys."

"Just fine," Joe told her. He sighed. "Sorry, Tinkerbelle; I’m not up to scintillating banter tonight. I thought I was in good shape, but hefting those trays of dishes around is hard work!" He didn’t think Bella knew about his fracas with Enrico, and he wasn’t about to mention it; the less she knew about that, the better!

"Did you find anything out?" Bella inquired. She glanced around furtively at the various members of the wait staff circulating the room.

"Not a thing." Tony remarked. "You were probably right when you said that no one on the staff would have it in for your mom, but we wanted to make sure."

"If she didn’t get the poison here, though…" Bella paused. "…that would mean that she got it somewhere else. At home…." She broke off, and stared across the table at Frank in sudden apprehension."

"Bella, Bella, take it easy." Frank attempted to soothe his cousin. "Panicking over this isn’t going to help anything."

She didn’t say anything more, but her eyes looked haunted.

After they had finished their dinners, Joe and Tony went into the kitchen to check on their work schedules for the following day. To Joe’s surprise, they were scheduled for the later shift. Oh well, that will give us a chance to get to know some of the other staff people! he realized. He stopped to bid farewell to a few of their fellow-employees; Enrico, however, was not one of those so favored. Joe tiptoed around the irascible chef, who was busy with dinner preparations, being as unobtrusive as possible.

Frank waited a few minutes, then decided to go on ahead to their apartment alone. Joe and Tony can catch up! he thought. He glanced around for Bella, caught her eye and waved, then motioned towards the door to indicate his departure.

Frank stepped outside, into the hot, humid, July-in-New-York night. He stopped on the threshold to let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit alleyway behind the restaurant before heading towards the other doorway which led to the upstairs apartment.

As he stepped away from the door, three shadowy figures materialized in the gloom. Frank paused, instinctively falling into a defensive posture.

"You Griffin?" a deep bass voice inquired.

"Maybe. What if I am?"

"We want a word with you." The voice replied, and the three figures converged upon the elder Hardy boy.

Frank started to back up, and found he had no place to retreat to. The restaurant wall was at his back, and the three men were closing in. He glanced right, then left.

"What word would that be?" he asked, hoping to stall them until Joe or Tony arrived on the scene.

"Stay away from Marco’s!" was the snarled reply. Before Frank could make a move in either direction, two of the men had seized his arms. The one on the left twisted his arm behind his back; the one on the right followed suit, and Frank found himself immobilized. He lashed out with his left foot, and managed to connect with one assailant, but now the third one stepped in. Although the man he had struck let out a yell of pain, his grip didn’t loosen, and Frank knew he was in trouble. He managed to tighten his abdominal muscles, anticipating the first blow….

When it arrived, even the tightened muscles didn’t help much. The pain made Frank double forward, and the air left his lungs with a whoosh. Before he could do more than gasp in another breath, a second blow fell. This time, he hadn’t had time to prepare himself, and pain exploded in his midsection.

Frank struggled against the restraining hands, to no avail. He attempted to kick again, to stamp on toes, and although he felt his foot hit something, it seemed to make no difference to his attackers. He felt fists strike his sides, felt white-hot pain as something in his ribcage yielded to the assault. He was sinking beneath a dark tide….

"Frank!" A shrill scream split the night and momentarily the fists ceased pounding. "What are you doing to him…? Leave him alone! Joe! Tony!" The new voice faded into the distance, and Frank was suddenly released; thrown down onto the rough surface of the alley. New pain flared through him at the impact.

"Leave Marco’s and don’t come back! Or next time, we won’t play so nice!" he heard a disembodied voice say, somewhere above him, and then the dark tide overwhelmed him….

Summoned by Bella’s frantic screams, Joe Hardy barreled through the back door of the restaurant, to find three men standing over the motionless form of his older brother. With a shout, Joe flung himself at them, heedless of the odds. He caught the nearest by a shoulder and yanked him about, then shot his right fist into the man’s face. As he did so, Joe realized that the man was masked; had Frank stumbled onto another robbery attempt?

Three-to-one odds aren’t the best; Joe got in one good blow, but before he could follow it up with another, one of the men had whirled, and with the savage ability of a Shaquille O’Neal fighting for a rebound, had shoved his elbow directly into the younger Hardy boy’s jaw. Joe fell back, and as he did so, the third man backhanded him across the face. He stumbled backwards, and felt his feet slip from beneath him; he fell heavily to the ground and his head struck the pavement with a thud.

But now unexpected reinforcements had arrived: Tony and Bella. Tony leaped into the fray, fists flailing; Bella, screeching like a banshee, kicked any shins she could handily reach, and struck hard with her fists, darting out of range if any of the masked men tried to grab at her.

"Let’s get outta here! We did what we came for!" one of them shouted, and suddenly all three were running toward the alley’s exit. Tony started after them in pursuit, but was stopped by Bella’s wail:

"Tony, come back – they’re hurt!"

Sparks and Evergreen don't own the Hardy Boys characters, they belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation, We've just borrowed them for an adventure or two. We will put them back when we're done with them. We do claim copyright to the original characters and themes in this story. Please do not borrow them without the expressed permission of the authors.