Now Joe was gently guiding Vanessa into the hallway, tugging on Frank’s elbow as he passed him. "Come on, let’s get the girls out of here." he murmured. "Vanessa, you look like you’re going to keel over any second; come and lie down." He closed the kitchen door firmly. "We need to call the police." he said to Frank, who nodded his agreement over Megan’s head.

"Yeah, I know, but—" Frank’s dark eyes flicked down at his distraught girlfriend, then back up to meet Joe’s.

"I’ll call from upstairs, if you take care of the girls." Joe said, and turned toward the staircase. "Frank – it really isn’t Mom, is it?" he added in a very small voice.

"No, Joe, it’s not Mom." Frank rocked Megan in his arms soothingly. Then he caught his breath in a gasp, suddenly realizing something. "Joe—" he reminded his brother, "After you call the police – call Dad! And tell him we need him here, right away."

*****

"Frank, it’s – is it – like before?" Vanessa stammered, sitting down on the couch. "A clone, or someone made to look like your mother with plastic surgery?"

"I don’t know, Van." Frank frowned. "Why don’t you lie down again?" he suggested. "I guess you’ll have to do without an ice pack, but…." He looked around somewhat vaguely. "Um – the aspirin; I must have left the aspirin upstairs…."

"I have some aspirin in my purse," Vanessa told him. She delved in her bag for a moment or two, then pulled out a small box and flourished it. "I’ll get some water in the bathroom." She pulled herself back to her feet.

Megan had stopped crying now, but Frank was worried by the blankness of her expression. It wasn’t the first time Megan had been exposed to a dead body; Dan Sullivan had died of a bullet wound right in front of her eyes. But seeing someone she thought was Laura Hardy lying dead on the kitchen floor had thrown the girl into an emotional turmoil; Megan loved Laura second only to her own mother, and Laura returned the affection wholeheartedly.

Frank carefully walked his girlfriend over to one of the large recliner chairs and made her sit down. He knelt in front of her, and covered her hands with his own.

"Megan honey, look at me." he said softly. No response; she stared down at their entwined fingers blankly. "Megan! Look at me!" Frank repeated, more forcefully.

During the silence that followed, Frank heard Joe’s muffled voice from upstairs; he’s talking to the police, Frank thought. He was aware of Vanessa’s return from the bathroom, and his peripheral vision noted her stretching herself on the couch; but most of his attention was riveted on Megan Wright. After a period of time that felt like ten minutes to the anxious young man, but was probably closer to a minute and a half, she slowly raised her head and met his gaze with her own.

"Frank…" Her whisper was a mere breath of sound. "It’s – really – really not – your mother, in there?" Hysteria was gone now; the blue-green eyes were dazed with shock, but slowly returning to normal.

"It’s not Mom." Frank assured her. "It’s someone who looks very much like her, but there are some differences."

"But – whoever it is…she’s – dead?"

"Yes," Frank admitted. A sudden thought struck him. Where did she come from? The house was locked; I saw Joe open the front door with his key…. But she was in the kitchen – I wonder if the back door was unlocked!

Joe’s footsteps thumping down the stairs interrupted his thoughts. The younger Hardy entered the family room, his face uncharacteristically sober.

"I called it in," he said. "But because it’s the Fourth of July, most of the officers are out doing crowd control and parade duty and all that. Dispatch said it might take more than an hour for them to get someone here."

Frank winced at the thought of waiting an hour, but knew there were no alternatives. "What about Dad?" he asked.

"I got him," Joe affirmed. "But I just told him that someone had been in the house while we were all gone, and that he should come right home." Frank stared at him disapprovingly, and Joe scowled. "What did you want me to do, Frank, say ‘oh, by the way, Dad, there’s a dead body on the kitchen floor, and it looks just like Mom.’?" he said defensively.

"No – no, I guess that wouldn’t have been a very good idea." Frank admitted.

"He said they’d come right away, but traffic downtown is so bad due to the parade being over, who knows when they’ll get here?" the younger boy grumbled. He walked over to stand beside Vanessa. "Hey sugar, how does your head feel?" He stroked her hair gently.

She smiled wanly at him. "Maybe it was the shock, but I think I actually feel better." Vanessa murmured. "Talk about an Excedrin moment!"

Joe ran his finger across her cheek and summoned a tentative grin. "Scared it right out of you."

Frank turned back to Megan, who had been sitting quietly in the armchair, listening to the conversation. "How about you?" he asked.

"I’m – okay now." she assured him, squeezing his hand tightly. "I’m sorry for—"

"Don’t worry about it. You reacted the same way anyone else in your shoes would have." Frank stood up and caught Joe’s eye. "Joe…I want to – I need to look at – her. Again." He glanced at Megan. "You and Vanessa stay here."

Joe grimaced, but nodded acquiescence. "I’ll come with you."

The boys walked slowly toward the closed kitchen door, both dreading what lay on the other side. Frank took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped into the kitchen. He felt Joe’s encouraging grip on his shoulder as they crossed the threshold.

Nothing had changed. The woman still lay on the floor, looking alien and out of place. People might, on occasion, lie on a bedroom floor, or a family room floor…but not the kitchen. Kitchens are not rooms where one comfortably stretches out on the floor to relax. Frank and Joe walked across the room and crouched down, one on each side of the body. Although they knew it wasn’t their mother, the resemblance was so striking as to be nerve-shattering. Joe felt a shudder run through his body again.

"Do you see any wounds?" Frank’s rasping whisper sounded abnormally loud in the silence. "Any blood, or anything like that?"

Gingerly, Joe lifted the lapel of the white jacket, looking for signs of blood. "No. Maybe in her back…? I don’t want to move her, Frank. The medical examiner—"

"No, I agree; don’t move her." Frank craned his neck, looking at the floor beneath the body. "If there’s a wound anywhere, it must be a very small one; I don’t see blood anywhere."

"Could it have been something natural – I mean, like a heart attack, or something?"

"Could be, of course." The older boy thought about it. "Or – or poison?" He bent closer. "Or – I suppose she might have been strangled…but I don’t see any marks on her throat. And her face wouldn’t be so pale, if she’d been strangled."

"Maybe she was smothered with something." Joe noted somberly. He glanced around the room, seeking a possible weapon, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"We’re overlooking something." Frank reminded his brother. "Just how did she get in here to die in the first place? I saw you unlock the front door when we got home."

Joe got to his feet and walked to the back kitchen door. He twisted the knob and pulled the door open, checking the lock. "Open." he stated. "Unlocked. Either she had a key to our house – or someone she was with did." He scowled in thought. "Or Mom and Dad left the back door unlocked, I suppose."

"Kind of unusual, but not completely unheard-of," Frank admitted. "If they left by the front door, and were in a hurry, locking the back door could have been overlooked." Nudged by a sudden impulse, Frank slipped his hand into the woman’s jacket pockets, searching….and to his not-quite-surprise, his fingers encountered smooth metal; when he pulled the object out, he saw it was a key. "Lookee here…."

Joe approached and bent over his brother’s outstretched hand; Frank was holding the key gingerly, on edge between his thumb and forefinger. "It looks like the key to the back door," the younger boy acknowledged. "But we’d have to try it to see if it fit." He watched as Frank carefully replaced the key in its pocket. "Where’d she get it?"

"Look in the hiding place," Frank directed. Joe nodded, and went out the back door to check the spot where a house key was kept concealed, for the benefit of forgetful family members.

"Nothing there," Joe reported after a moment. "Looks like our mysterious corpse knew where we keep a spare key, all right."

"I wonder if she has any identification." Frank bit his lip, uncomfortable at the thought of searching the woman’s pockets again. He looked around the kitchen. "Do you see a purse or anything like that?"

"Huh-uh." Joe shook his head, after a few moments’ search. "But Frank – unless she’s a manufactured clone, like before, or someone made to look like Mom with plastic surgery…she’s almost got to be a relative of some sort!"

Before his older brother could reply, there came the sound of car doors slamming outside, and then rapid footsteps. Both boys leaped toward the back door, and beheld their parents approaching, looking decidedly worried.

"Frank, Joe – what’s this about someone being in the house?" Fenton Hardy demanded of his sons. Tall, well-built, dark-haired and dark-eyed like Frank, the detective exuded a subtle air of authority even in the most casual situations. Now, it was even more evident than usual.

"Has anything been taken?" Laura queried anxiously, trying to see past Frank’s shoulder into the kitchen. "Or – or something been vandalized?"

"No, it’s – it’s – there’s someone—" Frank stammered, unable to find words to explain.

As Laura edged past him, Frank put out his hand, hoping to halt his mother before she saw her doppelganger lying on the kitchen floor, but he was too late. She stepped into the room, followed by her husband, then stopped in her tracks, staring.

Almost in slow motion, Laura’s mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound emerged. All the color drained from her smooth, tanned face, and she doubled over as if she had been punched in the stomach.

"Mom?" Joe asked, suddenly more frightened by his mother’s reaction than he had been when he had first glimpsed the body, and thought it was her lying there.

Laura turned to Fenton, who looked just as shell-shocked as his wife did. "No," she finally managed to whisper. "It can’t be. Tell me I’m not seeing this."

Before Fenton could answer her, Laura collapsed against her husband, realization and grief washing over her like a tidal wave; too overwhelmed to even sob. Fenton clasped her tightly.

Frank and Joe looked from one parent to the other, unable to phrase the questions percolating in their minds. They were stunned at the sight of their usually serene and controlled mother reduced to such a condition. All they could manage was mute, questioning looks to Fenton. Dad…explain this, please? What does all this mean?

Fenton had tears in his eyes as he held his wife tight against his body, offering her what comfort he could in his embrace.

"Boys…that woman is – was…your mother’s twin sister, Linda."