After they had heard the fateful phone messages from Linda Scarpetti, the Hardys, Vanessa and Megan had felt shaken anew. Laura had broken down in tears once again, anguished at hearing her sister’s voice and horrified at the words spoken. Fenton had managed to convince his distraught wife to go upstairs, to try and rest for awhile, and he accompanied her, to make certain she did so. When he returned, he found the four teens still sitting glumly silent in the family room.

"Kids," Mr. Hardy said gently. "I know this has been a terrible shock to you all. But there’s nothing you can do, right now, and I don’t want you having the rest of the day completely ruined."

Megan raised miserable turquoise eyes. "It already is." she whispered.

Mr. Hardy patted her shoulder soothingly. "Megan, I’m sorrier than I can say, for what happened to you." When no one responded, the detective continued. "Come on, Frank, Joe – I want you four to go back down to the Fun Center, and try to forget this for a while. Stay down there the rest of the evening, and watch the fireworks display."

"Dad—we don’t want—" Joe began, but Fenton raised a hand to cut him off.

"Please, Joe. Don’t make me feel guilty." Mr. Hardy smiled, making sure Joe realized he was teasing. "I’d feel a lot better if you four would go out and make your best effort to have a good time." he went on. "Your mother is – hopefully – going to be asleep for the rest of the night. I’ll do what I can, from here, to start tracing Linda’s movements backwards, but it will be precious little, considering the holiday."

Frank caught Joe’s eye and nodded slightly. He realized that his father was right; they needed to try to save what was left of the day, since they could do nothing about Linda Scarpetti’s demise. "Okay Dad, we’ll do it." He got to his feet and extended a hand to Megan. "Come on, Baby, I still want to buy you that cotton candy."

Summoning a smile, she put her hand in his as she rose. "Make it caramel corn, and you’re on."

* * * * *

Now Joe was nodding thoughtfully, sobered by the memory of yesterday’s occurrence. "Maybe I shouldn’t go in to work. Those phone messages sounded ominous – someone was after her. You might need my help, Frank – Jack would understand—"

"Whoa, whoa." Frank shook his head. "Jack would understand, true, but I think you should go to work. We may both need time off later, but let’s not leave Jack in the lurch just yet."

"I suppose you’re right." Joe sighed, and picked up a comb to run through his hair. "I’ll go on in, and you see what you can find out down at police headquarters. I’ll be home as soon as I can."

Laura was in the kitchen when the boys came downstairs. She was pale, and her eyes were swollen, but she smiled at her sons when they entered the kitchen, and indicated the places set at the table.

"Breakfast is ready; I know you have to leave soon, Joe. Frank, honey – why up so early? You’re not flying today are you?"

"No, Mom." Frank bent and kissed his mother’s cheek. "I just woke up, that’s all. Things to do."

"Dad’s already headed out," Mrs. Hardy continued, as she put sliced bagels into the toaster oven and shut the little door. She sighed. "I hope he finds out where – Linda – came here from."

After Joe had headed for the airfield, grumbling the whole time over the unfairness of life and jobs, Frank helped Laura clear the table, then hugged her tightly, hoping to offer a little comfort.

"Mom, I’m going to go down to police headquarters and see if they’ve had any luck locating Aunt Linda’s family, or any other leads."

"Frank, there hasn’t been enough time for them to find—"

"I know." Frank repeated his earlier words to Joe. "But I can’t just sit here and do nothing."

Laura hugged him. "Good luck." she murmured softly.

When Frank arrived at Bayport’s main police station, he found it a beehive of activity; not unusual for the day after a holiday, when everyone who had been off had two days’ work to catch up on – and those who could do so had taken a vacation day today, thereby leaving more work for their unfortunate co-workers. He nodded a polite "good morning" to the desk sergeant, who was trying to answer questions put to him by a small, blonde-haired young girl; and headed for Con Riley’s desk.

Con looked up wearily as Frank approached. "Morning, Frank."

"Con." The dark-haired young man gave him a nod. "You look tired."

"It was a long night." Riley admitted. He favored Frank with a penetrating stare. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." Frank nodded again. "My mom’s pretty upset." He straightened his shoulders. "What have you found out, Con? Have you had any luck finding her – Linda’s – husband?"

Riley looked grim. "In a manner of speaking. We contacted the NYPD, and they’re going to send an officer to check out the address on her driver’s license. But since yesterday was the Fourth, they’re running behind just like we are. Hope to hear back later today."

"Autopsy results?" Frank asked, without much hope.

"Maybe by this afternoon, Frank." Con looked apologetic. "I’m really sorry, but I can’t snap my fingers and get you instant answers."

"I know, I know." Frank raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I’ll check back with you later, okay?" As he turned to go, he glanced back over his shoulder, feeling guilty. "Con? – try and catch a nap."

As the elder Hardy boy walked back to the main entrance, he noticed the same little blonde girl was still at the front desk. She looked to be fifteen or so, he thought absently, and wondered what all the fuss was about. Over the hubbub of general conversation and ringing telephones, he heard her voice rising.

"Geesh, they call you Bayport’s finest? You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag unless there was a doughnut right outside!"

"Miss—" The desk sergeant made an effort to stem the tide of vituperation directed toward him, but to no avail.

"I need help! I don’t need to be told that I have to wait 48 hours, or that I have to have something more substantial than a copy of a bus schedule!"

"Miss, legally we can’t do anything until a person’s been missing 48 hours—"

"You’re the police – at least that’s what the sign outside said!" the little blonde sputtered. "It’s your job to help people! So help me! Don’t tell me why you can’t!"

Frank drew nearer, intrigued despite his own worries. He glanced at the desk sergeant and felt a twinge of anxiety for the blonde girl. Sergeant Turner wasn’t someone to try to browbeat, and he was looking extremely irritated. His face was getting redder and redder as he listened to the torrent of verbal abuse she was heaping on his head; his heavy eyebrows drew into a scowl.

"I told you, kid – it hasn’t been long enough for a Missing Persons report to be filed; we’re overworked because yesterday was a holiday, and there’s nothing that says your mother came to Bayport anyway." He clipped off his words with a devastating finality. "There’s nothing we can do—"

"My mother has been sick – she shouldn’t have been traveling anywhere alone!" the girl cried now. "Can’t you people do a simple thing like finding someone—"

Frank was moving toward her without conscious volition, speaking the first words that came into his head. "Hey, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!" He grasped the girl’s arm, turned her around, and gently propelled her towards the entrance doors.

The blonde was too surprised to do more than gasp and stammer. "Wh-what – who – what are you…?"

Before she could frame a complete sentence, Frank had her outside the building. He walked her over to a bench placed conveniently near, and gestured toward it.

"Please, sit down." He grinned disarmingly. "I’m sorry, but you were getting close to having your head bitten off, in there. Sergeant Turner can get ugly when he’s pushed to his limits, and you were getting close to those limits."

She stared at him with wide blue eyes, her mouth working silently as she tried to frame words. "I – who are you? Why would you care?" She slowly sank to a sitting position, absently adjusting the backpack slung across her shoulder.

"My name is Frank Hardy. I didn’t mean to interfere, but I didn’t want you to get yourself thrown out of the police station, and that would have been the least of what might have happened."

She looked a bit startled at that. "What – what might have happened?"

"It depends on how descriptive your terms got, but abusing a cop – even verbally abusing one – could get you a citation! And that desk sergeant was just the man who would slap one on you."

"But I need help…." she wailed.

"I couldn’t help overhearing that you had a problem. Someone is missing, I think you said?"

"My mother – she disappeared yesterday. She’s been sick; she was at home and I went out with some friends because it was the Fourth of July. When I got home last night, she was gone!" The blue eyes were limpid pools now. "I found a bus schedule with times marked to Bayport – we live in New York City – and the only thing I could think of was to follow her here – if she is here!" Her voice shook. "Where could she have gone? Why would she go somewhere, without telling me?" Suddenly, the pools overflowed, and tears slipped down her cheeks. "I’ve got to find her!"

"Don’t cry, please don’t." Frank felt in his pocket for a handkerchief, but found nothing, and cursed himself silently for his haste in dressing that morning. "I’m sure you’ll find her…."

"I’m sorry—" she gulped. "But I’ve been up all night – there wasn’t another bus to Bayport until 4 a.m., and I didn’t want to miss it….And then when I got here, I couldn’t find a taxi to get to police headquarters, and—and when I did get here, that awful man at the front desk wouldn’t help me—" her voice broke and she cried harder, small shoulders shaking with her sobs.

Frank put a hand on her back, attempting to comfort her, but she shrugged him off, then scrubbed at her face with her fingers, trying to swipe away the tears that still coursed down her cheeks. "I’m – sorry – I’m just so – tired – and worried…." she gulped between sniffles.

"It’s all right," he answered soothingly. "You need to get some rest. Do you have a place to stay?"

"Wh-where?" she demanded in a scathing tone. "No motel is going to rent a room to a kid without a parent around!"

Frank thought quickly. It wouldn’t be the first time we took in a stray – Mom wouldn’t mind, and it might be a good distraction for her right now. And maybe we can help her find her mother. Having reached this quick decision, he had to figure out just how to approach the offer.

"This is going to sound strange, I know…but you could come to my house." Frank said tentatively.

"Oh, right! What sort of idiot do you think I am?" The blue limpid pools had suddenly sparked fire as she glared at him.

"Look, my mom’s there; I’m not trying to pull anything." he defended himself. "My dad’s a private investigator, and my brother and I do work of the same sort. I just thought you could rest a while, and maybe we could look into finding your mother."

"Why should I trust you?"

"We can go back in there and I’ll get people to vouch for me," Frank offered, indicating the police station behind them. "Really, I’m on the level here, Miss – umm, you do have a name, don’t you?"

"It’s Bella." she said tentatively. "Bella – Johnson."

"Come on then, Bella." Frank stood up and held out his hand invitingly. "Let me show you some Bayport hospitality; I don’t think you’ve had a very good first exposure to it, so far."

The girl rose to her feet, and although she didn’t take his hand, she followed him meekly to the parking space where Frank had left his Saturn. Her eyes widened in appreciation as she took in its sleek, black lines. "Pretty car." she murmured.

"Thanks." Frank hit the unlock button on his keys, then opened the door for Bella to get in. "Leave the door open for a second, to let some of the heat out."

As Frank drove toward his home, he noted with some amusement that Bella was taking no chances. Her left hand was laid casually across her lap, but her fingers were on the release button for her seat belt, and her right hand was on the door handle. It would have been far more comfortable for her to have removed her backpack, but she kept it in place, ready to exit the vehicle at any given moment. He wished that he could read her thoughts.

NO one as good-looking as this guy is could be doing something like this just because he’s nice! Bella cast a covert glance at her escort out of the corners of her eyes, then swiftly returned her gaze frontward. He must have an ulterior motive – well, I’ll show him, if he tries anything!

Frank parked his car in the driveway and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for Bella to exit. He bit back a smile at her almost frantic haste to get out of the car, followed by an equal reluctance to accompany him into the large stone house; apparently she wasn’t sure which was worse, being in a car with him or going into who-knew-where, for who-knew-what.

"Bella, it’s okay." he said gently. "Nobody’s going to hurt you."

"I know that." she said defiantly enough…but her eyes betrayed her doubt.

Frank ushered her into the front hall and closed the door behind them. "Mom?" he called. "Mom, I’ve brought a visitor."

"I’ll be right there, Frank." His mother’s voice came clearly down the stairwell.

"Come on in here." Frank urged Bella into the family room. He grinned at her, hoping to allay her fears. "And stop looking so scared."

"I’m not scared!" she snapped, and marched across the room to stand at the window and gaze out at the back yard. "Stop treating me like an infant!"

"Oh, here you are – who is the visitor?" At the sound of Laura’s soft voice, Bella spun around, her eyes widening to the size of saucers as she took in the sight of the petite blonde woman standing in the doorway. She took a single step forward.