Wow, nice home, he thought, noting the old Colonial-style structure. The house was large, and extremely elegant, for all it was probably over 200 years old. The front yard flowed into side yards, and evidently into a fenced back yard, too. The wide porch looked to have recently been given a fresh coat of paint, and held comfortable-looking outdoor furniture. The windows sparkled, and Frank could see draperies at the sides of the clean glass panes. The smoothly-turfed lawn was neatly trimmed; there were well-kept flower beds on either side of the steps, fronting the porch, and he glimpsed a small pond with lily pads, and a cranky-looking duck paddling about the surface. Either these people are avid gardeners, or they have a really good lawn service!

After looking vainly for any sign of a doorbell, Frank resorted to knocking on the door with the old-fashioned wooden knocker. He waited, and at last his patience was rewarded. The woman who opened the door was perhaps his mother’s age, but lacked Laura Hardy’s casual elegance. Of medium height, just slightly plump, with shoulder-length mousy brown hair and blue eyes which looked weary, she surveyed Frank suspiciously.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Mrs. Lewis? My name is Frank Hardy. Is Rodney home? If so, could I see him, please?" Frank responded, in his most courteous manner. "I’ve driven out from the city to talk to him about something rather important."

The woman sized him up for a moment, evidently trying to come up with a reason to deny the request, but finally relented. "Just a minute. I’ll tell him." She turned and departed, leaving the door open. Frank could hear her moving around in the house, and then heard her calling Rodney’s name.

At least two minutes passed before anyone returned to the door. At last a tall, lanky man appeared, followed by the woman. Frank recognized him from the concert Friday night. Early-to-mid-twenties, unremarkable features, his hair the same mousy brown as his mother’s…somehow, Frank suspected that Rodney would look older than he really was, before his time. Maybe he’ll lose his hair…Frank thought, fighting back a smirk, and extended his hand to shake Rodney’s.

"Rodney? I’m Frank Hardy. I’m a friend of your cousin Allison’s."

Rodney glowered at his visitor and disregarded the proffered hand. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

Frank smiled. "Perhaps we could talk in private?" he suggested.

The other young man glanced over his shoulder at his mother for a moment, the shrugged and stepped outside, onto the porch with Frank. He closed the door carefully behind him.

Frank surveyed Rodney more carefully now. Clean-cut, even if he is sort of blah…nice clothes. New Dockers, new polo shirt, new Reeboks – and fashion eyeglasses that probably cost more than my computer! He doesn’t look as if he’s having money problems, like Con said – unless, of course, the nice clothes are part of the problem. Maybe he’s buying things he can’t really afford. It’s hard to tell right away….

"All right, we’re alone. Now, what do you want?" Rodney Lewis again demanded. His brown eyes flashed angrily behind the designer glasses. "Did Allison send you, or something?"

Frank decided to cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Did you know that your cousin’s violin was stolen on Friday night?"

"Yeah, I know. Allison and her computer-nerd boyfriend were here yesterday, demanding to know where it was!" Rodney sneered. "Well, you know what?" he said, moving closer to Frank, getting in his face, "I don’t have it. I’ll never have it, because my grandparents are idiots! That violin should have been mine, but they gave it to Allison, instead!"

Frank retreated half a step, before Rodney could move any closer. He looked thoughtfully at the attractive house, and wondered again just why the man was so obsessed with Allison’s violin.

"Why do you want it so badly? Do you play, like your cousin does?" Frank asked, knowing quite well that Rodney did not.

"No, I don’t," Rodney snapped, "but I’m the oldest grandson, and that’s who should inherit valuable things like that Strad!"

"Don’t you think it would mean more to your great-grandfather for Allison to have that violin? After all, she plays, and beautifully." Frank persisted. "And if you did take it, you know you’ll never be able to sell it, don’t you? That is why you want it, isn’t it? To sell?"

"It’s none of your business why I want it!" Rodney grated. "But it doesn’t matter anyway – because I don’t have it! And I’m damned glad that Allison doesn’t, either!" Rodney whirled about and went back through the large mahogany door, slamming it shut behind him.

Frank stared at the door for a moment, but finally shrugged and descended the porch steps, making his way back to the sidewalk. He set out for Allison’s home, checking the directions given to him by the gas station attendant.

*****

You are so not getting away! Joe dove back into Frank’s car and started the engine. He shoved it into gear and took off in pursuit of the man – he was sure it was a man – who had been watching the house. I know that this is definitely involved with the violin theft, and you, bozo, are not getting away!

Following as closely as he dared, Joe found himself on a circuitous route through the back streets of the town – and then they were on a main thoroughfare, and shortly after that, the guy got on one of the highways – and really poured on some speed!

I hope this little thing has some speed of its own! Joe thought, depressing the gas pedal. He was gratified to find out that the Saturn responded well, keeping up easily with the fleeing gray car. Come on, baby! Show me your stuff!

Steering with one hand, Joe managed to get his cell phone out of his pocket, and hit the speed-dial for Frank. When his brother answered…

"Hey, it’s me. I’m in pursuit!" Joe announced gleefully.

"You’re what?" Frank’s voice crackled through the phone. "Pursuit! Who are you chasing, and what are you trying to do to my car?"

"Calm down, I’m not going to hurt your car!" Joe quickly explained that he was chasing someone who had been parked outside Allison’s home, watching the place through binoculars. "You’re gonna have to walk to Allison’s place. Do you remember how to get there?"

Frank sighed. "Yes, I can get there," he said patiently, refraining from telling Joe he was already on his way. "Try not to get lost, okay?"

"Cool – catch you later! And I won’t get lost!" Joe clicked the phone off and turned his attention to the chase once again. He realized that whoever was in the car must know that it was being followed, but….Maybe I can trail this guy back to where he came from, if I work it right! He was suddenly very glad that Frank’s Saturn was dark and blended into the surrounding traffic as well as it did, and there were so many similar cars on the road. Unlike Joe’s own vehicle, the distinctive blue-and-black Aztek, which, he had to admit, would stand out like a sore thumb in any kind of surveillance duty.

He eased off on the accelerator slightly, and allowed first one car, then a second, to get between him and the fleeing gray Audi Quattro. It was easy to pick out, though, and Joe was fairly sure that he wouldn’t lose sight of it, as long as no semis or motor homes got in the way.

After some time, the Audi took an exit ramp, as did the car immediately behind it. Joe followed suit, still keeping an eagle eye on his quarry while trying to avoid getting in a wreck with Frank’s new car! The ramp went into suburbs which quickly led to a long back road – one which took him nearly to the beaches of Long Island, and then into another of the many, many towns between New York City and Bayport. The cars between them changed during the drive, some turning off, others taking their places, but Joe had managed to stay far enough back that he felt fairly secure in his obscurity. The guy didn’t appear to realize that he was being followed.

At long last, the gray Audi stopped – outside the gates of what appeared to be a walled estate, complete with mansion. After a moment, the gates swung open, apparently responding to a remote switch, and the car pulled through. The gates closed behind it. Joe, who had halted along the roadway, could only stare at this unexpected development. A mansion? What in the world are they doing at a mansion?!

With a deep sigh, Joe reached again for his cell phone. There wasn’t any use in trying to get into this place and snoop around in broad daylight – that would be sheer insanity. He was impulsive, but not insane – so he might as well check in with Frank.

"You want your car back?" he asked, when Frank answered the call.

"Well, yeah, I want it back eventually." Frank said. "Where are you?"

"Um – well…I think it’s maybe in Hill Point. But then again, it might be South Point. Or Hillside. Wherever it is, it’s pretty. I’m outside a really nice gated estate with a really big house inside the walls."

"Joe!"

"Hey, I was paying more attention to following this guy than I was looking at road signs, okay?" Joe said defensively.

Frank rolled his eyes. "You idiot, that’s dangerous. What if you get lost, trying to get home?"

"I promise to ask for directions – Mom – if I get lost getting home." Joe chuckled. "Aren’t you even going to congratulate me on tailing this bozo back to his lair?"

"Joe, I’m serious. I don’t like not knowing where you are! What if something happens?"

"You’re sounding more like Mom – no, you’re sounding more like Aunt Gertrude! – every minute, bro. Should I plan on giving you a nice dress for your next Christmas present?"

Frank laughed sheepishly. "All right, okay, I won’t worry." At least not out loud. "And yes, I’m glad you managed to follow the guy all that way."

"I’m going to hang here and wait for it to get dark enough to get inside," Joe told him. "So I hope you’re not in any hurry to have me back."

"Keep out of sight while you’re waiting, huh? And I warn you, if you don’t come back when you’re supposed to, I am going to KILL YOU!"

"I’ll be back. Later, bro." Joe clicked off his phone and proceeded to drive on down the road, noting the location more carefully as he did so. He needed to kill time, get some lunch, and – after glancing at the dashboard dials – fill up the gas tank!

Gas tank and stomach filled, and a couple of magazines read, cover to cover. Joe was nearly bored to death. He hated stakeouts with a passion, but knew he’d gotten himself into this one all by himself, so he couldn’t complain. Finally the afternoon sun was going down, and soft evening shadows were lengthening under the massive trees lining the streets. Joe stretched and yawned, feeling slightly stiff from his enforced confinement in the Saturn’s seats all afternoon. He had parked some distance away from the estate, but now he moved the car as close as he dared, parked it, and climbed out, ready to survey the premises.

First, there was the wall. Joe studied it carefully. Looked at it closely. It’s about ten feet tall, he mused. Made of – at least on this side – brick. Thick, dark red brick. Spikes on top – whoever lives here must have a liking for fortresses and a dislike of visitors! He kept walking, his blue eyes scanning for details. When he came to the gate, he stopped and went over it carefully, inch by inch. Metal – old-fashioned metal, and old in years as well as fashion. Doesn’t look wired for an alarm, but there is a remote control to open it, so don’t dare risk setting something off. Tentatively, Joe shook the bars, but old or not, they were sturdy and solid. Nope, that’s not going to work!

Joe kept walking, moving along the side of the wall, checking for any sign of weakness, any point of possible entry. At last he reached a spot where massive tree limbs hung down over the brickwork, and he knew he’d found his goal. This would help keep him hidden from anyone who might happen to look out of the windows.

First, up onto the wall…. Joe stepped back a pace or two, then lunged and leaped upwards, grabbing for the spikes on top. The first few times, he couldn’t get a good enough grip to gain leverage, but on the fourth try, he clung tightly to the spikes and scrabbled with his sneaker-clad feet for purchase on the bricks. From there, it was a simple task to pull himself up. Once he had his elbows on the top of the wall, he managed to wriggle in between the spikes and eventually gained a sitting position. Carefully, he got to his feet, ducking to avoid being beaned by a tree branch, and stepped cautiously around and over the spikes. A long step took him to a convenient branch, and a few seconds later, Joe slithered to the soft grass beneath the tall maple.

I’m in! Let’s hear it for me! he exulted silently. He couldn’t believe his luck so far. There were no indications of guards, watchdogs, or anything else that might foil his attempts. And the spacious yard was tailor-made for sneaking, he concluded, making his cautious way across the grass. Tree…to tree…to big, fat, flowery shrub…to tree…to little bush...ouch! He stumbled a couple of times, caught by an unexpected little planting or unevenness in the turf, but managed to land without making too much noise. At long last he snuggled into the shadowy protection of the plantings along the back of the house.

Mentally blessing Vanessa for her timely graduation gift, Joe pulled his new distance-recorder from his jacket pocket and turned it on. Silently, he aimed the directional mike towards the house and waited, anticipating he knew not what.

At first, he was disappointed. Sounds emanated from the tiny speaker, but they were fuzzy and indistinct. Come on, come on, somebody’s there – say something! Joe urged, silently. He was rewarded at last with the sounds of voices, but they were low and indistinct, with considerable static interference. Joe ground his teeth in frustration as he listened.

I’ve got to get up higher, he concluded, noting that lights showed in the upper-story windows, and they looked to be open to the warm night. He began looking around for the best way to accomplish this feat. To his delight, a tall, slender tree grew nearby, with branches that looked sturdy enough to hold his weight. It was surrounded by a circular planting of flowers – Joe wasn’t sure what kind they were, but found that they squashed nicely when he approached the tree. Moving as silently as a wraith, Joe pocketed his recorder and essayed another climb. To his dismay, he found that this particular tree had thorns, and by the time he reached the desired height, he was scratched, poked and punctured enough that he felt like a pincushion!

Once settled on a branch, Joe tried the recorder again, and this time had better results. The sounds of two voices engaged in conversation came to his ears – two male voices, one sounding elderly, the other much younger. Not a little kid, Joe noted, but not middle-aged, either. Someone about my age, maybe. The conversation, however, disappointed him. It was casual, no mention of anything important, and certainly no mention of a stolen violin or Allison Lewis! Joe kept recording anyway, hoping against hope that something might yet be mentioned to incriminate these people, whoever they were!

Disaster struck without warning.

Joe shifted slightly on the branch, trying to get more comfortable on his perch – and with an unexpected, resounding CRACK!, the limb broke loose from the tree, sending Joe plunging towards the ground! Falling through the branches, he flailed wildly for handholds, but the spiny twigs eluded his grasp while inflicting more scratches.

His body impacted first, knocking the breath from his lungs – and then his head struck something hard, and Joe Hardy’s world went immediately black.