FANFARE FOR JUNE
by
Aspen & Evergreen
CHAPTER NINE
The Chapters
Sunday morning found the Hardys en route to
Frank, behind the wheel of his Saturn, briefly glanced at
his younger brother, who had reclined the passenger seat as far as it
would go, and had his arm across his eyes, evidently sound asleep.
He knew that Joe had wanted to make this journey in the Aztek; he
had wished to drive himself, rather than letting Frank do it.
But he’s not nearly awake enough to drive!
Frank commented to himself. Although
his pride would never let him admit to it, he stayed out way, way too late
last night to be in any condition to be behind the wheel!
But Joe wasn’t quite as deep in slumber as he appeared.
About fifteen minutes into the trip, he removed his arm from his
face and turned towards Frank.
“Wanna hear ‘bout las’ night?” he murmured
drowsily, and yawned widely.
“Sure.” Frank
smiled. “What was the
restaurant like?”
Joe yawned again, and reached for the controls to raise his
seat back. “It was really
something,” he said, beginning to sound more awake.
“It lives up to the hype; it’s a fantastic place!"
“Let’s hear about it,” Frank encouraged him.
He wasn’t merely being polite; he wanted to know what Miracles
Can Happen! was like.
“Well…you know it’s got these different themes for
different parts of the restaurant, right?”
Joe waited for Frank’s confirming nod, then continued.
“We ate in the ‘fantasy/fairyland’ section, but we looked at
the others before we left. There’s
also an Arabian Nights theme,” he grinned reminiscently, “with harem
girls and curved daggers, and incense burners.
And an Elizabethan England sort of thing – you know, Henry the
Eighth and all that. You and
Megan would probably get a kick out of that.”
Frank wrinkled his nose expressively at that
comment, but didn’t bother with a verbal response.
He just let Joe ramble on contentedly.
“And a futuristic, science-fiction one – you know, Star
Wars, Star Trek, that sort of stuff.”
“Steak skewered on a light saber?”
Frank inquired, with a chuckle, which was echoed by his brother.
“It was cool, really!”
Joe insisted. “They
had cantina music from the first Star Wars movie playing,
and aliens roaming around. Models
of
“And the food was okay?”
Frank inquired, glancing in the rear-view mirror at a semi which
was barreling down on them at an indecent speed.
He put a little pressure on the gas pedal, to remove them from
immediate harm.
“It was great!” Joe
was finally looking wide-awake now. “You
should definitely take Megan there, bro, she’d love it!”
“I will,” Frank
nodded. “It’s been awhile
since we’ve gone out to dinner.”
“Vanessa looked totally gorgeous….”
Joe’s smile was a little dreamy now.
“She had on this silvery-blue dress.
Sleeveless, with a long skirt.
It sorta shimmered, every time she moved.
She looked like a million dollars!
And she wears that really good-smelling perfume….”
Joe grinned, pushing back the blonde locks from his face
and relaxing back in his seat, closing his eyes to more clearly visualize
Vanessa last night. It was
really a great night…beautiful girl, great food, romantic
atmosphere….And judging by the amount of kisses I got, Vanessa liked it
too! “Huh?
What’d you say?”
“I asked you whether she liked the locket,”
Frank repeated his question patiently.
Joe had been extremely nervous about that gift for Vanessa!
“She did!” Joe
beamed happily. “She really
liked it a lot – oh, hey! She
gave me something…hang on, lemme show you….”
He twisted about in his seat, and stretched to reach his backpack,
lying on the rear seat. “Look!”
He pulled out the box containing the mini-recorder with its
high-powered directional microphone.
Frank glanced at it, then extended his hand, so that he could examine the little device and still keep his eyes on the road. “Hey, cool! Joe, this is great! This will come in handy on cases!”
“I know!” Joe
waited a moment, then snapped his fingers impatiently.
“Give it back, Frank. It’s
mine, remember? MINE!
So hands off!”
Reluctantly, Frank returned the recorder and concentrated
on the road.
“What did you end up doing?”
Joe asked, slipping his present back into his backpack and putting
it in the back seat. “Did
you ever hear from Con?”
“Yep.” Frank
nodded. “After you left, I
did some research on the ‘Net, and then Con called, and then I took
Megan to a movie and we went out for coffee afterwards.”
“What did you see?”
Joe realized that Frank wanted his chance to talk about his
evening, so asked the appropriate questions.
Eventually, he’d get to his conversation with Con, given time.
“Some chick flick, I suppose?” he added, disparagingly.
Frank slanted a quick glance at him.
“Don’t start, kid.…Actually, we went and saw that new James
Bond release; do you consider that a ‘chick flick’?”
“Well…no,” his younger brother admitted.
“Was it good?”
“Very. And
Megan looked equally as lovely as Vanessa,” Frank continued,
staunchly defending his girlfriend. “Even
if she wasn’t dressed up. And
we talked about the symphony Friday night, and she said how much she liked
going. We had a really nice
time, even if it wasn’t a fancy dinner date!”
And the way that girl can kiss…! he
continued silently.
“Hey, I didn’t mean – I wasn’t dissing her,” Joe
protested. “You know I think
she’s great – you’ve found a real gem of a girl this time around,
big brother. But don’t tell
her I said that!” he added hastily.
“Don’t give away my secrets, huh?”
Frank laughed easily. “Megan
knows that, doofus; you make it pretty obvious, and she’s not exactly
stupid. If you want to keep
secrets from her, you’ll have to try a lot harder.”
“Aw, jeez,” Joe muttered, flushing – but there was a
smile on his face. It was
obvious to anyone who might have cared to look, that he was very fond of
Megan Wright. “So—“ he
hastened to change the subject, “—you said you did talk to Con?
What did he have to say?”
“Not as much as I’d have liked – and yet, maybe I
know more than I thought I would.” Frank
said cryptically. He paused a
moment, gathering his thoughts. “First
off, Rodney Lewis: He
doesn’t have any sort of criminal record.
He’s a student at New York Technical Institute, where he gets
average grades. He’s been
going to school, on and off, for quite a while; he’s in his
mid-twenties. He has filed a
petition twice in the courts, attempting to get ownership of a rare
Stradivarius violin from one Allison Lewis.
Both attempts failed, due to the fact that Allison’s grandparents
– well, Rodney’s grandparents too, for that matter! – are both
alive, and testified that they wanted her to have the violin.
Also, Allison plays it – it’s not a curio, a
collector’s item. She uses
it!”
“Uh-huh.” Joe
had settled back comfortably in his seat again, but he wasn’t dozing
off; he was listening intently.
“Con said that all he could find in the court records was
that the lawyer – Allison’s lawyer – said it was a point of
obsession with Rodney Lewis, and the lawyer recommended that Rodney get
psychiatric counseling.”
“I take it Rodney didn’t follow the advice?”
“Not so far as Con could find out.”
Frank shook his head. “Con
did say one other thing, though.”
“What’s that?” Joe
cocked an inquiring eyebrow.
“Rodney’s racked up a lot of debt, to the tune of
something like forty thousand dollars.”
Frank announced grimly. “That’s
a lot for a college student from a middle-income family.
Maybe that’s why he wants to get the violin…he’s spending
well beyond his means, and needs the money he’d get from selling it.”
“Well, I told you he was the one who took it!”
Joe reminded him, smugly. “Anything
else?”
“Con said he’d keep on looking, but he didn’t really
expect to find anything more. Since
Rodney doesn’t have a criminal record, there just isn’t much for him
to look into.”
“But it’s a motive!”
Joe insisted. “It’s
more of a concrete motive for Rodney to be the one who took it.”
“Mmmm.” Frank
didn’t reply, other than an abstracted murmur; traffic was beginning to
get downright hazardous, and he had to put his full concentration on his
driving. The other motorists
didn’t seem to want to pay attention to what they were doing – or
perhaps it was more that, although they were paying attention, they simply
didn’t care if there was someone in their way!
“I really don’t like New York drivers!” he commented,
after a few moments.
“I could have driven, you know,” Joe reminded him.
“I was perfectly willing to drive!
I even volunteered, if you remember!”
“The object, my dear little brother, was to get to New
York in one piece, not in a thousand pieces, and you were practically
walking in your sleep when we left.”
“Ha-double-ha-ha,” Joe grumped.
“I could have done it just fine; you just don’t want to admit
that I’m a better driver than you are!”
Frank gave him an amused, oblique glance.
“Not in this lifetime!”
A little further on, the traffic congestion eased a bit,
and Frank resumed his report of the previous evening’s activities.
“I ran a search on Strad violins, and struck out.
There are tons of references to them; it would have taken me days
to sift through all of them. So
I tried a different angle; I looked for information on the Vienna
Symphony.”
“Any luck?” Joe
inquired. Almost beneath his
breath, he added, “Getting tired yet?
Frazzled? Want me to
drive?”
Frank snorted, ignored the muttered questions, and answered
the relevant one. “I got
history on the Vienna Symphony, and I found mention of Frederick Mueller
– Allison’s great-grandfather!”
“Really?” Joe
stopped gazing out the window and turned his eyes toward his brother.
“What did it say?”
“Well, first off, he didn’t buy that Stradivarius
violin. He won it, as a prize!
There was a contest held in Vienna, before the First World War.
From what I read, he took the place by storm – it said his
playing was ‘brilliant’ and ‘inspired,’
His technique was flawless, and he was largely self-taught!”
“Whew!” Joe
whistled softly. “That must
be where Allison gets her talent!”
“I agree.” Frank
nodded. “Well, anyway, there
were five contest winners – a violinist, that was Mr. Mueller; a viola
player, a cellist, a harpist, and a string-bass.
They formed a string quintet, at the behest of the Conductor of the
Symphony, and they all won these marvelous instruments as prizes.
They were the finest that could be obtained – purchased by the
Archduke of Austria, himself!” Frank’s
soft baritone voice was awed.
“That’s great to know; it’s all well and good,
but…” Joe hesitated,
reluctant to break the spell of Frank’s story.
“…but what does it all mean?
Is any of it particularly helpful to finding the violin now?”
“I don’t know,” Frank
conceded. “It may not be
helpful at all, I admit. It
may not even mean anything, other than history.
But there’s a chance it might be helpful later.
At least we have the information now, and that’s what’s
important…right?”
A short time later, Frank exited the freeway and began
making his way through the residential streets to the neighborhood where
Phil’s apartment was located. He
parked the Saturn in the garage where Phil had parked the night before,
and he and Joe set out for Phil’s place.
“I wish we’d been able to get hold of Phil,” Frank
murmured, as they walked along the street, past the many buildings that
looked so much alike. “I
don’t know why he’s avoiding us – doggone it, we’re his friends!
He knows he can trust us!”
“The only thing I can think of, is that it must have
something to do with Allison,” Joe offered, lengthening his stride to
match Frank’s pace. “That’s
the only reason I can come up with that would make Phil avoid us.”
“Well, we’ll find out pretty soon…”
Frank hurried up the worn concrete steps of Phil’s apartment
building and yanked open the door to the lobby.
They summoned the creaky, rickety old elevator, and got in, both
boys holding their breaths in trepidation as it strained its way up to
Phil’s floor.
Neither ringing the doorbell nor knocking produced results.
The Hardys rapped, rang, and called Phil’s name for several
minutes, to no avail. Finally,
they stepped back from the door and eyed each other.
“If he’s here, he’s got more willpower than I thought
he did,” Frank said ruefully. “I
don’t think I could sit and listen to somebody pound on my door
and not answer it. So I guess
it’s safe to bet he’s not home.”
“Time for a little magic,” Joe said, and winked.
He reached into his pocket and produced a small packet which was
very familiar to Frank; he owned an identical one.
“Hope Phil doesn’t pitch a fit over this…”
Joe set to work with the lock picks, and in just a few minutes, had
managed to jimmy Phil’s door lock. “Piece
of cake,” the younger Hardy whispered, as he heard the soft snick
of the old mechanism releasing.
“After you,” Frank grinned, and gestured for Joe to
enter the apartment first. But
as they stepped inside, both boys halted, frozen in their tracks.
No persons were to be seen – but someone had definitely
been there! An 8 x 10
photograph of Phil Cohen was impaled on the wall opposite the door –
held in place by a knife thrust through it….A knife with crimson fluid
covering the blade and dripping down the wall – a liquid substance the
color and consistency of blood!
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Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow them without expressed permission of the authors.