Looking back, he could see Frank bobbing in the water, held up by the life vest, but struggling against the waves and the spray which was flying over him. Quickly, Matt swung the wheel, turning the Sleuth in a neat half-circle, and brought her in close to the struggling college student in the water.

"FRANK!" Matt yelled his friend’s name again as he grabbed a floatation ring attached to a rope, and hurled it towards Frank. "Grab this, dude!"

Frank made a valiant effort, struggling to swim towards the ring despite being weighed down by his heavy clothing. Once he’d managed to grab the device, he held on tightly, letting Matt haul hard on the rope to bring him next to the Sleuth. Then Matt leaned over the side, reaching down a hand to pull Frank over the edge of the boat.

"Frank, dude, are you all right?" Matt ran a hasty check of his friend. He was relieved to see that Frank was breathing okay, but he was shivering so hard he couldn’t manage an immediate reply. Thoroughly wet and completely cold, the elder Hardy huddled on the bottom of the boat, shaking. "Frank? Tell me where we need to go; I’ll get us back to the boathouse." Matt moved from Frank’s side, back to the wheel.

"Right – over there. R-right…th-th-there." Frank gestured feebly, but it apparently was enough for Matt, who nodded, and opened the throttle wide. The Sleuth shot forward like a torpedo, bouncing across the restless waves. Frank grimaced in pain as the cold wind whipped up by their passage slammed into him, and ducked down as far as he could behind the windshield, trying to get out of the wind as much as possible.

Matt ran the Sleuth into the boathouse at a much faster clip than either Frank or Joe had ever tried it; if Frank had been in any condition to notice, he would have cringed in alarm – but for all his seemingly-reckless speed, Matt berthed them safely, switched off the engine, and then pulled Frank from the bottom of the boat.

"C’mon, dude, we’ve got to get you out of here."

"M-Matt, th-there’s s-s-some sh-sh-sheets in that cupboard, and I’ve got a b-b-b-bag with c-c-c-clothes, in the c-c-car." Frank’s teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get the words out, as he stood in the damp, drafty boathouse.

"Keys?"

"P-p-p-pocket." Frank made an abortive attempt to reach his keys, but his shaking hands couldn’t function. Matt reached into the back pocket of Frank’s overalls and pulled the keys out.

"Stay there, dude, I’ll be right back." Shivering himself, for he was nearly as wet as Frank, due to the swamping wave which had hit the Sleuth, Matt made a dash for Frank’s car, returning in a few minutes with the bag to find Frank standing exactly where he’d left him – shaking uncontrollably.

"Dude, don’t, like, take this personally or anything, but we’ve gotta get you out of those wet clothes, and right now!" Matt stated firmly. "You’re turning into a Popsicle, man!"

"’Kay." Frank, realizing that Matt was right, dutifully tried to help his friend with the clothing removal process, but he was unable to do more than tug feebly at his soaking-wet garments.

Matt sighed. "Just stand there, dude, and let me handle it, okay?" With an efficiency Frank hadn’t realized him capable of, the other man stripped off life vest, coat, coveralls, and everything else, then wrapped Frank in one of the sheets he’d found, drying him briskly with the length of fabric.

Frank was still shivering, despite Matt’s efforts, but he knew the dry clothing would help. With Matt’s assistance he managed to get dressed again, and waited while Eckersley removed his own life vest, heavy coat, and the drenched coveralls, and retrieved his camera equipment from the boat. Finding a plastic bag, he stuffed their wet clothes in, then gathered it up, along with the camera case.

"Come on, man, let’s get you home." Matt urged Frank towards where the Saturn was parked. He pulled the car keys out again and flourished them. "I’ll drive."

"Just don’t wreck it," Frank mumbled, climbing into the passenger seat. He reached into the back seat, located the extra jacket he’d tossed there a few days before, and pulled it around himself gratefully.

Matt emitted a derisive snort, stashed his camera bag in the back seat, tossed the bag of wet clothes beside it, and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

"There’s a thermos of coffee—" Frank searched the floor of the back seat and came up with it. He opened it and poured some into the cup, which he passed to Matt, then tilted the thermos and swigged a few gulps directly from the container. It wasn’t the best stuff in the world, but it was warm, and that was what mattered, right now.

Matt drank the coffee, set the thermos cup in a holder, started the engine, and switched the air flow off, waiting for the heat to build up. Then he turned to face Frank, his hazel-green eyes serious in his thin face.

"Frank, dude, do you run into this kind of trouble all the time, or was this something new?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"Matt…really, it doesn’t happen all that often," Frank hastened to assure him. "It was obviously somebody out hot-dogging, that’s all – I just don’t know why anyone would be out doing it in 40-degree weather! Only insane people go out on the Bay in this kind of weather—"

"Hey, I resemble that one, dude!" Matt interrupted, breaking into a grin. "WE were out on the Bay in it!"

Frank laughed. "Yeah, that’s for sure. You do resemble that one!"

Somewhat relieved, Matt put the Saturn in gear and started for the Hardys’ home. He could see Frank was starting to feel better; he wasn’t shaking nearly as much, and the nasty blue tint his lips had held had changed to a reassuring pink tinge. Matt turned the heat as high as it could go, and switched the fan on High.

The drive home was quiet at first, broken only occasionally by Matt’s requests for directions, but as the car warmed, so did its occupants, and they were finally able to hold a brief conversation.

"You feeling okay now, dude? I’m thinking hypothermia, here…"

"I think we avoided hypothermia," Frank said. "I was really cold – and I know you’re still wet – but I think we’ll be fine."

"I think you’re probably right, and I’m glad about it," Matt concurred. "I never had any yen to be an ice sculpture." I’m glad I don’t deal with stuff like this all the time! he went on, to himself. Still, it was kind of exciting…yeah…and there I was, Matt Eckersley, adventurer extraordinaire! He grinned at the thought, and continued the drive home.

*****

"Why in the world would someone try to dump you?" Joe leaned back into the family room sofa after dinner that evening, both hands wrapped about a cup of hot cocoa, eyeing the plate of cookies his mother had set on the side table only moments before. Leaning forward again, he snagged a cookie and munched it, a look of supreme enjoyment on his face. "We’re not working on a case right now, and you were just taking pictures of the lighthouse, right?"

"It was probably nothing," Frank admitted, striving for a confident tone. He took a sip of his second cup of hot cocoa. Despite warm, dry clothing and a hot dinner, he kept desiring more and more warmth, and the cocoa seemed to satisfy this longing inside. "Maybe just hot-doggers. Like you said, we aren’t on a case, and all we were doing was taking photos of the lighthouse and the scenery."

"And dude, I got some great pics, too!" Matt came into the room, returning from a trip to the basement. "I started the film developing, although they aren’t done yet. I think you’re really gonna like ‘em!"

Joe laughed. "No doubt," he said. "No doubt in my mind, ‘dude’."

Matt chuckled, and reached to select a cookie from the plate. He nibbled on it thoughtfully, then made a quick detour back to the kitchen to get himself a cup of cocoa. Frank watched, smiling, as Matt sank into one of the recliners, sighing and closing his eyes in bliss.

"So, anyway—" Joe took up his story. "Vanessa and I met this woman today, out at the lighthouse. She wants to hold a wedding there, can you believe it?"

"Well, why not?" Frank looked at his brother with some confusion. "People have weddings in all sorts of places, and a lighthouse isn’t really very unusual. Lots of people have weddings at lighthouses. If you want unusual, try a skydiving one, or one held underwater!"

"And please, Lord, don’t let anyone ever ask me to do a skydiving wedding shoot!" Matt murmured without opening his eyes. "I’d probably decide I needed the money so badly, I’d DO it!"

The other two chuckled. "She just didn’t seem like that type," Joe returned to defending his instinctive feelings. "She had that snooty, upper-class, nothing-less-than-the-National-Cathedral look to her."

Frank shrugged dismissively. "It still doesn’t seem so strange to me, Joe. Maybe she just likes lighthouses!"

"Maybe," Joe admitted, "but maybe not. Just think about it. There have been people watching the lighthouse over the past few days – people other than us, I mean. We saw them. And somebody or other might have tried to capsize the Sleuth, with you and Matt in it. And now this strange woman shows up with her weird wedding plans – well, all I’m saying is, there may be more to it than we think."

"Okay, okay. You may have something," Frank conceded the point with good grace. "Maybe we should keep a closer eye on the place. Have you mentioned anything to Cherise about it?"

"No." Joe shook his head. "I didn’t think about it until just now, really – adding in your experience with the boat – and besides, until we know if there’s really something going on, we don’t want to alarm anyone, do we?"

"No, you’re right; we don’t want to scare anyone unnecessarily," Frank nodded agreement. "But the other question is this: why would anyone bother to stake out an old lighthouse like Stone Point? The only thing it’s got worth stealing is that Fresnel lens, and it’s not like anyone could just march in and walk off with a several-ton lens, after all. And Stone Point isn’t as remote as some other lighthouses; there are all those houses on the hill overlooking it. Plus, it has a security system; not all of them do. It would be much easier for lens-thieves to hit a lighthouse on a remote island somewhere, rather than one that is, in several different fashions, watched over all the time!"

Matt opened his eyes and looked at Frank, a little dazed by the younger man’s effortless recital of facts and data to reinforce his opinions. Joe, however, was used to it, and not so easily impressed.

"There’s still the matter of the jewels," he argued, sipping his cocoa. "Maybe someone is planning to find the lost jewels and – um -- appropriate them. Much easier to transport than a lighthouse lens, easier to pawn, or sell – not like anyone would be able to identify them if they got them, since there aren’t any records of what the jewels were like!"

"Nobody knows where the jewels are anyway," Matt put in. "If there really are any jewels." Deciding he liked the idea of there being jewels, however, he went on with the speculations. "Do you think the crooks will have time to find them before someone notices?"

"We already noticed," Joe reminded him with a laugh.

"True." Matt snared another couple of cookies and closed his eyes again. He was feeling an eerie sense of déjà vu with this situation. Wasn’t it just a few days earlier that they had sat around drinking cocoa and eating cookies and talking about the lighthouse? The night after he’d fallen down the cliff edge….Matt shuddered at the memory, and comforted himself with the cookies.

Frank absently took another cookie and chewed it as he pondered the puzzle. Maybe…but then again, no one’s located that elusive treasure in decades of searching. No, not decades, just a few years. Or had people searched back when the lighthouse keeper had died? Well, he didn’t really know; Cherise hadn’t been too definite about it. If no one knew about them, then no one would have been searching to begin with! It’s only recently that knowledge of them was made public!

He sighed and leaned back, trying to relax – and trying to ignore the nagging feeling that he really should tell Joe and Matt about the ghostly visitation on the plane. Much as he wanted to chalk it up to an overactive imagination…no, the uneasy sensation in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. It wasn’t his imagination.

"I’m going to get some more cocoa." Frank got to his feet and picked up his empty mug. "Matt? Joe? You want more? I’ll get it."

"Sure, dude, if you’re offering."

"Yeah, thanks bro."

Frank refilled the three mugs and was about to return to the family room when he glanced out the kitchen window. Although it was dark and stormy outside, street lights illuminated the night so that he could clearly see the yard…and Frank was abruptly horror-stricken by the sight of a pale figure standing on the back lawn. A pale-haired girl, dressed all in filmy white – standing there untouched by the blustery wind and pelting raindrops – staring up at him with a murderous expression on her face.