It’s so nice to have a day out of the house to spend time with people other than just family! Laura mused, as they paused to examine a window display of fall clothes. As much as I love Fenton and the boys, there are just some things that women like to talk about with other women – things that don’t interest men! With an inward sigh, Laura conceded that having Fenton’s sister living with them had been a boon in some respects. Now that Gertrude was living in Florida, and Laura was the only female occupant of the house, the testosterone levels in the Hardy home sometimes rose to unbelievable heights – especially when all three men insisted on getting into danger at the drop of a hat – which they seemed to do with unsettling regularity!

Doctors. Lawyers. ACCOUNTANTS. Even a sports writer. I’d have taken any of them – and what do I have? Three detectives in the family! Maybe Mother was right, all those years ago, when she questioned my dating a policeman! The thought made Laura laugh out loud, eliciting curious glances from Erica and Andrea.

"Sorry!" Laura apologized, still smiling. "I was just thinking about the boys." She chuckled. "Include Fenton in that category," she added.

Erica looked a little blank, but Andrea nodded in acknowledgement. She, at least, knew what it was like; she’d been associated with the Hardys long enough to follow the mental short-cuts, and she sometimes experienced the same sorts of mind-drift regarding them.

In an effort to pull her mind away from her husband and sons’ predilections for peril, Laura launched into a tale of Gertrude’s amazing news.

"We had a call from Gertrude the other evening," she began. "That’s Fenton’s older sister, Erica; she used to live with us, but she moved to Florida a couple of years ago."

Erica nodded her understanding, and Laura continued: "At any rate, she said she was calling to get information from Fenton on some legal points, but as he said later, she could have gotten that from a lot of places; she didn’t need to call him."

"So why was she calling?" Andrea asked, with interest. "Gertrude doesn’t usually just call to make chit-chat, does she?"

"No," Laura replied. "She doesn’t – well, she calls to let us know everything’s all right with her, every week or so. However, during the course of this conversation, she managed to let it be known that she’s ‘seeing’ someone – she called him ‘a special friend!’"

"NO!" Andrea gasped, and began to laugh with delight. "She’s dating? Is it serious, do you think?"

"I have no idea," her friend admitted, "but I do rather hope it’s semi-serious, at least. Gertrude deserves to have a little fun in her life, even at this late date!"

"What’s his name? I assume he’s retired – what did he use to do?" Andrea demanded.

"His name is Jordan Chamberlain, and apparently he’s a writer – a mystery-novel writer!" Laura announced with glee. "Gertrude’s helping him with research for his stories!"

At that, Andrea was too surprised to comment, and the three of them entered a store to look more closely at the displays.

Erica, although she was extremely pleasant, seemed to be extraordinarily shy. She smiled a lot, and always responded when asked a question, but she didn’t volunteer much conversation on her own. Laura began to wonder if it was the company – were she and Andrea too much ‘older’ for Erica to enjoy being with? Should they have waited and done this shopping excursion when Vanessa or Megan – or both – could accompany them? She wished she could think of something to bring Erica out of her timidity, to break through the shield of reserve the girl had erected, but she didn’t want to seem pushy.

They went from shop to shop, and although Erica didn’t talk much, she wasn’t hesitant about spending money! She did most of the purchasing; most often it was clothes for herself, but she also dabbled in perfumes, and jewelry, and more than once she picked up items that she thought Michael might like having: clothes, jewelry, small accessories, CD’s.

"What do you think?" she was asking now, holding up a blue silk shirt for inspection. "Does it look like something Michael might wear, or am I just drawn to it because it would match his eyes?"

The other women considered the question seriously. Andrea hadn’t met Michael Ranson, of course, but she had exquisite taste in clothes, although her everyday mode of dress usually consisted of jeans and an old shirt. Laura, knowing what Michael looked like, could give a more educated answer.

"I think you’re right about the color," she nodded, "and since Michael dresses up for meetings with business associates, he’d have plenty of opportunities to wear it. I assume he owns a jacket that would go with it all right?"

"Yes…." Erica looked at the shirt again, then tucked the package under her arm and sought out a similar one in a light gray shade. "Does Mr. Hardy wear dress clothes most of the time too?" she inquired, her voice muffled as she shuffled through the pile of shirt packages.

"A lot of the time," Laura nodded. "But he wears his share of jeans and such, too."

Adding the gray shirt to the pile in her arms, Erica straightened up. "Laura, what’s it like being married to a detective?"

"What’s it like…?" Laura tilted her head inquiringly, and waited for an explanation.

"I mean – aren’t you afraid that Fenton will get hurt, on a case – or killed?" Erica blurted, then blushed. "I’m sorry, that was dreadful of me! You don’t have to answer—"

Although the girl’s bluntness had caught her by surprise, Laura managed a somewhat strained smile, and endeavored to answer her question. "Yes, actually, I do worry about it. I worry about it a lot. I try not to, of course, but there are many, many times that I wish Fenton had a safer occupation."

"Have you ever thought about asking him to stop?" Erica asked. "Wouldn’t he do it – for you? If you asked?"

Laura smiled at the innocence of this newly-married young woman, who, no doubt, had only to ask her wealthy and indulgent husband for anything her heart desired. "I’ve thought of it," she admitted, "but I couldn’t do it. Fenton was a police officer when we met. I knew what I was getting into when I married him. And there would be something very wrong about my demanding that he stop doing what he does – and being what he is. Fenton is too good a detective to just stop, and do something else. It would break his heart and his spirit if he tried."

"And your sons? What about them?" Erica persisted. "You can’t want them to be in danger, like Mr. Hardy is – can you?"

"Of course not," Laura answered patiently. "But the same thing holds. They’re incredibly good at what they do, and although they might, out of love for me – or someone else—" she added, with a smile at Andrea, "try other careers, their hearts wouldn’t be in it. It would stifle them, and they’d never be as happy in their work."

Andrea nodded. "I know what you mean," she commented softly. "After all, Vanessa’s dated Joe for over a year now – nearly a year and a half! She knows – and I know – that it’s not safe, being close to the brothers Hardy…but Joe makes Vanessa happy. Happier than she’s ever been with anyone else."

"And Vanessa makes Joe happy," Laura smiled at her friend.

"I like Michael’s occupation better," Erica sighed. "Being a businessman may be dull in comparison to being a detective, or a police officer, but at least it’s a safe thing to do! He doesn’t get into dangerous situations." She bit her lip, suddenly looking much younger than her 23 years. "I don’t know if I could stand it, if Michael did something that could possibly get him hurt – or killed! It’s too scary to even think about…."

Laura put a comforting arm about Erica. "It is scary," she conceded. "Remember what happened in August, at Lake Tahoe? Both my sons might have easily been killed there. Frank nearly was. And Joe was badly hurt in June. Fenton was shot, in January. And it wasn’t the first time, not at all. All because of ‘detecting.’" She paused, formulating her thoughts into words. "It’s not easy to accept – it’s times like that when I wish I could beg them to do something else with their lives, all three of them…but somehow, mysteries seem to follow them around! Even when they don’t actively go out looking for them." She stopped again, then finally completed her thought – very quietly. "I just have to hope they don’t end up getting themselves killed."

Erica nodded, and turned in Laura’s embrace to hug her. "I’m sorry," she murmured. "I think I understand a little better, now." Summoning a smile, the slender blonde held up her packages of silk shirts. "I’ll get these – maybe we can find ties to go with them."

"I’m sure we can," Andrea assured her. "If not here, then certainly somewhere else in the mall."

Continuing their journey down the mall, the three women found ties to complement Erica’s shirts; Andrea discovered a silken shirt for herself, which she declared was exactly what she’d been looking for, and Laura splurged on bath gels and matching perfumed lotions, and a long, satiny patchwork-print skirt. As it was fast approaching lunchtime, they headed for the food court at the end of the mall.

"If we’re getting shopped out, how about a movie after lunch?" Andrea proposed, licking ketchup from her fingers as she consumed French fries.

Laura nodded agreement with this suggestion. "It sounds fine with me; the only thing I have to get home for is to fix dinner – oh, and to send things over to Carolyn Wright’s, for their supper. As long as I’m home by three or so, it shouldn’t be a problem."

Erica smiled. "I’d like it too. But can we agree on a movie?"

Discussion provided a surprising result: Erica, despite the age differences, liked the same kind of movies that Andrea and Laura did – romantic comedies were her favorites.

"It’s fate," Andrea said briskly, and got to her feet to dump their lunch trash. "We’re meant to go to a movie. Let’s check the times for that new one with Sandra Bullock; I’m sure it’s playing at the Cineplex here in the mall…."

They took their packages out to their cars, and then set out for the opposite end of the mall, where the movie theaters were located. As they passed by a certain specialty shop, Andrea paused in front of the display window.

"Oh, I’ve been meaning to check out those robotic toys," she murmured. "I think I can use one for a part in Rex Rover—"

"Go ahead and check," Laura urged her, smiling. "We’ll just walk slowly and window-shop; you can catch up with us."

"Well, all right." Andrea moved towards the entrance to the store. "I’ll be as quick as I can—"

At that moment, a figure brushed past her and bore down on Laura and Erica – a man dressed in black, with a dark hood pulled close over his head and masking his features. Erica let out a startled cry as the threatening figure loomed – and then screamed again, as the man grabbed her purse from her hands, and started running!

*****

This is my own fault – but let’s blame Fenton, instead! Jack Wayne was glowering silently at Fenton Hardy’s back, as the third member of their party, Michael Ranson, lined up to tee off. Ranson’s hands were wrapped about his driver – a club that, Jack suspected, might have cost as much as Jack’s pickup – and his shoulders were beautifully squared. He looks like a pro – he might as well be one, Jack mused resentfully. Tiger Woods, or somebody. Ernie Els, maybe. Jack stared up at the sky, which had started out a beautiful blue, but was now filling with threatening clouds. Great. Rain. That’ll put a total finish on the day! He glared at Fenton again, for good measure, just because he could do it and get away with it.

Last night, when Fenton called, Jack continued to sulk, instead of saying ‘How’d you like to chase a golf ball around eighteen holes?’ he should have just said ‘How’d you like to get your clock cleaned, Jack?’ It would have been more honest! Well, I suppose he didn’t know how good this Ranson guy was, either….

WHACK! Ranson’s club hit the ball cleanly. He straightened up, watching it arc into the air, and Fenton shrugged resignedly as the ball sailed three hundred feet down the par-4 fairway, landing a good 50 feet beyond the sand trap where Jack’s ball currently resided, waiting for him.

Fifth sand trap I’ve been in today! Jack hurled the mental complaint as if Mr. Hardy could read his thoughts. Thank you so very much for a grand time, Fenton! Aloud, he managed a weak smile and a half-hearted, "Nice shot, Michael."

Some of Jack’s resentment must have leaked through, for Fenton shrugged at him apologetically as he set his own ball atop a nice wooden tee, and accepted a 3-wood from one of the caddies supplied by the country club. "Thanks, Rudolfo," he murmured. His shot didn’t go as far as Michael’s, but it didn’t land in the sand trap with Jack’s, either. No, it ended up five feet this side of the sand trap.

"Just great," Jack muttered, and handed his club back to the other caddy – a short, ineffectual-seeming guy named ‘Pete.’ Why couldn’t I have gotten a cute girl caddy, at least? No, instead Fenton pays my way, and I’m still stuck with good ol’ Pete.

"I don’t suppose you’d go for a little advice, Wayne?" Michael Ranson asked casually, as they began the trek to the fairway – or in Jack’s case, to the sand trap.

"Can’t hurt," Jack grunted, reaching for his pitching wedge – again. I might as well just cart it around in one hand, he thought glumly. Stupid game….I’m NOT a golfer. Basketball – volleyball – tennis, even! But GOLF? Only masochists play golf….

"Try changing your grip a little," Ranson advised. "Hold your hands a little further apart. And watch your back swing. You’re slicing around, rather than going straight back. Slow the swing a bit, put a little more power behind it, get better control – that might help, old man." Michael was smiling genially as he spoke, but Jack didn’t appreciate the attempt at humor.

‘Old man’ – great! Just great! I’m the youngest of this trio, and he’s calling me ‘old man.’ Jack wasn’t comforted by the fact that he could clearly see Fenton was struggling not to break out in hysterical laughter at this last interchange. Fine – laugh at me, Fenton, see if I care!

Jack trudged down into the rather deep sand trap, and used his wedge to blast the ball out of the hazard. He climbed out – just in time to see his ball spiral sweetly down…into the next sand trap, in front of the green!

Biting back bitter invectives which were surfacing in his mind, Jack turned to watch as Fenton made his shot. It sailed cleanly onto the green, about 25 feet from the hole. "Not bad, Fenton!" he managed to say, working up a cordial smile, and glowered up at the sky again, where the rain clouds appeared thicker than ever. Four more holes, he informed the clouds. Just four more holes, and then you can do whatever you want. Drown me, for all I care!

He didn’t think either Fenton or Michael Ranson would be likely to quit if it started raining before they finished the round – diehards, both of them! But they’re not the one in the sand traps! Not that I’m jealous, it’s not that – not of anything other than Ranson’s abilities at golf, that is….

Finally, after one more pitch up out of the sand bar, Jack managed to get his ball onto the green. He stood aside as Michael Ranson competently putted his ball into the hole, then waited for Fenton to make his next shot….And then Jack let out a shout: "INCOMING!"

He saw Fenton jerk around, turning to see what had happened, just as a hail of golf balls thudded down, falling just short of Michael Ranson! Jack ducked down, instinctively shielding his head with his arms, and saw Mr. Hardy leap toward Ranson, protectively shoving him to the side – just as a second spate of balls descended. And Jack watched in horror as one of the balls struck Fenton squarely in the head, and his friend toppled limply to the soft turf!