"I know junior college teams aren’t supposed to be Division I caliber," he was saying now, "but I think the team Bayport High had last year could beat these guys. And the team we had Frank’s senior year would mop up the floor with them!" Joe paused to pop a bite of pork chop into his mouth.

"But you’re still having fun, even though the team isn’t very good?" Laura raised inquiring eyebrows at her younger son.

"Oh, yeah, I’m having fun," Joe readily admitted. "We sure could use a good quarterback, though." He directed a meaningful look in Frank’s direction.

Frank caught the glance and quickly reviewed the half-heard conversation in his mind. He smiled grimly and indicated his left arm. "Joe, you wouldn’t get much help from a quarterback wearing a cast."

"Oh." Joe considered that a moment. "True. I sorta forgot about that."

"You’re very quiet tonight, Frank." Fenton observed. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, Dad, everything’s fine. Just thinking." Frank didn’t supply any details, and after a moment his father smiled, shrugged, and returned his attention to his dinner.

Megan hasn’t called yet…I wonder why? Surely nothing’s happened to her – wonder if Joe saw her after practice? If I ask him, I sound like I’m checking up on her…. Frank fretted silently, as he ate, mentally willing the telephone to ring. He knew he was being irrational. Joe had told him, more than once, that he was. His logical mind agreed, but…sometimes logic only takes you so far….Paranoia, he mused. Well, it’s not paranoia if there really is somebody out to get you – or to get Megan.

When it did ring, Joe leaped to answer it in the kitchen. "Hardy residence…yeah, he’s here. Hang on…" Abruptly, he bellowed "FRANK! It’s Megan!" As Frank got up to answer the summons, he heard Joe’s chuckled apology. "Sorry, Red, didn’t mean to break your eardrum!"

Frank rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in resigned exasperation, but smiled, for he could hear Megan laughing through the phone as he took it from Joe’s hand. It’s nice how well she and Joe get along…. "Hey, baby," he murmured into the receiver. "I was getting worried; it’s so late. I thought you’d call before now."

"You worry too much," she said sweetly. "I’m sorry it’s late, but traffic was miserable once I left campus. And when I got home, Mom had dinner ready, and wanted to eat right away." He heard her chuckle, and then words evidently directed at her mother: "Yes, Mom, I’m blaming you. Don’t listen; I might say something worse."

"You want to get together?" Frank inquired then. He suspected the answer was going to be no; if Megan had gotten home late, she wouldn’t be likely to want to go out again this evening.

"Well, we might meet for a cup of coffee or something, later," she surprised him by saying. "I really do need to do some studying, but I should be finished in an hour or so."

Frank felt a smile spread across his face at these words. "Starbucks on 17^th?" he suggested, and heard her laugh in response. They had a long history with that coffee shop.

"That would be perfect—" She broke off suddenly, and Frank heard Carolyn Wright’s voice in the background. "What, Mom? What? You’re kidding…turn it up, quick!"

"Megan? What is it?" he demanded. "What’s wrong?" He heard a sudden babble of noise, as Mrs. Wright evidently raised the volume of the television.

"Oh, Frank, my mom’s got the news on TV, and – oh, no!" Megan gasped. "Frank, there’s a fire at school – the community college! On the campus! It looks like the Administration Building’s burning!"

"What?" Frank yelped. "Are you serious?—Joe!" he hissed, snapping his fingers to gain his brother’s attention, as Joe popped his head back into the kitchen, alerted by his brother’s shout. "Quick – turn on the TV; local news – Megan says there’s a fire at school!"

Joe made a dash for the family room, hastily followed by Frank, who still clutched the phone against his ear. Laura and Fenton hurried after them, and the four huddled in front of the television set.

Frank and Megan kept up their quiet conversation, murmuring back and forth as they watched the broadcast. Sounds of sirens, shouts, and the crackling of flames nearly smothered the commentator’s voice at times. The fire was a serious one, by all reports, and despite the multitude of fire crews which had responded to the alarms, it looked very doubtful that any of the building would remain.

Joe was avid with impatient curiosity. "What do you suppose caused it? Accident? Faulty wiring? Arson? Maybe we could go over and see—" he ventured, glancing at Frank, still on the phone, and then his father.

Fenton gave him a stern look. "Don’t even think about it. The fire crews don’t need anyone else to get in their way, and I didn’t hear anyone calling you to investigate it – or me, either!"

"Aw, Dad…." But Joe subsided, and glumly resumed watching the news coverage along with his family.

At last, Megan said she ought to get off the phone and study, and Frank reluctantly admitted that he did, too. Promising to call her before nine o’clock, Frank hung up the phone and departed for his room to read. Joe remained a little longer, but soon followed Frank upstairs; gone were the days when Joe Hardy never cracked a book!

Laura belatedly cleaned up the kitchen, whisking things into the dishwasher with dispatch, while Fenton continued to monitor the TV coverage of the fire. Sooner than he thought possible, he was joined by his wife, who sat down next to him on the sofa.

"Some wives," she commented dryly, "cuddle on the couch with their husbands and watch romantic movies. We, on the other hand, sit on the couch and watch the latest newsbreaks on crime in Bayport!"

Fenton gave her a somewhat guilty look. "We can turn it off…" he began.

"No, no – never let it be said that I took you away from an investigation, even if you aren’t officially investigating this," she countered, laughing. "Besides, I’m interested."

"Even so…." Fenton slipped an arm about his wife and drew her close against him. "Nothing says we can’t still do the cuddling."

As they watched the scene – both live and replays of earlier footage – the Hardys chatted quietly of this and that.

"Joe doesn’t seem to be bothered any by playing football," Laura commented. "I was afraid it might cause some aftereffects from his concussion."

"Tough kid," Fenton grinned. "He wasn’t going to let anything short of a missing limb keep him from playing."

Laura gave him a reproving look. "You don’t have to sound so pleased," she murmured.

Her husband had the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself. "Frank’s last report from the doctor sounded encouraging," he said, endeavoring to switch topics. "It sounds like he won’t have to wear that cast for more than three more weeks, or so."

"He’ll be so happy to have it taken off," Laura said. "He’s champing at the bit as it is."

"Another tough kid," Mr. Hardy repeated himself, and received another look from his wife.

"Sometimes a little too tough," she chided. "Ever wonder where they inherit that tendency from?"

"Nope; I know it came from the Whittier side," Fenton teased, and kissed her.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted them.

"Impossibly bad timing," Fenton grumbled, removing his arm from Laura’s shoulders as she got up to answer the summons.

"Hardy residence…oh, hello there, Gertrude!"

Fenton rolled his eyes, groaned softly, and used the remote control to raise the volume on the television. Laura gave him an exasperated look, shook her head, and walked away with the cordless phone.

"Fenton’s rather busy at the moment, I’m afraid – there’s been a fire at the community college, and he’s watching the television coverage."

Laura continued her conversation with Gertrude, who, after talking about the weather in Florida, the latest gossip circulating around her bridge club, and the deplorable state of politics, finally got around to the actual reason for her call. Laura, meanwhile, roamed the kitchen, quietly tidying up odds and ends as she listened to her sister-in-law’s rambling monologue. But finally….

"I have a question for Fenton – ahhh…I need some information – on some legal points." Gertrude hedged.

"Gertrude….You’re not in some sort of trouble, are you?"

"Oh, my, no – no, of course not!" The other woman gasped, and chuckled. "I suppose that did sound rather ominous, didn’t it?"

"Well, a little," Laura conceded, smiling. She leaned against the kitchen counter and waited for details.

"At any rate, I am just getting some information for…a friend of mine. Someone who needs it for – uh – for, uh—" Gertrude’s voice trailed off.

"Gertrude, for goodness’ sake, what is it?" Laura demanded, her curiosity piqued.

"A…story." The answer came at last, very quietly.

Laura blinked. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t that. "You’re doing research for a friend who’s a writer? That sounds interesting! What sort of story?"

"Yes…for a friend," Gertrude hesitated. "Well, a little more than just a friend, dear. He – his name is Jordan Chamberlain, and I suppose you could say he’s a…special…friend."

Laura felt her mouth drop open in shock. She attempted to respond, but no sound emerged from her throat.

"Oh?" Laura managed to get one syllable out.

"He was doing the signing." Gertrude elaborated. "He’s a mystery-novel author." She gave a somewhat self-conscious laugh. "Well, he’s had one book published, and he’s working on another, anyway."

"That’s wonderful, Gertrude!" If Laura’s voice came out in a slight squeak, Gertrude didn’t seem to notice.

"Of – of course. But Gertrude, I want to hear more about Mr. Chamberlain!" Laura said, as she walked back into the family room. She signaled to Fenton with her eyes: you have to talk! He grimaced, but reduced the television volume and held out his hand for the phone.

"All right – but not tonight," Gertrude told her. "I’ll call tomorrow, all right? Goodnight, Laura – hello, Fenton?"

While Fenton chatted with his sister, Laura did a little more puttering in the kitchen, and carried a load of folded laundry upstairs, which, since it all belonged to Joe, she set on the floor outside his room’s closed door. There, she mused. He’ll have to pick it up or fall over it! When she reached the family room once more, Fenton was again watching the television coverage of the fire at the college.

"Did you get Gertrude her information?" Laura asked, settling into place beside her husband. He draped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close.

"She could have gotten it from the bar association," he grumbled. "She didn’t need to call me!"

"Be nice," she chided. She knew better than to ask whether Gertrude had confided anything regarding Jordan Chamberlain to Fenton; she just hoped she’d get the full story the next day!

"I am nice," Fenton grinned. "I’m always nice—" But his words were cut short by a sound from outside – an intrusive, repetitive noise. "Drat, there goes the Fosters’ burglar alarm again!" He got to his feet. "It’s always Teresa setting it off when she gets home, but I suppose I’d better make sure…." He headed out the front door. As he departed, he heard the telephone ring again. "Never a dull moment around here…." he muttered.

Mr. Hardy re-entered his home a few moments later, and was met by his wife, holding out the telephone to him. Her blue eyes were wide with surprise.