"Interesting place, Bayport." Michael Ranson observed to his wife as they strolled hand-in-hand along the stone paths laid between rows of green shrubs, and patches of grass – and the two, three, and four-story buildings of Bayport Community College.

Erica, who had been cooped up in close custody in their hotel room since Sunday evening, gazed around, enjoying merely being outside in the fresh air and sunshine. She hadn’t enjoyed Michael’s insistence that she stay in, where he was sure she was safe, rather than exploring more of Bayport; she thought it was a little unfair. After all, he had gone out the night before, but he’d been very firm about her staying in the hotel! At any rate, she was glad to be here. She liked watching all the people; students scurrying back and forth to classes, or other places on campus. Other adults – some students, some faculty, she assumed – went on about their various businesses.

"I like it here, where people are learning," she said. "I never went to college – but I’ve always admired people who do. I wonder if I might have liked going?" They walked a little further. "It’s a pretty campus," Erica resumed speaking, "except for all the burnt buildings. I wonder what it would have been like to go to school here?" Erica sounded just a little wistful. "Maybe I could have gotten a degree, or something….Not that I need one," she added, with a smile at her husband. She moved her hand to grip his upper arm, and tiptoed to kiss him. Michael smiled down at her, patting her hand and kissing her in return.

"You could still go," he reminded her. "If you thought you’d like to. No reason you couldn’t. You’re only 23; you’re the same age as a lot of college students. You might like it. Not here, necessarily, but…." They continued their walk, silent for awhile. Michael was thoughtful, as he regarded the buildings they passed. Red brick seems to be the in-vogue thing for buildings, he mused. It started umpteen years ago, and is still going strong in institutions all across America. Always a market for brick…. "You know, Erica, I should consider buying out all the red-brick factories in the U.S., I could make a mint from them! Assuming that people keep building, that is."

He was distracted from his musings for a moment, watching a couple – a tall, dark-haired boy with his arm in a sling, and a girl with red-gold hair that glinted in the sunlight – go into one of the nearby buildings. "Erica, look – that must be Hardy’s oldest boy – the redhead is his girlfriend; I saw her once before – in Tahoe."

Erica looked, and nodded. All she had seen of the two was their backs as they entered, all unknowing that they were under observation.

"I wonder if Frank Hardy is as smart as his old man…" Michael speculated idly, still gazing after them.

His wife smiled at that comment, but didn’t respond to the implied question, and they continued their walk, following a path which eventually led to what had been the football field. The burnt-out hulk of the stadium loomed somberly ahead, but the Ransons didn’t seem to be especially affected by the devastation they saw. They merely kept walking…just to pass the time.

But Michael was still thinking – thinking hard. Pondering the attack on Erica at the mall…and its possible connections. Could it be connected to business? Like to that Markham Glass place, that I’m having Hardy look into? Or could he have been right, and it was connected to Hardy himself, and Erica just got in the way? He hugged Erica against him suddenly, vowing fiercely to himself that nobody was going to get away with threatening his wife, whether the threats had been meant for her, or not! Wonder what Fenton’s doing to protect HIS wife? Hah, I wouldn’t let anyone else keep an eye on Erica for me! She’s much safer with me, after all…. He sighed inwardly, remembering that mysterious downpour of golf balls which could have easily knocked him out, injured him, perhaps killed him…if not for Fenton Hardy’s swift intervention. COULD that have been against me? Something having to do with Erica, or her family?

"What are you thinking about, darling?" Erica’s voice roused Michael from his somber thoughts.

"Oh, just thinking more about the school," he lied, smiling at her fondly. "Have you ever wanted to own a college, love? This one may be going cheap – if it loses another building or two!"

Erica regarded him for a moment. "Michael," she said curiously, "where did you go last night?"

"Oh – just around. Exploring Bayport a little," he replied easily. "Looking for good real estate buys, that sort of thing." He grinned. "Just in case you wanted to own a college."

Erica’s brow puckered; she wondered whether he was actually serious, or just teasing her. Then she chuckled, hugged his arm, and turned again to resume their walk through the campus….And thought, idly, about property values….

*****

I hate leaving Laura at home alone right now! Fenton Hardy thought glumly. Even if it is to work on the job Michael Ranson hired me for. He trudged across the parking lot towards the entrance to Markham Glass, continuing to think gloomy thoughts.

After all, someone tried to kidnap her…. That fact wasn’t lost on him, not by a long shot. The only thing that had convinced him to leave the house that morning was Laura’s assurances that she’d leave the perimeter alarms on all the time, and if she had to go somewhere, she’d make sure one of the boys was with her. THAT doesn’t count for much; both Frank and Joe are at school! Fenton fumed. And all promises aside, she just might take it in her head to dash out for a gallon of milk, or something….It didn’t make him feel a great deal better, but he’d contacted Ezra Collig, the Chief of Police, and made him promise to step up patrols around their neighborhood. If the alarms went off at the Hardy house, Fenton wanted someone to be there on the double – and not ten minutes too late!

For now, though, he had work to do. He was being conducted on a walk-through of the Markham Glass factory, escorted by none other than Aaron Markham himself, the owner and founder of the company. Markham was a personable man, genial and talkative, and he seemed to be rightfully proud of the business he’d built up from scratch.

Markham had gladly related the whole story of the business – that he’d started small, working as a glass-blower in the shop of a friend of his father’s. How he’d gotten the idea to go into something on a much larger scale – decorative window panes, tabletops…. He’d gotten lucky in timing, for a great many corporate buildings were being erected, and most of them were seemingly made of glass! "Mirrors and glass will always be wanted," Aaron Markham pronounced with assurance. "But now – well, I’m getting on in years, and my wife and I don’t have any children. It’s time to sell up, and enjoy retirement."

Fenton liked Aaron Markham. The man had to be eighty, if he was a day, but he moved like a man of fifty, and his eyes were keen, and shrewdly intelligent. And he seemed happy with the world, and happy with the prospect of selling his company, making a tidy profit, and settling down to enjoy the rest of his life. Mr. Hardy couldn’t believe there was anything shady going on with Markham Glass – if there was. After all, Michael hadn’t been sure, one way or another; he just wanted to know!

By now they were about halfway through the tour of the large factory, which was located on the waterfront of Bayport’s warehouse district. Fenton looked about him, despairingly. I could look around here for days, he realized, and not see everything! But what he had seen, he liked. It was clean, and the employees seemed to like their work. If Michael Ranson did buy the place, Fenton hoped he’d leave it intact, the way it was. It would be a real shame for so many people to lose their jobs, if Ranson decided to close, or downsize, or merge with another company….

He’d called Laura frequently during the day, making sure she was still all right, and he could tell it was beginning to grate on her nerves. She didn’t like being checked up on all the time. The last time he’d called, she’d laughed – somewhat tightly – and told him to RELAX ALREADY, she was home, she was fine, and nothing was going to happen to her inside their own house, for heaven’s sake!

"We’ve been broken into before, you know," Fenton had reminded her, wishing he didn’t have to say things like that.

"I’ll be fine!" Laura had sounded a trifle more snappish when she repeated the words. Fenton winced and sighed as he ended the call, and reluctantly returned to his investigation.

Aaron Markham had graciously allowed him to look at the company’s financial records…dry, dusty, boring financial records, the bane of Fenton’s existence as an investigator! He hated paperwork with a passion; he’d made himself learn how to check for discrepancies in records and paperwork, but that didn’t mean he LIKED it!

And there had been nothing to find, damn it! Everything looked open and above-board and straight.

Tomorrow I’ll talk to some of the employees, Fenton mused, as he walked towards the exit doors. Maybe I’ll find out something then….

He walked towards his car, admiring the view of the bay…