It’s now or never, she thought. I want to find out about the S.F.E., and help this investigation, rather than hinder it, or just stand idly by! I’m not brainless, and I took those same classes Frank did, last year, and I can help, I know I can! She sighed, quietly. She didn’t like feeling like a hindrance, and she didn’t like feeling helpless. She also didn’t like feeling tired and achy, which she currently did, although she hated to admit it. She knew she was getting better – her headache wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, and her neck only hurt when she moved it wrong…and her nose didn’t hurt much anymore, unless it was bumped…but still, she wished it didn’t hurt at all!

She knew she looked much better. The black eyes and other bruises had faded to a jaundiced shade of gold, and she’d taken the tape off her nose, which was back to its normal shape and size once more, with only a tiny bump added to the bridge. If you didn’t know it was there, it wasn’t even noticeable. As Frank had assured her, mouth cuts healed fast; five days had reduced them to near-oblivion. And as for her forehead….Two more days – I can get the stitches out on Friday!

"…and we’ll cover that in the next class." Megan blinked, realizing that the professor was giving them the reading assignment for the next class! Somehow, she’d managed to space out through the whole class period, and hadn’t paid attention to the lecture at all. It’s a good thing Professor Handrich is the sort that takes his exam questions out of the books! And I suppose I could always borrow notes – again! She stifled a little chortle of laughter, imagining herself asking Kirk for his notes when she’d been right there in class!

Speaking of Kirk…Megan hastily looked around, hoping she hadn’t lost him due to her inattention. He was stuffing things into his backpack, she noted…and then realized with a start, that it was a brown suede backpack! It didn’t look all that expensive, but appearances could be deceiving, both ways. It might be costly, or then again, Corin might have only thought it was. How could you tell, especially in the dark, on a moving target? It had some stickers on it, she noticed – one that said RECYCLE!

He wasn’t wearing a sweatshirt with an environmental logo – well, really, Megan, what did you expect? she asked herself derisively. People do change clothes occasionally, you know! But what if Kirk was the person Corin had seen running from the art building last night? He was in the S.F.E., after all. Even if he hadn’t set the fire, he might know something about it!

Megan got up and hurried after Kirk, feeling a touch of déjà vu as she remembered chasing after Frank, holding that gold pen he’d so conveniently dropped…. She followed him down the hall from the Music Appreciation classroom, and caught up with him before he got too far ahead.

"Kirk—" Megan tapped his shoulder, lightly.

Kirk Moncrief turned around, looking startled, then surprised to see her. "Megan – hi. It was good to see you back in class," he said, smiling a little. "Can I do something for you?"

"I wanted to thank you – again – for letting me borrow your books last weekend, especially since you were nice enough to bring them to me, and pick them up." Megan smiled – that warm smile with the elusive dimple, that had captivated Frank Hardy from the moment he met her – smiled sweetly at Kirk Moncrief, and felt like a hypocrite. "Are you in a hurry?" she asked. "If not, I’d like to buy you a soda, or a cup of coffee at the Student Center – just to say thanks."

Again, she was assaulted by memories: "I wondered if I could maybe buy you a cup of coffee this morning?" That was what she had said to Frank on the phone, a year ago…STOP it Megan, this isn’t the same thing at all! But it was entirely too close.

He blushed. "That’s…really not necessary," he mumbled. But the smile lurking around the corners of his mouth told her that he’d like to be coaxed into it.

"Oh, come on. I’ve got some time to kill right now, and I hate sitting around drinking coffee by myself." I wonder if this is how Mata Hari got started? Megan let her eyelashes flutter slightly, and smiled again – and even bruised and bandaged, Megan Wright’s face – and charm – was a force to be reckoned with. Kirk never had a chance.

"Well…okay. For a few minutes." Still blushing, Kirk followed her down the steps of the music building, and they walked across to the Student Center. Megan paid for two drinks – it turned out that Kirk preferred tea – and they settled at a table.

When they had sat companionably sipping for a few minutes, and talking about their shared classes, Megan casually broached the integral subject. "What do you think about all the fires on campus?"

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on his cup of tea. "I don’t know. I guess I haven’t thought about it too much. It seems weird that someone would be doing it on our campus. It’s only a little community college, after all. It’s not like we get major government funding, or anything like that – or have, like…oh, I don’t know, monkeys used for testing, to protest. Things like that."

"I think it’s weird too," Megan agreed. "And the places burned are odd – I mean, they don’t seem to be related in any way. It’s so random!" She sipped her iced mocha, carefully. "You were talking about the S.F.E., the other day – did you know that some of their fliers were hung up around the different fire scenes right after they happened…."

Kirk stared at her for an instant, then shrugged again. "That doesn’t surprise me. At least they’ll get some exposure that way," he said dryly. "Students For Earth is a small organization, and if some enterprising soul managed to think of putting up fliers where they’ll be seen…" He emitted a sardonic chuckle. "At least people will see the fliers that way. People just don’t care enough about what we’re doing to the earth, Megan – people should wake up and pay attention to what’s going on! It’s important!"

She nodded. Finally he’s opening up a little! "I’d like to hear a little more about Students For Earth. I know you’re a member of it – What sorts of things do they do? Hold rallies? Fundraisers?"

"Yeah, they hold rallies." Kirk sounded slightly disgusted. "They try to raise money for some environmental cause or other. The last one was for the Save the Whales program. The one before that – oh, they helped buy 20 acres of rainforest." Another dry chuckle. "As if that’s really going to do a lot of good! And writing to Congressmen isn’t much help, either. They need to do more than that!"

Megan felt as if she was trying to walk a balance beam; one misstep and… "What sort of things do you think they should do?" she asked, cautiously neutral.

"We should hold protests!" Kirk’s eyes gleamed with a slightly fanatical light. "Real protests, not the wimpy little things they’ve done before! When President Mitchell cancelled the funding for the Adirondack Project, we should have had major protest rallies about it! Done something real! The Adirondack Project would have changed how medical testing is done – it would have been a lot safer, and a lot faster, and not involved animals. It would have been a big scientific breakthrough! And they shot the funding down!"

"The Adirondack Project, hmm? I’ve heard of that." Megan managed an encouraging tone, but inside, her mind was racing. The Adirondack? Frank mentioned that! He said it wouldn’t have worked at all! She wasn’t sure of the specific reasons why it wouldn’t have worked; she couldn’t remember Frank saying – but he’d said that the original specs of the project were all wrong, and that several independent companies had tested the theories – and they had failed, time and time again. "But I thought it had been tested," she ventured, "and there were some problems with it."

Kirk glared at her. "Problems can be overcome. You shouldn’t believe all the propaganda you hear," he muttered. "President Mitchell paid people off," he growled, "paid them to say that, so that he wouldn’t have to fund the project. It was getting too expensive for him, and he wouldn’t have gotten his next raise in salary, or something…."

Megan was slightly taken aback by Kirk’s sudden vehemence. His reaction wasn’t quite what she had expected – where had this abrupt venomous attitude towards President Mitchell come from? She was beginning to feel slightly nervous about being so close to Kirk Moncrief. "Was it President Mitchell’s doing that scotched the program? Does he have that much power over funding, then? I thought there was a whole board of directors, or something like that."

Something of her feelings must have bled through, for Kirk suddenly looked uncomfortable, and he got to his feet. "I – well, maybe…I suppose they do…I think…um….I can’t talk anymore right now – thanks for the tea, Megan, but I’ve got to go now. Bye." He picked up his backpack, and was gone, hurrying out the glass doors, before Megan could do much more than stammer ‘Uh – bye!"

Irritated at his abrupt departure but still unnerved, she sat quietly for a moment, collecting herself and thinking, before she delved in her backpack for her cell phone. Thoughtfully, she pressed the digits.

"Frank? It’s me—"

"Baby!" The cool professionalism of Frank’s voice melted into loving warmth. "How’d it go?"

"Okay…I guess." Megan couldn’t help sounding doubtful; she wasn’t quite sure exactly why Kirk had suddenly flared up and left as he had.

"Hang on, lemme grab Joe, and he can listen in on the extension…he’s outside…." Frank set down the receiver and departed; Megan sat and waited impatiently for his return. In a few moments, she heard another receiver lifted, and Joe said "Hey, Red, I’m here," then Frank picked up his, as well.

"Okay, this is what happened—" Megan repeated the conversation as well as she could remember. "Doesn’t it seem a little – well, strange?"

"It certainly does." Frank sounded positively grim. "That project was proven to be unworkable, time and again. Why would Kirk want the funding for it restored?"

"He seemed almost – well, I hate to say fanatical, but that’s what it felt like – he was fanatical about it!" Megan shivered a little. "It was like it was his own personal project that someone had taken away from him! And he certainly seems to harbor some resentment towards Mr. Mitchell!"

"And that’s just the person we’re looking for; someone who might have slashed Mitchell’s brake line, and put the accelerant container in his car. Good job, Red," Joe’s approbation was sincere. "You probably did something no one else could do."

"Baby, you did great – but are you okay?" Frank sounded worried. "You sound awfully…tired – and kind of shaky."

"I am tired," she admitted. "I’m going to go home and lie down for awhile. I’m supposed to meet Vanessa at 5, and she’ll give me a ride home."

"Good!" The relief in Frank’s voice was palpable.

"And Frank – you know what?"

"I don’t think I’ll try interrogating Kirk any more. I think I’ll stay away from him after this. All of a sudden, I feel like – like there’s something not quite right about him!"

*****

"Fenton! Fenton Hardy!"

Somewhere above him, a voice was calling his name, shouting it frantically, although the sound was muffled by the hiss of water against his eardrums. Fenton managed to right himself in the water, and struck for the surface, kicking hard. His legs felt weighted down, but he was wearing his best dress shoes, and he was darned if he was going to lose them, if he could make it to the surface without kicking them off. His chest was beginning to ache; he wondered if he was going to make it all the way up before he ran out of air!

Finally, he broke the water’s surface. He spluttered, coughing hard, and spat up what felt like a half gallon of water. Thank God Barmet Bay’s not polluted, he thought as he trod water and continued to cough. That would be all I’d need, to catch something dire from the water! Responding to the frantic hails from the dock, he turned and began slowly stroking in that direction.

A couple of men from Markham Glass were waiting to help him out of the water, climbing down the ladder attached to the dock to assist him. Fenton stopped on one of the lower rungs, despite the chilly water lapping around him, and tried to catch his breath. This is so not my day! He spat out more water, clinging to the ladder to keep from dropping back in.

"Come on, Mr. Hardy, let’s get you out of this," one of the men urged him gently. He offered a hand, and helped Fenton slowly ascend the rungs, then clamber up over the edge and onto the dock itself.

Aaron Markham was waiting there, for once looking close to his eighty years, his face creased with worry. "What happened?" he demanded, as Fenton moved away from the water. "How did you end up in the Bay, for God’s sake?"

For a few moments, Fenton could only blink at him, bemused. How had he ended up in the bay? Then he remembered the push! Someone had shoved him! He started to explain what had happened, and then broke off. Play it cagey, Fenton, don’t let on! It might have been an attempt on your life, or it might have just been a warning. "I’m…not quite sure," he said at last. Better to sound dumb than to tip someone off!

Deciding he really ought to call Laura and tell her what had happened, rather than to traipse into the house dripping wet and scare her to death, Fenton pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and then stared at it in chagrin. Being doused in the bay hadn’t done it any good; it didn’t appear to be working at the moment. Just one more thing to go wrong…. He swore quietly, and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Mr. Hardy – here, use mine." One of the Markham Glass employees in the group surrounding him was holding out a cell phone. Fenton accepted it with a grateful nod, and a second later paused in dialing to thank another employee, who had appeared with a blanket to drape about the drenched detective.

"Laura? Honey, I – yes, I know you’re all right. Glad to hear it – you’re probably more all right than I am right now….No, I’m not hurt, exactly, but I did take an unexpected dive into the bay…."