"Hi," he said, squirming into the chair and attempting to get his long legs completely beneath the desk. "I’m really sorry I dashed off like that, at lunch!"

"It’s all right," she replied, although he noted dismally that she didn’t look very happy. "I know you had to get to class."

"Are you okay?" he began, but Professor Gillette rapped on his podium at that moment, calling the class to order. Both Frank and Megan settled back in their chairs and began taking notes; personal problems were temporarily washed away in the tide of information being presented by their teacher.

***

When the buzzer sounded at 3:50, Frank felt as if he’d been running a race. He stared at the notebook pages covered with scribbles, and wondered if he would ever be able to make heads or tails of what was written there. The class was interesting – and Professor Gillette wasn’t a bad teacher – but there was so much to learn!

He stood up, gathering his things together. Beside him, Megan was doing the same.

"Do you want to just come straight over to my house, or go home first?" she asked as she picked up her book bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder.

Frank slung his backpack on. "I’d rather go straight to your house," he admitted. "but I suppose I’d better go home and come a little later, with Joe. And Vanessa." he added.

She nodded acceptance, and they walked to the parking lot without further conversation. Frank accompanied her to her car, and stood watching attentively as she unlocked it and put her bag in the back seat.

"Megan, I’m really sorry I scared you, at lunch." he said, finally. "I only wanted to make sure you’d be careful. I was worried about you."

She finally met his gaze, and smiled. "I know you were – are. And I will be careful, Frank. But it works both ways. Now I’m worried about you, too."

"Want me to follow you home, then go back and get Joe?" he offered.

She laughed. "And spend an hour running back and forth across Bayport? No way!"

"It’s okay," Frank persisted. "I want to be sure you get home all right – "

"Frank!" She tiptoed and reached to grasp his shoulders and shake them. "Go get on your motorcycle and go home! I’ll see you in an hour. Goodbye!" She opened her door, slid into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. "Goodbye, Frank!" The engine caught, she pulled the door closed, and began to back out of her parking space.

Frank quickly stepped back, frowning, and watched her swing the car out of the lot. Then he shook his head in defeat and headed for the motorcycle parking spaces.

***

At five o’clock, Joe, Vanessa and Frank were gathered at Megan’s home. Joe looked tired, and admitted practice had left him pretty beat, but he insisted he was perfectly capable of doing his share of the search.

"The family room seems the best place to start," he suggested. "The most likely place to conceal a tape would be with other tapes, right? Right? Tell me I’m right, people!"

"You’re probably right," Megan conceded. "But when the place was searched, before, they scattered all the video and audio tapes all over. If they didn’t find anything, we probably won’t."

"I’ll start going through audio tapes, if you’ll show me where they are, Megan." Vanessa interposed, hoping to head off an argument between her boyfriend and the little red-head. Megan nodded, and indicated a cabinet with several shallow drawers.

"There. I’ll help in just a minute. And then we can do books."

"I guess going through the videos is our job." Frank said to Joe. "Let’s get to work."

It was a slow task. The four opened each and every tape box, checked the contents to make sure the labels matched those on the boxes, pulled out every drawer and removed the contents of each cabinet. With family tapes, it was up to Megan to verify the accuracy, and it took a lot of trial-and-error work to do so.

An hour passed, then two. Mrs. Wright came home and was introduced to Vanessa and the Hardys. She looked like her daughter; her hair was a darker shade of Megan’s red-gold, and her eyes were also aqua-blue in color, but they were filled with sadness. She was welcoming and gracious, however, and immediately went to the telephone to order pizza for them all when she realized no one had had any supper.

The pizza arrived, and the teens grabbed slices from the box and kept on working. Mrs. Wright was helping now, too, so checking each tape’s content was going a little faster. Eight-thirty….nine….nine-thirty. Everyone was becoming tired and snappish; Joe had slumped down on the couch and was holding his head in his hands.

"Mom – " Megan said suddenly, her tone inquiring. "What’s this?" She held up one of the 8mm camcorder tape boxes. "It says ‘Jake’s Bar Mitzvah.’ Who’s Jake?"

"Why, I have no idea." Mrs. Wright replied. "We never went to anybody’s bar mitzvah, that I can remember. And I don’t know anyone named Jake."

Joe sat up abruptly. "If there’s a tape there that you can’t identify, we should probably take a look at it." he said.

Megan took the tape from its box, inserted it into an adapter, and shoved it into the slot in the VCR. She switched on the television, picked up the remote control and hit "play." The five of them watched intently as about 30 seconds of static showed on the screen, followed by more flips and squiggles. The screen went dark for a few moments, and then a strange scene unfolded before their eyes.

Two men were visible. "The dark-haired man – that’s Ted Crowley," murmured Mrs. Wright. The other’s face was in shadow, and his features blurred. Whoever had been filming had been fairly close, but at an odd angle, as if shooting from behind something, or leaning around a corner. At first, there was no audio on the tape, merely "sound flutter" as the camera established its speed. Then, came voices:

" … you mean, you want more?" Ted Crowley barked. "We had a deal. You agreed. You can’t come around now and whine for a bigger payoff."

"You didn’t give me much choice!" snarled the other man. "And now I’m the one with blood on my hands. I’m doing your dirty work, Crowley, and if something happens, I’m the one who gets the murder rap!"

"Considering your job, you should be used to having blood on your hands, Waring." came the heated retort. "You agreed to do it, and you know why."

"I can’t be tried again – that would be double jeopardy."

"You can’t be tried for mercy killing again, maybe," Crowley sneered. "but you sure could be tried for murder."

"Those people were terminally ill!" cried Waring. "They would have died soon in any event! I just – just – "

"Just helped them along the road a little, right? A little extra morphine here – a little less oxygen there…." Crowley’s voice was vicious. "And you’re going to keep on doing it, whenever I say you will. Or else I just might happen to let something slip…."

"You hired me!" gasped the other man. "You’re in this just as deep as I am! You and your damned insurance policies!"

The sound abruptly faded out, and static filled the room. For a few moments, only the video portion of the film showed; then the static cleared, and voices could be heard once more.

"If it wasn’t for those new medications," Crowley was saying bitterly. "we wouldn’t have had to do it. People died, right when they were expected to, and the insurance paid up. Now, I can’t count on anything for sure. They just keep on living."

"Very inconsiderate of them, I know." Waring gibed. "I’m sure they don’t do it just to annoy you, Crowley."

"Shut up!" Crowley snapped. "Have you got those latest death certificates made out?"

"Yes, they’re done." Waring sounded defeated. "Two more deaths from natural causes…heart failure."

Abruptly, the film image shifted, and the intent watchers could see cars and the Crowley Manufacturing buildings. Footsteps and panting, a jiggling, jerking visual display….and then the screen went black.

For a brief space of time, there was silence in the room, and then Joe spoke quietly.

"Well – I guess we found what we were looking for."