As he got out of the van, Frank spotted his mother on the front porch. She was doing something involving clippers and the hanging baskets of fuchsias, and she waved cheerfully at him.

"Hi!" she called. Then, realizing Frank had someone with him, she stepped down from the stool she was standing on, and waited, smiling at them both.

"Mom, this is Megan Wright, a friend from school. Megan, my mom, Laura Hardy."

"Hello, Megan, it’s nice to meet you." Laura pulled off a gardening glove and extended her hand. "Welcome – and pardon the dirt!"

"Hi, Mrs. Hardy." Megan smiled shyly. "It’s okay – my mom messes around with flowers, too. I’m used to it."

"Is Joe up yet?" Frank asked.

His mother shook her head. "He wasn’t when I came outside. But it’s – " she glanced at her wristwatch – "time he was awake. Even considering the game and the dance last night."

"I’ll go wake him up. We need to talk to him." Frank departed into the house. Megan dropped to a seat on the steps.

"Please don’t let me interrupt what you’re doing, Mrs. Hardy." she urged.

Laura laughed, and resumed her stance on the little stool. "All I’m doing is removing dead blossoms and clipping things back. Tidying, I suppose you’d call it. This late in the year, it’s not going to encourage them to grow any more, but it does make them look a little better!"

Upstairs, Frank saw his brother’s door was still closed tight, but he circumvented that by going into his own room and through the bathroom. He quietly opened Joe’s door, and surveyed his room. Doesn’t that kid ever hang anything up? It looks like Hurricane Josephine hit this place!

Joe was sprawled on his stomach, face buried in his pillow, but he stirred at the sound of the door opening. Hallelujah, he’s not sound asleep, anyway! Frank thought. He tapped lightly on the door frame.

"Joe? Hey, Joe, wake up."

"Lemme ‘lone," Joe mumbled. "’m asleep."

"No you’re not. Wake up."

Joe rolled onto his back and squinted at his brother. "If I’m not asleep, why are you telling me to wake up?"

"Will you stop it?" Frank snapped in exasperation. "Come on, get up. We have company downstairs."

"If it’s Chet, tell him to go away. I saw him yesterday. And the day before…." Joe turned onto his face again.

"It’s not Chet." Frank said through gritted teeth. "It’s a friend of mine from school. A friend with a problem. Maybe a case. Now will you get up?"

Joe opened one eye and surveyed his brother. "A case? That’s a little more interesting." He flopped over once again and yawned. "Sure, okay, I’ll be down in a little while….what’s his name?"

Frank couldn’t pass this one up. "Her name is Megan Wright. So don’t come wandering downstairs in your boxer shorts, please!" He dodged out of the room, grinning.

"Since when do I wander around in my – hey, what’d you say?" Joe sat bolt upright. "Frank?" But his older brother was gone. Fuming, Joe shoved the covers back and hauled himself out of bed.

When Frank got to the bottom of the stairs, he could hear his mother chatting with Megan on the porch, and recognized ripples of laughter from them both. Smiling, pleased that they were getting along, he went out the front door.

"…I certainly don’t have the proverbial green thumb." Mrs. Hardy was saying. "I have to have plants that can grow on their own, without much babying. But I’m awfully good at chopping things down and cutting things back!" She laughed, and Megan joined in again. Turning to her older son, Laura added, "Joe getting up?"

"Uh-huh, I think so." Frank didn’t elaborate as to just why Joe was rising so speedily. "Uh – Mom – you know, Megan and I didn’t really have breakfast; we just had coffee and a roll…."

Laura lifted an eyebrow. "Why do I think this is heading someplace?" she murmured.

"Well, I just thought – if maybe you were going to get Joe something…" Frank let his voice trail off suggestively. He smiled as sweetly as he could at his mother – and although Frank didn’t have Joe’s ability to wheedle, he’d been watching him do it for 17 years, and had picked up the basic technique.

His mother shook her head and laughed. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that made her look very much like Joe. "Megan, do you like scrambled eggs?" She stepped down from her stool once more, set down her clippers and stripped off her gloves.

"Well – yes, but – but, Mrs. Hardy, I didn’t – I didn’t come here so that you would feed me breakfast…." Megan protested.

"If I’m feeding Joe and Frank, adding you to the mix won’t make much difference." Laura smiled. She headed for the door.

"Can I help you?" Megan offered, starting to rise.

"No, honey, just stay put! Entertain Frank. If I need any help, I’ll yell."

"She said to entertain me," Frank hinted, sitting down on the steps beside Megan, as his mother disappeared into the house.

"Fine. Let’s talk about Chapter 3 of the survey book." Megan’s aqua eyes twinkled as she made room for him.

Fifteen minutes later, they were gathered in the kitchen, where Laura passed out plates of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Joe had appeared just as Frank and Megan came in from the porch. His hair was damp from his shower, and he was clad in khaki shorts and a tee-shirt emblazoned with the words: "NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF STUPID PEOPLE IN LARGE GROUPS."

"Megan, this is my brother, Joe." Frank introduced them. "Joe, Megan Wright, from my Criminal Justice Systems Survey class."

"Hi," Joe nodded, smiling. Frank saw his eyes widen in appreciation as he took in Megan’s appearance. Frank cleared his throat softly, and threw Joe a warning look, over Megan’s head.

"Let’s eat." he suggested, tersely.

Over breakfast, they chatted mostly about the previous evening’s football game. Joe was full of complaints about his bruises, and vowed it was the worst pounding he’d ever taken in his varsity career. Frank, who had taken his share of lumps as quarterback, the past two years, actually did sympathize, but kept teasing him about having become soft. Megan listened, smiled at the teasing, and finally asked questions that showed she knew something about the game. Joe’s eyebrows elevated in surprise.

"You like football?" he asked in amazement.

"Very much," she replied. "I like college ball the best, but high school ball’s fun, too. I don’t follow the NFL much, but I do like the Patriots and Jets, of course, since they’re sort of local teams."

" ‘of course,’ she says." Joe repeated. "Most girls don’t like or understand football. Even Vanessa prefers basketball."

"That’s because she can beat you occasionally." Laura commented dryly.

Frank was silent, thinking. Callie hated football. She’d go to the games, because I was playing, but she never understood any of it. And she made sure I knew it.

When breakfast was done, Laura let the three teens clear up the mess and load the dishwasher, while she returned to her plants. Finished with that task, they went into the family room, and sat down.

"Megan needs our help," Frank began. "I want you to listen, and tell me what you think." Glancing at Megan for permission, he began to talk, telling the story as concisely as he could. Joe listened intently, blue eyes flicking from Frank’s face to Megan’s, and back again. He winced and murmured "I’m sorry," when Mr. Wright’s death was mentioned, but otherwise remained quiet until Frank finished talking.

Then he spoke. "I think you’re both out of your minds." he said bluntly.

Megan bit her lip. "I knew you were going to say that," she murmured. "I suppose you’re right." She moved as if to rise.

"Hold on, wait a sec, I didn’t finish!" Joe forestalled her. "I think you’re both out of your minds, but I’m willing to go along with it anyway. It’s not the craziest thing we’ve done, by a long shot."

Megan stared at him in disbelief. "But – but – Frank told me there was no evidence to work with…"

"So we go out and find some." Joe grinned. "We just have to decide where to start."

"You – I – I don’t know what to say – how to thank you…" she whispered.

"Better not start throwing bouquets just yet," Frank reminded her. "We haven’t done anything except agree to attempt to look into the situation."

"But that’s more than I had before. And – " her eyes sparkled, in a way that Frank was beginning to recognize: she had something important to say. "I think I have a plan."