“That guy didn’t look smart enough to have discovered Sam’s safe houses,” said Chet Morton, a rotund seventeen-year-old. He had been Frank’s and Joe’s friend ever since they had moved to Bayport and met at the park during the summer before Joe’s first year at grade school.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Biff quoted the adage. “Besides, it’s a place to start. Someone definitely has it in for Mr. Hardy and you heard what Frank said. This guy has the biggest grudge.”

Chet turned his blond head and squinted toward the factory’s exit. “I wish Frank would hurry back,” he said, worry clouding his brown eyes.

“Me too,” concurred Biff with a frown. “Although, I don’t see what Tarlton could do to him at work.”

***

Frank, Biff and Chet had arrived at the factory a little after nine that morning in separate vehicles. Frank had entered the factory on the pretext of applying for a job and spotted Tarlton unloading something near the back of the large warehouse type building. When Frank came back out, he, Chet and Biff, had gone around to the back of the factory to set up watch because he had seen a sign stating that all employees had to use the rear entrance.

It was now lunchtime and several people had left for their daily repast but when Tarlton never exited, Frank had decided to go in and look for him. Frank entered the building in the back, striding past two employees who were on their way out and collided with a man who had at least thirty pounds on him and obviously worked out. “Sorry,” said Frank as the man grabbed his arms to steady him.

“Best watch where you’re going,” the man said looking at him curiously. “You don’t work here.”

“No,” replied Frank. “I was just going to see..” he broke off when the man broke into a grin and started talking.

“You were going to see Ben Oliver,” the man said in his baritone voice. “He said his nephew was stopping by sometime today. You look a lot like him.”

“Thanks,” Frank said, not really sure how he should respond.

“You’ll find him over by the snack machine talking to Al,” the man said, pointing to a corner not too far away. “Enjoy your stay in Bayport,” he added, releasing Frank’s arms and giving him a friendly slap on the back as he continued on his way outside.

Frank’s eyes had gone to the corner the man had mentioned and locked onto the frame of Albert Tarlton conversing with Oliver. At six foot four and almost two hundred and fifty pounds, Oliver was no slouch but Tarlton was even bigger than him and not an inch of him was fat. Frank turned and left the building. He had seen what he needed to see. Tarlton was still there. And he saw no point in alerting Tarlton to the fact he was being watched. Besides, he had someone else to investigate. Tarlton and Oliver had looked mighty chummy. Maybe Oliver was involved in Joe’s kidnapping.

“Was he still there?” Chet asked as Frank rejoined them.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “And he was being real friendly with another employee; a Ben Oliver. Can you two hang around here and make sure Tarlton doesn’t get home before three?”

“Sure,” Biff said. “What are you going to do?”

“Run a check on Oliver,” answered Frank. “Find out where he lives and search it if need be.”

“Be careful,” Chet cautioned.

“You two as well,” Frank responded. “Remember, Tarlton is a big guy.”

***

Laura came downstairs a little after eleven. “Sorry I slept so late,” she apologized to Agent Davies who was sitting in the easy chair near the center of the living room.

He looked up and gave her a quick smile. “Don’t apologize,” he told her. “I’m not a guest. I’m here to make sure no one gets in here who isn’t supposed to.”

“I know,” Laura returned. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be treated like you’re invisible. How about some lunch?”

“I’d like that,” Davies acknowledged with a slight nod. “Thank you ma’am.”

***

Stan parked his car on Marlin Street, the block behind Elm Street, and strolled leisurely down the sidewalk and around the corner. He doubted anyone would recognize him even though he had lived in the area for three years because after putting Joe to sleep he had dyed his hair red and used make-up to disguise his face. He wore a ragged pair of jeans and a gray tee shirt that conformed to his chest which was a bit more muscular than it had been months previously.

Stan slowed his gait as he spotted the squad car parked next to the sidewalk. He saw Sergeant Con Riley sitting behind the wheel, his head turned away from Stan momentarily as he gazed up the street. Stan continued his stroll, maintaining a leisurely pace as he passed by the car and turned the corner. His lips twisted as he saw another car watching the front of the house.

He realized the front door and the back door were being watched but since there had been no police car on the street he had parked on, he assumed the windows on the far side were not under surveillance.

Maybe I was a bit hasty in sending the flowers, he thought as he turned the next corner. The alarm is bound to be on. But then, I do know how to take care of that. I hung out with Joe enough when he worked on it in the past. With a smile plastered on his lips, he finished his walk around the block and walked straight to the trunk of his car.

Looking around, he made sure no one was about then popped open the trunk and removed a pair of pliers and a Phillip’s head screwdriver. He put them in the pockets of his pants then cut through the Sampson’s yard to the rear of the Hardy home. He stopped at the tree nearest the edge of the property and watched as a van came to a stop in the rear driveway.

Stan saw Frank get out and wave to Sgt. Riley before going inside. Figuring it would be the best time to cover the distance from that tree to the shrubbery by the house, Stan raced for the ivy-covered wall and knelt down behind the various flowering bushes near the window. He peered inside and saw a strange man stand to greet Frank as he entered the living room followed by Laura who must have disengaged the alarm system for Frank to enter.

Stan pulled out the pliers and screwdriver and set about disengaging the system from the window. By unscrewing the bottom of the small box at the base and removing the button batteries he could clip the wires on each side of the box and lift the window without bothering the remainder of the system.

Completing his task, he lifted the window a fraction of an inch when no one was looking and listened in on the conversation that was taking place within.

“Can you run a check on Ben Oliver?” Frank was asking Agent Davies. “He and Tarlton seemed awfully chummy during their lunch break.”

“No problem,” Davies agreed. “Weren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on Albert Tarlton while your dad searched his place?”

“He’s still at work and Biff and Chet are keeping an eye on him,” Frank said. “If you can get me that background on Oliver and an address in the next few minutes I can go over and see if Joe’s there.”

“I’m on it,” Davies promised and pulled out his cell phone.

“Stay for lunch,” Laura said. “I was just getting it ready to put on the table.”

“Sounds great,” agreed Frank. He followed his mother out of the living room and a few minutes later, Davies joined the two in the kitchen.

Stan looked around to make sure no one was watching then slid the window open the rest of the way and climbed through. Shutting it quietly behind him before quietly making his way across the room into the closet.

As soon as lunch was over Frank left for Oliver’s home address. The background check had revealed Oliver had shared a cell in the state pen for almost a year with Tarlton and that was reason enough to search Oliver’s.

“I don’t suppose I could go shopping?” Laura asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could but it would be better if you didn’t,” Davies replied with an apologetic smile.

“I figured as much,” Laura said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll do the dishes then go upstairs and clean a bit. Do you need to go up with me?”

“Not necessary,” Davies replied. “I’ll stay in the living room. Just shout if you need me.”

Laura nodded and waited for him to leave the kitchen before cleaning up. When she had finished she left the kitchen, passing Agent Davies as he was sitting in the chair by the TV with his head tilted at an angle. Laura smothered a smile because she had seen Joe, Frank, and even Fenton, doze off in the easy chair. She continued on her way upstairs. She stopped in front of Joe’s room and took a deep breath. I’m not going to cry, she admonished herself opening the door and going inside.

As usual, Joe’s room was a mess. An organized one, he swore, but still, there were clothes scattered about on the floor and rumpled papers lying beside the waste can near the desk. This was the only reason Joe and Frank had ceased to share a room. Frank was almost a perfectionist whereas Joe was a bit of a slob. They had driven each other crazy until finally they had decided separate rooms might not be so bad. So Joe had moved through the connecting bathroom into the upstairs guestroom.

Laura bent down to retrieve the clothes closest to the door but gasped when she saw a pair of denim clad legs from the corner of her eye. As she straightened up, Axemeyer rushed forward and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream,” he instructed Laura. “You want to see Joe?”

Laura nodded. “Then come with me and don’t put up a fight. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

“Like you hurt Joe?” she demanded when he released her.

“I haven’t hurt him either,” Stan denied. “You’ll be able to see for yourself.”

“You sent me that threatening card and the flowers,” Laura accused him. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“It wasn’t threatening,” Stan refused the accusation.

“You said you were going to kill my family,” she reminded him angrily.

“No I said I was sorry for your loss. As in Fenton and Frank,” he explained. “I know you care about them but you don’t belong with them. You belong with your real family. Joe and me. We love you and want you with us.”

“St..Stan?” gasped Laura, finally recognizing his voice.

“That’s right,” Stan admitted. “Now come on. Joe’s waiting for us.”

“B..but the Agent,” Laura objected.

“He won’t awaken for hours,” Stan informed her. “Now come along and be quiet. We have to get back to Joe before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” she demanded. “Too late for what? What have you done to him?”

“Let’s go,” Stan said, taking her hand and pulling her along with him. He hadn’t done anything to Joe but he had to get her to go with him. He pulled her downstairs and to the window. “We have to leave this way,” he told her. “We can’t risk those cops seeing us.”

“What have you done to my son?” demanded Laura.

“Quiet!” Axemeyer hissed as he opened the window. “This is your only chance,” he told her. “Either you come with me or, like those two,” he said, referring to Frank and Fenton with distaste, “you’ll never see Joe again.”

Laura swallowed. She had no choice. Noiselessly, she climbed out the window and took off through the yard with Stan into the neighbor’s yard and out onto the sidewalk. She looked around, anxious for someone to see her, but no one was about. Her lips set in a grim line, she got into the passenger seat. Minutes later, she and Stan were miles away.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.