He was ecstatic. A year younger than his brother, Frank, Joe rarely ever got to have a day out with just his dad. Usually, it was the three of them or the four, if their mother went along. But Frank had left on a senior field trip yesterday and would not be returning until tomorrow evening. His dad, Fenton Hardy, an internationally known private investigator who had got his start as a cop on the New York City Police Department, had suggested the two of them go on a fishing trip. Ever since his dad had mentioned it four days ago, that had been all Joe could think about. Even Frank had been a bit envious of Joe when their dad had made the suggestion but Frank, being the perfect older brother, had declared it a wonderful idea. He wanted Joe to enjoy himself and not sit around the house all weekend being lonely.

Vanessa Bender, Joe's seventeen-year-old girlfriend had been excused from school for two weeks so she could accompany her mother on a trip to Europe and most of Joe's friends were also seniors and would be going with Frank. The fishing trip had been a stroke of inspiration on his father's side, at least, Frank had thought so.

Joe grabbed his fishing rod from where it lay leaning against his desk and picked up his tackle box and headed downstairs. He saw his dad at the doorway and his face broke into an enormous smile which lit up his whole face. As he reached the last step however, his smile faltered and his blue eyes lost part of their gleam. His dad was dressed in a three piece suit.

"Where are you going?" Joe asked, a tinge of hurt seeping into his voice.

Fenton Hardy turned his gaze on his youngest son. His brown eyes contrite, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Joe," he said. "I just received a call from the capitol. I have to meet with Senator Davenport in a couple of hours."

"New case?" Joe asked, his smile returning as he pretended he understood. He set down his fishing gear.

"I'm afraid so," was the reply. "I won't know the particulars until the meeting but I was told it would take a few days, at least, to get to the bottom of the matter." He put an arm around Joe's shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "Maybe you, Frank and I can do this next weekend."

"Yeah, sure," Joe agreed. "Be careful."

"I will," Mr. Hardy assured his son, opening the front door. Joe walked him to the car. "Will you be okay here alone?" he asked, worried at having to leave with Laura and Frank both gone.

"Of course I will," Joe said, smiling. "Mom will be home this evening and I've got loads of stuff to do."

"Alright, then," Mr. Hardy said, opening his car door. "I'll call you when I can. Be careful and take care of your mother," he added, climbing in and backing out of the driveway. Joe watched his dad's car turn the corner out of sight before he dropped the phony smile he had plastered to his face.

Bowing his blond head, he started back for the house when he heard the voice of one of his neighbors. "You look all dressed up to go fishing," Stan Axemeyer said.

Joe looked over at his neighbor of three years and gave him a sad smile. "I was," Joe admitted. "But something came up."

"I'm sorry," Stan said, his blue eyes kind as they looked at Joe's dejected form. "I take it your dad had to leave on a new case?" Joe nodded. "Well, you know I love to fish," Stan continued. "Matter of fact, I was just getting ready to leave," he added.

Joe looked at the man's outfit and laughed. "Well, at least one of us gets to have some fun," he said, his spirits already lifting. Stan was a full two inches taller than Joe's own six foot frame. He was lean and had dark-blond hair which fell over his forehead, almost covering his blue eyes. Stan had moved to Elm Street after his divorce from a woman named Martha roughly three years ago. On more than one occasion, Stan had been there to help the Hardys out by allowing them to use his phone as needed...even helping to search when Joe had been abducted from his own home by an enemy of Fenton Hardy's.

"Why only one of us?" Stan asked. "Tell your mom and grab your gear."

"Are you sure?" Joe asked, his eyes lighting up. Maybe the day wouldn't be a total bust. Stan wasn't his father but it was still fishing.

"Postive. Now hustle. We're leaving in five minutes," Stan decreed.

Joe ran inside, wrote a note for his mom and tacked it to the bulletin board in the kitchen beside the phone and grabbed the sandwiches his mom had made for him and his dad the previous night. He picked up his gear and returned outside just as Stan was locking his front door.

"Ready?" Stan called out.

Joe made his way over to Stan's jeep and put his gear and the sandwiches in the back. "Your mom said it was okay?" he asked.

"Mom is visiting a friend and won't be back until this evening," Joe explained. "I left her a note," he added, climbing in the jeep as Stan did.

"In that case, we're off," Stan said, putting the jeep into reverse and backing out of the drive. "I don't know where you normally go fishing, but I have found this great trout stream about twenty miles from here. That okay with you?"

"Sure," Joe agreed, his face breaking into a huge grin. "Trout are always good."

The two didn't talk a lot on the way, rather, Stan flipped on the radio to the local station which played a mix of oldies and current music and they enjoyed the breeze as they headed out of town. When Stan pulled off onto a dirt road, he turned the music off. "Don't want to frighten the wildlife," he commented.

"Where are we?" Joe asked, not recognizing the area.

"its private property," Stan answered. "It belongs to an old friend of mine. It was left to him by his grandparents. Unfortunately, he lives in California so he doesn't get out here much but he gave me permission to hunt and fish here."

"Are you originally from California?" Joe asked. He really didn't know much about the man. In the three years he had been living on Elm Street, Stan had pretty much kept to himself except when called upon. He seemed like a quite, private person; but nice.

"No. I'm from Oklahoma. I went to school at Berkley and met Martha there. We were married and lived in LA for about ten years," Stan volunteered. Joe thought he seemed to be glad to have someone to talk to and Joe wondered if he had made many friends since moving to Bayport.

"And you moved to Bayport after your divorce?" Joe asked.

"I have a confession to make," Stan said, looking at Joe apologetically. "Please don't tell on me?"

Joe shook his head and waited for Stan to continue. "I'm not really divorced. Martha was killed by a drunk driver. I...I couldn't face all the sympathy everyone was showing so I moved as far away from my friends as I could. When I got here, I didn't want to have to listen to everyone telling me how sorry they were, so I lied. I told them I had been divorced."

Joe nodded his head. He understood exactly what Stan meant. "Yeah," Joe commiserated. "It makes it harder to forget the pain when everyone is telling you that you have to go on with your life." Joe looked at Stan. "You knew that. That's why, when Iola died, you never said anything, isn't it?"

Stan nodded. "It's impossible to forget, and hard to carry on, but to have people telling you they are sorry..." he broke off and shook his head. "How can they be sorry? They didn't share the feelings. They weren't responsible for killing her...Or saving her," he added in a soft voice.

Stan stopped speaking and gave himself a mental shake before glancing at Joe and smiling. "We're here," he said, pulling the jeep to a stop. "We'll have to walk the rest of the way."

The twosome got out of the jeep and took their gear from the back. "Mom made sandwiches last night," Joe said. "I hope you like pastrami."

"Love it," Stan told him. "I'm glad you thought to bring some. I had forgotten. Tell you what," he continued. "What we catch, I'll clean and cook and you and your mother, if she is home by then, can come over for dinner."

"It's a deal," Joe agreed. Six hours later, the two left the stream with ten large trout. Joe had caught one that was a full twenty-four inches long, but since it was too big, he was required to through it back in. "Man, I sure wish we had brought a camera," Joe said as they made their way back to the jeep. "No one is gonna believe the monster I caught."

"Yeah, makes you wish they didn't have a maximum size limit," Stan concurred, stowing his gear in the back of the jeep. "It's still early yet, why don't we stop in for an ice cream float?"

"Where?" Joe asked curiously.

"Saspirilla's," Stan answered. "It's a little dairy house down the main road a ways."

"Sounds good to me," Joe agreed, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. "It is incredibly hot for this time of year."

"Tell me about it," replied Stan. "It's hotter today than some of the summer days in LA!"

It wasn't long before the two arrived at Saspirilla's and took a seat in one of the booths. Stan ordered floats for the both of them and the waitress, a lady in her late thirties with black hair in a beehive, brought them their treats. As hot as it was, neither male wasted any more time talking. They finished their floats in short order and then went to the counter to pay their bill.

"My treat," Stan told Joe who was pulling out his wallet. Joe started to object but Stan held up his hand and shook his head. "I insist. It has been very enjoyable to have someone to talk to today."

The waitress rang up their order and Stan handed her a five to cover it. "I bet you're going to look just like your daddy here when you get older," she said to Joe, winking at Stan. "There's just something about blond hair and blue eyes that makes my heart palpitate."

Joe almost choked. The woman was blatantly flirting with Stan. And why not? Joe thought. He is a nice looking guy. He waited to see what the woman would say when Stan corrected her about their relationship.

"Joe is already a heartbreaker," Stan informed the woman, smiling as he took Joe's elbow and escorted him from the building.

"Why..." Joe began but Stan wasn't listening. He had already started talking.

"I'm sorry about that," he told Joe. "But it wasn't worth hanging around in there to explain it to her. I swear, I don't know how they keep their ice cream frozen when their air conditioning obviously isn't working."

"It was very hot," Joe agreed.

The two climbed back into the jeep and headed back into town. When Stan came to a stop in his driveway, Joe gasped and put a hand on Stan's arm. Someone in black clothing and a ski mask was exiting the back door of Stan's house!