“Mom!” Gertrude cried as she raced into the house. Agnes was in the kitchen just hanging up the phone, “Call the police and an ambulance! That horrid man’s taken Frankie and Joey’s fallen into an old well!”

The old woman just stared at her in total disbelief.  “A well?” and then as comprehension filled her face, she grabbed the phone again. “I’ve already called the police,” she told her daughter, her hands shaking as she re-dialed 9-1-1, “Where’s Frankie and Laura?”

“That man just put him in a silver car and took off – towards town! Laura’s outside with Joey…”

“Grab her coat,” Agnes looked at her daughter, “and your own, some blankets and get back out there – I’ll call the fire department and your father as well—”  She turned her attention to the phone as Gertrude hurried from the kitchen.

 

Cecil Mouland frowned as he saw the very distraught figure of Laura Hardy kneeling down in the snow close to where the property met the road. Quickly parking his car, he hurried towards her.

“Laura! Are you all right?”  He glanced towards the big house wondering where every one else was. They should be here. Gertrude had not mentioned going anywhere this morning.

The pale-faced woman looked up at him through red-rimmed, swollen eyes. She was shaking and he doubted it was from the cold alone. Taking off his jacket he draped it over her thin frame and crouched down next to her, noticing a gaping hole for the first time.

“J-Joey—” the distressed woman managed, indicating the opening, “he – he’s down there!”

Cecil’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh no!” he whispered, leaning forward towards the hole slightly before looking around.  “Where’s Frankie? Is he down there too?”

“No,” the woman managed, “he’s been taken!”

Before the man could ask anything else he heard someone cry out his name, and looked towards the house to see Gertrude rushing towards them, her arms laden down with blankets and coats, a pair of oversized snowboots flopping on her feet. Immediately Cecil hurried to help her.

“Oh thank God!” Gertrude gushed in genuine relief and then quickly explained to her ‘male friend’ what had happened. Cecil just stared at her in horror, his throat tightening as he heard Laura’s heart-wrenching words of comfort to the child lying beneath them; and then he saw a little blue mitten lying in the white snow near where the earth had given away. It had come off when the boy fell.

It – it’s okay, Joey…baby…Mommy is r-right here…

From the hole, they heard nothing.

Stooping down to pick up the mitten, he shivered. It was still warm…

* * *

“So what do you think of this Cecil character?” Fenton asked his father as they drove.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” admitted the older man, “Only matters what Gertie thinks, and she thinks he’s the cats me-ow!” He laughed.  “A funeral for a cat – I’ve heard of everything now!”

“Yeah but what if he’s using her—” the detective demanded, his mind suspicious about the mild-mannered bingo caller, “for something…or something!”

“Using her for something…or something?” his father frowned. “For something what? I don’t think I’m following you, son.”

Fenton snorted, “Oh I think you can follow me just fine, so put away that kindly old harmless drooling-on-himself senior persona. I know the real Dick Tracy/John Wayne ‘kill-em-all let God sort them out’ you!”

“I prefer Sean Connery actually, if you must know…and it’s kill them all AND let God sort them out!” Francis corrected and then shrugged as he drove.  “I think Cecil is exactly what he professes to be. And I think he’s perfect for Gertrude…can’t explain it, son, but I feel the same way towards him as I did towards Laura when you first brought her home.” He paused and then shot Fenton an odd look.  “Actually, come to think of it, I recall having a very similar conversation with Gertrude about you and Laura….She was very concerned about the potential corruption of her little brother.” He winked, “Boy, was she ever right. I mean, Laura Scott has plain ruined you!”

“Dad—”

“No, I’m being serious, son. Gertrude deserves to be happy and from what I saw last night, this man makes her happy. So I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust her instincts on this. I’d recommend that you do the same thing,” the ex-cop advised as he carefully navigated the slick roads.

“I’ll try,” Fenton offered, though his words didn’t sound convincing to either of them.

“You’d better do better than just try, Junior,” Francis warned, “because your mother likes Cecil too!”

“Oh brother.”  Defeated, the young sleuth sat back heavily in his seat and ran a hand across his face. He sighed, “Gertrude Mouland…I guess it does have a ring…”

Francis snorted loudly.  “Don’t get carried away, Fenton. I said ‘try’…not marry them!!”

Francis and Fenton drove for a few minutes in silence before the younger man changed the subject, voicing what had been preying on his mind since the previous day. “I hope we find something – I’m just not sure what I hope we actually find.”

The senior Hardy snorted softy.  “Care to explain?”

“Well,” Fenton started, “Do I want this guy to be Joey’s father or not? I mean for Joey – and assuming this guy isn’t the complete jackass that he’s come off as being so far – that would be pretty exciting…his real dad. He would finally get some closure or connection to his past—” he paused.  Francis glanced at him. “But at the same time, I don’t want this creep to be anyone related to him at all. Call me selfish if you want, but he’s my son now, damnit, and I don’t want to share him with anyone else – real father or not!”

Francis chuckled and shook his head.

“What?” Fenton asked, his voice holding a note of indignation.

“Nothing son—” the ex-cop grinned, “I’m just so proud of you right now I think I could just about burst.” Confused, the younger man frowned, and his father continued, “Fenton. Not only did you open your home, but you also opened your heart to that young ragamuffin – truly and fully….That’s not something just anyone can do. There are too many narrow-minded pinheads out there who think family is defined by blood line. Well DNA has nothing to do with it! You know yourself, some of the worst crooks ever, have come from fine, upstanding families! And to hear you hoping this guy is not Joey’s dad just because you love him…well son, that just makes me damn proud!”

Fenton blushed but before he could say anything his father’s cell phone rang, and he watched in amusement as the older man fumbled with getting his phone out and opening it as he drove.

“So much for pulling over to talk, huh?” he managed, and grinned at the dirty look his father shot him even as he answered.

“Frank Hardy,” Francis barked into the phone.  “Agnes? What? Slow down honey, I can’t—”  Fenton could hear his mother’s excited voice through the receiver and his heart pounded as he made out the words ‘the boys’ and ‘police’…

‘Oh God, something’s happened!’

* * *

It was dark – that was the first thing the little boy noticed as he regained consciousness. It was dark…and one of his mittens was missing!

The child had passed out, briefly, when he’d hit the bottom of the old farm well, and a surge of panic was quickly replaced by an intense and burning pain that seemed to knife right though his body.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Joe gasped, letting out an involuntary whimper when he tried to move and almost blacked out again. He was terrified, cold…and alone.

From what seemed far away he could hear something – voices? A voice, but the child was hurting too much to comprehend what was being said…yelled? Cried.

‘Help me’, his mind screamed, but the words left his lips as a whisper of agony. Forcing his eyes open, Joe slowly focused on the voice until he could place it. It was his mommy – she was here…he wasn’t alone…!!

‘Frankie’, he suddenly thought, shivering and groaning again as he dully remembered what had happened – the chase and then falling… ‘Where’s Frankie?’ His heart pounded painfully in his chest and each beat sent a fresh wave of pain searing through his side, stabbing at him. His hand shaking from more than the cold, the boy touched his side and then let out another involuntary gasp as he felt something wet and warm through his snowsuit…blood. He was bleeding!

“M-Mom…my…” he whispered with difficulty, “help…me…”

But his words were too feeble to be heard.

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.