Frank was still asleep when Laura and Fenton entered his room. Immediately the young mother flew to her son, brushing an errant tear from her cheek as she stroked his pale face with trembling fingers. Her smile was shaky as she looked down at the child, relief flooding her body now that she could see – touch – him herself. Her baby was safe…

“Mommy’s here,” Laura whispered as she leaned over and placed a warm kiss on his still chilled forehead, momentarily jolted once again by the fear that had held her when she’d seen Rigado throw him into that car and drive off.

“He’s okay Laura,” Fenton’s voice from behind her spoke softly and she felt his warm hand on the small of her back as he leaned over to brush a shock of dark brown hair off Frank’s forehead.

“I know,” she said quietly, “I know.” And she did…but still she was the child’s mother so she worried, and would probably do so for a long time to come. Laura had come too close to losing him – to losing both of them, she amended, thinking of the small blond child still in surgery – to dismiss her fears so quickly.

“I just don’t understand,” she admitted, sitting down on the edge of the bed and lightly stroking Frank’s bare arm.  “Why’d that man do this to us? Even if he is Joey’s father, why’d he want to hurt Frankie?”

“Well…” Fenton said carefully, as he stood on the other side of his son’s bed and peered down into his young face, “I don’t think it was Frankie he was after—”

Laura’s head jerked up as she looked at her husband, quickly picking up on what he hadn’t said. “But grabbed him when Joey fell into the well?” she finished softly.

“That’s what I think,” Fenton agreed with a sigh.

Laura was quiet for a few moments as she gazed at her little boy again. Slowly a smile traced her lips and she shook her head.  “How much you want to bet that when Frankie wakes up, the first thing he is going to do is demand to know where Joey is?”

Fenton actually gave a little laugh as he gazed fondly at the sleeping youngster.  “Even if I was a betting man, I’d never lay odds on that one.”

“He really does seem to enjoy having Joey around, doesn’t he? In being a big brother” Laura commented. That had been one of their biggest concerns when they had considered adoption – how would Frank feel? Would he feel displaced and resentful or would he accept the new child as his brother and be willing to share his parents and his life with him?

“I think he downright thrives on it,” Fenton speculated. “He’s certainly become quite protective of Joey, especially so in the past couple of days – to the point of impertinence at times!”

“So I’ve noticed!” Laura agreed with a small laugh, thinking of the kitchen talk she and Agnes had had with the boys, and the flash of over-protectiveness Frank had shown. “I just hope this won’t change things between them in some way…”

Fenton moved to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders and peering down at Frank from behind her. “I don’t think it will…not in a negative way, anyway.”

Laura placed one of her hands over his and squeezed gently. “I hope you’re right Fenton. I really do.”

‘So do I’, thought the detective. ‘So do I.’

* * *

For a moment Cecil never said anything. He wanted to choose his words carefully, knowing that what he was about to reveal might change the way Gertrude and her family saw him. And then taking a steadying breath he started speaking:

“As you already know, I’ve worked for a long time as a bingo caller. And like most other professional callers, I started out working church bingos on a volunteer basis – to build up experience, you know.”  He kept his gaze on Francis, though he was dying to look at Gertrude. After three years, he was very adept at reading her and he was desperate for some sort of reassurance that what he was going to tell her wouldn’t change how she felt for him. But he didn’t. Not yet.

“It was at St. Ruth’s that I meet Josephine Rigado….A widower, she was a lonely older lady who frequented bingo as often as the church held it, and over time we became friends—”  He glanced at Gertrude and stressed, “just friends. Nothing else.”

She gave him a small nod, encouraging him to continue.

“Josie was a lovely lady but she had a problem…her son, Joe. She actually had two children – a son and a daughter – but it was the boy who was giving her a run for the money….The kid was a wild child and she couldn’t do anything with him at all. He needed a good male role model, she insisted and I – feeling very badly for this sweet lady – offered to take him under my wing, per se. Spend time with him you know, take him to the movies, talk to him, things like that; be the dad – big brother – that she just couldn’t be…and I did – or at least I tried to, anyway.” He stopped speaking and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes briefly. As he did so a rush of memories flooded his mind, making him very tired. Josie had been a good friend and even after ten years, he missed her dearly.

“And?” Francis pressed, leaning towards the other man.

Cecil opened his eyes. He felt Gertrude touch his hand and gave her a wan smile, relieved to see a look of understanding mixed with pride on her face. “And I think it helped…for a little while anyway, or at least that’s what Josie told me. JR – I nicknamed him that – and I became good friends. He’d come by and we’d talk about stuff or just hang out. He liked my cat. And then it just all stopped—”

“What happened?” It was Gertrude this time asking, “Why’d it just stop?”

Cecil’s smile turned sad as he looked at the love of his life.  “Josie died.” He felt her hand tighten on his.  “We just lost contact. I started working full time and JR went on his own way…”

“So you haven’t seen Joe Rigado in years?” Francis tried to clarify.

“Oh no – not years,” the other man quickly denied. “About two months ago, JR showed up at the bingo hall as if it had only been yesterday….We met a couple of times for coffee since then, and just before Christmas he dropped by again and told he was going to Rhode Island to spend the holidays with his sister. Needless to say, I was stunned when I saw him in town.”

“Needless to say,” Francis repeated absently and then shot his wife a look when Agnes elbowed him lightly in the ribs, giving him a stern look, “What? I believe him! I don’t think he had anything to do with all this but – as fascinating as this has been – it still doesn’t help explain how Rigado knew about Fenton and Laura adopting Joey, unless he’s the boy’s real father!”

Cecil’s eyes widened.  “JR’s Joey’s real father?”

“We don’t know,” the ex-cop admitted, “he showed up at the house making that claim and then hinting, none too subtly, that we could buy him off. I hate to even think it, but he must be the father – how else could he have known about all this?”

“Um… sir,” the bingo caller started up again, “actually that might be my fault.”

This time Francis didn’t say anything; he just looked at the younger man and waited.

* * *

Frank felt horrible. That was the first thing the child noticed as he regained consciousness. His stomach felt bad and his head was headachy!

“Frankie? Sweetie? Are you okay?” A soft voice next to his ear made the child turn his head slightly as he forced his eyes open and saw the anxious faces of his parents watching him carefully.

“Frankie!” his father’s elated voice made him wince and Fenton lowered it before continuing to speak, “Son! How are you feeling?”

The child thought about that seriously for a moment before he answered. But as he opened his mouth to tell them about his tummy and head, the image of a small blond boy disappearing into the dark ground flashed into his mind – Joe!

“J-Joey?” he forced out. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and he had to work hard to make it work properly, “Where’s…Joey?”

* * *

Francis stood up to meet Fenton when he saw his son come into the waiting room an hour later. Cecil had taken Gertrude and Agnes up to the cafeteria for something to eat, promising to bring back coffee when they came.

“Any word on Joe?” the worried young father asked immediately, and his father shook his head.

“Not yet. But no news is good news,” he reminded his son.

“I really hate that saying,” Fenton grumbled and then added, “Frankie’s awake. He’s doing pretty good – a bit sick and headachy, but that’s to be expected. He asked about Joey first thing.”

“That’s great news!” Francis smiled in relief.

“You can go up to see him if you want. I’ll stay here for a bit. Hopefully we’ll hear something soon,” the younger man said, already moving towards the plastic chairs. His father grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Thanks son – and I think I will. But first I’ve got some things to tell you.”  Before Fenton could say anything, Francis quickly told him about Cecil’s connection to Joe Rigado. Stunned, the young sleuth just stared at his father.

“Are you kidding me?” Fenton finally asked when Francis stopped speaking. His father shook his head:

“No, and there’s one more thing…”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” the younger man mumbled, running his hands through his hair in exasperation.

“I’ve finally got good reason to believe that Rigado is not Joey’s father after all! Apparently, Cecil told JR about Gertrude’s brother adopting a little boy, and Rigado was very interested in it, bringing it up a number of times during their meetings!”

“Finally—”  Fenton said, exhaling loudly, “a good reason to explain all this without it involving Joe Rigado being Joey’s natural father! Now we just have to prove it!”

“Well, we’re at a hospital,” Francis reminded his son needlessly, “you could have a paternity test done – not that it would matter anyway. YOU and Laura are Joey’s legal parents now, no matter what.”

“I know,” the detective admitted, “I just wanted to give some closure to Joey on this – one way or the other.”

“Maybe you can,” a familiar voice said, and the men whirled around to see Dr. Beckman walking towards them. She had heard the tail end of the conversation and smiled. “First things first though. I just wanted to update you that Joey is doing very well. The surgeon was able to repair the damage and your son is on his way to recovery as we speak—”

Fenton exhaled loudly with relief as Francis grabbed him in a tight hug murmuring, “Oh thank God!”

Dr. Beckman smiled and turned away for a moment until the two men had re-composed themselves. And then she added, her brown eyes twinkling brightly, “And as for that closure, I overheard you talking about…I can tell you right now without doing a DNA test that there is no way Joe Rigado could be your son’s natural father...”  She smiled broadly at the stunned faces that slowly melted into elation as her words sunk in. “It’s as simple as this. Our gunshot patient is blood type AB; our little blond boy is blood type O….”  She shrugged.  “They both needed blood when they arrived so we had them typed and matched. I don’t know exactly what blood type Joey’s real father is, but I can tell you unambiguously that it cannot be type AB.”

And in that one statement, Dr. Beckman gave Fenton Hardy back his family.  His whole family.

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.