“Hey, how was work?” Phil asked when Chet came into the Hardy kitchen and closed the door.  Biff looked up from the body-building magazine he’d been reading at the table.

Frank was leaning against the counter eating a banana.  He’d just woken up and only come downstairs a few minutes earlier.  The sleep he’d had was dreamless and he felt and looked much better now…much more like the calm, cool and collected Frank Hardy who would find his brother.

Chet was still scowling, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was bothering him.  Their robust friend was a normally very easygoing person, so to see him looking so flustered put them on alert – something had happened.

“Chet?” Frank asked as he finished the banana and watched his oldest friend slump down in a kitchen chair, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Chet lied, not really wanting to tell his friends about his run-in with Mr. Rosado – particularly Frank, as he knew that the dark-haired boy thought highly of the old man.  And part of the boy was embarrassed by what Rosado had said, as it touched his insecurity, regardless of how hard he tried to deny it.

Over the years, Chet had been on the receiving end of many cruel and heartless remarks and sometimes – every now and then – one or two of them actually hit home.  And this was one of those times.

Chet loved his friends like brothers, and they had helped him fill the void that his sister, Iola’s, death had left.  But he also knew he wasn’t like them…like any of them.

He wasn’t as strong as Biff, or as smart as Phil, and he didn’t have Tony’s charm.

And Frank and Joe?

Mr. Rosado had been right – the Hardy brothers were in a league of their own.

And he wondered if things had been different, and he hadn’t met Frank that chilly September morning, if they would have even given him the time of day, now?

Chet hated himself for doubting, but just chalked it up to another flaw in the growing list that he’d amassed since the old man left.

“Chet?” Frank’s concerned voice brought him back from his dark thoughts, and he forced a smile on his face, although he knew his friends could see through it.

“It’s nothing. Just one of those days,” Chet said vaguely, and then tried to change the subject.  “Any word on Joe?”

Frank looked at his friend for a moment before answering.  He wasn’t buying the phony persona the other boy was trying to project, and knew something was bothering him.  And he would have to guess by the way his friend was avoiding looking at them, it was something pretty big.

“No, not yet.”  The dark-haired boy gave Biff and Phil a look, and they got the message – he wanted to talk to Chet alone.

“Frank, I’m going to use Joe’s computer to check my email, okay?” Phil said, already moving towards the kitchen door. 

Biff stood up, taking the magazine with him.  “And I think I’m going to check out Joe’s mag collection.  He told me he has a new hot wheels one.”

Frank nodded – the excuses were flimsy, but so was Chet’s façade, so it was very fitting.  “Okay, guys.”

As soon as the other boys left, Frank sat down in the chair across from his oldest friend, folded his arms and looked at him sternly.  “Spill, Morton.”

“Frank—” Chet started to protest, but Frank fixed him with a look and cut him off.

“I’ve cracked tougher nuts than you, Chester – you’ve met my kid brother.  Now what’s up, and don’t give any of that ‘nothing’ crap. This is me you’re talking to.”

Chet looked into his friend’s concerned face and sighed.  But instead of telling him what happened, he just asked, “Frank, if you met me today, do you think we’d be friends?”

The question threw the older Hardy for a loop, much to Chet’s amusement.  It wasn’t often that he put the stunned look that was on Frank’s face right now, there. That was usually Joe’s job.

And then Frank just said, “Yes.”

“But why?” Chet wanted to know.  “We have absolutely nothing in common.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Frank responded, as his dark eyes searched his friend’s face, trying to figure out where this was coming from.  “There are two kinds of friends, Chet.  The kind that you’re friends with because you like the same things…and then there are people who are your friends because you like them.”

Chet looked at Frank, and the older boy continued, “And I like you.  You make me laugh, you’re kind-hearted, reliable, and a lot of fun to be around.”  Something told him that his dejected friend needed to hear this right now.  “And no matter what kind of spot Joe or I have gotten into, you always stick by us and never get tired of trying to help.  Chet, what more could I want in a friend?”

“Really, Frank?  Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Chet was hesitant to just toss off his self-recriminations that easily.

Frank said resolutely, “Really, Chet.  Besides that, look at me and Joe – we’re pretty different, but that doesn’t change how I feel about him.  In fact, it’s how he’s different that makes him special. That makes him Joe.”

“Yeah, but…” Chet was reluctant to finish, but the other boy pressed.

“But what?”

“But you’re both athletic and handsome and—”

Frank cut him off abruptly.  “Chet, do you think I’m so shallow that I judge my friends by their appearance?”

“No!  No…” Chet backpedaled and then stopped.

“My friend,” Frank continued gently, “you are my friend for many reasons and not one of them has to do with appearance.  It’s your inner strengths that I’m concerned with.  So stop selling yourself so short.  And stop selling your friends even shorter!”

Reaching across, he squeezed the other boy’s shoulder.  “If I met you today…I’d still want you to be my friend.”

“And me!”

“Me too!”

Frank and Chet turned in surprise as the kitchen door was pushed open and Phil and Biff came in and echoed Frank’s sentiment.

“Sorry…we were worried about Chet,” Phil said by way of explanation.  He and Biff had hidden outside the door and listened.

“What can we say?” Biff put in, “When you hang out with detectives, their bad habits are bound to rub off?”

“But we do mean it,” Phil said, looking at Chet.  “I mean, look at me. I’ve got ‘geek’ post-it noted on my forehead—”

“And I’m a ‘dumb jock,’” Biff interrupted, and then stuck his tongue out at the look Phil shot him.

“But we’re still friends—” Phil tried to say.

“Most of the time,” Biff cut him off again, and then everyone burst into laughter as Phil took the magazine that Biff had been holding and whacked him across the head.

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Guys…guys!” Chet broke it up before he got to see Biff squish the living daylights out of Phil.  He was smiling again and his normally sunny disposition had been restored….When his friends stopped and looked at him, he said, genuinely, “Thanks.  And I mean it.”

Frank smiled and said, “Now my friend, do you want to tell us what happened at work that put you so off kilter?”

Chet pursed his lips and debated for half a second about whether or not to tell Frank.  But in the end he decided his friend needed to know.

It had been made painfully apparent to Chet that there was a lot more about the old man than what appearances suggested.  He could be downright nasty….

* * *

Joe hit the ground hard and then lay there stunned for a few moments before he struggled to his feet.

He had no time to waste!

But when he tried to make his first step, he cried out in pain as his right ankle buckled beneath him and he went down on his knees.

NOO!  His mind screamed; this can’t be happening!  Not now, not when he’d finally gotten out of the house!

Using the side of the house as leverage, Joe forced himself back to his feet – he didn’t think his ankle was broken but it sure as hell hurt. He hoped it was just a sprain….

Steeling himself for the pain that he knew this would cause, but refusing to accept the alternative, Joe took a step…and then another…and then another….

His leg screamed with each step and tears of pain and frustration burned his cheeks, but he refused to give up…he just needed to get to the woods!

* * *

Muir watched Joe’s progress from the ruined balcony. 

The boy had just made the tree line….He was moving slowly but still moving.

Growling, he slammed his fist into the side of the house.  It was getting dark, and even if he used the dog, he didn’t stand a good chance of finding Joe.  Ajax was not a tracker.

This isn’t over yet, he vowed to the retreating figure, not by a long shot.

Going back into the house, Muir glared at the old man standing in the room.  “Are you done ‘playing’ with him now?”

Antoine’s face darkened as he gave a curt nod.  “Find him, Muir.  I will not lose him.”

“There is a farm a couple miles from here.  It backs onto the woods,” the large man said.  “He’ll go there.”

“Then so will you,” the old man said, “and you will get him back for me.”

“What about the witnesses and the gift—”

Antoine cut him off in an uncustomary show of anger.  “Damn it, Muir!  If Joseph gets to that farm it won’t matter, now will it?  Find him and get him back – I don’t care how you do it, just do it!”

Nodding, Muir started to walk past him when the old man grabbed his arm, stopping him.  “If nothing else, bring me his endowment…”

The big man looked at him for a moment, long enough for Antoine to see the fleeting glimpse of anticipation pass over the giant’s face.  He knew his faithful servant would take even more enjoyment procuring this ‘donation’ than usual.  Fenton’s son had gotten to Muir, and for some reason that amused the old man immensely.

“With pleasure,” Muir stated, and then hurried downstairs to get what he needed.

He had no intention of bringing any more of Joe back to his employer than what could satisfy the jar of formalin….

The collection would grow by one, tonight.

* * *

As Muir left the house, the old man went to the library and sat down. He thought about the irony of the timing of Joe’s escape.

Looking down at the mastiff, Antoine snorted softly, “Young Joseph said he would do anything for his brother…and he has, just by virtue of his escape, now hasn’t he?”

The dog looked at him as he continued, “Muir will get what I need and then he will take care of the witnesses.  As for the gift?  My young guest has saved his brother’s life….We won’t be killing Frank tonight.”

His face crinkled in remorse as he sighed, “Such a pity though, I really would have loved to have seen the look of grief in Joseph’s eyes.  I suspect it would have been very satisfying….”

Sitting back in the chair, the old man closed his eyes and waited.