Mr. Rosado stood up as they heard Frank leave the driveway, and followed Fenton into the kitchen where he was going to use the phone that had all the numbers preprogrammed into it.

He knew it was a long shot, but maybe something had happened that did distract Joe and he ended up at one of his friends’…anything was possible.

The little old man touched Fenton’s arm lightly.  “Can I help?”

“I don’t think so,” the detective admitted, “I’m just going to call around to see if any of Frank and Joe’s friends have seen him.”

“And if they haven’t?” Mr. Rosado pushed.

“Then I call the police,” came the grim reply.

The smaller man patted Fenton’s back reassuringly.  “Keep your chin up, old man – from what I’ve just been listening to, your son is very resourceful.  Both of them, actually.  So I’m sure that whatever spot he’s gotten himself into won’t be anything he can’t handle.”

Fenton smiled weakly.  “I’m sure you’re right, Antoine.  And thanks again for dropping by.  I feel terrible for having to cut this short.”  And in truth he did; he had always liked the quirky old man.

Mr. Rosado nodded, approvingly.  “Then we will have to finish this up again, soon, Fenton.  Well, I’ll call for my car and then be out of your hair.”

Fenton waited while the old man made his phone call and then walked him to the door.

“Muir isn’t much to look at, but he’s a competent butler and chauffeur,” Mr. Rosado said, as a long black limo pulled up outside the Hardy house, and a tall, intimidating-looking man, who reminded Fenton of Lurch from The Addams Family, got out and opened a door for his employer.

The man had a bruise just over his cheek but before the astute investigator could ask about it, Mr. Rosado was halfway down the walkway towards the car, calling back to Fenton as he went, “But I am afraid he does enjoy his coffee a bit too much at times.”

Fenton nodded, waved goodbye, and then hurried back to the kitchen to start making the phone calls, his question about the manservant forgotten in the concern for his son.

* * *

Chet Morton was almost at home when he saw something that piqued his curiosity.  A section of guardrail was down, about a mile from his house.

Odd, he thought, that wasn’t down earlier this morning.

Pulling over, he decided to check it out, wondering if someone had had an accident.  He followed very noticeable vehicle tracks down the embankment…and then froze.

Half submerged in the cold lake water was a van!

The whole front end was under water but Chet could see the back end and his knees buckled as he read the license plate number…

“Ohmygod!  FRANK! JOE!”  He ran to the edge of the lake and pulled out his cell phone.  “Please let it be stolen….Please let it be stolen…”

He knew that van. It belonged to the Hardy brothers….

Please let it be stolen….

* * *

Frank heard his cell phone ring and pulled over before answering it. He hoped it was Joe but it wasn’t.

It was his father.

[Frank?]

Fenton’s tone was clipped, and Frank knew this wasn’t going to be good, and he didn’t even wait for his son to answer:

[Head out to the Morton farm immediately. I’m already on my way. Chet’s found the van about a mile from his place.  Frank, it’s in Arbutus Lake.]

Frank felt like all the air had been driven from his lungs.

[Arbutus Lake?  What about Joe?]

He heard an unsettling pause before his father admitted:

[I don’t know son….I just don’t know, but I’ve already called Collig and he’s going to meet us there…with divers.]

Frank hung up and turned the motorcycle around.  His mind was riddled with questions.

Why was the van in Arbutus Lake?

Where was Joe?

Why was Joe anywhere near the Mortons’?

Where was Joe?

* * *

“Frank!” Chet Morton ran up to his oldest friend as soon as he saw him pull up.  “Am I glad to see you!”

The older Hardy boy gave a grim smile and then followed his stout friend down to the lake.  His heart wrenched when he saw it was true.

It was their van.

Although he knew it was futile, Frank cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered, “JOE!  JOE! WHERE ARE YOU?”

Nothing but his own echo answered him.

In the distance they could hear the sound of the sirens….

“What happened?” Chet asked Frank as they stared at the tranquil waters.

“I don’t know,” Frank admitted, “But I just hope Joe wasn’t in it.”  He wanted to jump into the lake and swim to the van, but he knew that if Joe was somehow still in it, he was beyond help.

Silently, the two boys watched as the police and divers arrived, with Fenton Hardy only a few minutes behind them.  And then as he joined them at the water’s edge, they watched the divers prepare and then enter the water, and swim out to the van.

“EMPTY!” yelled one of the men, and Frank felt his father squeeze his shoulder supportively even as he let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

It didn’t mean that much, though.  Joe could still be in the lake.

And then Frank heard a familiar tune, and a police officer walking alongside the lake, reached down and picked something up.

“It’s a cell phone!” the officer called out, but both Frank and Fenton knew it was much more then that.  It was Joe’s cell phone – someone was calling him!

“It’s wet,” the officer said as he showed the Hardys the phone to confirm it was Joe’s.

It was, and it was Vanessa who was still trying to call him.

“Well, that’s something anyway,” Chief Ezra Collig said as he came up behind the boys and Fenton, “it wasn’t in the water long and it didn’t get here by itself.”

“So Joe got out,” Frank mused in relief before looking at his father, “but where is he, then?  And what was he doing here anyway?  He was supposed to be going to the mall!”

* * *

Mr. Rosado drove back to his house in silence and that was the way he preferred it.

Muir wasn’t much on talking, and that suited his employer fine. He was loyal to a fault and that suited his employer fine, also.

So when Antoine excused himself to use the Hardys’ bathroom, pulled out his cell phone and called his employee, he knew the giant of a man would do as he asked.

Muir had never failed him before, and he knew he had not failed him now.

A knowledge that was cemented when that girl called Fenton to say his younger son had not arrived at the mall.

A feral smile graced his thin lips as he thought about it.  The boy had been right under Fenton’s nose but the great detective had not realized it!

Antoine knew it wasn’t nice, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t intended it to be this way. But once he set his eyes on Joe Hardy, he knew he had to have him.

The child was just what he needed…what his collection needed.

Those eyes, the old man mused; I just had to have those eyes.

* * *