“Well if it isn’t the world’s greatest Fenton Hardy,” Smuff sneered as he took out a cigar, bit off the end and then popped the cigar into his small mouth.

“Smuff,” Fenton said, by way of greeting, and then promptly ignored him. That man just had a way of getting under his skin.  He looked at Ezra.  “What’cha got?”

“Homicide,” the police chief said, his mouth set in a grim line.  “Brutal one, too.”  He indicted the body bag as he shook his head, and then scowled as a thick puff of smoke from Smuff’s cigar enveloped him, making him cough.  He waved a hand in front of his face and frowned at the shorter man.

The other detective gave them an innocent look as he raised his eyebrows.  “What?”

Fenton reached out and grabbed the cigar from his mouth.  “You know, for a detective, you don’t take a hint very well do you?”

Oscar snatched the cigar back from him and snorted, “I see some things never change, oh Mr.-high-and-mighty.”

Turning back to the police chief, Fenton grumbled, “You just had to call him, didn’t you?”

Ezra shook his head.  “I called you. He just showed up.”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and see what my two best buds were up to,” Oscar said, extinguishing the cigar and popping it back into his coat pocket.  “And something about the sight of those whirling lights sends my little heart pump, pump, pumping!”

“Oh, brother.  He’s calling us his ‘buds’.”  Fenton rolled his eyes and turned away, already feeling the start of a migraine.  “I should be trimming hedges…”

Chief Collig nodded, knowing exactly how he felt.  He could think of many other things he’d rather be doing than this, right now.

As the Chief of Police, he wasn’t required to be at crime scenes; however, when this one took an interesting twist, he’d decided to come down himself.

Sighing, the veteran cop indicated for the detective to follow him towards the CSI van; Smuff followed, automatically, like a pesky stray.

At another time, Collig would have found this amusing – Smuff had always dogged Fenton Hardy’s footsteps, and the long-suffering look on the detective’s face, right now, told Collig that time hadn’t changed how he felt about the other man, one bit!  Smuff was annoying the hell out of the sleuth…just by being here!

“I’m actually hoping you can help us ID this guy, Fenton,” the chief admitted as he picked up a small evidence bag and passed it to the investigator.  “Does this look familiar?”

Fenton took the baggie and looked at the piece of evidence.  He frowned – oh yeah, he recognized it. It was one of his business cards – an old one, at that.

“What’s this about?” he demanded as he turned the card over to look at the back.

“It was found in the victim’s wallet,” Collig told him.  “Curiously enough, it was the only thing on him…. Other than your card, the wallet was empty, and there is no other form of ID.”

“This is an old card,” Fenton mused, as Smuff tried to get a look at it over his shoulder, which meant standing up on his tippy-toes, as the dark haired detective was taller than he.

“Yeah, well, this body wasn’t put here yesterday.  Come on.”  Collig took the card from Fenton, put it back with the rest of the evidence bags, and then led him towards the body bag.  “Ready to play ‘what’s my name’?”

Leaning over, he unzipped the body-bag and then moved out of the way as Fenton crouched down and covered his nose with a handkerchief, as the smell of decay was overpowering.  He got grim satisfaction when, from behind him, he heard the distinct sound of gagging, and then Smuff bolted back behind a patrol car and got sick.

Shaking his head in wonder at the other ‘investigator,’ Fenton pushed past his own natural aversion and took in the mess in the body bag. He was saddened by what he saw, and didn’t need to have the coroner verify that Collig was right.  Whoever this guy had been – his death had not been an easy one.

* * *

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Frank pressed as he drove to the airport.  His mother had been unnaturally quiet during the drive, and he sensed that it was her unexpected trip that was driving her melancholy.

Although not as exuberant as her younger son, Laura was still very much like him in personality, and to be so quiet was not like her at all.  Normally she would have loved this opportunity to talk one-on-one with Frank, but not right now.  Right now her mind was elsewhere.

Pale blue eyes regarded him sadly for a moment.  She and Frank had a lot more in common than appearances suggested; and she knew of everyone, he’d come the closest to understanding how she was feeling.  She just prayed that that was as close as he ever got….
Fenton was great, and definitely the love of her life, but there were things he just could never fully comprehend in the same way as her older son could.

Things that involved younger brothers…and all the feelings that went along with them.  Sure, she knew other people who had younger siblings – even Gertrude, her sister-in-law, made Fenton the younger brother – however, none of them shared anywhere near the bond she had with her brother…except for Frank.

And often times, the closeness she saw in her own sons’ relationship put hers to shame…maybe it was because they were both boys; she didn’t know, and never spent any time reflecting on it. But she treasured it; and was luckier still that Fenton did as well.

She sighed and turned her gaze back out the window.  For a moment, Frank thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but then she did.  And her voice was filled with so much sadness that he felt a tightness in his own chest.

“It never gets easier, Frank.  No matter how much time has passed or how far ahead in your life you’ve gone, there are just some pains that don’t diminish with time….”

Paul.

Frank swallowed back the lump in his throat.  He knew his mother was talking about her younger brother, Paul.  Neither he nor Joe had ever met their uncle, as he had been murdered over two years before Frank was born.

He knew his mother still thought about her brother often, though. He could tell, but it was never in anything she said.  It was more in what she did…or didn’t do.

The teen would see it in just the way she would sit and stare off into space, sometimes, with a sad, wistful look on her face; or see her brush away a tear when there was nothing to be sad about; or more frequently, in the way she looked at Joe sometimes….

Frank thought back to what his father said once when he asked about his uncle Paul:  If you want to see him, take a good look at your brother.  If you want to know him, take your common sense, loyalty and patience, and add it to your brother’s exuberance, tenacity and spirit – and you have your Uncle Paul….

His mother’s voice, weary and grief-filled, brought him out of his thoughts as she said, “It’s supposed to get easier…but I guess it doesn’t….Not for the people who truly own your heart.”

“Mom—” Frank began, but didn’t really know what to say to her.  He could not imagine what she must be feeling like.  Not really.  She had lost her younger brother, he still had his.

Laura smiled at the compassion she heard in her older son’s voice and as she turned to look at him, she reached out and gently touched the side of his face with her hand.  “It’s okay, Frank. You don’t have to say anything.”

Swallowing hard, he fought to focus on the road, and they traveled in silence for another few moments; and then he saw his mother pull the curled up magazine out of her purse and look at the cover.

Frank glanced down at it quickly.

On it was a large black horse that seemed to jump right off the page at him as it barreled over a white fence. The rider’s face couldn’t be seen, but it wasn’t necessary to see it, to understand how he was feeling – he was flying.

He took a stab at what this might be about.

“The article in there…it mentions, ah, your brother?”  He couldn’t bring himself to say Paul’s name out loud, hating the look that always crossed his mother’s face whenever she heard him mentioned.

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye, but she didn’t say anything for a few moments, so he ventured, “I take it, she got something wrong?”

Laura looked at him sharply.  “She, how’d you know?”

Frank shrugged, as he took the turnoff that said ‘AIRPORT.’  “Well I figured with a name like Gwynne Smart, it’d be a woman.”  He gave his mother a small smile.  “I saw it over your shoulder.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Frank,” Laura immediately apologized, having forgotten that Frank had been in the kitchen when she had originally been reading the article.  “And yes, Gwynne is a woman.”

He waited for her to answer his question, and hoped it was soon, as the airport came in sight.

Laura sighed.  “And yes, she did…very wrong.  Honey, there’s a space right there in front!” she directed him, as a large blue car pulled away from the curb, and Frank expertly slipped the van into the space.

“Mom—” Frank started, hating to leave the conversation like this, but his mother cut him off again as she stood up on her tip-toes to give his cheek a kiss, and give him a quick hug good-bye.

“It’s okay, Frank.  I’ll tell you about it when I get back.  Now just promise me to keep your brother out of trouble, and tell your father I’ll call him later.”  As she walked away, with a small overnight bag on her arm, she called back, “I love you, son!  Take care.”

And then she was gone, walking into the airport and leaving him with more questions about his uncle than he’d ever had before….That, and a very strong desire to see his own brother.