Frank and Joe found a small Italian delicatessen not far from Trinity College to grab a bite to eat. Then they continued sightseeing, visiting two of the three locations of the National Museum of Ireland and later visiting Dublin Castle.

Joe leaned over his brother’s shoulder. “Didn’t Dad say the Merrion? Look, we’re close. Maybe there’s some booths set up and we can check out the different stuff.”

“Sounds good.” They started walking again. Frank was getting a feel for the city, knowing how things were laid out. Many streets merged into other streets midway down, others kept the same name but were referred to as upper and lower sections.

They found The Merrion but the lobby was crowded with tourists, convention attendees and the booth sellers. Joe shook his head. “I’m not trying to dodge my way in there. Let’s wander down this way and come back in a few minutes.”

Frank followed him down to Merrion Row where it met up with St. Stephen’s Green North, a road that bounded a beautiful lush park. The brothers turned in, wandering the paved walkways that meandered through the park.

“...right over there, mind you. Heard it plain as day,” came a wavery old-sounding voice.

Frank and Joe turned to see an old man seated on a park bench, a crowd of young people surrounding him. The listeners seemed spellbound by the man’s story. “...called for Sophie, she did, the poor little girl. All soft and whispery, barely hearing her. I turned around and there she was, lookin’ so sad and lost. Before I could do more than draw breath she vanished right before me eyes.”

The younger listeners shivered while one of the older ones, a tall dark-haired girl shook her head. “So, you’re saying it’s a ghost? But we’re at the Shelbourne. I didn’t hear anything.”

“Ye’d have to be in room 526 to hear little Mary cryin’,” said the old man. He wore an old cap on his silver hair and his wrinkled hands gripped the silver handle of an old oak cane. His eyes were clear and a brilliant green. “Visit room 526 and ye’ll hear her.”

Joe nudged Frank. “A ghost...at the Shelbourne? Let’s check it out.”

“Joe, no. It’s probably just some legend they tell tourists,” Frank said.

A moment later, the old man looked at him. “Be careful, lad, the spirits don’t like to be regarded so harshly.”

Frank opened his mouth to argue but realized it might seem rude. He merely apologized since the old man was frowning at him and pushed at Joe to keep walking.

“Come on, Frank, it’s right over there. All the staff can tell us is no.” Joe flashed his brother a grin. “After all, we have to pass the Shelbourne on our way back.”

Frank started to shake his head when he saw a petite blond-haired woman walking towards him rather rapidly. She studied him for a minute and glanced at Joe. “Are you tourists?” she asked in an American accent.

Joe frowned. “Are we that obvious?”

“Sorry. I’m Kelly Mitchell, host and co-producer of Hauntings.” She held out a hand.

Joe shook her hand and so did Frank. She gave them a thousand-watt smile. “We’re doing a documentary on a Manor House in the Northside not far from the Dublin Writers’ Museum.”

Joe shared a quick look with Frank and nodded. “Congratulations.”

“Two of our guests had to back out due to an emergency and we need two people to fill the spots. How would you like to spend a night in a haunted house?”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t think so, Miss Mitchell.”

“Why ever not? Surely you can’t tell me you don’t like haunted houses.”

Joe started to tell her just that. It hadn’t been that long ago since that fateful Halloween when he thought he’d lost Vanessa...and his mother, but it had all been ruthless parlor tricks. Kelly Mitchell didn’t let him speak. “You two are young men who probably live for horror movies. This is a documented haunting manifestation, recurring every year. I’ve done background research on the Driscol Manor House.”

Frank cleared his throat. “No. We have an aversion to cameras.”

Kelly Mitchell frowned at them, her pale blue eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Joe wondered how rude it would be to just walk away. “Just because. Now if you’ll excuse us.” He grabbed Frank’s arm and hauled him down the walkway, away from the woman. “Talk about pushy.”

Frank waited all of a minute before he asked, “So why did you say no?”

“I can see it now. All of the guys back home, dying laughing because we’re walking around some house with night-vision goggles and hearing strange noises. I watch Hauntings all the time. It’s lame. Most of the time it’s just the people letting out squeals and screams, you never see or hear any of the stuff they supposedly hear or see. Although...”

Frank looked over at his brother. “What?”

“There was one episode where this guy was in this room all by himself. He asked the resident ghost to show itself and the door slammed – loud. When he tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge. He freaked big time. When he did get the door open, he found no one on the other side and there was no way someone could have held the door shut.”

“He could have been pretending the door was stuck.”

“Maybe, but he was certainly freaking. If he was acting, he was in the wrong line of work. He’d make it easy as a movie star.”

They left St. Stephens Green and headed for the Shelbourne Hotel, an elegant nineteenth-century hotel with a wrought-iron canopied entrance. Frank led the way to the front desk and asked to see room 526.

The clerk shook her head and sighed. She had vibrant red curls and sparkling hazel eyes. “Old Seamus at it again, is he?” She chuckled. “Someone’s in room 526 and we haven’t heard a peep from little Mary.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”

Joe smiled back. “No problem. Dublin’s a beautiful city, fascinating history.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you,” she said, her accent a soft lilt. She glanced around and then leaned forward slightly. “So where are you staying?”

Before Joe could answer, someone behind them called out, “Trinity, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

The desk clerk stiffened and her hazel eyes narrowed as she looked past Frank and Joe. “John. What on earth are you doing in Dublin?”

“Now is that any way to greet your uncle, child?” A tall slender man with graying black hair and a trim goatee walked up to the desk. “I’ve solved all our problems, girl. You should be delighted to see me.”

“We don’t have any problems we’re not capable of dealing with ourselves, John,” said Trinity, haughtily.

Her uncle ignored her comment. “I’ve arranged it all over the phone. We’ll have money coming in hand over fist after it airs.”

“Airs?” asked Trinity warily. “After what airs?”

Joe grabbed Frank by the arm and pulled him to one side, away from the desk. “You don’t think...?”

Frank shook his head. “Joe, the odds of us being confronted by a producer for a reality show and then meeting the owner of the house is just too much—”

“She’s a co-producer.”

Frank watched as the girl’s uncle leaned forward, apparently explaining things. “Whatever.”

“You did what?” Trinity’s voice echoed in the empty lobby, making several of her co-workers turn and stare at her. “You—” She seemed at a loss for words but a moment later, she began muttering something under her breath and motioning John out.

John stayed for a moment, glaring at her. “You’ll be thanking me before it’s over, child. Good thing your mother isn’t around to hear you talk like that.”

She muttered something else that the brothers couldn’t make out and looked like she was about to hit the older man. John left quickly and Trinity turned to one of her co-workers. “Jacob, I have to go.”

“Your shift’s not over for another hour, Trin.”

“Jacob, please. I have to warn Trevor and Trey that if they kill John, they’ll face a life sentence.”

A girl with black hair and blue eyes smirked. “Not if they claim self-defense.”

Trinity shook her head. “I’m not joking, Claire. Once they find out John got a camera crew out to the house, planning on a ghost show, they will kill him...slowly...probably bury him alive in a bog.”

She skirted the desk and stepped out into the lobby. She looked over at Frank and Joe. “Sorry for all that. Black sheep of the family, that one.” She shook her head. “And he’s not even kin.”

Frank cleared his throat. “We couldn’t help overhearing...”

The girl sighed and held out a hand. “Trinity MacBannon. My mother owns Driscol Manor House. She was a Driscol before she married.”

Joe nudged his brother hard and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Joe Hardy and this is my brother Frank.”

“Cead mile failte. It means a thousand welcomes.”

“Thank you,” said Frank. “That’s Irish Gaelic, right?”

Trinity nodded as she led the way out of the hotel. She stopped on the sidewalk and sighed. “I cannot believe he’d be such a blackguard.”

To Joe it had sounded like she had said, ‘blaggard’ and he wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to actually ask for a definition.

Trinity took a deep breath and blushed. “Never mind. He’s not been a part of the family since my Aunt Colleen passed away. I have to go home.” She sketched a wave and was gone, walking swiftly down Kildare Street.

Joe looked over at Frank. “You were saying?”

Frank frowned and looked around. “Might as well head to the Merrion, see if it’s less crowded and then we’ll get back to the hotel.”

“Frank—”

“Okay, so I was wrong. It’s uncanny that we get approached by Miss Mitchell and two seconds later meet the owner of Driscol Manor House.”

Joe thought about the cold breeze in the Long Room. “Frank, remember when you said I looked like I’d seen a ghost?”

Frank turned to look at him. “Yeah. Why?”

“Someone touched me. I thought was you but there was no one near me.” Joe gestured in the direction Trinity MacBannon had gone. “How weird is it that we meet someone named Trinity who just happens to belong to the Driscol Manor House which is being filmed by a television show who’s co-producer approached us?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “I think you’re finally losing it. I vote we skip stopping at the Merrion and get you back to the hotel before you start babbling in earnest.”

“Hey!” Joe said as Frank started walking. “I am not babbling.”

Frank turned around and grinned. “Last one to the hotel buys supper.”

Joe glared at him. “You better be prepared to pay up, cause I want to go to an expensive restaurant tonight.” He took off running and passed Frank by.

Frank took off after him but he was thinking on what Joe had said. It did seem to be too much of a coincidence...and he didn’t believe in coincidences.

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Disclaimer

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.