Joe was faster than his father and brother. He made it to his mother's side first. "Mom..."

"I'm fine, Joe." She swallowed hard and nodded to the person standing there. "It wouldn't do to let her freeze out there."

Joe turned and stared. The woman standing there was shorter than he by half a foot. Her dark brown hair hung to her shoulders in a mass of ringlets and her violet eyes were twinkling. "Hello," she said in soft southern drawl. "I'm afraid we didn't get to meet last time."

Joe blinked, tried to think past the fact the woman looked like Iola. "What?" he finally managed.

"Oh, how silly of me. I'm Savannah. Savannah Worthington – we were here last month for the concert. I play the synthesizer."

Laura's blue eyes widened and she said, "Oh my goodness. Please, come in."

"I'm fine. Once the car stopped moving and I thawed a bit, I could actually wiggle my fingers." She didn't step over the threshold but gestured to the low-slung vehicle parked in front of the house.

Joe told himself not to stare. "That's your car?"

"Lovely, isn't it? Erick is hogging the '36 Ford Hot Rod, so I took the Packard."

Joe gave a slow blink and swallowed hard. "You have more classic cars?"

"Actually, the Hot Rod belongs to Ian. And the Packard belongs to Adrian." She looked past Joe and nodded. "Hello."

"I'm Fenton Hardy, and these are my sons. This is Frank and Joe's the one eying your car."

Savannah looked over at him. "Would you like to take it around the block?"

Joe tore his eyes from the fuchsia car to look at Savannah, his blue eyes wide. "You're kidding. You'd let me drive that?"

"Why not? We all take turns. The only one who would never let us drive her car is Casi. She hogs that Aston-Martin of hers the way Marc hogs his Harley-Davidson."

"May I ride with him?" asked Frank.

"But of course. But I warn you, you need to bundle up good. It's ten times colder with the car moving." She finally stepped into the foyer and pushed the door closed. "I hope you're familiar with a clutch, Joe."

Joe gave a start, nodded jerkily and darted up the stairs, without a word of explanation. Frank watched his brother disappear upstairs and turned to his mother. He knew she understood Joe's reaction. Frank cleared his throat. "You look like my brother's first girlfriend."

Savannah's smile widened. "I'm flattered." At the somber expressions on the three faces looking at her, her smile faltered. "Is something wrong?"

Laura took a deep breath. "Iola was killed two years ago."

Savannah's violet eyes turned sad. "Oh my God.  I am so sorry." She looked up the stairs. "Now I see why you were so shocked. I am sorry." She looked at Frank. "Should I go? I could call for a taxi or something if you want to drive it."

Frank looked over his shoulder and turned back to her. "Let me ask Joe, okay?"

"We were just having some hot chocolate in the kitchen," said Laura. "Why don't you join us?"

Frank heard the woman say thank you as he raced up the stairs. Frank didn't bother knocking as he headed into his brother's room. He expected Joe to be under his covers, hiding from everything but the bed was empty.

Frank glanced at the open door of the closet. The interior light was on, but there was no Joe. Puzzled, Frank walked over to the bathroom door. "Joe?"

"What?"

"What are you doing in there?"

The door swung open and Joe stood there. He was clad in a sweat-suit and his ski boots. "I'm dressing warm."

"You okay?"

Joe veered for the closet and pulled his heavy-duty ski parka off its hanger. "Yeah." He thought a moment and then shook his head. "No."

"Joe."

"She looks just like her. I mean her hair is curly and longer and Iola's was straight and shorter but—" Joe broke off and gave his brother a rueful look. "I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"I think you're entitled. You're driving her car?"

Joe gave his brother a look reserved for idiots. "Like I'd pass up the chance to drive that car?

Frank groaned. "I'll go get ready."

Joe started for his bedroom door. "Hurry. I'm taking off in five minutes."

                                                ***

 

Four minutes later, Frank stepped out of the house to find Joe familiarizing himself with the Packard's controls. Frank got into the open bench-like seat next to his brother and then realized the problem. "Hey, the steering wheel's on the right."

Joe nodded. "It's going to feel weird driving on the normal side of the road and being over here."

He pushed in the ignition button and pressed the gas. The car started with a throaty roar. Frank looked for seatbelts but didn't find any. The car idled so smoothly, if it weren't for the muted noise of the engine, he wouldn't know the car was even on.

Joe pressed the clutch with his left foot and after a falter, he reached with his left hand and shifted into the lowest gear. The car moved forward like a thoroughbred horse out of the starting gate. Joe gave his brother a wide grin and steered onto the road.

Frank had ridden in cars with manual transmission before and the only thing he'd ever noticed was the jerkiness of shifting gears and hitting the clutch. But the Packard was smooth. So smooth, he realized he could get used to riding in the car – except for the cold. He glanced over his shoulder at the enclosed back seat. Maybe he'd ride back there next time.

Joe drove carefully around the block, not minding the cold. The car was in supreme condition, despite the fact it was nearly seventy years old. He wished idly that she'd brought the '36 Ford Hot Rod. He'd love to drive that too.

It felt weird to Frank to be sitting in the seat that in the U.S. was the driver's seat and not having his hands on the wheel. He watched two people pass him, slow down and stare. He waved and shrugged.

Joe pulled to a stop in front of their house but didn't shut off the engine or move to get out. "I could learn to love this car."

Frank grinned over at his brother. "It is a nice car."

There was a screech of tires and both brothers saw a vivid red 1936 Ford Hot Rod barreling right toward them.

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.