For Joe, the bus ride was too short. Granted, it had taken an hour and a half to get to the airport, but for Joe that wasn't long enough. They'd spent the time with the band, playing poker. Joe sighed as they pulled into the airport parking lot. It was probably a good thing they hadn't been playing for money.

They went into the terminal, following Marc and his band through the security checkpoints. An hour later, they were loaded into the twin-engine Cessna, their luggage stowed in the cargo hold.

Frank lucked out with sitting in the co-pilot's chair and talking with the pilot while everyone else settled into the seats scattered around. Kari Wylie, a slim blond with vivid blue eyes smiled at Joe. "This is probably really strange to you."

Joe shrugged. "It's exciting."

Leigh Wolfe grinned over at him. "It is. I've known Marc and the band for a while. But I never thought I'd win."

Marc looked over at her. "You did an amazing job. You know we're using it for the next album, right? Your signature will be on the cover." He reached over and patted her arm. "You'll be famous."

Joe felt the plane move forward and grinned. "This is going to be so awesome," he said with a sigh.

                                                ***

"Marc's the only other pilot in this group. So you have your license?"

Frank nodded. "Yes." He found himself checking the instruments, more out of habit than necessity. He glanced over at red-haired Ryan Thornton, trying to place the accent.

As if reading his mind, Ryan nodded. "I'm from Ireland. Sometimes when the band's going by bus, I'll fly Casi to Ireland. Haven't in a while, though. I think she has a friend who lives in Provincetown who has a charter service. It's fine."

"So you know Casi MacFairlaigne?" asked Frank.

"Yeah. Marc's band got started ten years ago. It's been a long haul." Ryan laughed softly. "Casi's mother says that we're all adopted into the family. We go to the annual get-togethers every Christmas."

"Will you get to go this year?"

"Oh yeah. We'll fly over there the day before Christmas Eve." Ryan shrugged. "For once we'll be the last ones to get there."

Ryan glanced over his shoulder and then laughed again. "But the whole thing with the whistle will happen. It's as much tradition as turkey and dressing."

Frank flashed back to that dedication page in Casi's first novel. "Whistle?

"Every year, Donovan – the oldest – and Marc are assigned to put up some of the decorations. Every year, they argue over where these decorations go – the same decorations, same argument.  Anyway, Donovan and Marc start in on it and after a while someone will go get Casi to stop them from going after each other and she brings out her whistle. Donovan always threatens that he's packed earplugs and Casi always says she can blast earplugs. It's funny." Ryan shook his head. "They're quite a family."

Frank glanced back to see Adrian playing air guitar, a pair of earphones on his ears. From this angle, it looked like Joe and Ian were playing cards. He turned to face forward again and settled in his seat. This was going to fun, he knew. Although not quite as excited as Joe had been, Frank found he'd been looking forward to this, too.

                                                            ***

Fenton Hardy gazed out the fifteenth-floor window at the falling snow. Even New York dressed for Christmas, he thought wryly, as he stood there. The meeting had run late and now they'd have to continue the discussion tomorrow. But for now, he wanted to savor the softly falling snow, the faint Christmas music on the radio. Soon he'd be home to savor this with his family.

He smiled as he thought of his sons. He had a feeling they were having a lot more fun than he was. Fenton walked over to the bed and stretched out across it. He picked up the hotel phone and began to dial a number. He felt the sudden urge to spend the next hour or so talking to his wife. He missed her.

                                                ***

Laura dusted off her hands. and sighed. She was done with the pies. It hadn't taken any time at all to make her pumpkin and pecan pies; probably because there hadn't been any distractions. Joe hadn't popped into the kitchen a dozen times to ask when she'd be done, as he would if he were home.

And when she wasn't looking, he and Frank would've stolen the bowl she'd made the cookie dough in. She smiled and untied her apron. Despite the fact they were nearly grown, sometimes they still acted like children.

She hung up her apron and set the timer for the last pumpkin pie she was baking. The other two were cooling on wire racks. The chocolate chip cookies were already stored in the Santa Claus cookie jar. Tomorrow she'd do the sugar cookies.

The house was too quiet, thought Laura, as she left the kitchen and headed for the living room. She found Gertrude knitting, watching one of those reality TV shows. Gertrude looked over at her. "Laura, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Gertrude."

Gertrude set aside her knitting and got out of her rocker. She joined Laura on the sofa and patted her shoulder. "You miss them," she said softly. Gertrude nodded and then switched off the television against the blare of a commercial. "I do too."

Laura laughed quietly. "Yes. Even when they're squabbling, or in and out so fast it makes my head spin."

The telephone rang and she reached for the living room extension. "Hello?...Oh, hey, Fenton."

Gertrude gave a slight nod and got up off the sofa. She headed to her room. She had some last-minute presents to wrap anyway. It would give Laura a little privacy.

"I'm fine, dear....Of course I miss them...I miss you too." Laura settled deeper into the sofa, watched the Christmas lights flash off and on in a sleepy rhythm. With her free hand, she pulled the afghan she kept on the back of the sofa to wrap around her. "I love you too," she whispered. After a few minutes more, she shifted to hang up. She wrapped the afghan more tightly around her and rested her head against the back of the sofa.

She watched the multicolored lights blink on and off until the tiny lights blurred and looked like colored stars. Her eyes drifted shut but not before a single tear traced her cheek.

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.