HDA Presents - 3 Hardys and a Princess by PiperMerlyn

Joe turned around to see Ella playing with a long skinny vase with a graceful stopper. He hurried over to her and snatched the vase from her hands. "An antique, belongs to my mom." A second later, he realized he shouldn't have said anything, what if Ella started crying?

Ella didn't seem to have heard him. She flitted halfway across the room and looked out the windows. "You don't have a gate or a brick fence, why?"

"Never thought about it." Joe carefully set the vase on a higher shelf and sighed. He sincerely hoped his dad would find the older girl fast.

Ella darted over to the dresser and started tugging on drawers. "Who's clothes are these?"

"My aunt stores her extra and out-of-season clothes in here."

"Why?" asked Ella, pawing through one drawer. She wrinkled her nose up. "Ugh, stinks."

"She doesn't have enough space in her room."

"Why?"

Joe bit back a sharp retort. "I have no idea."

Ella paused a moment, gave him a speculative look and then leaving the drawer open, dashed over to a closed door. "Where does this go?"

"Closet."

She pulled it open and peeked inside. "Dark in there."

Joe walked over and showed her the switchplate. "This turns on the light."

"How come you don't wear cowboy boots?"

Joe stared at her, startled by the question. "Huh?"

"Joe," said Frank as he pushed open the bedroom door. "Joe, I have to talk to you."

Joe looked over at his brother. "Did you just run up the stairs?"

"Rory says that's a good way to get exercise and do aerobics. She likes to be skinny so Kane will keep her."

Frank gave her a look and then motioned for Joe to come on. "Come on."

"Can I come with you?"

Frank took a deep breath. "This is a secret."

Ella frowned and sat down on the bed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Didn't want to be friends anyway. Go away."

Frank stood there a moment, wondering if he should apologize but then he grabbed Joe's arm and pulled his brother out of the guest room and pushed the door closed. "Remember your dream?"

"Dream?" Joe looked around the hallway as if the dream was something substantial he could actually see. "What dream?"

Frank tugged on his brother's arm, pulling him halfway down the hall. "The dream you had a while back. The one where you were 007."

Joe turned red. "Keep your voice down," he growled.

"What did you say the guy's name was in your dream--the bad guy?"

Joe stared at Frank as if his older brother had finally lost it. "And that's important, why?"

Frank let out a grunt. "It was Bernard Thorne, wasn't it."

"Well, if you knew, why the heck did you ask me?"

Frank lowered his voice. "That's also the name of the guy who tried to buy out Kingsley's company. Seems Kingsley's in the satellite business."

Joe stared at his brother for a long time, his jaw slowly dropping. Then he took a step back and scowled. "Knew I shouldn't have told you that dream."

"Joe," Frank clamped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Bernard Thorne exists. So does Thorne Enterprises. I don't know why but after you told me, I checked on the web. He exists."

Some of Joe's anger faded. "But how, Frank? How could I dream about a real person? How could I dream about something like that?"

"I don't know. But it might be a good idea to find out." Frank glanced toward the guest room. "Is she okay?"

"I guess. Talks constantly, asks weird questions. Nearly broke Mom's vase. You know that swirly one that looks real fragile?"

Frank took a deep breath. "We'll have to keep a close eye on her." He told Joe about Rory's not-so-sterling boyfriend. "You know, Dad's not going to get close enough to find her."

"What are you suggesting? We go look for the older girl, let Dad babysit?" Joe grinned. "Sounds like a plan," he added, heading for the stairs.

Frank grabbed the back of Joe's shirt. "He wouldn't agree to that and you know that."

Joe made a strangling noise although Frank knew he wasn't pulling that hard. He sighed and let go of the shirt. Joe spun around. "What were you trying to do, rip my shirt?"

"It stopped you."

"Come on, Frank, we can't babysit. It's bad for our image. We have mall trips to make, pizza to eat."

"Pizza!" came a childish voice from the guest room. Ella barreled down the hallway. "Pizza, yes but no anchovies."

Joe and Frank stared at each other and then Frank looked down at Ella. "Were you listening?"

"Why not?" Ella started for the stairs. "Pizza. Now."

"It's not nice to listen to other people's secrets," said Joe.

Ella grunted. "Secrets? That's what that was? Then why were you talking about Rory and Kane? And Daddy?" She stood there in the middle of the hallway, arms folded across her chest, feet planted wide apart. "Why?"

Frank took a deep breath. "Our Dad is going to look for Rory. We're supposed to keep you safe here."

Ella's hazel eyes darted to some middle distance. "I don't know why I couldn't go with Rory. Daddy's wrong. Kane's not bad."

Joe crouched down to look her in the eye. "Then whoever hurt your...mom and uncle would be able to hurt you."

Ella went pale and shifted her gaze down to the carpet. A single tear traced its way down her cheek. "It didn't seem real," she whispered after a long moment. She frowned suddenly. "It's not real. It's like special effects. It's not real. Momma and Uncle Larry are playing a mean trick."

Frank crouched down as well and reached out to touch her shoulder but Ella flinched away from him. "It's not real," she whispered, her voice growing fainter and more teary.

Joe cautiously reached out a hand, wondering if she would flinch if he touched her. She raised her head slightly to look at him, her hazel eyes wide and full of unshed tears. She shuddered suddenly and would have fallen but Joe grabbed her arm.

It was automatic, pulling her into his arms and holding her as she began to cry, hard, wracking sobs that shook her entire body. Her dead weight knocked him backwards into a sitting position but Joe didn't bother with trying to straighten up.

Frank swallowed hard, knowing he couldn't have handled seeing his mother murdered--especially at that young an age. His eyes met his brother's and he remembered vividly that Halloween when the Assassins made Joe think their mother was dead. "Joe."

"I'm okay. She's not."

The three of them stayed there in the hallway for the longest time until Ella's sobs finally faded. She struggled for a moment and Joe let her go. His shirt was soaked and Ella's face was slick from tears. She swiped her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. "I got your shirt all wet."

Joe nodded. "Yeah, you did."

"You gonna get the bad man who hurt M-Momma and Uncle L-Larry?"

Frank narrowed his eyes as he stood up.. "It was a man?"

Ella nodded slowly, looking exhausted. "Dressed all in black, face was like Darth Vader's mask or something."

Joe arched an eyebrow. "How weird."

"Yeah. I hate black."

Joe got to his feet. "Why don't you go wash your face and rest a minute. I'll order a pizza. No anchovies."

Ella flashed him a grin but was too tired to ask any more questions. "Okay. I like meat and cheese."

Joe nodded. "Gotcha." He and Frank watched as she went back to the guest room. As soon as they heard the door close, the brothers hurried to the stairs. "I'll call in the order, you tell Dad, she definitely saw a guy."

"Joe."

"What?"

"About your dream."

"You're not telling anyone. No way." Joe shook his head so hard, he nearly fell down the stairs. "Frank--"

"All right." Frank sighed and headed toward his father's study as Joe veered for the nearest phone.

Joe stared at the phone for a long moment, feeling the wet shirt cold against his skin. He shuddered, glanced toward his father's study and shuddered again. How could he have possibly dreamed something or someone who was real, he wondered as he dialed the number for the pizzeria. That was impossible--wasn't it?

***

Fenton Hardy heaved a sigh. "Thanks, Reggie."

"No, thank you. Chief appreciates it." Reginald Oakley stood up as Frank came back in.

"Ella said it was a man, with a mask like Darth Vader's."

"Yeah," said Reginald. "She told us that too. Rory didn't stick around long enough for us to find out what she saw."

"What if it was a gas mask?"

Reginald blinked. "Well, could have been, I guess."

Frank nodded. "It makes the same heavy breathing sound and does look like Darth Vader's mask a little bit."

"But why?" asked Reginald. "There wasn't a trace of any type of poison gas or tear gas or anything in the house."

Fenton sighed. "One more thing that seems odd about this case."

Reginald looked over at Fenton. "There does seem to be an awful lot about this case doesn't fit. I know you'll figure it out though."

Fenton managed a weak smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Reggie."

"Sag Harbor's not that far away, Fenton. We hear about your cases--and your sons' cases too."

Frank thought a moment, about mentioning to his father that he and Joe were more suited to go looking for Rory, but wasn't sure if this was the opportune moment.

Reginald started for the door and Frank moved to let him out. Reginald gave Frank a long look and then glanced at Fenton. "Good luck."

"Thanks, Reggie."

"I'll show myself out," said Oakley as he left with a wave.

Fenton looked over at Frank and then did a double take as Joe stepped into the room. "I know what you two are thinking."

Joe nudged his brother. "So the truth finally comes out, huh, Dad? Always knew you had to be psychic."

Fenton gave him a wry smile. "No, not psychic, son. You two are blatantly obvious."

Joe arched an eyebrow. "Blatantly? Is that a good thing?"

Frank rolled his eyes and jabbed Joe with his elbow. "Stop it."

"Boys, it does make more sense for you two to go looking for Rory but..." Fenton spared a glance at the ceiling.

"You'd rather not be left alone with our guest," said Joe.

Fenton frowned. "Put that way, I sound like an old fogey. I'm sure Ella and I will get along quite well."

"She likes pizza--with meat and cheese. She asks a million and one questions," Joe said, looking he was only starting with his list.

"Is the pizza here yet?" asked Ella from the stairwell.

Joe gestured to the stairwell. "See?"

Fenton smiled. "And I suppose you didn't at that age, either of you."

"I didn't say that," said Joe. "I mean, how could anyone possibly remember ten years ago--"

"Nine," said Frank. "Ten years ago for me. I am a year older, in case you've forgotten."

"Nine, ten, same difference. How could anyone possibly remember nine years ago. That was like almost a decade."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Keep it up, little brother. You've almost got the surfer dude persona nailed."

Joe pointed his finger at Frank. "You be quiet."

"Hello?" Ella walked through the living room, not quite coming to the door of Fenton's study.

Joe and Frank moved aside to let her in. Frank lightly touched her shoulder, relieved for some odd reason that she didn't flinch this time. "Ella, this is our Dad."

"Hi. Is this your office? It's messy."

Fenton looked like he wanted to laugh. He nodded instead. "So my wife keeps telling me."

"You're married? Where is she?"

"She's gone for the weekend with my sister."

Ella's eyes went wide. "You have a sister?" She looked at Joe and Frank. "Do you have a sister?"

Joe shook his head. "Nope. Just me and Frank."

"Sisters are nice--sometimes. Rory likes to do things with me unless she's going somewhere with Kane."

Fenton rested his arms on top of his desk and leaned forward slightly. "Do you like Kane?"

Ella thought about it for a moment. "Don't like the cigarette smell--and sometimes he smells like beer, ugh." She shrugged. "But he's okay. He talks bad sometimes, says words---" She broke off and swallowed hard. "Says words Momma said I should never say."

Fenton narrowed his eyes. "Kane's been to your house?"

"He mows the grass. That's how Rory met him."

Frank frowned. "Does he come by often?"

"Yeah, Rory told Dad that Kane was a jacktrader--" She shook her head. "No, that's not right, um, jack something trades--"

"Jack of all trades?" suggested Fenton.

"Yeah. So Dad hired him to trim the hedges, clean the pool, that stuff. Sometimes he'd come to do something and spend time with Rory instead. Usually when Dad was gone for awhile." She looked over at Joe. "Pizza here yet?"

At that precise moment, the doorbell rang. Joe nodded. "Yep, Tony said he'd bring it himself."

"Who's Tony?" asked Ella as she followed him out of Fenton's study.

Frank took a deep breath. "If it had been a robbery, I would have said Kane spent his time with Rory casing the house."

"But there was nothing--absolutely nothing taken." Fenton massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "The obvious path would be to assume Kane was the suspect, just by rumor and hearsay."

"But what about this Bernard Thorne?" asked Frank, wondering how he could explain his looking up information on the man without telling about Joe's dream.

"Good question. He's based out of Hong Kong, deals in buying and selling companies. Usually he targets companies that are struggling or just about bankrupt." Fenton shrugged. "Now it seems, he's buying out satellite companies."

Frank gave an inward sigh of relief. "But why?"

"Satellites are necessary for all global communications--Internet, wireless capabilities, television signals from all over the world. If someone owned all the satellite companies, they could literally control the world."

Joe froze outside of his father's office, barely noticing the pizza box was almost too hot to hold or that Ella was trying to squeeze past him. A sense of deja vu washed over him and he shuddered. He remembered that dream with vivid clarity, every scene, every image.

"Hey, move it. I'm hungry."

Joe blinked and looked down at Ella. "Okay, okay, hold your horses."

"I don't have any horses."

Joe sighed and walked into his father's study. It was going to be a long night, he just knew it.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors 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.