Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Joe Hardy cranked the heater up and sat back in the driver's seat. After a long moment, he slid a glance toward Vanessa. "You okay?"

She plucked at the black taffeta of the dress. "I will be when I get this off of me."

Joe shifted in his seat to look better at her. "Vanessa, I'm sorry."

"For what? You're not psychic. I thought it would be safe to go home. I mean, for God's sake, it's my home." She clenched the edges of the quilt still draped around her shoulders. "My home."

Joe started to say something but Callie walked out of the house, a suitcase in one hand. She pulled open the side door and shoved the suitcase in. "There you go, Vanessa."

"Thanks, Callie."

"Vanessa," began Callie. "I'm—"

"Don't, damn it. Just don't. Joe, let's go."

Callie cleared her throat. "Frank can ride back with me." She gave a helpless little shrug. "Or your dad, whichever..." With a grunt, she shoved the side door closed.

Joe shifted gears. "Okay, Vanessa, we're out of here." He swerved to miss Callie's car and then spun the wheel and pulled out of the driveway.

Callie watched them go and shivered. She heard an uneven crunching sound on the ground and knew it was Frank walking up behind her. "You think Joe's going to do something drastic?"

Frank placed his hands on her shoulders. "I know I would if it were me," he said softly.

Callie just shivered again and felt fear well up inside of her.

***

Joe braked to a halt in his driveway and looked over at Vanessa. He could see tears trace her cheeks as she sat there, staring at nothing in particular. Anger swept through him and he yanked the seatbelt off and got out of the van. He stalked around the vehicle and pulled open her door. "Vanessa, come here."

She practically fell into his arms and began crying in earnest. "Why, Joe, why is he doing this?"

"I intend to find out."

Vanessa jerked back and shook her head. "No. Joe, let the police deal with him. Please, don't do anything."

Joe looked down at her, wiped her tears away and then led her into the house. "There's a guest room upstairs with its own bath. Go on and I'll bring up your suitcase."

Vanessa nodded and headed up the stairs. Joe started for the door when he saw his mother come into the foyer. He opened his mouth to explain, but Laura shook her head. "Your father called." Laura glanced up the stairs. "Is she okay?"

Joe jerked on the front door, swinging it open. "No, Mom, she's kind of freaked out." He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "I'm sorry."

"I think you're the one really freaked out, Joe." Laura reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I—" Joe shook his head. "I can't say what I want to do." He forced himself to smile. "It might incriminate me later."

Laura didn't smile in return. "Joe, don't do anything you might regret down the road."

"Mom..." Joe shook his head again and walked through the doorway. He went to the van and pulled the suitcase out. It was very tempting to slam the suitcase on the ground, just to hear the crack or throw something and hear it shatter. The rage was building up inside him and he didn't know how to let it out.

He walked back into the house and started up the stairs, feeling his mother watch him the entire way up. He made it to the guest room and knocked on the door. "Vanessa?"

The door swung open and Vanessa took the suitcase. "I'll—" She swallowed hard. "I think I'll take a shower and..."

"You can come down when you're ready."

Vanessa gave a nod. "Okay." Slowly, she pushed the door closed.

Joe stood there, clenching and unclenching his hands. He took a deep breath and made a fast decision. He headed back downstairs and outside. He had to do something. He got in the van and gunned the engine and backed out. With a savage twist of the wheel, he was gone.

***

Frank ended up riding back with his father. They didn't say a single word the entire trip back home. When Frank saw the driveway empty, he felt a moment's fear. Where the hell were Joe and Vanessa? He got out of his father's sedan before Fenton had even shut off the engine.

Frank darted inside and skidded to a halt, seeing Vanessa seated in the living room, staring at the blank television set, the remote in her slack hands. "Vanessa?"

She gave a start and looked over at him. "Frank?" She gave a self-conscious laugh. "I must be more rattled than I thought, trying to watch a TV that's not even on."

Frank took a deep breath. "Where's Joe?"

Vanessa looked at him and for a moment there was pure fear in her gray eyes. "I don't know, Frank. He was gone when I got out of the shower."

Frank spun around to find his father coming into the foyer. "Dad, I need to borrow your car. Joe's not here."

Fenton looked past Frank to see Vanessa get to her feet and come to the archway leading from the living room to the foyer. Finally, he looked at Frank and wordlessly handed him the keys.

Frank nodded and left the house. He got into his father's sedan and cranked the engine. For a moment, he sat there, wondering where the hell Joe would go? Did he know where Byron James lived? He started to back out when he heard a tinny-sounding ring.

Startled, Frank braked and reached in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. "Hello?...I'll be right there." Frank switched his phone off and headed for the mall.

By the time he reached the mall, Frank's frustration level had jumped several notches. From every traffic light going red on him to his injured knee throbbing, he wasn't in a very good mood by the time he found his brother.

Frank stood in the entryway of the video arcade and watched his brother for a moment. Joe was playing one of the shoot 'em up games where you had to point a plastic gun at the bad guys while avoiding shooting the innocent bystanders. As Frank came closer, the game's bells and whistles went off and he saw Joe had the number one top score. "Not bad for an amateur."

Joe swung around, the plastic gun still in his hands. "Bang, bang," snapped Joe.

"Joe—"

"Not a word, Frank. I fantasized it was his face I shot every time I pulled the trigger."

"Well, you know, therapy is different things for different people."

Joe arched an eyebrow at his brother. "Did you just deliberately make a joke?"

"It's not like I've never joked before. Whew, you are in a rotten mood."

"So are you. Here, have a turn," added Joe, handing Frank the garish neon green gun. "We can do a two-person game. You shoot the bad guys, I'll get the ones you'll miss."

"What makes you think I'll miss?" asked Frank, archly.

"What, you want a turn all your own? Fine, but you can't have my quarters."

"I don't want your quarters. I have my own."

"Well, good." Joe looked down at the gun in his hand and sighed. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Chet called, said you were going at the game like you wanted to kill it."

Joe rolled his eyes. "You should know by now, Chet's a tad overdramatic."

"He didn't jab an imaginary sword and say, et la until I wanted to gag him though."

"Hey, I never told on you, big brother, you should be happy." He looked around. "No swords. Bummer."

Frank laughed softly and gestured to the entryway. "Ready to give it a rest or is there one more bad guy to do away with?"

Joe put the gun up and sighed again. "Callie didn't drive you?"

"I rode home with Dad. Cal's a tad upset. She thinks if she'd convinced Vanessa to spend the night with her this would have never happened."

Joe snorted. "She's not psychic. It's not like she could have done anything, anyway. Hell, he might have considered it a two for one deal or something."

Frank frowned. "He'd better stay away from both of them."

"Maybe you need the game more than I do."

Frank shook his head. "Byron James seems to have many talents but I plan to stop him before he gets near Callie or Vanessa again."

"I'm with you." Joe nodded. "I'll see you at home."

"Meaning you'll get there before I do? I don't think so."

Joe gave a slow shake of his head. "Frank, my brother, the van has a nice souped-up engine, very nicely tuned almost in, do I dare say it, racing form. And Dad's car...well, like I said, I'll see you at home. Have a nice trip."

Frank arched an eyebrow at his brother and a devious smile crossed his lips. Although the van was faster, Frank knew all the shortcuts to get home. He grinned. Chances were, he'd beat Joe home yet.

***

When Joe Hardy pulled into the driveway, his grin faded as he glared at his father's sedan. How the hell had Frank gotten home before him? Joe narrowed his eyes. He planned on finding out right now. He got out of the van and went into the house.

Frank was seated in the recliner, his knee propped up, watching a movie. Vanessa was on the sofa. Joe folded his arms across his chest. "Hey, Vanessa."

"You okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine. Just curious to know which shortcut Frank used to get home before me." Joe shot Frank a glare.

Frank grunted. "Maybe the car flew."

"Maybe on Harry Potter," said Joe with a snort.

Fenton's office door swung open. "Boys, it's time for a talk."

Joe and Frank shared a longsuffering look and went into their father's office. Fenton pushed the door closed. "Joe, did Frank tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"No fingerprints were found in Vanessa's room, not even hers or her mother's. That means James wiped the entire room down," said Fenton.

Joe growled low under his breath but whatever he said was unintelligible. Fenton studied his youngest son for a long moment and then continued, "I did a background check on Byron James. He's the sole owner of his father's magazine publishing company which makes him a multimillionaire at seventeen. He also seems to border on genius, he graduated high school at fifteen and completed a four-year college course in two years."

"So he's smart," muttered Joe. "He's lacking in everything else."

Fenton didn't acknowledge Joe's comment. "I also learned that he was supposed to be married six weeks ago."

Frank's brown eyes went wide. "Married? To whom?"

"A young lady, an orchestra violinist named Emily Richards. She was something of a genius too, apparently. She was the youngest violinist in the London Symphony Orchestra."

"Was?" asked Frank, feeling a cold chill sweep down his spine.

"Emily Richards died a month ago from advanced leukemia."

Joe shook his head. "Don't tell me, she was a dead ringer for Vanessa."

Fenton nodded. "Same blond hair, same gray eyes. I have a picture here." He picked up a glossy eight-by-ten-inch photograph. The girl's blond hair brushed her bare shoulders and her gray eyes were merry. She was clad in an old-fashioned gown, leaning against a tall, slim dark-haired man.

Frank did a double take when he realized who that man was. "My God, that's James."

Joe looked and blinked. The man in the photo was dressed in a genuine tuxedo, his black hair cut short, his skin more tanned than pale. "So her death messed him up?"

"It's possible but that doesn't make it right. We need to confront him and convince him that Vanessa is not the reincarnated Emily."

Frank stared at his father. "Reincarnated? You can't be serious. Surely he doesn't believe in reincarnation."

Fenton shrugged. "Although I don't hold much with tabloids, the rumors are that he's spent nearly half his fortune on mediums and fortune tellers not to mention every crackpot cult leader that's out there." Fenton shook his head. "I don't know how we'll convince him but we have to."

"I know one way," muttered Joe.

"I think when we go to talk to James," said Fenton with a nod to Joe. "You'll stay here with Vanessa."

Joe shot to his feet. "What? Oh no. No way am I sitting that one out." Joe stalked to the door and yanked it open. "No way in hell," he added in a low angry voice. He walked out and slammed the door.

Frank shared a look with his father. "I think that went fairly well."

Fenton just groaned.