Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

It was close to ten o’clock when Frank pulled into the parking lot of the motel. The flight had taken less than an hour and Jack had opted to fly back to Bayport that night. Gazing at the motel, Frank saw it was typical of a small, sleepy town; a one-story structure, plain but functional with rows of rooms opening out on to the parking lot which, at the moment, held only three cars. Easily locating Joe’s black Mustang parked in front of the very last room, Frank pulled his rental into the empty spot next to it.

Stepping out of the car he took a moment to assess his surroundings. The motel was far from fancy, but even in the dim light given off by the lamps outside each door, he could see the grounds and meager landscaping was well-tended and the parking lot was clean and free of debris.

‘At least it’s not a flea bag,’ he thought, pulling his duffel bag from the car and slinging it over his shoulder. Walking up to the door of room ten, Frank took a deep breath and knocked, having no idea what kind of reception to expect. He heard the low drone of the television and saw the light it gave off flickering through the drawn curtains.

Footsteps approached the door and then stopped. Frank felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and knew Joe was staring at him through the peephole. Almost a full minute passed before he heard the click of the dead bolt being released and the door opened. Joe stood looking at him with a mix of emotions Frank couldn’t quite read, and then shook his head resignedly and retreated into the room without uttering a word.

‘Okay, that went well,’ Frank thought dryly. He followed Joe into the room and closed the door, locking it behind him.

Two twin beds took up most of the room. Joe flopped down on one of them which had papers strewn haphazardly over the bedspread, although Frank was sure Joe knew exactly what each piece of paper was. The other bed held Joe’s jacket and a half-eaten container of Chinese take-out. Soda cans littered the nightstand between the two beds. A mismatched chair and a small table barely big enough to hold a couple of magazines stood in the corner near the door. A chest of drawers was against the wall at the foot of the two beds, with the television on top, showing, Frank noted with irony, an old James Bond movie.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the bed with the food on it.

Joe shrugged indifferently, as if he were doing his best to pretend Frank wasn’t even there.

Removing the food and Joe’s jacket, Frank sank down onto the bed, toeing off his sneakers. “Aren’t you even curious as to how I found you?”

Joe threw him a sideways glare. “Sure, enlighten me as to how I screwed up this time.”

Frank’s eyebrows shot up at the venom in his brother’s voice, although he got the distinct impression Joe was angry with himself at whatever unintentional slip-up he’d made, rather than Frank for finding him.

“You used the motel phone to call me tonight instead of your cell phone.”

Frank heard a muttered curse as Joe shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, I forgot to charge it last night. Battery ran out this afternoon. I knew you’d be freaking if I didn’t check in. I was so tired I didn’t even think about the fact you’d be able to trace the number.”

‘Didn’t you?’ Frank thought, noting the air of defeat – self-defeat – that seemed to be hanging over his younger brother. He wondered if somewhere, deep in Joe’s subconscious, he didn’t realize Frank could track him down and be here in a few hours, if Joe just gave him something to go on.

“Well….I’m here now, so how about if I give you a hand?” Frank offered. He frowned as Joe closed his eyes and a strange look passed over his face. Fear? Apprehension? Joe opened his eyes and stared at the papers on the bed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Standing he waved his hands over the jumbled mass of papers.

“Go ahead. It’s just a matter of time now before you find out…”

Frank’s frown deepened and his concern jumped to a new level. Joe moved to one of the chairs and sat down heavily, staring at the carpet and looking utterly beaten. Slowly, Frank got up and sat down on the other bed. He tried to concentrate, taking in the information he was reading while at the same time keeping an eye on Joe. Shuffling a few of the papers, a name leapt out at him and his eyes widened in shock.

‘Renault?!’ He looked up at Joe again and felt as if he’d just been transported back seven years. Joe had briefly dated a Jodi Renault in high school, right after Iola had been killed. Suddenly Frank felt the stirrings of anger and resentment he’d always harbored for Jodi. From what he could tell at the time, she had turned Joe against their parents, isolated him from everyone who loved and cared about him – the very same people who were reeling over Iola’s death and could have helped him through it if just given the chance. But they couldn’t, thanks to Jodi and her seemingly unbreakable hold on Joe. Frank had been relieved beyond belief when one day Jodi had simply vanished in the night. Given Joe’s actions over the past few days, apparently Jodi Renault was back in his life, and picking up right where she’d left off.

“Jodi Renault?” he said, feeling no further words were necessary.

Joe swallowed hard but didn’t look at him. “Yeah…it’s her.”

“She hired you to find a missing person? A little boy?” Frank pressed.

Joe nodded.

“How does she know him?” he asked, looking back down and digging through the papers, finding a copy of a police report dated approximately six years earlier.

It seemed as if Joe hesitated before answering. “He’s her son.”

“Her son?” Frank asked, confused. “I thought you said yesterday that he was six years old.”

There was another hesitation, much longer this time. “He is.”

The answer surprised Frank and he glanced at Joe, who was now standing by the window, his back to Frank. He looked back at the file, saw the child’s birth date and automatically counted back nine months. ‘She was seventeen…still living in Bayport…’.

The realization came out of nowhere and slammed into him like a freight train. “Oh, my God,” he murmured. Suddenly everything became crystal clear – blindingly so. Joe’s evasiveness and secrecy; Vanessa’s sudden sadness and the way she had distanced herself from everyone when Joe left town. Turning his head, he stared at Joe who had opened the curtains and was now looking out at the darkened parking lot. Frank stood and walked to his brother.

“Joe…”

Joe didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge Frank had spoken his name.

“Joe,” he repeated, this time laying a hand on Joe’s arm and gently turning him around. The gamut of emotions he saw playing across his brother’s face gave him a good idea of how Joe would respond to his question. “Are you the father?”

“I – I don’t know…” Joe replied, the pain of not knowing for sure clear in his voice. “Maybe.”

Frank moved automatically, instinctively reacting to the knowledge Joe might have spent the past three days looking for his own son – alone. Frank grabbed his brother and pulled him into a hug. He wasn’t sure if Joe needed it, but he did.

Immediately Joe clutched at him, tight, tighter and tighter still; Joe’s fingers grasping the thin cotton of Frank’s shirt as if it were a lifeline. Frank rubbed his back gently, saying nothing. Joe didn’t need words now. He needed the security of knowing he was no longer alone with the secret that was slowly tearing him apart.

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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.