Tuesday, October 17, 2000 (2 PM)

       Fenton played the length of chain through his fingers as he paced up and down the length of Stacia Ptaski’s yard again.  The sunlight overhead sparked along the fourteen-carat-gold chain whenever Fenton stepped out of the shade of the large elm tree along one edge of the lawn.  The detective stopped once and held the chain up into the light so that the sun caused the chain to dapple gold along Fenton’s other hand.

       This, Fenton knew with certainty, was his youngest son’s chain.  He remembered with vivid detail the last time he saw it.  Joe took it off and slid it onto the table beside the pool, just before he dove into the pool.  Fenton also remembered that, normally, this chain held a small gold ring on it – Vanessa Bender’s class ring.  The detective turned then to march back over to the car.  If the chain was here – and he had no idea why it was if Joe wasn’t – then the ring should be here too.  Fenton searched along the ground near where he found the chain.  A careful and almost methodical search yielded nothing, not even a small smashed piece of gold or whatever multi-faceted or semi-precious stone was Vanessa’s birthstone.

       Fenton stood again slowly and peered closely at his son’s car.  He still didn’t dare get too close.  There was, thankfully, no gas on the ground to tell of a gas tank puncture but he hadn’t survived twenty-five years as a detective on guesswork alone.  He still didn’t see the ring and he was curious about the car.  Joe normally had a key ring on a chain hanging from the mirror.  On one side of the small key ring picture frame was a family picture of Fenton, Laura, Frank, Joe, Mandy and Gertrude and on the other was a picture of some of Joe’s friends, Sam, Chet, Vanessa and Connor.  Fenton lay down on his stomach to peer in the half-caved in window of the Camaro.

       It was rather dark, though some streams of sunlight streamed in through the heavily broken and caved-in windshield, as well as through a crack in the undercarriage that turned things inside a sort of sickly yellow color.  A bit more light came in through the windows at the side and the back, though not much.  Fenton reached into the window to try to feel around but thought better of it when he came into contact with a glass shard.  He gingerly pulled his arm back out and sat up.

       Nothing, so far.  With the car as dented and damaged as it was, Fenton knew, deep inside, he expected not to find them.  The windshield, cracks of spider webs all over, was half-caved in; parts of it were actually broken out mostly inward.  Fenton cautiously ran a finger along the lines of spider webs.  The largest hole in the windshield was where the rearview mirror belonged.  Fenton sighed and tried to look through the hole – the mirror couldn’t have gone far – but it was missing.  He frowned again and stood again to walk to his own car.  He had a flashlight in the trunk.

       Fenton opened the trunk and rooted through it until he found the large flashlight.  He had a penlight in a kit that sat on the front seat of the car but he wanted access to something with a bigger beam.  He toted the flashlight back to the overturned Camaro and knelt once more in front of the windshield, under the hood.  He crawled carefully, once more mindful of any glass.  He shone the light of the flashlight into the shadowy darkness within the Camaro.

       The glove box had burst open in the tumult from the blast.  Bits and pieces of Joe’s life lay strewn about the roof of the car.  Fenton used the flashlight to carefully widen an opening in the windshield so that he could reach inside without ripping an arm open.  He at last had a big enough opening so he reached inside and pulled out the first item he saw.  This proved to be a copy of Vanessa’s class schedule.  It showed the hours and had small blocks boxed off to denote a time when Vanessa was due in class.  Fenton sat that to one side and reached in again.

       This time he came out with a CD, AC/DC and Fenton grimaced in memory of Joe’s discovery of the rock band when Joe was sixteen.  There hadn’t been peace in the house for a month until Joe and his parents reached an agreement on sound levels.  Peace was restored in the house.  Fenton sat that next to the schedule, and then pulled out three more CD’s labeled Jars of Clay, which proved to be a Christian Contemporary group, the Styx and one Brittney Spears CD that had to belong to one of the girls.  He just didn’t see Joe as a fan of a girl singer.  Then again, maybe he was.  He was almost ashamed he didn’t know.  He hadn’t kept track of his son’s tastes since Joe went to college; he was going to have to remedy that.

       He sobered for a minute.  If he had a chance to remedy it.

       Fenton sighed as he stacked the CDs, then rooted through the opening yet again.  This time he came out with a few car items; a tire gauge, a set of fuses and a small, wrapped, box of wrenches.

       Fenton did not see the rearview mirror.  He dragged what he did recover out, wrapped in his suit jacket.  He sat beside the car, puzzled, worried and confused.

       “Fenton, do you mind if I ask what you’re doing?” Con Riley asked in a tone of voice that said he didn’t care if Fenton minded.  “What are you doing?”

       “Looking for something,” Fenton explained as he pushed up with his legs into a standing position.  “Joe had a key ring on a silver chain around the rearview mirror.  I was trying to find it.  I was looking for the mirror too.  It’s not there.”

       Con fixed his friend with a slightly worried look.

       “It’s not as strange as all that,” Fenton held up the gold chain.  “I found this over there but the ring normally on it is missing.  Joe only takes this off to swim, bathe and sleep.  If it wasn’t on him, someone took it off him – or he did, when they took him.”

       “What does that have to do with the picture?” Con’s frown deepened.

       “If the ring was removed from the chain by whomever took Joe, then it seems to me that the person who took Joe was collecting trophies, things of very high personal value to my youngest son.  The pictures were just that.  The Camaro and the house – those were too large, so they were destroyed.”

       A look of horror crossed over Con’s face and then passed so fast Fenton wasn’t positive he really saw it.

       “The problem is, I didn’t find the mirror or the key ring.  Everything pretty much answered to the law of gravity and fell to the ground, or, that is, the roof.  No mirror.”

       “No mirror?” Con ran a hand through his hair again.  “Why would it be gone?”

       “Taken in a hurry,” Fenton said.  “You put up the line there.”

       And he pointed to the yellow-ribbon police line along the edge of his property.  The gawkers came and went and the press line remained but bored until they learned more, they mostly milled about.  Occasionally one approached to demand more information, would be told the standard “We’ll release information when we have it” and then desist.  Sometimes they approached Fenton but a quelling look was sometimes enough to send them running.  If one persisted, Fenton proceeded to be as boring as possible and, disappointed again, they’d go.

       “No one’s been watching the car,” Fenton said.  “Why isn’t it behind the line?”

       “It will be,” Con assured him.  “But right now no one’s sure how to move it as is.  We did a cursory earlier and the pacing off from the blast but we need to check specifics and our expert, Detective Holloway, is on loan to Riverside.  He won’t be here till tomorrow and we have to have the street opened by then.”

       Another shadow crossed his face.  Con scratched the back of his head and shoved a hand into his pocket as he turned to face the house.

       “What is it, Con?” Fenton asked as he too turned back to the remains of his house.

       “We know where the charges were all set,” Con said.  “The first was located on the first floor in the laundry room.  The charges were shaped to blow straight up and straight out, so that it took out the rooms right above it, namely what we think is your room and the west wall.  The second charges were in the kitchen.  They blew up and back – they got Mandy’s room and the pantry, kitchen & dining room.  The third was in the garage, set to blow straight out.  It blew off the garage door and sent Joe’s Camaro flying.”

       Fenton frowned as confusion and consternation warred within him, but he flashed a nod at Con.  The detective shrugged and turned to one side.  He played the chain through his fingers again then turned abruptly, a wild-eyed expression on his face.

       “Joe’s keys!” he exclaimed.

       “What?” Con, confused and worried, took a step toward the older man.  “What is it, Fenton?”

       “I’m sorry,” he said in a soft voice.  “I as just thinking along the lines of ‘trophies’ and thought about the keys Joe keeps.  The one’s from… Iola Morton.”

       Fenton knew he didn’t need to go into more detail than that.  Con had been on the scene when another explosion in their lives took the life of Joe’s first girlfriend, Iola Morton and Frank and Joe’s yellow sedan.  Joe kept the keys as some sort of reminder.  Fenton suspected Frank and Mandy really knew the reason but Joe, as usual, told his parents nothing at all. 

That, Fenton thought ruefully.  Is typical of every teenager – or young person – in the world.  No young man admits emotions to their parents.  I think I know the reason; I won’t ever pressure him to tell me.  It wouldn’t be right.

“If they were in the house, you may never find them,” Con warned him.  “Or did Joe carry them with him.”

“He used to have them on a chain with the pictures but I think he told Laura just last week he moved them to a drawer in his dorm room.”

“Then maybe they’re safe,” Con suggested.

“I won’t know until I talk to Eric,” Fenton mumbled.  He put the chain his shirt pocket and turned to look at Con.

“You know…” Con started to say and stopped.

“Know what?” Fenton prompted.

“That you, that your family are still targets,” Con finished finally.  “You do know that, don’t you?”

“I know that,” Fenton nodded, grim.  “Believe me, I know that all too well.”

“Take precautions, Fenton,” Con said, urgently.  “Take precautions.”

The detective clasped Con’s hand earnestly and promised that, yes, he would do so.

 

Tuesday, October 17, 2000 (2 PM)

The opened door caused all three students to sit up, startled, when Mandy realized that it was just her mother coming back from her phone call.

Amanda Hardy paced the length of her room in agitation as she thought again, of the danger posed to all of them but even more about her twin.  Her blonde hair, currently unbound, flapped into her face whenever she made a turn.  She was unable to sit still, even though walking caused various aches and pains throughout her body.  The young woman saw her twin clearly in her mind and that clarity told her, often, that she was right.  Joe wasn’t dead.  Somewhere, someway, he was alive.

“Mandy, please, sit down,” her mother told her as she crossed to sit on the bed. “ You’re not making anything any better.  Now sit down!”

The uncharacteristic rise in her mother’s voice got Mandy’s attention.  She stared for a moment, then sighed and went to sit back down on her bed.  Laura tousled her hair and Mandy tossed her head.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” Laura asked her in a calm voice.  “You just might feel better.”

“Maybe,” Mandy admitted as she propped her head on top of her hand and propped her elbow on a knee.  She gazed at her mother again as she sat up again and wrapped both arms about her legs, being careful of the stitched and bandaged one.

“Joe,” she said at last and looked, instead, at her older brother and Samantha.  Samantha sat on the edge of her bed; her green eyes alight as they focused on Frank.  Samantha looked sweetly innocent, the glow in her eyes caused only by her feelings for Mandy’s dark-haired brother.  Mandy smiled again and looked back up at her mother.

Mandy’s cheer faded instantaneously and she sighed. 

“He’s alone, mama,” Mandy said.  “I know he has to be scared and confused and angry and I can’t help him.  I’m stuck here and even if I wasn’t, how do you know where to start looking?  How do I even begin?  There must be some way, but I don’t know.”

“Your father will know,” Mandy’s mother spoke with her usual confidence and pride in her husband’s work.

“I’m not out of it either, ‘Mandalin,” Frank turned toward her but, as usual, focused on nothing at all.  He hadn’t called her ‘Mandalin’ since she was ten or twelve, probably the day Mandy told him, in a huff, that if he called her that again she was going to come up with the most horrible, despicable, awfulest name she could think of.  She smiled now, accepting the endearment for what it was – a personal way of saying ‘thank you, I know you care.’”

“I know,” she said.  “But… I don’t now how to describe it exactly. I feel a pulling, a sense that I have to do more.  I don’t know why!  I wish to God I did, I do.”

Mandy sighed and wiped away a tear.  She hated feeling helpless!  She absolutely hated it!  It was the worst feeling in the world to think you should be able to do something but not be able to do it.

“I,” she said clearly a moment later as anger flared once more within her.  “Am going to seriously maim Uncle Derak, if I don’t just flat-out kill him first.”

A drop-jawed expression graced Laura Hardy’s fine-lined face as she reached out a hand to touch Mandy on the shoulder, to console her.  Mandy twisted and shrugged it away again and she sprang to her feet, once more agitated.

“Mandy,” her mother said again.

“No!” Mandy said.  “I know, I know that Derak is behind this, all of it.  He didn’t get to finish what he started nine years ago.  HE got locked away in jail because of it.  It’s him, mom!  It’s Derak!”

Mandy saw she wasn’t getting through to her mother.  She sighed in consternation and went to stand by the window.  Frank unlocked the wheels on his chair and turned a 180 and Sam pushed it to Mandy then sat in a chair on that side of the room.

“Mandy, talk to me,” he said in a soft voice.  He reached a hand out, more or less in her direction but Mandy crossed her arms and looked out the window.  She was in no mood to be reasoned with.  She wanted, mostly, to be left alone.

“Going to be that way, is it?” Frank asked, so calm Mandy wanted to rip his hair out, by the roots.  “Come on, Mandy.”

“I’m not willing to talk about anything other than how we’re going to get Joe back from Derak.  If you want to talk about that then we can talk.  If you’re going to tell me that I’m being unreasonable and immature then you can go back to your room.”

“I have to do that soon anyway,” Frank said.  “I think I’ve used up my last reprieve.”

Mandy almost smiled but didn’t.  He wouldn’t see it anyway and she didn’t feel like it.

“The first part of that then,” Frank said.  “Getting Joe back.  We can’t do that until we confirm the second part of it.  Whether or not Derak has him.  Mom, have you spoken to Aunt Cathy or Andrew lately?”

“No,” Mandy looked over at her mom.  Her mother had paled and Mandy felt guilty instantly.  “But I could.  I will.”

“Mom, who was that on the phone earlier?  Unless you can’t talk about it?” Frank asked, curious as ever.  Mandy was even more interested in the answer to that question.  She looked at her mother again.

“It was the insurance adjustor,” Laura said with a sigh.  “More paperwork to be filled out.  I told them to call your father.  I don’t know why they called here though…”

Mandy saw Frank turn his chair around so that he, more or less, faced their mother.  Frank had that deer in the headlights look and he leaned forward.

“Mom… what all did they ask you?” he asked in a low, quiet voice.

“Just the usual information.  Location of the house.  How many injured.  What kind of injuries,” their mother looked a little confused.

“What is it, mom?” Mandy asked.

“Well,” Laura said after another pause.  “They kept asking about what sections of the hospital all of you were in.  Over and over.  I told him that was an unusual question and he would have to talk to your father about it.  He finally hung up on me.”

Frank’s frown deepened.

“That’s not good,” he said, softly.  “We’re… it’s bad.”

“I… I’d better go call Cathy,” Laura got up and stepped quickly out of the room. 

“You think it was… them?  The one who took Joe?  Derak?”  Mandy asked.

“Let’s leave it at the one who took Joe,” Frank said.  “It could be.  Or not.  Whatever the case, we’d better stay alert.  You two look after each other.”

Another knock on the door preceded the arrival of the nurse.

“Time to go back, Frank,” she said.  “Past time, actually.  Let’s go.”

“Ten more minutes?” Frank suggested.

“No!” the nurse insisted.  “Now.  I already gave you an extra half-hour.  No more!”

Frank sighed but allowed Sam to kiss him good-bye.  Mandy gave him a peck on the cheek.

“You’re the one who has to be extra careful, big brother,” Mandy whispered.  “If you hear anything unusual… scream!”

“I will,” Frank promised.

“I’ll come see you later,” Sam promised.

Frank smiled and waved as the nurse pushed him from the room.  Mandy hadn’t realized until then how wan and tired he looked.  She sighed and turned to Samantha who stat back on her bed.  Mandy sat back on her own and contemplated life for a few minutes.  Her brothers, her parents, her friends, her own – all so fragile.

“Are you all right?” Samantha asked.

Mandy shook her head and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“What if…” she whispered.  “What if I never see Joe again?”

Sam flew over to her Mandy and hugged her.

“You will, Mandy, you will!” she exclaimed.  “You have to believe it.  You will.”

“But…” Mandy started to say.

“Nothing,” Sam smiled then and gently pushed Mandy’s hair from her face.  “You will see him again.”

“We will,” Mandy’s mother said from the door.  “I spoke to Cathy.”

Mandy looked up at her in expectation.

“She said she hadn’t spoken with Derak herself since he got out of prison but she did tell me something curious.  She told me that Derak had paid out alimony for the next year as well as the funds for Andrew’s trust fund.  She said she just got a note that said he would be leaving the area at the end of the month, which is the end of his parole period.  And…”

Laura’s pale face went even paler and both girls helped her to sit down when she seemed on the verge of passing out.

“… she said he said in his note that Derak met someone and that ‘he,’ whomever it was Derak met, would make him very happy.”

Both girls and Laura looked at each other, a look of horror on their faces.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. I've only borrowed them to play with for a while but I promise to return them whenever I've finished with them.  (I make no promises as to condition, that's entirely up to them).  I promise, I'm only writing for fun and I'm not making a single dime off of this (unless you count personal fulfillment).