Frank Hardy leaned his elbows against the windowsill, cupped his chin in his hands, and stared bleakly out at the night sky. The sky was partly overcast, blotting out most of the stars, but the nearly-full moon shone brightly down on Bayport.

He had just come from Collig’s office at Police Headquarters. The smugglers had been rounded up, the boat taken into Coast Guard custody, but there was still no sign, not the slightest clue, of where Joe Hardy was. Joe, missing for almost three days now- his last known location had been the Starmail parking lot, where he’d planned to stake out and observe the CTEW delivery trucks that he’d become suspicious of. And he’d never come home.

‘I should’ve gone with him. I wasn’t needed at the docks, we knew it was a false trail- how could I be so stupid, so careless! They’ve got him, done something with him, but no one will confess to it because there’s no proof of foul play. And without proof, we’re helpless.’

Helpless...

The word seemed to echo through the worried teen’s mind. The moon blurred and faded from his sight.

Helpless. Joe was...

Joe was lying curled up on his side. His hands were- bound somehow, behind him. It was dark, only pinpoints of light gleamed around him, one of them glancing off his matted blond hair. His eyes were half-open, his chest moving ever so slightly as he breathed. Hot, dusty, dry air.

Dry. Dry tongue, parched mouth and throat. Pain stabbing his joints, his muscles. Dizziness whirling through his mind, blurring his burning eyes. Dust coating his tight skin, feverish pain gnawing at his hot wrists.

“Joe!” The name came out in a gasp as Frank stared at the sight in his mind’s eye.

“Frank...help me. Find me.”

His brother’s voice, but weak, dull. Exhausted and apathetic. “Where are you?” Frank demanded, wondering at himself. Then he forgot to wonder, for Joe was straining to lift his head and suddenly there was a spark in the vacant blue eyes.

“I- it’s- Starmail!” the younger boy stammered. “The- the parking lot- the trailer! Trailers- along the wall- the last one- oldest one, the lock’s all rusty-”

“I’m coming!” Frank cried out loud, and suddenly the moon was glowing peacefully down on him. Frank blinked wildly, stared at the glass of the window in front of him, his heart racing. The powerful sensations of dust and heat and agonizing thirst had stopped, but the thought of them made him shudder. “A...dream?” he whispered wonderingly, lifting his hands from the windowsill. Deep creases showed where the wood had bitten into his skin. “Starmail- the parking lot- trailers!”

Frank suddenly remembered the old trailers lined up along the loading-dock wall. And the loading dock was the last place Joe had been-!

Dream, subconscious intuition, vision- whatever it might be, it made sense. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? How simple it would have been for the smugglers- how could he have missed something so obvious? Who would bother searching trailers that obviously hadn’t been moved in years?

Not moved, no. But used...

Frank scrambled up from his bed and hauled his shoes on, then tiptoed down to the kitchen. He was reaching up to the rack on the wall for his keys when he stopped short, a new thought dawning on him.

Whirling, he quietly rummaged in the cupboard closest to the door and pulled out one of the metal canteens they used when they went hiking. He moved quickly to the refrigerator and activated the cold-water line that came in so handy during the hot days of summer. Water gushed into the container, cooling the metal under his hand. When it was nearly full, he released the button and hurriedly screwed the lid onto the canteen.

‘Should I wake Mom and- no. Not until I know.’ Frank snatched his keys from the rack and deactivated the house alarm. He closed the door behind him as quietly as he could and scrambled into the car the boys shared.

‘What if he’s not there? What if this is just a wild-goose chase? Maybe I’m wasting time-’

Frank shook his head, denying his doubts. Wild-goose chase or not, it was a possibility, and he wasn’t about to let even the slightest, strangest, most bizarre chance go unchecked. And it wasn’t as if he had other, better plans, either.

Fifteen eternal minutes later, Frank pulled into the underground parking lot and hit the brakes. The car shuddered to a halt, throwing him hard against his seatbelt. He straightened up and stared at the line of tractor-trailer trucks against the furthermost wall of the large loading area. The adrenaline racing through his body prevented him from feeling the bruises he’d just incurred. ‘The last one,’ he reminded himself. ‘But which end? The one with the rusty lock...’

Putting the car back into gear, he drove over to the trailers and stopped behind the trailer in the middle. After shutting off the engine, he clawed off his seat belt and hauled the door open, pausing only long enough to grab the canteen. He didn’t bother to close the door, just ran to his left and reached the first of the old vehicles. No...this lock wasn’t new, but it wasn’t rusty, either. He turned and sprinted down the length of the parking lot until he reached the last trailer, and his heart leaped at the sight of the rust-smeared padlock. Then he frowned at it, panting; how to get in there? His eyes widened suddenly as a thought struck him and he dashed back to the car.

Opening the rear driver’s side door, Frank grabbed up the crowbar lying in the back seat- the one he’d found lying on the concrete floor near his brother’s stakeout spot. He’d dusted it for prints, but found none, and had absently tossed it back into the car to return to Starmail. Clutching the tool, he hurried back to the trailer.

It took surprisingly little effort to lever the rusty lock off- or maybe his high adrenaline level had something to do with it.

It was as he was leaning down to shove the door upwards that the eighteen-year-old saw something lying on the ground. He recognized it at once, and his pulse accelerated. A lockpick case! Joe’s! Which meant- Heaving upwards, he winced at the horrific squeals that filled the air as the heavy door rose. The muscles in his back and shoulders protested at the heavy weight, but he ignored them.

Frank clambered into the truck, wrinkling his nose at the smell of old dust and something more unpleasant. Sweat beaded his forehead from the stuffy heat of the enclosed space. The walls and floor were wooden, old and discolored. The light flooding in from behind him gleamed on a metal bar that had been hooked into the wall racks. It also illuminated the figure lying almost under the bar, curled up in a heap, unmoving. Frank strode forward, his heart in his mouth. He dropped to his knees on the hard wood floor, oblivious to the impact that jolted through him.

“Joe,” he whispered, seeing the gaunt but familiar face of his brother. Joe’s hands were secured behind his back and a chain ran from the middle of the bar to somewhere behind him. Frank gently lifted the younger boy into his arms, struggling to control his fury at whoever had left his brother to suffer like this.

Joe seemed barely conscious, but his eyes flickered open and stared at Frank uncomprehendingly. The cracked lips parted. “Water.” A faint, hoarse croak. “Water, please...”

Frank fumbled with the canteen, finally got the lid off, held it so his brother could take a few sips. He knew better than to let Joe drink much, but it took all his will to resist the desperation in Joe’s eyes when he took the canteen away. “You can have a little more in a minute,” he promised. “Don’t want to throw it all up again.”

“Frank?” The sunken eyes blinked up at him, disbelief wrinkled the pale face.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t talk, Joe. Just rest.” Frank leaned forward to inspect the chain dangling from the bar and sucked in his breath angrily at the sight. The chain had been locked around Joe’s neck; there were purpling bruises encircling the younger boy’s throat. The bindings on his wrists were handcuffs, not rope, and they had been closed so tightly that the metal had cut into Joe’s flesh. “Assholes,” he growled, though that didn’t come within miles of the anger he was feeling. Then he remembered the lockpick case. “I found your lockpicks. They left ‘em on the ground, under the trailer, guess they just threw ‘em aside. So I can get this crap off you, but I’m going to need some more light. There’s a flashlight in the car, I’ll be back in-”

“No!” The force of Joe’s protest made Frank start in surprise. “Don’t go! Don’t go!”

“But-”

“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me here,” Joe gasped, frantic. His eyes were wide, pleading. “Don’t...” His sudden strength ebbed and he went limp. “Please, don’t...”

Frank strove to console the frightened youth, to reassure him. There was no other way he could get Joe free. He hadn’t come just to turn around and abandon his brother. But despite his gentle, urgent words, despite Joe’s feeble nod, Frank could see that he hadn’t persuaded his brother. He’d only defeated him. Joe had nothing but his pleas to keep Frank from leaving the truck; he couldn’t cling to Frank or try to follow him. He could only ask, and the words weren’t enough to give the seventeen-year-old what he wanted. Frank knew he’d be back in a minute or so, but Joe truly feared he wouldn’t return.

Full of compassion for his frightened brother, the older boy lifted the canteen and helped Joe drink a little more. It was probably a little soon and he hoped he wasn’t giving Joe too much, but he had to do something to reassure Joe that he was here to help. Then he carefully laid Joe back on the dusty floor, leaving the canteen beside him, and got quickly to his feet. He hurried up to the door and dropped to the ground. Bending down, Frank scooped up the lockpick case and shoved it into his pocket as he trotted back to the car. He was rummaging in the glove compartment when a sudden loud noise nearly jolted him out of his skin and made him look up in shock.

The door to the trailer had just fallen shut, slamming down with a rattling, squealing racket and landing with a bang. Frank’s fingers closed around the flashlight; he pulled himself out of the car and ran back to the truck, frowning. He grasped the handle and hauled upward, but the door wouldn’t move. Frank stared at the locking mechanism; it couldn’t be locked, it had been open before, when he got the padlock off!

The engine started with a throaty rumble. Frank backed up a step and stared in disbelief. It wasn’t a trailer- it was a truck! The taillights flared on, and suddenly the huge vehicle was backing up! Frank tried to fling himself out of the way, but stumbled as the rear of the trailer knocked him over. Then the huge tires were rolling over his legs; he felt no pain, but he couldn’t move, either. He could only watch helplessly as the truck stopped, then proceeded forward, turning at the same time, turning and crushing the car like an empty can. As it headed for the exit-ramp, Frank could swear he heard his brother’s voice coming from inside the trailer.

“Frank, help me!”

“Joe! Joe!”

‘I shouldn’t’ve left him, he was right, I should’ve stayed...’ The teen tried again to move, but his limbs were heavier than lead, unresponsive. “Joe!” The truck disappeared around the turn, carrying his brother away from him...

“JOE!!”

“Frank!” Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Frank, I’m right here.”

Frank Hardy opened his eyes, lifted his head and stared bewilderedly around. He was lying in a bed, on his stomach, both legs tingling with the ‘gone to sleep’ feeling. Rolling onto his side, he discovered that he was in his own bedroom. His eyes widened at the sight of his younger brother leaning over him; it was Joe’s hand resting on his shoulder.

The nineteen-year-old struggled to sit up, still feeling heavy and dull with sleep. His heart was pounding from the lingering nightmare-fear and he gazed at his brother for a long moment in an attempt to reassure himself that it really had been just a dream. Joe’s blond hair was tousled and damp, so he must have been in the shower recently. He was wearing an old sweatshirt the exact blue of his eyes- except for the spatters of yellow paint- and faded black jeans. He was frowning, his young face concerned. “You all right?”

“I...think so.” Frank let out a long breath and gave himself a little shake, trying to get a better grip on reality.

“You were calling me,” Joe noted, standing up straight. “It wasn’t Lynch’s house again, was it?”

Frank’s shoulders tensed. The previous summer, a powerful explosion had reduced an ornate home to cinders and rubble; a mansion belonging to a primary suspect in their investigation. The body found in the ruin had been erroneously identified as Joe’s. Frank had suffered nightmares about it for months afterwards. “No, not that,” he replied, then closed his mouth, not willing to explain further. Joe, ever sensitive to Frank’s subtle mood shifts, just nodded.

“Good.”

“Are you up early or did I sleep late?” the dark-haired boy inquired, as much for a subject change as from genuine curiosity. For him to be in bed while Joe was up and about was very unusual; it was almost always the other way around.

“Both,” Joe answered, his face relaxing into a smile. “I couldn’t sleep, thinking of all the stuff we’ve got to do, but it is definitely after your usual rise and grumble time.”

“Rise and grumble?” Frank repeated, shoving the covers back. The feeling was coming back into his legs and he flexed his tingling toes experimentally. At least it was tingling, not pins and needles.

“Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Most people rise and shine- in theory- but you’re never exactly Mr. Cheerful in the morning,” Joe teased.

Frank, now seated on the edge of the bed, looked up and gave his brother an amused look. Then he got a good look at the clock and his eyes widened. “Ten!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, and I’ve been up since nine-fifteen.” Joe was grinning. Frank stood up and went to rummage in his dresser drawers for something to wear.

“I had some trouble drifting off,” he explained after a moment, selecting a rather ragged old white sweater. They were going to be busy today, doing heavy work. Old clothes were indicated. “But I didn’t expect to sleep that long. You should’ve come in to wake me up sooner; the guys’ll be here any time now and I won’t even have had breakfast.”

“Trouble drifting off?” Joe repeated, obviously considering that the most important part of the remark.

“Yeah.” Frank stifled a sigh as he found a clean pair of jeans and began to dress.

Three weeks ago, at the end of March, the two boys had started looking around the Bayport area for an apartment or condo or townhouse to buy or rent as soon as Joe turned eighteen. There was a practical aspect to their decision; the expenses of the big old house on Elm Street would soon prove too much for them. They needed to move before they started defaulting on the bills and mortgage payments and ended up in debt. True, the reward they’d gotten from the government for catching the international smugglers, Locke and Pearson, would keep them secure for about another ten months- maybe even a year- but it would stretch a lot farther if it was applied to the rent of an apartment.

Another factor was that the upkeep of the house was beginning to suffer. With Frank in classes at Bayport University most of the day, Joe at the high school and Gertrude more fragile than she had been, none of them had the time or energy to do more than the most basic chores.

There was the final aspect too, less practical but more pressing. The memories had become painful and the emptiness of the old house was hard to take. Frank had trouble falling asleep almost every night; he found himself listening for his parents’ footsteps, for the sound of their voices. And every night he felt a surge of grief when he realized what he was doing. It was the same grief he felt when he saw the closed doors of the study and the master bedroom every morning, when he opened the mailbox and found letters addressed to Fenton or Laura Hardy, or when the three of them sat down to dinner each night. There was too much sadness now, and he was sure Joe felt it too. Their initial objection to leaving their home had faded to the point that they were, if not eager to move out, at least willing to be persuaded that it was necessary.

Finding several good possibilities among the many apartments available had been no difficult thing; as Gertrude had pointed out, the time was perfect to buy or rent. Prices were lower than they had been for many years. “Everyone’s moving back to the big cities again,” she’d remarked. “It’s a cycle. Some years, everyone heads to the bigger cities for better jobs. Other years, you have crowds of people abandoning them for the smaller cities and towns. Some of them even go out in the countryside and turn into hermits.”

Both the boys had grinned at the expression, but kept their remarks to themselves. Gertrude was no longer as sharp-tongued as she had been after Fenton and Laura had died, but that was not due to any softening of her cross manner. She was simply quiet, letting her disdainful, disgusted, contemptuous looks speak for her. The looks were a lot easier to ignore than her acidic tongue, though, and she had finally stopped picking on Joe while favoring Frank. ‘Now she picks on us both equally,’ the older Hardy thought ruefully as he crammed his feet into sneakers, swiftly tied them and hurried down to the ground floor.

There had been quite a number of disdainful looks given to the possibilities the boys had presented their aunt, but at length she had given grudging approval to a specific apartment building. Located out near the northern end of town, it offered a spacious three-bedroom apartment for the price of a two-bedroom. The boys had indicated their interest to the landlord, who’d been delighted to have the promise of business- half his building was untenanted- and had agreed to hold it for them until Joe was legally able to co-sign the contract. The only problem remaining had been that even a ‘spacious’ apartment was pretty small when compared to a three-level house. Particularly one with a basement-full of storage space, most of which was in use.

As a result, the past three weeks had been difficult ones for both Frank and Joe. While waiting for Joe’s eighteenth birthday to arrive, they had carefully gone through everything in the house- as time permitted- and decided what could be kept and what could not.

“It’s really very easy,” Joe had said ironically to his brother one evening. “We keep the stuff in our bedrooms, the dining room table and chairs, the living room furniture and all the TV stuff. And the stuff from the kitchen cupboards, most of it. And that’s it! The stuff in Dad’s study can go to Sam, in case he needs it for investigations, and we can have a few keepsakes from their bedroom-”

“Even so, we’ll have to prune down some,” Frank had replied regretfully. “There’s not as much cabinet space in the apartment kitchen as we have here. But it’s the basement that’s the biggest problem. All that stuff, and our lab equipment.”

“Maybe we can put the lab stuff in the boathouse,” Joe mused. “Except it does get pretty hot in there, we don’t really need a massive chemical reaction going off... But you’re right, most everything down there will have to go. We could sell it, I guess, but I know the guys could take at least some of it off our hands.”

In the end, they had done both. Chet Morton had taken charge of the camping equipment while Jesse Martinez had happily accepted the fishing gear, having none of his own. The old toys, clothes and most of the books had been donated to charity, except for a few that the boys couldn’t bear to part with. The ‘Power Boys’ books that Frank was so fond of were included in that category. The rest of the stuff- garden, carpentry and general repair equipment- had been sold in a yard sale, along with the two old motorcycles that the boys had spent so much time and effort on, and had enjoyed so much.

The same ruthless paring had been done on their deceased parents’ possessions, and that had taken a heavy emotional toll on both the boys. Often, one or both of them had needed to leave the master bedroom and do something else for a while. Sometimes the ‘something else’ had taken the form of a burst of activity; other times, it had required a session of quiet mourning. Frank felt that selling- and in a few cases, giving away- his parents’ belongings was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Almost. Hopefully he wouldn’t ever have to do the harder thing and box up or give away his brother’s belongings.

But finally it had all been done. The basement was cleared, the kitchen had been sorted out, the study was empty, the den- Frank frowned in mid-thought. He really hoped the bedroom their aunt had chosen would be large enough to hold the two bookcases of volumes that Gertrude swore she had to have. Still, it was better than he’d expected; two bookcases would be far more manageable than the original five.

Walking into the kitchen, he held back a wince at how weird it looked with all the boxes piled up. They’d gathered boxes regularly from stores in the neighborhood and had packed away as much as they could ahead of time. They’d even gotten a grudging compliment from their aunt about what an organized move this was going to be. It was the first compliment they’d gotten in a while and Joe had sardonically suggested- very quietly, after Gertrude went into the kitchen- that it had been a complete accident.

“Good morning,” Gertrude greeted Frank as he paused beside the refrigerator. Her tone suggested that ‘good’ was not the adjective she really had in mind. Frank didn’t reply, just nodded and pulled out the milk. Moving quickly, he prepared a sandwich, ignoring his aunt’s sniff of disdain- she firmly believed that breakfast should consist of breakfast food- and left the kitchen to eat on the porch and wait for his friends to arrive. The gang had agreed to help them get the majority of the moving done this weekend, and were lending both their physical assistance and their vehicles to the cause.

Joe was already on the porch, sitting on the top step with his chin in his hands. He did not, Frank thought again, look any different than he had on Thursday, when he had turned eighteen. Nor had he been acting particularly different- at least, not because of his birthday. Joe’s usually sunny mood had been less evident lately; he was not as subdued as he had been during the Starmail trial, but he hadn’t quite bounced back from that, either. And neither the sorrow in the house nor their Aunt’s attitude were helping a bit.

“She’s sure in a foul mood,” the younger boy remarked sourly as Frank sat down beside him.

“I think she’s not too thrilled about moving,” Frank replied with a shrug, and bit into his sandwich.

“Neither am I- and you aren’t wild about it either- but we don’t go trying to make her miserable about it,” Joe grumbled, sitting up and leaning back so that his weight rested on his hands.

Frank nodded, not needing to ask how Joe knew that he wasn’t altogether enthusiastic about the move. He hadn’t actually said anything about how conflicted he felt- on the contrary, he’d been keeping his doubts pretty well locked tight behind his mental shields. He had, however, continued to maintain an ‘arrow-slot’ to let his brother in when necessary. Neither of them had used their telepathic gift much lately- there had been no need- but Joe was always quick to pick up any minor wisps of thought or emotion that Frank let slip through that arrow-slot.

Frank had barely finished his sandwich when the first car pulled up outside their house. ‘Car’ might be a more flattering description than Chet’s old rattletrap deserved, but the Queen served her purpose admirably, getting Chet and Iola to where they needed to go without breaking down more than once a week. Plus it had a very roomy backseat. Frank mused over how many boxes they could get in there as the Mortons climbed out and came up to the porch. Joe promptly stood up and kissed his girlfriend while Chet sat down on the steps.

“Haven’t you cured him of that yet?” he asked, nodding at his sister and Joe.

“Haven’t you cured her of that?” Frank retorted, smiling. “You’d probably have less difficulty than I would.”

“Shut up, you two,” Iola suggested mildly.

“I second the motion,” Joe agreed, and kissed her again. The two elder siblings exchanged a look and a headshake.

“Children,” Chet remarked, trying to sound like the pompous vice-principal of Bayport High.

“Yeah.”

“Look who’s talking, mister still-seventeen,” Joe pointed out as Jesse Martinez’s black pickup pulled to a halt at the curb. “Hey, Q!” The nickname of ‘Q’ had been bestowed on Jesse the previous winter, when he became quarterback for the Bayport High football team in place of the disgraced Mark Gold. His first game as quarterback had been during the Regional playoffs, and he had performed so well under the pressure that the entire school was soon calling him ‘Q’. Jesse had been pleased; he’d never been too fond of his given name.

“Hey guys,” the Puerto Rican youth called back, hurrying around the front of the truck. He joined them on the porch and listened to the four old friends banter a little more, smiling. Though the days when he felt uncomfortable among the mock insults were pretty well past, Frank caught the sixteen-year-old looking a little uneasy once in a while. He didn’t blame Jesse; sometimes the teasing did get out of hand and someone had to step in and cool everyone off. In previous times it had been Frank’s job to settle everyone down, but now Joe sometimes intervened. That had been a surprise to Frank- especially considering how hot-tempered his brother could be. But it had emphasized something Joe told him while he was at Unity College: with Frank away, the gang had turned to Joe for leadership.

Frank wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it all, himself. He’d never particularly noticed that he was a leader until Joe pointed it out, and he was rather proud of his brother for stepping up to the responsibility and keeping his own emotions under control. At the same time, though, he felt rather usurped. Sometimes Joe let Frank deal with whatever came up, but sometimes he jumped right in and settled the situation before Frank reacted. It didn’t seem to confuse their friends, but it did confuse Frank. Now that he was back, which of them really was the leader?

The older Hardy shook himself out of his thoughts as Tony Prito arrived, driving one of his father’s trucks and parking on the other side of the street. “Sorry I’m a little late,” he apologized as he and his passenger, Jerry Gilroy, hurried up to the house.

“It’s my fault, actually, I kept him waiting,” sandy-haired Jerry admitted ruefully. “I was up late last night and I didn’t set any alarm, so I kinda overslept.”

“No problem,” Joe said easily. “We found other things to do.”

“Yeah, Joe and Iola have been keeping us entertained,” Chet said cheerfully, nodding at the couple. The two were standing further back on the porch, their arms around each other.

“Oh, we missed a public display of affection? Lucky us,” Tony teased. “Where’s Callie, Frank?”

“In class, just like Phil,” Frank replied casually, standing up.

“Class? On a Saturday?” Jesse wondered aloud.

“Labs,” the older Hardy explained. “Computers for Phil, of course, and a science lab for Cal. She’d rather be here than dissecting, but it’s not an elective. Okay, so, if everyone’s all warmed up and ready to move some boxes...?”

The young folks assented quickly and trooped into the house. Joe propped the screen door open, and everyone got busy. Boxes were loaded into the trunk and back seat of the Queen; the Hardy boys’ car; and the sedan that used to be their father’s. Furniture was stacked carefully in the rear of the two trucks and wedged into place with more boxes. Frank and Joe kept busy trotting up and down the stairs, bringing more things down. Iola grabbed up a marker and scribbled ‘kitchen’, ‘Frank’s room’, ‘towels’ and other similar designations on all the boxes.

“That’s the fifteenth box in a row that I’ve put ‘books’ on,” she remarked to Joe at one point.

“Be grateful we reduced from five bookshelves to two,” her boyfriend replied, wiping sweat from his face. It was a mild day, but all the lifting and carrying was heating everyone up. Gertrude, rather overwhelmed by the uproar, had retreated to her bedroom. Frank heard her comment to Tony that she’d never seen such organized bedlam, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or a complaint. Then he forgot it as he and his brother carried out the second of the bookcases.

“Full up,” Jesse told them as they reached the porch, and the boys let the heavy piece of wood thump to the floor.

“Well, at least we got the warning before we carried it too far,” Joe said philosophically. “Let’s get it back inside and take a breather.”

This accomplished, everyone sat down with a glass of cold juice on the bare living-room carpet and Frank explained how to get to the apartment building. “It’s not a long drive at all, but that one corner is a bit tricky,” he summed up. “If you find yourself on Grant Avenue, you went the wrong way; turn around and come back and make a left at the first light.”

“Man, he even includes if-you-get-lost directions- he’s organized,” Jerry joked.

“It’s experience talking,” Joe explained, grinning. “We made that mistake ourselves- twice.”

“We’ve gotten a lot cleared,” Frank went on thoughtfully, looking around the place. It made him sad to see the old house looking so barren and empty, but he squelched his feelings and went on practically, “Hopefully we won’t need to make more than three trips.”

“And the third one might not even be a full load.”

“I dunno, we still have the beds,” Joe mused. “And that bookcase. And-”

“Enough, enough,” Chet groaned. “It only looks empty in here. Say, you guys are going to feed us, aren’t you?”

The whole group laughed at this. “Why, Chet, didn’t we warn you?” Joe teased. “BYOB- Bring your own banquet. No, seriously, we will provide...and after we provide, we’ll have a nice empty fridge and won’t have to worry about transferring too much food!”

“You guys are such planners,” his friend said solemnly. “All right, then, let’s go.”

“The fun part starts when we get there,” Frank remarked, thinking that he’d better warn everyone.

“What fun part? Unloading?”

“Unloading. And tracking up three flights of stairs. Well,” he added over the groans, “there wasn’t anything available on the lower floors. We had to have three bedrooms, so we were sorta stuck.”

“Now you tell us,” Jerry groaned.

“Chalk it up as additional spring training,” Joe suggested, clapping the morose Chet on the back. Chet and Joe were on the baseball team this year, and both had been complaining about Coach Barnes almost continuously. “Besides, we’ll have lunch after we get back.”

Frank smiled as their oldest friend brightened. “And you’ll have a good appetite for it, too. All right, are we ready to roll?”

It was after they returned to Elm Street, weary and sweaty from the first trip, that Joe found the letter.

Frank’s directions had been good and no one had gotten lost, though that might have had something to do with the fact they’d driven in procession. As expected, unloading the vehicles and carrying the furniture and boxes up the stairs had tired everyone out. They had taken another break to lie or sit on the carpeted floor of the half-empty living-dining area in the apartment before heading back for lunch.

“And just think,” Frank had remarked, sitting with his back against the wall and looking over at Joe, “we get to unpack it all, put it all away, and move everything into place.”

Joe, sprawled full-length on the floor with his head comfortably pillowed in his girlfriend’s lap, had grimaced in response. “You’re going to turn me into a pessimist if you keep that up,” he answered. “One thing at a time. Once we get everything over here today, the only thing I’m going to worry about is my bed.”

“Too bad Dave’s not here to suffer, I mean help,” Jerry commented into the brief silence. He was referring to Dave Mitchell, one of the other receivers on the Bayport High football team and a good friend of the gang.

“Yeah, well, student exchange program,” Tony answered. “I hope he’s doing okay over in Germany.”

“I got a mail saying he was enjoying everything except the jet-lag,” was Frank’s contribution, and the young folks laughed. “Jamal would be here, but his dad’s business is booming so they’re really busy these days,” he added. Jamal Hawkins’ father owned several small planes and Jamal helped him run the courier/charter service.

There had been a little more talk until, rested and cooled down, the youths and Iola had meandered down to the cars and trucks for the drive back. It was after they got home, as he was going up the porch steps, that Joe recalled that the mailman had probably been by. He casually opened the mailbox and removed a handful of mail. Then he dropped it on the floor by the door and got involved in the commotion over what was available for lunch.

After everyone had had enough to eat of the various selections- mostly sandwich-making food, though there were a few cold leftovers- and settled in with bowls of ice cream, Joe suddenly remembered the mail. Setting his chocolate ice cream aside, he got up and collected the letters and papers. “Hey!” he protested, and hurried back to his spot as he saw Chet reaching out to try and snag the unattended bowl.

“Hay belongs in a barn,” Chet replied with dignity, pretending that he was just stretching.

The comment struck Jesse as amusing, but Tony and Jerry, who had heard it many times before, merely rolled their eyes.

“You just keep your paws off my ice cream,” Joe warned him, sitting back down.

“Anything good in there?” Frank asked from a few feet away, pausing with his spoon in midair.

“Hmmm. Junk, junk...junk masquerading as something important...”

“High quality junk,” Jerry remarked.

“So they’d like us to think. No, we don’t need a Discover card with 18.75% interest rates...now what’s this?” Joe wondered aloud, discovering a smaller envelope among the business-sized ones. “Got your name on it, Frank. And I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

“Ooo, has Frank got a secret admirer?” Tony joked.

“He better not,” Iola remarked, her eyes twinkling. “She wouldn’t stand a chance against Callie.”

“You’ve got that right,” the dark-haired boy answered good-naturedly. “Toss it on over. It’s probably just another solicitation, they make all kinds of handwriting fonts now.”

“Heard about a good way to deal with junk mail,” Jerry remarked as Joe ‘frisbee’d’ the envelope to his brother, who caught it deftly. “You take the reply envelope and the fill-out form, write something like ‘Hell, no!’ across the form, and mail it back to the people who sent it. Since it’s postage paid, they’re basically paying for the privilege of being rejected.”

“Hey, I like that!” Joe enthused, grinning at his friend. “Teach them a thing or...” He trailed off at the sudden change in his brother’s expression. “What’s wrong? Someone send a threat?”

Frank nodded, still scowling down at the paper that he’d removed from the envelope.

“I thought you guys weren’t working on anything?” Jesse inquired.

“That doesn’t stop some people,” Frank responded.

Joe got up and went to crouch beside his brother, peering over Frank’s arm at the paper. Hardy- You are So Fucking Dead was scrawled in black ink, in the same handwriting that the envelope had been addressed with. “Well, that’s...direct,” he remarked. A moment later, he became aware of their friends joining them. Someone whistled softly.

“You don’t look dead to me,” Chet muttered. “In whatever shape or form. Who is Delta?” he added, pointing at the signature.

“Delta Phi, the fraternity that gave me so much trouble at Unity,” Frank answered briefly.

“Probably that jerk Madison. Ted Madison, the president of Delta,” Joe added for the benefit of the puzzled group. “The rest of that craphouse wouldn’t dare do anything like this- not without orders. Talk about a micromanager.”

“Stupid of him to stick their name on it like that,” Jesse commented, frowning.

“Well, we can’t prove it’s him till we get a handwriting sample, which might not be a simple matter. And he might not have written it himself. Might have dictated it,” the older Hardy pointed out.

“Wonder why he’s decided to get nasty now?” Tony speculated, glancing from Frank to Joe.

“That’s a good question, they’ve been quiet all spring,” Joe agreed. He raised his eyebrows at Frank, inviting comment and wondering if his brother knew something he didn’t. It wouldn’t surprise him if Frank had been following the complicated legal situation in Maine. The National Board of Education had been investigating the place on ‘unconstitutional policies’ since the New Year and Joe had lost track of what they’d found and what they planned to do about it. It was well out of their league now; Frank had ended up being nothing more than a whistle-blower, which was how he’d wanted it. The Hardys had neither the time nor the funds for an extended investigation or prosecution.

“There must be something new going on- maybe the frat got closed down,” the nineteen-year-old speculated, folding the paper and sticking it back in the envelope. He sounded casual, but he didn’t fool Joe. The younger boy could sense his brother’s concern and the flicker of anxiety that the threat had stirred in him, despite his steady hands. “I’ll check it out and see- once I’ve got my computer back online.”

“Ask Phil to look it up,” Tony suggested. “That’s right up his alley. And if they track their visitors, it’s better to show a random university URL than a private home-computer one at a specific address.”

“That’s true,” Frank agreed, looking at the Italian youth respectfully. He rose to his feet and went into the kitchen to make the call.

Joe watched, frowning slightly and sending calming thoughts. He felt his brother’s anxiety diminish somewhat, and got a very distinct flash of gratitude for the reassurance. “You’re welcome,” he answered silently, and withdrew to consider for a moment.

The fact that his brother was moving so quickly to get it checked out suggested that he was taking the threat quite seriously indeed. But what was it about the threat that made it so immediate? he wondered. Picking up the envelope again, Joe discovered why Frank was feeling such urgency. There was no stamp on the envelope, which meant that someone from Unity had hand-delivered it. That meant at least one, and maybe more, of the frat guys were in Bayport, and were probably surveying the house.

“What’s wrong, Joe?”

The blond boy looked seriously at his girlfriend. “No stamp,” he replied cryptically. ‘We’ve trained ‘em well,’ he thought with a flicker of wry amusement as hubbub broke out among his friends, all of them reaching the same conclusions he had. ‘They think like detectives.’ “That means,” he said to Tony when the conversation reached a lull, “that they already had our address. Frank mentioned that passcards to the dorm rooms were accessible to virtually anyone, so it’s no surprise that they could get into the records office. Not much security on that campus.”

“It also means you guys need to be careful,” Tony replied, his black eyes very serious. “If these jerks are anywhere around here- or the apartment...”

“We’ll keep an eye on ‘em,” Chet spoke up, addressing Tony but clearly meaning his comment to reassure Joe. “None of this seven-against-one bull.”

“Damn right.” Tony frowned. Jesse nodded sharply, his usually open expression turning determined.

“Too bad ol’ Biff isn’t around, too- I’d bet on him against any three frat-jerks any day of the week,” Jerry muttered, cracking his knuckles. In most people, that habit indicated nervousness or boredom; in Jerry, it indicated a sort of pre-fight warm-up of his fists.

Before Joe could say anything, Frank walked back into the room. “Phil’s on it.” He sat down cross-legged beside Joe, who gave him back the envelope. “No stamp, so-”

“We’re way ahead of you, bro,” Joe told him with a half-smile, and gestured. “Meet our just-acquired bodyguards.”

Frank smiled too, glancing around at their friends. “Thanks, guys,” he said gratefully. “Let’s keep our eyes open and see if anyone follows us around for the rest of the day, too. I thought about calling in a report, but it’d be better if we had more to go on- like who’s loitering around and what they might be driving.”

“They’ll recognize our cars,” Joe mused, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline. His brain was shifting into ‘investigation gear’, something that hadn’t happened since they got Locke and Pearson put away the previous summer. ‘A long time between mysteries for the ‘partners against crime’,’ he thought whimsically.

“Good point. Maybe if I take a different route-” Frank suggested.

“Not by yourself,” Joe told him sternly. The thought of his brother being trailed, alone- maybe forced off the road, maybe caught and beaten up again or maybe even worse- was intolerable. There was no way he was going to let Frank take such a risk.

“Forget that, how are we supposed to help out if you go off on your own?” Chet demanded, evidently thinking along the same lines.

“And you know how often you end up in trouble when you do get into something by yourself,” Iola pointed out.

“Yeah, trouble-magnet,” Joe needled, nudging his brother.

“Compared to you, I’m more like the cavalry,” Frank snorted. “You get into three times the trouble that I do.”

“That sounds about right,” Tony agreed.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Oh, are we taking votes? I’ll cast mine with Tony,” Jerry laughed. Joe rolled his eyes, then grinned.

“Okay, okay, so I act faster than some people. And sometimes it doesn’t work quite the way I plan-”

“Plan?” Frank repeated skeptically, leaning one arm on Joe’s shoulder. “I thought that word wasn’t in your vocabulary yet- just like caution.”

“They don’t need to be, not with you having written a thesis on each of ‘em,” Joe shot back, poking the arm. “Though...I should take a little more time to plan, just so I can get you into the same sort of situations you get me into.”

“Like what, Lunatic?” Jesse encouraged, using the nickname he’d bestowed on Joe the previous winter.

“They almost always involve me doing something really stupid,” Joe explained. “It’s time I started giving something back, you know?” A burst of laughter greeted that remark and Joe ducked as his brother pretended to take a swipe at him.

“Hey, no beating him up,” Iola scolded, then got to her feet and stretched. “Not when there’s all this carrying and hauling to do!”

“Oh, yeah, good point. I’ll save it till after the work’s done,” Frank replied, grinning, and stood up as well. Joe extended his hands and Frank, with a good-natured shake of his head, pulled him to his feet. “Lazy brat.”

“Slave-driver.”

“Don’tcha just love listening to these two?” Chet asked Jesse, who was watching with amusement. “They’re so original!”

Jesse chuckled, then looked around. “So where do we start now?”

“Let’s get that bookshelf first- get the heavy stuff on the bottom,” Frank suggested, suddenly the leader again. The other boys agreed and they all got back to the chore at hand, working with a will despite the growing heat of the afternoon.

By the time dusk fell, the vast majority of the Hardys’ reduced collection of belongings had been moved to their new apartment. The young people, weary and hungry, descended the three flights of steps for the last time and gathered in the parking lot. A brisk debate began over what to do for a meal. All of them favored having it delivered but not everyone felt like having pizza, which was the most logical delivery choice.

Frank had finally suggested they return to Elm Street, since whatever food they ended up getting would need to be sent there. When Chet inquired why they needed to drive anywhere, Joe pointed out the lack of phones, cellular or otherwise. “Besides, there’s other stuff at home- ice, soda, water-”

“Air conditioning,” Tony put in, fanning his face with his hand.

“I’m convinced,” Chet decided, and everyone headed to the cars.

On opening the door of the Hardys’ home, the young sleuths and their friends discovered a surprise: savory smells greeted them from a number of plastic containers lined up on the bare counter. Joe exchanged a surprised look with his brother at this evidence of their aunt’s thoughtfulness, but no one else seemed to see anything remarkable about it. There was a rush to get the lids off and then a clamor of delighted exclamations.

“Mmmm, spiced shrimp!” was Chet’s ecstatic comment.

“Scallops,” Jerry sighed with a grin.

“Oh, spaghetti in clam sauce...” Tony beamed.

“Ooo, and little cups of chowder!” Iola grabbed up one of the Styrofoam containers and inhaled the rich steam. “Where’s a spoon?”

The paper plates, cups and plastic utensils from lunch were handy; soon the young people were enjoying a delectable dinner. The lack of seating didn’t bother anyone, as there was plenty of floor space.

“We sure got a lot done,” Tony remarked after mopping up the last of the clam sauce from his plate with a piece of bread. “More than I’d’ve thought.”

“Yeah, kitchen, living room, dining room, almost the entire den, and both our bedrooms,” Frank agreed. “All that leaves is Auntie’s room and some odds and ends in the basement.”

“A few things in the bathrooms, too,” Joe murmured, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

“Where’re you guys gonna sleep tonight?” Iola wondered aloud, tugging at the ponytail-holder in her black hair.

“Sleeping bags, here,” Joe explained, not opening his eyes.

“The sooner the better, from the looks of you,” his girlfriend teased gently.

“Mmm,” was Joe’s agreement.

“So you guys’ll be needing a truck tomorrow?” Jesse asked rather diffidently. “’Cause I can bring my Dad’s back, no problem.”

“That’d be fantastic, Q. Save us a lotta time and effort,” Frank said gratefully.

“If you’re not done by two, call me and I’ll come over too,” Tony spoke up. “I get off at one-thirty tomorrow.”

“A half-day? You must know someone in management,” Chet joked.

“Yeah, he knows himself,” Jerry remarked, then yawned. “Got another sleeping bag, guys? I feel like I could sack out right here.”

“Sorry, Jer. All the rest of the stuff is somewhere in Chet’s barn,” Joe replied. Chet was pleased to have the camping equipment, but had assured the brothers that anytime they felt like using it, they should simply say the word. After all, it had been theirs first, for a long time.

“Oh. Oh, well,” the older teen sighed. “At least Tony’s driving.”

“Yeah, and your responsibility is to talk to me so I don’t start snoring at the wheel,” Tony replied jokingly.

“No, we can’t have that. You’d deafen the neighborhood,” Frank said solemnly.

“Joe, you’re closest to him- would you do the honors?”

Joe obligingly aimed a swat at his brother, but since he didn’t open his eyes, he ended up hitting the wall instead of Frank. “Ow.”

“You’re not supposed to be hurting yourself!” Tony protested over Chet’s laugh. Joe opened his eyes and looked over at his grinning brother. They were both sitting with their backs against the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. But Frank hadn’t been sitting quite that far away, before.

“You didn’t tell me he moved,” the blond boy told his friend sourly.

“I thought you’d open your eyes to aim,” Tony explained. He was sitting opposite the Hardys, cross-legged. Chet was sprawled in the center of the room, while Jerry and Q were leaning on the exterior wall. Iola was beside Joe, looking less tired-out than any of the guys, but definitely not energetic.

“Where’s Auntie?” Joe wondered quietly, turning to his brother. Frank’s smile faded and he shrugged.

“She went into her room a few minutes after we got here. Said she was tired,” Iola volunteered.

There was a slightly strained silence at that. Joe felt an overwhelming urge to say something derogatory, but stifled it. From the looks on his friends’ faces, they were struggling similarly. After all, the woman was nowhere near as vigorous as she had been, and the move was taking a major emotional toll on her. Besides, she’d arranged for their supper. “Well,” he said at last, rising slowly to his feet, “I’m going to find something with lots of sugar in it. I think we could all use an energy rush.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Chet agreed. Joe wandered into the kitchen and debated over the ice cream for a moment. Then he discovered the cakebox sitting on the counter and took it out to the dining area.

“Cake.”

“What kind?”

“Um...” Joe lifted the lid and smiled. “Chocolate with vanilla icing. Where’d the plates go?”

“Do you want to try and go back to the apartment and sleep there tonight?” Frank Hardy asked his brother. “Or should we sack out here and leave the bed assembling for tomorrow?”

Joe hesitated before replying, and Frank sympathized with his brother’s uncertainty. Sleeping in the apartment would be weird, seeing that everything was in a state of chaos over there. Still, sleeping in the house would feel pretty weird too, empty as it was.

“It’s not the bed assembling that bothers me- we can just toss a sheet over a mattress and actually assemble the things later,” Joe answered at last. “It’s the driving over that doesn’t feel too wise. We’re both beat; I don’t feel like driving and I bet you don’t either.”

The older boy had to nod in agreement. The sugar high from the cake they’d had for dessert had about worn off, leaving him even more wrung out than he’d been before dinner. “If we were gonna go, we should’ve left when the guys did,” he admitted. “I’m about to crash.”

“Me too.” Joe, lying on his back near where they had eaten dinner, sighed. “I don’t think I’ll bother going upstairs,” he murmured. “I’ll just unroll the sleeping bag from wherever it is and make that my bedroom for the night.”

Frank nodded again; the thought of climbing up the stairs even one more time today seemed intolerable. “Tell you what. You bring the sleeping bags out of the den, I’ll get the foam pads out of the closet. We’ll set up in the living room and call it a night.”

“Deal.” Joe hauled himself up from the floor and moved towards the den. Frank got his aching legs under him, paused long enough to stretch in the hope of loosening his already-aching muscles, and followed slowly.

Five minutes later, the two boys- still clothed, and lying on top of the sleeping bags rather than in them- were wrapped in the darkness of a spring night.

“I set the alarm when the guys left,” Joe said quietly into the peculiarly intense silence.

“Good thinking. Phil never called back- or if he did, Auntie didn’t tell me.”

“Nothing on the answering machine or message pad.”

“Mmm,” Frank acknowledged, since it was too dark to see a nod.

Silence.

“Is it just me, or is it a lot quieter than usual?” Joe murmured after a moment.

“It’s not just you,” Frank replied softly. “I think it has something to do with the wide-open space in here.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Joe agreed, sounding reassured. “G’night, bro.”

“Sleep well.”

It was only a few minutes before Joe’s breathing indicated that he was peacefully asleep. Frank shifted uneasily on the sleeping bag, wishing he’d made the trip upstairs after all. It felt weird, sleeping in the empty living-room like this. He felt a moment of envy for his brother’s untroubled rest; it must be nice not to have a mind burdened with worries and anxieties.

‘Are we really doing the right thing, moving?’ It was the same thought that had plagued him, on and off, ever since they’d made the decision to do so. Joe seemed to be okay with it- a little gloomy from time to time at leaving the familiar old place, but on the whole accepting it. Gertrude- surprisingly- had accepted the idea readily as well. It seemed Frank was the only one who doubted the decision, and he wasn’t even sure why he did doubt it. The reasons for leaving made sense, both logically and emotionally.

‘Didn’t I tell myself the exact same thing about going to Unity?’ the teen asked himself derisively. ‘How it all made perfect sense and I was being silly to worry about it? But that was my choice. This- we’ve made the choice while we still have the option. If we put it off and waited, we soon wouldn’t have the choice; we’d have to move whether we wanted to or not.’ He sighed and turned over again. The thought that in the end they had no choice just made it worse and the only consolation was that it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as when he’d gone to Maine. He’d still be in Bayport, still be with his brother, with his friends, still attending Bayport U...

‘And what’s up with Madison and that stupid note, anyway? I guess it might be one of the other frats, trying to make me think it’s Delta, but that doesn’t seem very likely.’ Frank had to resist the urge to get up, reconnect his computer, and search around online for any updates on the Unity situation. Phil had twice the skill with a computer that Frank did; if there was anything to be found, he’d find it.

‘What if there’s been no change in the situation? Or if there is, but no one’s announced it yet? What if all we’ve got is this threat? It must have something to do with the school...I guess it doesn’t matter why so much, but it would be nice to know what’s going on, so I have some idea how extreme their actions are gonna be. Though, ‘so fucking dead’ is a pretty good indication, actually.’ The nineteen-year-old shivered slightly, the memory of his potentially-fatal beating at the hands of the fraternity leaders suddenly vivid in his mind.

Pinned to the brick wall, his wrists aching from his captors’ grips; the flickering flame of the lighter as Madison burned his notebook...

Fists slamming into his body, his face- unable to defend himself...

The sickening, dizzying pain as the stout branch crashed against his forehead...

The bitter cold biting through his thin shirt as he stumbled through the snowy night, slipping on the ice...

‘I think I’ll make a trip to the police station sometime tomorrow,’ Frank decided at last. ‘They’ll be able to get an idea of what’s going on a lot more directly than Phil or I will.’

At least he’d been keeping up with his karate exercises; if it should come down to a fight, he’d be in a better position to protect himself than most. Most people weren’t black-belts. Still, the Deltas already knew about his martial arts abilities- four of them from direct experience. And just because he hadn’t encountered a Delta with similar experience didn’t mean there wasn’t someone who could wipe the floor with him...

Sighing, Frank turned over yet again, made himself clear his mind of worries, and finally felt himself drifting off.

The jangling of the telephone brought Frank awake with a groan. Lifting his arm, he squinted at his watch, managed to register that it was a little before ten, then struggled to his feet and plodded into the kitchen. Joe, he noticed en route, hadn’t so much as stirred.

“H’lo?”

“Frank?”

“Yeah- Q?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah. S’okay, though- we shoulda been up an hour ago. Didn’t set an alarm,” the Hardy boy replied foggily, rubbing his face. “What’s up?”

“Um, I ran into a- kinda- a problem,” the younger boy confided sheepishly. “See, my dad took the truck this morning, even though I asked him not to last night. I guess he forgot- but I won’t be able to help you out till he gets home. Around four-thirty.”

“Oh.” Frank turned that over in his half-awake mind. “Well, that’s all right. We’ll take over what we can, and when your dad gets home- actually, we may not need the help by then, since Tony gets done around one-thirty. At least, I think that’s what he said.”

“That’s what I remember,” Jesse agreed, still sounding a little meek.

“Don’t sweat it, Q,” Frank told him kindly. “It’s not your fault your dad forgot, and you’ve already been a huge help.”

“Yeah, well-” Jesse sighed. “Anyway, I’ll come over when he gets home, if you need. Or if you want some help lifting, you could come get me before then.”

“Might take you up on that one,” Frank admitted. “For some strange reason, I’m a little achy today.” And that was an understatement and a half. Between all the lifting, carrying, tramping up and down stairs, and then sleeping on the floor, there wasn’t a muscle in Frank’s body that wasn’t protesting.

“Maybe several reasons,” Jesse suggested in a jokingly helpful tone.

“Possibly,” Frank admitted with a smile, beginning to feel a little more alert. “If we do need some help, we’ll call you first.”

“Okay. Later, Frank.”

“Bye.” The dark-haired boy hung up and went back into the living room to find Joe sitting up and rubbing his arms and shoulders.

“I heard something about help?”

Frank explained as he began rolling up his sleeping bag. Joe stretched, grimaced, then got up and followed his example.

“Oh,” he said as Frank concluded. “Oh well, we can go on over with whatever we can get into the cars, and then we can do some of that furniture arranging. Better than climbing the stairs another five-hundred times. Man, I am sore,” he complained, sitting back on his heels to tie the sleeping bag shut.

“Me, too. I’m going to get a hot shower,” Frank decided, and made his painful way up the stairs to do just that.

About an hour later, both the teens- having showered, changed, eaten, and discovered that Gertrude had left the house- locked up the door behind them and got into their car. “I’m surprised she didn’t wake us up when she left,” Joe remarked, continuing the conversation the two had been having as they ate.

“I am, too. But not too upset. I was wiped- and she might’ve had something to say about us sleeping on the floor.” Frank backed the car out of the driveway, squinting as a flash of sunlight got through the cloud cover and reflected off the exterior mirror.

“Something about how inappropriate it is,” his brother agreed. “I’m surprised she didn’t mention it in her note. Wonder why she didn’t want us to take her stuff over, though?”

“That, I wonder about too.” Frank shrugged. “Maybe she just wants to be there when we do it. Privacy or something. I suppose,” he added, the cynical thought striking him suddenly, “she thinks we might snoop if she wasn’t there to keep an eye on us.”

Joe frowned. “Maybe. Anyway, we do need more boxes for her stuff, so we’ll be killing two birds with one stone.”

Frank didn’t reply, as he was concentrating on the traffic, but when he pulled to a halt at a stoplight, he looked over at Joe. “I want to take that note to headquarters and show it to the chief.”

Joe looked surprised. “Thought you wanted a little more evidence first?”

“Phil hasn’t called back,” the older boy pointed out, returning his attention to the traffic light. “And it’s going to be a while before I can get my own system back up. Our police can communicate directly with the Unity force and get the whole story from them, in a lot less time than it takes to search the Internet.” The light changed; he nudged the gas and the car accelerated. “I want to know just what’s going on up there; it’ll give me some idea of what to expect. Not specifically, but in terms of severity.”

“Okay, that’s a sensible move. But what brought it on? I know you weren’t too happy at getting the note, but...”

Frank shrugged. “I just thought it over and decided to play things a little safer.” He paused to make a sharp right, then added, “The more I thought about it, the less I liked the ‘so dead’ part. One run-in with them was more than enough.”

“Absolutely.” There was an edge in Joe’s voice and his hand rested on Frank’s shoulder for a few seconds. “But this time you’ve got backup, Frank. Me, and the gang.”

“I know- and I’m glad. Otherwise I’d be extremely tense, not mildly worried,” Frank answered honestly.

Joe didn’t say anything more as they pulled into the parking lot, hopped out and went up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. But once inside the box and furniture cluttered living-room, he turned to Frank with a slightly puzzled look. “Is that all that’s on your mind? ‘Cause you seem more than mildly worried.”

‘You know me too darn well sometimes,’ the older boy thought, shoving his hand through his hair and avoiding his brother’s intent look. “I didn’t say there wasn’t more on my mind- and there is, but it isn’t about Unity,” he hedged. “Look, which of the bedrooms do you want?”

“Which one did Auntie decide on, again?” Joe inquired, diverted. Frank snorted.

“The biggest one, of course, down at the left end of the hallway. The other two at the right end are about the same size.”

“Oh, that’s right. You know, this business about having only one bathroom makes me uneasy,” Joe muttered, moving from the living area into the hallway. Frank followed, dodging several boxes and several more pieces of furniture.

“Keep a wide-mouthed vase in your room,” he suggested with a wicked grin. “Just in case.”

“Frank! I swear, the ideas you come up with!” Joe glanced back and shook his head in mock disapproval.

“Just bein’ practical!”

“Sure. Hmmm...” Joe walked into the bedroom that shared a wall with the living-room. “This’ll do. You can have the exterior wall.”

“You mean the other exterior wall. They both have one, or we wouldn’t have windows,” Frank pointed out, gesturing at the narrow window opposite the door.

“Picky, picky. Okay...the bed’ll go over here, the dresser there...” Joe paced the room, pointing at various spots and then pausing to consider.

“Make sure you don’t block your closet doors,” Frank reminded him, and then went back to the living-room to haul the disassembled pieces of his bed into the exterior bedroom.

Three hours later, Frank surveyed his room with a feeling of satisfaction. It didn’t look exactly like his room in the old house, but it was close and he was pleased. The bed was made, the dresser and closet filled with his clothes, the computer desk arranged in the most out-of-the-way spot he could contrive, and the night table- naturally- beside the bed. And there was still plenty of room to move. He hadn’t hooked up the computer yet- there were other things that needed doing first- but when he looked into the living-room, he was glad to see that the clutter had been reduced noticeably.

The young sleuth was debating what to start on next when he heard his brother call him. He hurried back down the hall and paused Joe’s doorway. “What’s up?”

Joe was kneeling beside his desk, an open box next to him and something in his palm. He glanced up briefly, said, “Look what I found,” and looked back down at whatever he was holding. Curious, Frank walked in and crouched beside Joe- and caught his breath in surprise. Lying in Joe’s hand, looking small and worn, was a scrap of blue-and-silver construction paper with gold writing on it. The round silver disc was faded, the blue strips more purple now than blue, but the word Bravery still shone bright on each narrow ‘ribbon’.

“I didn’t know you’d kept that,” Frank said softly, sliding his arm around his brother.

“Throw out my first-ever medal? You’ve got to be kidding,” Joe answered in an ever-so-slightly husky voice. “I didn’t know exactly where it was, but I knew I hadn’t tossed it.”

Frank smiled wistfully as the events of that summer stirred in his memory. “Running around in the woods,” he murmured. “Chasing after invisible spies and jewel thieves...and deciding we were going to be detectives when we grew up...”

Joe’s blond head rested against his shoulder. “And building the tree-house with Chet and Tony...”

Frank sighed. “I was awful to you, that summer.”

“Only at the beginning. Then you decided to be nice- after I yelled at you a bit.”

“Yeah. That really was the summer, wasn’t it, partner? The summer we started looking out for each other.” He lifted his hand and traced his finger over the golden word, aware of Joe’s smile. “I didn’t know how right I was, when I wrote that.”

Joe sat up and looked at him, his expression caught between surprised and embarrassed.

“Well, you are,” the older boy said with a shrug and a smile. “When you make up your mind to something, you stay with it- no matter what obstacles come along. Physical or otherwise.”

“I thought that was stubbornness,” Joe mused, blushing slightly.

“Well, some of it is,” Frank conceded, smiling. “But it takes courage, too.”

“It takes having someone who backs me up, right or wrong,” the younger boy murmured. Then he smiled too. “There was a lot we didn’t know, back then. Like the fact that we would turn out to make a great team. I think...I expect most people who make plans like we did as kids, usually end up disappointed when their plans flop.”

“Probably so.”

Joe glanced back down into his hand, still smiling, then slowly got up and placed the precious scrap between the pages of a thick dictionary. “Right at the M’s section,” he said with a grin, putting the book into one of the desk drawers. “I’m almost done; what d’you want to do next?”

Frank, taken aback at the abrupt shift in mood, hesitated then shrugged slightly, rising from his crouch. “I was just trying to decide on that myself. Might as well work our way out; the linen cupboard won’t take long, and neither will the living room.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a definite improvement,” Joe remarked as he looked around the living room. The muscles in his arms and back were aching all over again from moving the furniture and lifting the boxes, but it was worth it to see the progress the two of them had made. The couch and coffee table, end tables and lamps, TV cabinet and all the electronics as well as the collection of DVDs and videotapes, were all in place. Some of the towels they had put in the bathroom; the rest, along with the sheets, were stacked neatly on the shelves of the small laundry room.

“It’s still a mountain of boxes,” Frank agreed, “but it’s a much smaller mountain. I think we can let Aunt G decide what goes where in the kitchen.”

“Definitely. And she can put her books in the order she wants ‘em in, too, once we get her room set up.”

“Yeah.” Frank stretched his arms, rubbing at his shoulders, then walked over to the window and looked out. “Which probably won’t happen today. Y’know it’s already nearly four?”

“Time flies when you’re straining every muscle in your body,” Joe remarked, and his brother chuckled sourly.

“It does that, all right. Still, we should be feeling better by tomorrow. At least in the legs!”

“Sure, just in time to traipse up and down with a little more furniture.” Joe dropped onto the sofa and sighed. It didn’t look much like the living-room in the old house, but that was due to the configuration of the room. Also to the fact that this was a living-dining room; there had been a wall between the two, at Elm Street.

“Feeling kind of pessimistic, bro?” Frank turned his back to the window and looked sympathetically at Joe.

“Well...” Joe picked up one of the sofa pillows and tried to pummel it into a new shape. He wasn’t feeling so much pessimistic as a little depressed and frustrated. The depressed part was for having to leave their old home in the first place. The rest of it was due to the weird distance that his brother kept putting between them. Frank had been keeping everyone at arm’s length lately, not just Joe, so Joe wasn’t feeling particularly singled out, but it still bothered him. He hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong, but after seeing the threat Frank had gotten yesterday, he thought he might have a clue what it was. “Yeah. Missing lunch might have something to do with that.”

Frank sauntered over and plucked the pillow from Joe’s hands. “Let’s go see what’s in the area to eat at, then. I have a sudden craving for Beef Szechuan.”

“Tony was going to stop by the house, wasn’t he?” Joe remembered suddenly as he got up from the sofa.

“No, he said to call him if we needed help.” Frank swung the door open.

“Oh, that’s right. I was half-asleep last night when he was talking.” Joe closed the door behind him, making sure it was locked. The neighborhood was a relatively safe one, but there was no point being foolish.

Unfortunately for Frank, there was no Chinese restaurant around, but the Hardys were so hungry by now that neither of them was terribly disappointed. The American Grill made a more than acceptable substitute, despite the overabundance of mustard on Joe’s sandwich. After they finished eating, Frank checked the cell phone for voice-mail messages, and found none. Joe suggested that they call home to see if Gertrude was there yet. Frank did so and reported that either she wasn’t home or she was ignoring the phone, for he got the answering machine.

“So, Aunt G’s note this morning said she doesn’t want us moving her stuff without her and she’s still out of touch this afternoon,” Joe summed up. “That definitely lets out clearing her room today. We could go back and fetch the last few miscellaneous things, but it’s getting late and you wanted to go to Headquarters.”

“Yeah.” Frank opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. “I’d rather do that than lift any more stuff.”

“Me, too,” Joe agreed, and fastened his seatbelt after he pulled the passenger door closed.

They reached police headquarters just as the Chief was leaving the building; he greeted them rather wearily, but in a friendly enough manner. “Where’ve you two been hiding? I can’t believe you haven’t gotten mixed up with any department business lately. Was starting to think you’d lost your edge.”

Joe smiled briefly at the teasing. “Been too busy moving,” he replied. “But once we’re settled in-”

“Ah, I see.”

“Actually, there is something I wanted to mention,” Frank said more seriously, and dug in his pocket for a moment. “This. Got it in the mail yesterday. Phil Cohen tried to do some research on the Net, but he hasn’t let me know anything, so he probably doesn’t have anything to tell me yet.”

Collig took the note, read it, and his eyebrows shot up. “Interesting. Certainly one of the most to-the-point threats I’ve seen in a while. You have some notions about Delta, I assume?”

“The fraternity that made a point of harassing me while I was in Maine,” Frank started.

“It went a good bit beyond harassment,” Joe growled. Facing Collig, he added, “By the time he got out of there, it was attempted murder, and very nearly first-degree at that.”

The Chief glanced from one Hardy to the other; Frank sighed, but didn’t debate the point. “So you figure someone in the fraternity has decided to make some more trouble for you.”

“If there’s a new development in the Board of Education investigation, someone might be trying to get revenge. I suspect Ted Madison- the president of Delta, and my supposed Advisor while I was up there. Actually, he’s not so much the president of Delta Phi as he is the dictator; they hardly even sneeze without his okay,” Frank explained cynically. “Though someone might have decided to act independently, if they were particularly mad.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, the gesture telling Joe that his brother wasn’t as calm as he sounded.

“This’s the first bit of trouble they’ve stirred for you in a while, yes?”

Joe’s ears tried to perk up; a physically impossible gesture, but he was very interested in his brother’s reply.

“Ever since we brought Dad’s car home- I was using it in Maine, but I had to leave it behind. When we went back up to get it, someone had taken it from the service station where we left it, parked it on campus, and slashed nearly every hose and belt under the hood. Also they didn’t want us to leave without getting beat up, but we avoided that. Since then, there hasn’t been so much as a whisper from ‘em.”

“Well, they certainly aren’t being subtle about it,” Collig mused, looking at the note again.

“Subtlety isn’t really their strong point,” Frank agreed.

“Well, take it on in and ask DeSoto to do some phoning around- he’s at loose ends just now. Though it’s likely we won’t have anything for you till midday tomorrow.”

Joe frowned briefly before he recalled that it was Sunday; Sunday evening, at that. “Shoulda come by yesterday,” he murmured to his brother. Then a new thought widened his eyes and he drew in his breath with a hiss.

“What?” Collig and Frank both looked at him expectantly.

“I just remembered. Tomorrow’s Monday- I’ve got some homework! And I’m not even sure where my books are!”

Frank gave a mock-disgusted shake of his head as the Chief smiled. “All right, procrastinator, let’s drop this in quick and get home, check with Aunt G, and see if we can track down your books.”

“Well, it’s hard to do homework when you’ve just collapsed from heavy labor, like we did last night,” Joe retorted, turning towards the doors of the building. Collig’s chuckle reminded him that the man was still there, and he turned back to thank him.

“Yes, thanks, Chief- sorry to delay you,” Frank agreed.

“No problem, fellows. Good luck with the Vanishing Schoolbooks Mystery.” The big man turned and walked across the parking lot to his car as Joe rolled his eyes. But the young sleuth couldn’t keep from smiling at the jest.

Mike DeSoto was indeed at loose ends; he was straightening up his desk, which was always an indication of boredom. He greeted the Hardys cheerfully and asked, “What sort of mischief are you into now?”

“Nothing major, yet,” Frank told him, and explained what they’d just told Collig. Mike’s reaction to the note was very similar to the Chief’s, and he promised to check around and see what he could find.

“Thanks- oh, and call our cell-phone, would you? The old phone’s about to be disconnected, and the new one isn’t hooked up yet, won’t be until Monday or Tuesday.”

DeSoto agreed, scratched down the cell number, then picked up his own desk phone and dialed information. “Thanks for the assignment, even if it is an easy one- I was about to go out of my head with boredom.”

“So glad to oblige,” Joe said mockingly. As they departed, they heard Mike talking animatedly into the phone. “Is that our good deed for the day?” he wondered. Frank shrugged, smiling a little.

“Close enough. I do feel better, knowing they’re looking into it.”

“A good deed all around, then.”

“Right. Now let’s go find your junk.”

“That’s odd,” Joe remarked a few minutes later, as his brother guided the car along the mostly-deserted roads. Everyone was probably at dinner.

“What’s odd?”

“All that smoke up there. Kinda early in the year for barbecuing.”

Frank paused at a light and both the boys peered through the April dusk at the thick black clouds lifting into the darkening sky. “Not only is it too early, it’s way too much smoke,” Frank murmured. “Something’s on fire.”

A look passed between the brothers and, without a word said, they reached an agreement. They were going to check it out.

It wasn’t until they reached High Street that Joe Hardy started to get anxious about the increasing proximity of the thick, black smoke-clouds. Glancing over, he saw the worried scowl on Frank’s face and stated the obvious: “We were headed toward it all along- it’s in our neighborhood.”

“It could very easily be on our street,” Frank replied through clenched teeth, and Joe’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. First the threat to Frank- and now smoke in the area of their home...a connection? ‘No,’ he told himself firmly; ‘it can’t be!’

Could it?

Joe bit hard on his lower lip; the closer they got, the less convincing his denial sounded. He could see the flickering lights of the fire engines even from several streets away. Cars had pulled over to the sides of the road, whether to make way for the fire engines or to get a look at the conflagration was impossible to say. Frank lessened their speed and pulled over as well; Joe glanced at him and saw that his brother’s face was ghastly white in the glow of the streetlights. Pulling off their seatbelts, the boys hopped out, raced across the street, and charged down to the High-Elm intersection.

The teen’s heart raced as he skidded to a stop. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, the crackle and roar of the flames intense. He could feel the heat from where he stood on the sidewalk. There was a news crew, he noticed distractedly, and felt a moment of bitter resentment. There was also a large crowd of neighbors, all standing on the opposite sidewalk, watching the Hardys’ house burn. Another surge of resentment went through him; what did they think this was? A reality show, entertainment for them to watch, gawk at, comment on?

Joe turned his back on the observers and moved closer to the house. Three of the walls were in flames; only the wall that met the garage was untouched, and flames were beginning to creep around to singe the siding. The fire-hoses were going full blast, but it was obvious that they weren’t making much headway.

“Aunt Gertrude,” Frank’s voice came shakily from behind Joe. “Where is she? I can’t see her across the street-”

Joe was just opening his mouth to reply when something seemed to scream through his mind. A voice- a voice he recognized- shrieking his name in panic. He gasped and reeled a step back. “Stop, stop, I hear you!” he yelled back at the top of his mental lungs. The scream faded down to a frightened moan and- half-stunned- he was able to identify the sender. Gertrude!

“Where are you? What’s wrong?” he demanded. And why in the world was she sending to him, anyway? Gertrude had never used her telepathic ‘curse’, despite the fact that he’d taught her how to send during the winter.

The answer, when it came, was so weak as to be almost inaudible, but Joe got enough of it to understand. Despite the heat, cold fear shot through him. “She’s in the house,” he gasped, and took off running for the garage entrance. He heard his brother calling out from behind him, but paid no attention.

Dizzying heat poured over him as he reached the side of the house; Joe had a brief thought of pulling off his shirt, but he didn’t have the time. The garage was full of smoke, but when he opened the door to the kitchen a crack, he could see no signs of fire- yet. Joe dropped to his hands and knees to avoid the dense smoke and scooted over the linoleum tiles to the dining room doorway. When he reached it, he nearly gasped in dismay; the upper level was already burning fiercely. Bits of the ceiling had dropped onto the carpet, starting a dozen smaller fires. His eyes burned from the smoke; he coughed and then pulled part of his shirt over his nose and mouth to act as a filter.

“Where is she?” came the shout, and Joe turned to see his brother crawl up beside him. A wave of relief was quickly followed by one of anxiety; now he had to make sure both his aunt and Frank got out safely!

“Den!” he shouted back over the roar of the flames. “Gotta hurry, ceiling’s gonna go! Stay here- keep the fire from cutting us off!” He didn’t wait for a reply; scrambling to his feet, Joe dashed across the living-room, dodging around the small fires and barely managing not to singe himself in the process. He clutched the den’s doorframe and then dropped to his knees again, gulping in the slightly fresher lower air. The right wall, near the ceiling, was in flames but the floor was untouched so far. Joe swiped at the sweat running into his eyes and peered through the smoky haze.

There. His aunt was in a heap by the window- she must’ve tried to open it and climb out. Joe scuttled to her side and lifted her, suddenly grateful that she wasn’t as heavy as she used to be. He hefted her over his shoulder, then moved as fast as he could for the doorway. A large piece of plaster thudded to the carpet beside him and he flinched back as the heat seared his leg. Then he was out the door and stumbling for the relative safety of the kitchen. He couldn’t run, not with the weight of his aunt slowing him down, and he could no longer filter the smoke that was swirling about his head.

An ominous cracking from overhead sent Joe stumbling forward as fast as his legs would take him. His head was starting to spin; he’d breathed too much smoke and exerted too much energy. Pain blossomed under his ribs and he recognized the feeling of oxygen deprivation all too easily. The frail woman on his shoulder seemed an intolerably heavy burden. Heat rose into his face, beat against his body. Fire licked at his legs; another burning fragment struck him on the arm and he bit back a cry. Then Frank was beside him, pulling Gertrude down so that Joe held her by the arms and Frank carried her legs. Flames and smoke and charred walls reeled around the younger boy’s vision, and then he was falling, landing hard on linoleum flooring. The kitchen. He knelt there for a moment, panting, but it didn’t help; there was too much smoke and the fire was consuming all the air to feed itself.

A gust of fresher air struck him; Joe looked up wearily to see that the kitchen door was hanging open. Summoning his failing strength, he lifted Gertrude’s arms- unbearably heavy though they were- and helped his brother half-carry, half-drag the elderly woman out of the kitchen and into the garage.

After that, things went blank.

Joe gradually realized that he was sitting on cool, damp grass, breathing the chilly night air and coughing almost uncontrollably. His eyes felt seared and his chest was one big ache. Then a mask came down over his mouth and nose and he gratefully breathed the pure oxygen that was flowing into his lungs. Slowly the ache subsided, the coughs stopped, and his strength began to return.

“That was a damn-fool thing to do,” a husky voice remarked from beside him. Joe turned to see his brother regarding him anxiously; it was Frank’s hand holding the oxygen mask.

“Is-” Joe started, and then reached up to pull the mask down for a moment. “Is she okay?”

“They’re working on her now,” was his brother’s unencouraging answer. Then Frank lifted the mask back up to Joe’s face. Joe pulled it down again.

“If it was such-” He stopped as a new spasm of coughing shook him.

“Stop talking,” the older boy suggested, renewing the flow of oxygen. Joe decided to take that advice, at least for a while, and sent instead.

“If it was such a damn-fool thing to do, why’d you follow me? Not that I didn’t need the help,” he added quickly. He’d never have made it out, if not for Frank.

“Exactly,” his brother answered the same way. “’Sides, I’m not saying you shouldn’t’ve done it. Just that it was foolish.”

Joe didn’t feel like arguing the point. “You okay?” he asked silently, letting his eyes drift closed.

“Yeah, more or less. I stayed low while you were doing all the running around. Didn’t breathe nearly as much smoke. Might just take you to the hospital-”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Still might take you to the hospital. It’s not up to me; it’s up to the medics. Just warning you.”

Joe didn’t answer that, just sighed and opened his eyes again. This time he took in his surroundings; he was sitting in the middle of the next-door neighbors’ yard, his legs under him and his hands braced in the cool grass. Frank was next to him with the oxygen tank and mask. Joe reached up to take the mask away and was relieved when he didn’t start coughing again. He was also a little surprised that his brother didn’t rebuke him, but Frank’s gaze was averted.

Turning to look where Frank was facing- to his right- Joe saw that part of their roof had collapsed and the flames were roaring upward from all sides of the house. “Good thing we got here when we did,” he mentioned silently, his eyes going to the two white-garbed medics leaning over a stretcher on the sidewalk. He could just make out his aunt’s feet; one of her shoes had fallen off and for some reason the sight brought tears to his eyes. “She sent to me,” he told his brother, still bewildered by that development. “I would’ve thought she’d send to you...”

“You taught her. Besides, I don’t have an entrance for her,” Frank reminded him. “Your mind was more familiar- and more accessible.”

Joe nodded slowly, gazing at the scene. Firelight leaping over the lawn and the trees; emergency vehicles throwing their never-ending circular light-shadow-light pattern over the dark street, over the parked cars and the walls of the brightly-lit houses. The crowds that lined the sidewalk, being kept back by the police; the great hoses futilely sending jets of water into the inferno. He could hear the squawk of the radios, the shouts of the firemen, and above it all, the horrible deep roar of the fire, interspersed with crackles and snaps. Sparks showered, beams collapsed; a wall fell inward, and a strange, bitter, sharp odor drifted to his nostrils under the thicker odor of smoke.

“Do you smell that?” he asked silently, frowning.

“Yeah, I caught a whiff of it in the garage.”

Joe looked at his brother again; Frank’s face- pale under a layer of soot- was grim.

“Gasoline?”

“Think so. Or paraffin. Either way...”

“Deliberate. Delta.”

“Uh-huh.” Frank scooted closer, close enough that their shoulders touched, and the teens watched in silence as their old home burned to the ground.

“We’re here to see our aunt- Gertrude Hardy,” Frank told the man at the hospital check-in desk.

“One moment,” the man- a young fellow of about twenty-five- answered politely. He tapped the keyboard in front of him for several moments, studying the monitor intently.

Frank shifted his weight and glanced uneasily around the waiting area. Beside him, Joe tapped his fingers on the faux marble countertop and chewed on his lower lip.

Joe should have been in school, but Frank had called Bayport High and told them his brother wouldn’t be in. He’d gotten no argument; all Bayport had been informed this morning that the Hardys had lost their home to arson and that their aunt had been hospitalized. The paper had also run another article, extolling the courage of the boys for rescuing Gertrude from the fire. Then it had lamented the discovery that she’d suffered a stroke- a much more severe and debilitating attack than her first one, nine months previous. The doctors were fairly sure that Gertrude’s panic at being trapped in the burning house had caused her collapse.

When they’d reached their new apartment after giving their statements to the police, though, Joe had offered a different theory. “What if the effort to send is what caused it?” he’d asked, his face stricken with guilt and worry.

“Sending?” Frank had replied incredulously. “That’s impossible- sending doesn’t take effort, not once you know how, and you taught her how. Keeping everything from slipping out is the bigger problem. It’s possible she was repressing too much and shot her stress level up- but Joe, that’s her fault, not yours.”

Joe- sitting slumped on the sofa and staring blankly at the wall before him, still half-stunned from the loss and upset about the old lady- had grudgingly agreed. “We don’t get along anymore,” he’d murmured. “But I don’t want her to die.”

“I don’t, either.” Frank had flopped down beside his brother and hugged him, ignoring the miasma of smoke until Joe grew less tense. “Go take a shower, you’ll feel better.” Joe had smiled wanly and obeyed; when he was done, Frank had taken his turn and emerged to find his brother stuffing their smoky clothing into the washer.

Later, lying wide-eyed in bed and trying to sort through the evening, Frank could still see the flashing lights of the fire engines as he and Joe made their way to the open ambulance, still hear the medic’s emotionless voice as his companions continued to work over the unmoving woman:

“She’s inhaled some smoke, but we’ve got her on oxygen and she’s not responding. We did an EKG and it shows no sign of heart problems; what’s in her history?”

“She had a stroke last August- a minor one-”

“That’s probably it, then. We’d better get her to Trauma, stat.” A confusion of voices, the flutter of movement as they loaded the stretcher into the vehicle, closed the doors and sped off...

Following the ambulance...having their own minor burns tended...Joe being checked for smoke inhalation and pronounced acceptable...sitting in the nearly-empty waiting area, a place both the boys were far too familiar with...talking with a grim-faced Mike DeSoto, then- a little later- with Chief Collig.

Finally, more than two hours later, the doctor had come down to give them the news.

“Your aunt has suffered another stroke; we have her on medication and she regained consciousness, but there’s considerable paralysis. It’s impossible to say right now how she’ll respond to treatment.”

And then, since there was nothing more they could do, they’d gone ‘home’ to their new apartment-

“Well, she’s in serious condition,” the voice broke into Frank’s weary musings. “She’s on respiration,” the young man added with a frown. “There’s a note from Doctor Bates that he’d like to see- you’re her nephews?” At Frank’s nod, he went on, “He wants to speak with you as soon as possible.”

“Is he here?” Joe asked.

“I’m afraid he got off his shift just a few hours ago. He’ll be back on later this evening, though. About seven p.m. He’s given the standard instructions- you can go in and see her, but don’t agitate her. One ten minute visit each hour, no more.”

“Okay. Thanks. Where...?”

“Floor twelve, room 1245.”

“Thanks,” Frank repeated listlessly, and turned to the elevator alcove.

The twelfth floor seemed to be one of the quieter ones; there was virtually no one else in the halls and only two nurses at the station. Frank and Joe were required to identify themselves, but once the nurses knew they’d come to see Miss Hardy, they were given clearance right away. One of them repeated the ten-minute visit per hour warning and the boys dutifully agreed before walking down to 1245. The door was closed and both teens hesitated briefly when they reached it. Finally Joe turned the knob and stepped in. Frank followed, suddenly wishing he hadn’t come at all.

Gertrude Hardy looked nothing like the vigorous, tart-tongued, middle-aged woman the boys had known all their lives. She looked old, shriveled, her face suddenly bearing many lines, her dark hair graying towards white. The bed and machines dwarfed her; IV stand, vital signs monitor, respiration machine. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell in a rhythm too regular to be anything but artificial. Frank hesitated a moment, then leaned over to touch her hand. Cool, dry skin. No response.

“She’s got her shields up as strong as yours,” Joe sent to his brother. “I guess we’re locked out.”

“Auntie?” Frank asked quietly. Still no response. “If her shields are up, she’s conscious, right?” he sent in return. Joe nodded. “Auntie, don’t do that. Don’t shut us out.”

The ten minutes passed quickly as both boys tried to persuade their aunt into at least opening her eyes. Finally they gave it up and went back into the hall, closing the door behind them. Joe sat down on a nearby bench; his face bore a gloomy, guilty expression. Frank regarded the closed door and indulged in some sour thoughts before joining his brother on the bench.

“You shouldn’t look so guilty,” he told Joe quietly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not your fault she’s decided to behave this way.” Some of his frustration must’ve seeped through, for Joe looked surprised. “I do feel bad about this, and I don’t want her to die, like I said before,” he answered the silent question. “But she still irritates the heck out of me. I don’t know why she won’t acknowledge us, but she hasn’t got any cause to be acting like this. Maybe I’m completely off, but I have this feeling that she’s doing more of what she’s been doing all along- disapproving. It’s obviously a conscious decision on her part, anyway, and it bugs me a lot.”

“Maybe it’s her pride,” Joe muttered. “Maybe she just doesn’t want us to see her like this and is hoping we’ll go away till she’s recovered some strength.”

‘Optimist,’ Frank thought fondly. He was more inclined to think that Gertrude was somehow accusing them, laying the blame for her condition on them. “Maybe,” he agreed. “Since we obviously can’t do much good here, why don’t we get over to headquarters and see what they can tell us? We can come back later and see Dr. Bates- and maybe by then she’ll be in a better mood.”

“Okay.” Joe stood up. “And I guess I still need to do my homework, sometime today.”

“Yeah.” Frank led the way down the hall. “Good thing your schoolbooks were in the apartment after all.”

“Oh, is that a good thing?” the younger boy answered wryly. Frank gave him a brief smile, glad to hear his brother’s mood lightening.

The drive to the police station was quick, and the boys were both relieved to see that Mike DeSoto was on duty. He greeted them seriously and confirmed their theory that the fire had been deliberately set. “There were traces of gasoline splattered around on the lawn,” he explained. “Also, the fire chief noticed how the three walls went up- that suggests the arsonist went in through the garage, forced the door, spread the gasoline around, and then left the same way.”

“And lit the second floor,” Joe remarked. “The ceiling was burning before the floor, when we were in there. If it’d been the other way around...” Frank glanced at him, trying to stifle a shudder, but didn’t say anything.

“Makes sense for an amateur arsonist,” DeSoto agreed grimly. “Light the upstairs, giving them more time to get out- which suggests that there might’ve been more than one of them.”

“Which definitely points to the Delta fraternity,” Frank said. “Most arsonists prefer to work alone, for one, and for two, it explains the delay between the note and the fire. Madison needed a day to gather up some of his cronies to help him.”

“That’s why we couldn’t spot anyone tailing us- no one was,” Joe mused, nodding. “And he missed the fact that we were moving until he actually got inside the house, but decided to burn the place anyway. Or he gave orders and his guys just blindly carried them out.”

“A good working theory- particularly when you add the motive,” DeSoto agreed. “Seems Unity College has been shut down indefinitely, at least until administration can be replaced and correctional measures taken.”

“The whole college?” Frank exclaimed, sitting up straight.

“You didn’t expect that?”

“I expected some professors to be fired, and maybe the president to be nudged into early retirement,” the dark-haired youth replied, stunned. “Not the whole institution!” That wasn’t completely true; he had indulged in some stray thoughts of a totally abandoned campus, with the buildings deserted- but those had been daydreams, not realistic hopes.

“Well, you got it,” the policeman replied, “and from what I’ve read about it, it’s a damned good thing. Straight out of the White Supremacist movement, those people.”

Frank and Joe exchanged a look and a nod.

“So, what we need right now, besides positive proof, is a description of this Madison fellow and any of his stooges that you particularly recall.”

Frank concentrated on the memories he’d tried- unsuccessfully- to bury. “He’s a big guy, taller than me- probably about six foot three or four. And he’s got to weigh two hundred, easily- maybe as much as two-thirty. Muscular- he’s a linebacker, basically. Medium-brown hair, and I’m not sure- I think his eyes were blue-”

“They were,” Joe agreed. “I noticed he had a scar on one hand, too-” He held up his own hand and traced a line down the side of his palm. “As if he punched something and it cut the side of his hand.”

“Never noticed that,” Frank murmured.

“I saw it in the parking lot- when he and the other guys were wanting to give us a ‘farewell gift’? He had his lighter in his hand.”

“Oh, that’s right. That was when we went up to get Dad’s car back, barely avoided a nasty fight,” Frank explained to Mike. “Him and the six other frat presidents, and his own second in command. Oh, what was that guy’s name...Lewis. Jack Lewis. About a foot shorter, skinny, long hair, darker brown. Shifty eyes, that guy had.”

Mike DeSoto scribbled it all down- and scribbled was definitely the word, Frank thought as he caught a glimpse of the man’s handwriting. Mike had even less legible writing than Frank himself did, and that was saying something. Once he’d finished describing all the Delta students he could remember, he suggested that DeSoto try to get independent samples of their writing. “They’ll probably try to disguise their handwriting if you pull ‘em in,” he pointed out. “But if you’ve got some old tests or class notes to compare with...”

“Definitely,” the officer agreed, and made a note of that, as well. “Okay, I guess that’s enough to go on, at least for a while-”

“The college might have photos on file, too,” Joe remarked thoughtfully.

“Assuming we can get at ‘em, with the place closed up. Though if we can’t get that from the college, we can chat with various parents, both for the handwriting and for the pictures,” Mike agreed. “I doubt any of them would be foolish enough to be wearing their frat jackets, either, so those are probably safely at home...might be a useful fact later. Just in case there’s any ‘confusion’, as in, ‘Why, no, officer, my son’s not a Delta Phi member!’ ”

Frank grinned briefly at the policeman’s high-pitched imitation of a shocked mother. “You’ve got some experience in that field,” he deduced.

“More than I like. So, hopefully this’ll do the trick; if not, I’ll get in touch and pick your brains some more, Frank. And you,” he added to Joe.

“With less luck,” Frank said under his breath, and got a punch on the arm in response. Grinning, he stood up and the Hardys left the police station, pausing only long enough to fill up the gas tank before heading back to the apartment.

Joe Hardy sighed, closed his math book and gazed for a moment out the narrow apartment window. The sun was getting low; soon they’d have to head back to the hospital to see what information Dr. Bates had for them. In the meantime, he was just about done with his homework- except for the math- and he was ready for a break. Getting up, he went down the still-unfamiliar hall and out to the living room.

Frank was sitting at the dining-room table, reading a book. He glanced up as Joe went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Not much in there- maybe we can stop at the store on the way back from the hospital.”

Joe grunted agreement, removing the bottle of apple juice and pouring a glass. Putting the juice away, he went over to the table and sat down. “Too bad we don’t have any of that seafood left over.”

“That’s what you get when you feed the whole gang,” Frank said lightly. “How’s the homework going?”

“I saved the worst for last. The math. Now I’m on the last, so I’m stalling a bit,” Joe admitted. “Besides, we’ll have to leave in a little while, so I wouldn’t get it done anyway.” He paused to take a drink of juice, then put the glass down and looked at his brother for a moment.

“What?”

“Just how much of this did you expect to happen?”

“Huh?” Frank sounded surprised. “None of it. Well- I was surprised that they didn’t threaten me sooner, when the investigation first started...so in a way I wasn’t taken off guard when that threat came on Saturday. But I didn’t have any other threats or warnings, if that’s what you mean. Why, you think I’m holding back info from you?”

‘Defensive,’ Joe thought, frowning. “You’re holding something back,” he replied slowly. “Something you don’t wanna talk about, something that’s making you distant and preoccupied. So when the threat arrived, I thought that might be it.” He took another sip of juice, then added, “If it’s not Unity and Madison that’s been on your mind for three weeks, what is it?”

Frank shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do about it, Joe, so there’s no point going into it.”

“Oh yes, there is,” the younger boy retorted. “Because you’re still brooding about this whatever-it-is. And in the meantime, you’re cutting everyone else off.” He paused, seeing the determination in his brother’s dark eyes, and added, “Well, I guess if you really want to keep it all to yourself, let it bother you and make you distant from everyone, that’s up to you. But I’ll tell you right now, I resent it in a big way. I really think you don’t trust me anymore.” He stood up from the chair, irritated and suddenly more emotional than he’d expected to feel. As he turned to walk away, Frank’s hand closed on his wrist.

“All right.” Frank sounded tired. “All right, Joe. If it’s that important to you- though I don’t know what good it’ll do. Sit down? It’s hard to talk with you standing over me.”

Joe scowled; half of him wanted to pull his wrist free and stalk into his room. The other half was intensely curious and very slightly pleased at his victory.

“Humor me?”

“I’ve been humoring you for three weeks,” the blond boy retorted. “I’m getting pretty tired of it, too!” But at the expression on his brother’s face, he sighed and sat down. “Fine. What is going on?” he asked more calmly.

Frank didn’t reply for at least a minute. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he said slowly. “I’m trying to make sense of how I’m feeling. ...You remember why I went to Unity? Because it was logical and sensible, it was expected, I’d planned to do it, so I had to do it?”

“Yyyyes,” Joe answered, his brow furrowing.

“And it turned out to be a major mistake. Not just because of the fraternities- remember how Madison sponsored me, at first? But even before all the trouble started, I hated it there. I hated being away from home, I knew I’d made a huge mistake.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Joe tried to curb his impatience.

“So I’m feeling- not the same way, exactly, but- very similar. I’ve been trying to make up my mind if moving was the right thing to do.”

Joe blinked several times, taken aback. What in the world did Unity have to do with moving?

“You see why I say there’s nothing we can do about it?”

“You’re telling me you didn’t want to move?”

“No. I wanted to move, I’m just not sure it was the right thing to do,” Frank repeated.

“Frank, you’re not making a lot of sense. And what’s it got to do with Unity, anyway?”

“Why did we move?” Frank asked patiently.

“Oh, don’t play Twenty Questions with me now!” Joe snapped. “I am not in the mood! If you’ve got something to tell me, tell me. I swear I think you make things complicated on purpose sometimes!”

Frank’s eyes went wide and something like pain touched them. Then it turned into anger. “I’m being as plain as I can. I-”

“Not by asking me questions, you’re not! I know why I moved, but not why you did, and apparently you don’t know either! So don’t expect me to be able to answer your question.”

Frank closed his eyes for a moment. “We moved,” he said tautly, “because it was logical, sensible, and reasonable. I went to Unity because it was logical, sensible and reasonable. Unity got royally fucked-up. What assurance have we got that this won’t get royally fucked-up, too?”

Joe took that in for a moment. Frank was nearing the end of his patience, or he wouldn’t be using that kind of language. “Hold it,” he said more quietly. “Just because you made one bad decision last year, doesn’t mean this has been a bad decision or that it’ll be an automatic failure.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad decision, I said I thought it was the wrong one!” Frank snapped.

Joe shook his head in frustration. “Start over,” he suggested. “And leave Unity out of it, it’s just confusing me. You know what you mean, so you’re not explaining it, just repeating yourself, and it’s not helping. Now- you said you wanted to move.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Why?”

Frank gave him a peculiar look; extreme annoyance plus a hint of puzzlement.

“I mean,” Joe amplified, “what was your main reason? I wanted to leave too, but it wasn’t for any ‘logical or sensible’ reasons. Those were just...acceptable excuses. We didn’t have to move out so fast, you know- we could’ve waited another year or so. We had enough to live on. So why were you so gung-ho to leave?”

“I- wanted to,” Frank repeated, his annoyed confusion fading to something more plaintive. “I hated how it made me feel.”

“The bad memories,” Joe said quietly. “The emptiness.”

“Yes.”

“So why did you want to stay?”

“I didn’t!”

“I did. It was our home, we grew up there...I knew I’d miss it.”

Frank was shaking his head. “I miss the past, not the house.”

“So...you wanted to leave because it was depressing and gloomy and miserable, and then you got some good logical reasons in as well. The money, the upkeep. But if you were so miserable that you were in this big hurry to go, why wouldn’t leaving be right?”

“I- Joe, I was afraid of making a wrong decision again. I hoped it would be the right one, be a better situation for us, but I didn’t know-” Frank put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.

Joe studied his downcast brother for a long moment. “So you thought it might be better to be unhappy on familiar ground than to make another change and be on completely unfamiliar ground. Especially since there wouldn’t be any way to go back, undo the mistake. If it did turn out to be a mistake.” He brooded for a moment as Frank nodded without looking up.

“Now I see why you kept talking about Unity. You went up there for the wrong reasons- logical ones- and realized it was a mistake, and managed to get out of it. This move of ours, there’s no going back. You’re not really afraid you made the wrong decision; you’re afraid that if it is the wrong decision, we’re stuck with it.” Joe shook his head. “That is a mistake, drawing this parallel between then and now. Last August, you weren’t taking your own feelings and instincts into account. This time you are. So that throws your comparison off.”

Frank spoke without looking up. “You’re right, I was caught between being miserable at home and being something else in a strange place. I’m not sure which is worse these days- being miserable, or struggling with another change. Even one for the better- the ‘better’ is only theoretical anyway.” He sighed and added, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to undermine your confidence. You seemed positive that moving was the right thing to do, so I depended on your certainty and tried to ignore my worries. My confidence isn’t what it used to be, Joe. I want to do what’s best, but I’m so afraid I’ll land both of us in something that’ll make Unity look like a cakewalk.”

Joe sucked in a deep breath of his own, stunned at what he was hearing. Frank, lacking confidence? Depending on Joe’s? That was an unnerving thought! After a moment he leaned over and gently touched his brother’s arm. “Oh, Frank,” he murmured sadly. “If you’d just said something sooner...you could’ve made it so much easier on yourself. We didn’t have to just pick up and go like that- we could’ve waited till you were ready to handle it.”

Frank shook his head. “I wanted out of there so badly that I decided to go for it anyway. I don’t think I would’ve gotten any more confident if we’d waited, just felt more unhappy about being there. I really don’t know what I wanted, except to not feel so miserable.”

Joe scooted his chair around the table and wrapped his arm around the older boy’s shoulders. “You still could’ve told me,” he chided gently. “I’m sorry,” he added after Frank sighed assent. “I was awful harsh on you just now, I should’ve been more patient-”

“You’ve been patient long enough,” Frank disagreed, sitting up straight and letting his hands fall to the tabletop. “I dunno, brother...it doesn’t seem to be starting out too well, does it? The house burning, the Delta guys hanging around, Aunt G in the hospital with another stroke...”

“Most of our stuff was already moved, so we didn’t lose much,” Joe countered, giving him a slight shake. “And we weren’t caught in the house when the Deltas came by to burn it- we mighta been killed, if we were there. And the Deltas did it because we won a huge victory- the entire college being shut down!”

Frank looked at him for a long moment, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You optimist.”

“You pessimist,” Joe replied fondly. “You always look at the worst possible scenario. Frank, the problem is that you’re second-guessing yourself. And then you’re not asking anyone for what they think about the possibilities. You’re not getting any advice or support. No wonder you’re feeling so uncertain.”

Frank’s lips parted a little in surprise; then he sighed again and nodded. “I’m really lucky to have a brother like you.”

“You’d be luckier to have one who didn’t wait three weeks to ask flat out, ‘what the hell’s the matter?’ ” Joe answered wryly. “There are times when this business of being patient and giving people their space is just not a very good idea.”

Frank gave a snort of amusement. “Only you could come up with reasons to be impatient and nosy,” he answered in a similar tone, and a second later he ruffled Joe’s hair. “Don’t ever change, kiddo.”

“You may one day regret that remark,” Joe teased, smiling when his brother’s brown eyes lifted towards the ceiling. Then he spotted the time and quickly stood up. “Man, it’s gettin’ late. We need to get to the hospital and see Doc Bates.”

Frank Hardy frowned as he maneuvered the car through the heavy evening traffic. Beside him, his brother shook his blond head. “We might actually get there faster walking,” Joe said ruefully.

“We might; we’re practically in a parking lot as it is,” the dark-haired boy grumbled. “At least the doctors work in eight-hour shifts; he shouldn’t be gone by the time we get there.”

“Let’s hope not.” Joe cracked a brief smile. “Though my mind may be gone, if we sit in this mess for eight hours.”

Frank looked over with raised eyebrows.

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t say a word!” the older boy protested, keeping his face straight with an effort.

“You didn’t need to, your expression said it all.”

Frank chuckled and returned his attention to the bogged-down traffic. He was feeling a lot less heavy-hearted after their discussion half an hour ago. Joe was right; that old habit of not confiding in people when something was bothering him had re-surfaced at a very poor time. But at least this time he’d had a better reason than usual; there wasn’t any way of going back and changing their decision to move- especially not now, with the house in ashes- so the only way to go was forward.

“Good thing we moved the lab equipment out,” he remarked. “Things mighta gotten really ugly if all our chemicals had been in the house.” Phil had been very pleased to get his hands on such an advanced set of chemistry equipment; the microscope, in particular, had been greeted with enthusiasm. Computers were Phil’s first passion, but anything scientific ranked highly with him.

“Yeah.” There was a low note in his brother’s voice; Joe obviously did miss the old house. Frank didn’t. The home he had longed for so deeply while he was at Unity was not the home he’d come back to, though it had taken him a while to realize it. He wanted the happiness and the family-feeling, the discussions and joking, the serious talks and decisions...

And all that was left of what he wanted were memories from the past. Memories that tantalized him with what could never again be, memories that made him wish so much for what had been that he was forgetting to take any happiness at all in what was now.

Frank shook himself out of the thoughts; it didn’t matter now. The old place was gone; the only memories they had were the ones in their own minds, and those would soon lose their ability to hurt. The new apartment was a blend of familiar and unfamiliar, enough so that it didn’t hurt to see the old furniture in there; it was all in different places anyway. His mind shifted to a practical matter. “Auntie’s going to be a bit upset that she didn’t let us move her stuff when we could’ve,” he remarked.

“I was just thinking that. It was all her furniture that got burned. But at least she didn’t lose her books, maybe that’ll be some consolation,” Joe replied.

Frank nudged the car another few yards forward, halted again, and sighed. “Wow, a whole car-length of forward progress,” he grumbled.

“Could be worse. It’s not the middle of summer yet.”

“True, the heat would be a real problem.”

It took another fifteen minutes of inching forward before they managed to hit a slightly clearer spot and could drift along at about twenty miles per hour. Ten minutes after that and they were back in normal sixty-five mile-an-hour traffic. “Wonder what that was all about?” Joe mused.

“No idea. Just as long as it doesn’t happen again!” Frank veered onto the off-ramp that led to the Hospital exit.

“How come you’re doing all the driving lately?”

“Probably ‘cause you’re not fast enough to claim the driver’s seat.”

“Oh. Fastest seat in the East? I dunno, Frank, it hasn’t got much of a ring to it.”

“My seat only rings when the cell-phone is in my back pocket,” Frank pointed out, grinning. “And when the ringer is on, of course.” He turned into the parking lot as Joe laughed, and was lucky enough to find a spot fairly near the entrance. A few minutes later, growing more serious, they walked up to the visitor processing desk and gave the woman their names.

“We’re here to see Dr. Bates. He wanted to talk to us about our aunt, Gertrude Hardy- she was brought in last night.”

“Oh, yes; have a seat please, and I’ll page him,” the middle-aged woman replied.

Half an hour’s restless wait later, Joe sighed. “I wish I’d brought a book.”

“You’re not sitting still enough to read a book,” Frank retorted, letting his sneaker collide with his brother’s steadily twitching leg. Joe made a face and leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Maybe we should go up and see her?”

“The lady at the desk said she paged Dr. Bates here, so this is where he’ll show up. But if you want to go on up, go ahead.” Frank met his brother’s gaze. “And if he is up there, you’ll let me know, right?” he added mentally.

Joe nodded in reply to the sending. Then he stood up and remarked, “I think I’ll do that. Maybe she’ll be feeling more friendly-”

Frank glanced over to see what had caused the younger boy to break off so suddenly. Then he, too, stood up as Doctor Bates approached.

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” their doctor apologized, shaking hands with them both. He had to be edging sixty-five by now, Frank thought; he’d been their family physician for as long as either Hardy could remember. He’d always been gray-haired; now the gray was nearly white and his shoulders were more stooped, but his eyes behind his glasses were as alert and friendly as ever. “I’ve been talking with the specialists and we’ve found some rather disturbing things. Come on down the hall with me and I’ll brief you in privacy.”

Exchanging a troubled glance, the youths followed the doctor down to one of the all-too-familiar ‘family’ rooms. These were rooms that the families of patients in critical or intensive care stayed in, as an alternative to driving home when they were exhausted or demoralized. They were also used as private consultation areas. There were cots, pillows and blankets, and small partitions that could be set up for people to sleep without being disturbed. Each light in the ceiling was individually controlled, for the same reason. There were rows of comfortable chairs and tables as well, and the boys sat down opposite the doctor at one such table. Frank was rather relieved that there was no one else in the room.

“What’s disturbing?” Joe asked uneasily, sitting forward on his chair.

“Several things are troubling me,” the doctor said gravely. “First, the stroke itself. As you know, it’s much more serious than the last one. It is in the same general area of the brain as the last time, which was not entirely unexpected, and her right side appears to be severely affected. I don’t think we’ll see a great deal of recovery, though of course I hope I’m mistaken about that. Undoubtedly it was the extreme stress and fear of being trapped in the house that caused it-”

“We think she was trying to open a window to get out,” Frank put in. “She was in the den, on the floor under the window.”

“Exertion, too, and the heat itself- more particularly, the smoke- could all be contributing factors,” Bates agreed. “Now, naturally we did a blood test, to help determine the rest of her physical state, and there’s the second part. She was on medication, Alteplase- did you know that?”

“Yes. She said she was going to have to take the current dose for a year, then she’d be evaluated and the dosage adjusted. She was supposed to be having evaluations all along, though she never would tell me what the results were,” Joe remarked. “I was never quite sure what to make of that, but I kept an eye on her vials. The pills were being used and refills called in.”

“Ah. Well, unfortunately, she was not actually taking the drug,” Bates replied somberly. “You see, from her blood test we discerned two things. One, there was no Altaplase in her system at all. So she hadn’t taken it for at least a week, and possibly much longer.”

The boys exchanged a shocked look. “Then- what-?” Joe gasped.

“Probably throwing ‘em in the trash, or flushing them,” Frank over-rode his brother, laying a hand on Joe’s taut shoulder.

“Please, don’t blame yourself,” the doctor said urgently, leaning towards them. “The fact that you did observe the pills disappearing and the refills being used indicates that she was aware you were watching and went to great lengths to hide her noncompliance from you.”

“But why?” Joe whispered, shaking his head in dismay. “She was terrified of having another stroke, why wouldn’t she keep taking the medication to help prevent one?”

Frank squeezed his brother’s shoulder gently. He felt- negligent; he hadn’t been home, he’d been at Unity while Joe was living with their aunt. Joe had been the one to observe her, teach her to send- and cope with her harsh tongue. And Frank hadn’t thought to ask if Gertrude’s health was holding up; he’d been too absorbed in his own problems, even after he came back home. “You didn’t tell me you were worried about that,” he sent. He didn’t get a direct answer; Joe was too upset to double-talk right now.

“That leads me to the second thing,” Bates said quietly. “The other indication that we noted was the marked increase in certain levels of Gertrude’s brain chemicals. Chemicals whose presence- in such elevated levels- indicates severe depression. I would theorize that her refusal to be treated was her version of attempting to end her life.”

Joe Hardy stared at the elderly doctor in horror. Severe depression? Ending her life? A strange sense of unreality swept over him; were they really talking about the same person? Aunt Gertrude would never try to kill herself. Or...would she? If she was as depressed as Dr. Bates seemed to think... Joe gave himself a shake and tried to re-focus on the conversation, but he couldn’t so easily dismiss his shock.

“...Noticed some changes in her personality,” Frank was saying. He sounded as stunned as Joe felt. “But I thought it was due to her stroke, and...and everything that happened last year.”

Everything that happened... Joe leaned back in his chair, trying to pull his thoughts together. That was exactly what he’d concluded. It was certainly a logical enough conclusion; both the boys had experienced their own periods of depression and irritability. Joe was pretty sure it had been worse for Frank, since he’d had Unity to deal with as well. But even in the midst of his own intense grief and anger and loneliness, he’d felt that their aunt was overreacting.

“Joe was there,” he heard Frank say, and snapped out of his daze.

“Huh?”

Frank looked at him. “I was saying that you got a better look at how her personality changed, since you were there and I wasn’t.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, basically she got mean,” the younger boy said hesitantly. “She was never pleased with anything, she acted like she hated me-”

“Never pleased, how?” Bates interposed.

“Like if someone tried to do something nice for her, she’d put ‘em down and- not make fun, but just get really insulting about it.”

“For example?”

“Like- Frank, you remember when we told her that she shouldn’t walk all that way to the grocery store in the cold?”

“Yeah, we told her to let us know what she needed- or when she needed it- and that we’d drive her there. Or just pick it up ourselves. She not only acted insulted, she made a point of not telling us and deliberately walking down to the store. Like- being perverse.”

“It was the same when she came in the kitchen and saw I’d been cleaning up,” Joe added gloomily. “I’d gotten to the point where I didn’t expect a thank you, but I didn’t expect a ‘If that’s the best you can do, I guess it’ll just have to stay that way till I can do it better’. Or when I raked the leaves in the front yard and then we got the snow and I couldn’t do the back- she grumbled about that so much, I was afraid she’d demand I shovel the back yard and then rake it. All my fault that it snowed, of course.”

“Deliberately unreasonable behavior like what you describe is one of the rarer symptoms of severe depression,” Bates explained. “It’s the patients’ way of easing a little of their unhappiness-”

“Like kicking a dog and feeling better,” Frank muttered.

“Yes, but later they feel guilt and it adds to their overall depression. What other sorts of behavior did she exhibit?”

Joe frowned, thinking. “Well, she stopped doing much,” he recalled after a moment. “She used to be active around town, clubs and things. And visiting friends. But she stopped doing that- I figured it was because she wasn’t as strong anymore. And...I thought maybe her friends didn’t like her new attitude any more than we did. But I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to ask them.” A sudden thought struck him. “She said her medication took away her appetite,” he said tensely, leaning forward. “But if she wasn’t taking the medication, that means she just wasn’t eating. Maybe that was why she didn’t mind if I ate somewhere else- she used to be a stickler for eating at the table, but then she seemed to change her mind and not care if I was in the living room or my bedroom...so I wouldn’t notice how much, or how little, she actually did eat.”

“Very likely.”

“She’s been quieter lately,” Frank volunteered. “She used to raise her voice; now she just gives really nasty looks. We thought that was a bit of an improvement.”

“Actually, that’s an indication of the depression deepening,” Bates explained. “One of the greatest problems with depression is that it brings with it a sort of inertia. You feel wretched and you know you could get help, but it takes an enormous amount of will to stir yourself and start taking steps. Everything seems disproportionately difficult; even getting out of bed may take more willpower than you possess. So she’s stopped ‘kicking’ you because she can’t spare the energy.”

Joe gulped and traded a miserable glance with Frank. A bad sign, and all along they’d thought it was an improvement.

“But what caused it?” the older boy asked after a moment. “The stroke? Or all the emotional stuff we went through, or what?”

“Well, those would contribute, of course,” the doctor agreed. “But depression is mainly a chemical reaction in the brain. No one quite knows why the brain starts producing an overabundance of depressants, but you could compare it to a water tap being left on. It begins as a drip and proceeds to a flood.”

“So if she got counseling, it wouldn’t’ve helped much?” Joe speculated.

Bates twisted his hand from side to side in a so-so gesture. “It would help her deal with the contributory issues, but it wouldn’t stop the base cause. Only medication can do that. We’ll be working closely with a psychiatrist to determine which drug will have the best effect, and which won’t interfere with the other medications she’ll need. I’ve had her put back on Alteplase, since it did seem to work for her until she stopped taking it.” The elderly man paused, frowning. “We’ll have our work cut out for us, between monitoring her medications, working to get the depression eliminated, and physical therapy. It’s going to be a while before she’s ready to go home, if indeed she ever is.”

The boys traded another anxious glance. “She might need...a nursing home?” Frank asked, his voice rather weak.

“Not so much a nursing home as assisted living. Of course it depends on how much mobility she regains. At this stage it’s much too early to say for certain, but the more we push the depression back, the more willpower she’ll have to work on her recovery. So I’m making that the major priority.”

Joe nodded, still feeling dazed. This wasn’t really happening, was it? Gertrude- depressed? Unwilling- or unable- to summon the will to take charge of her own recovery? Assisted living? “What can we do that would help?”

“Visit her. Encourage her. Stay optimistic. And, boys, bear in mind, this is not going to be easy.”

“Nothing is ever easy anymore.” Frank’s bleak thought echoed through Joe’s mind.

“Nothing worth doing is,” Joe murmured, replying both to the thought and the doctor.

“I think you’ll find, after the medication has had time to work, that she’ll be feeling very unhappy about her behavior. From what you’ve told me, she’s been terribly hard to live with; once she realizes that, she’ll probably experience a great deal of remorse.”

That was equally hard to believe, Joe thought wryly. Even before her attitude change, Gertrude had not been one for sentiment or soft feelings. “Doctor, how long do you think she’s had it?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, could she have been somewhat depressed for a long time and it just recently got severe?”

“That’s entirely possible,” Bates told him. “It’s something the psychiatrist will talk with her about, in taking down her history.” He paused and there was a long silence. “Anything else?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of some things later, but my mind’s gone pretty blank,” Frank sighed.

“Me, too.” Joe sat up. “Can we go up and see her again? We were in earlier, but she wouldn’t respond to us at all.”

The doctor frowned. “I’m...surprised,” he said, for the first time looking rather taken aback. “She was conscious- she’s unable to speak at the moment, but she was indicating yes and no...”

“She wouldn’t even open her eyes when we were here this morning,” Frank responded bleakly. “But she wasn’t sleeping; I noticed that her pulse increased after we talked to her.”

Bates’ frown deepened. “Wait until tomorrow,” he said at last. “I’ll speak with her and see what that’s about. There wouldn’t be much sense in visiting her if it only makes her more agitated- or worse, less responsive. In other words, it could expand from her not reacting to you boys, to not reacting to anyone. In an effort to be sure that you two were kept away.”

“As in, ‘they keep letting those boys in to see me when I don’t want them, so I’m going to ignore everybody’,” Frank suggested rather dryly. Bates looked a little uncomfortable.

“Essentially.” Another silence fell, and finally Joe stood up.

“So we’ll call tomorrow and see what’s up,” he said. Frank glanced up, then stood as well.

“If I’m not here, I’ll leave word at the desk.” The doctor rose and shook hands, then moved slowly for the door. The Hardys glanced at each other, then followed him out.

“Frank?”

“Hmm?”

A long pause; Frank looked over at his brother; Joe was sprawled in one of the chairs, one leg dangling over the arm, staring into space.

“D’you suppose she set the fire?”

Frank felt his eyes widen. “And changed her mind when she realized what was going to happen?”

Joe nodded, turning to look at Frank with troubled blue eyes. “Maybe that was why she didn’t want us taking her stuff over. And maybe that’s why she was away from the house. Making the preparations...”

“Getting some gasoline.” Frank sat up straight on the couch, where he’d been lying with his feet propped on the arm. “It’s possible, I guess.”

The ride home from the hospital had been silent, both the Hardys too shaken to say anything. Frank had remembered the need to stop at the grocery store and they’d picked up some food, but neither of them had eaten much. Frank had attempted to get on with the book he was reading for Literature, but finally gave up and turned on the television for some background noise. Joe had vanished into his bedroom for an hour and a half to finish his math homework and come out looking a good deal less shell-shocked, but had curled up in the easy chair and paid little attention to the TV, which was unusual for him.

“When should we call the hospital tomorrow?” the younger boy asked after a moment, brushing at the hair that was falling over his forehead.

“Probably about the same time we went in tonight. That way if she wants to see us, we can still get in on visiting hours. Not much chance of getting there sooner, not with schoolwork in the way.” Frank spoke calmly despite his feeling of uneasiness; he was well accustomed to having Joe follow his lead, but he’d begun to feel burdened, pressured, in a way he never had before. There had always been grown-ups around to fall back on if he ran into something he couldn’t cope with. Now it was just him and Joe, and while Joe contributed, he also deferred the important decisions to his older brother.

To his surprise, though, his brother seemed to disagree. “He said that if he wasn’t there, he’d leave a note at the desk for us,” he reminded Frank. “Wouldn’t it be better to get over there before rush hour? I mean, assuming we do end up heading that way. I have a little feeling that she won’t want to see us.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised...”

“So there’d be no point rushing to do homework before seven, then calling, then finding out we’re staying put. Might as well call, go over if she wants to see us, avoiding traffic in the process; come home, and have the rest of the night for school...stuff. Besides, waiting till it’s late would maybe give the sort of impression we wouldn’t like to give. Of other stuff being more important.”

Frank gazed at his brother for a moment, surprised and impressed. “Boy, you’re gonna be challenging me for the ‘logical thought process’ title any day now!”

Joe snorted. “It is not my forte,” he began, a smile taking the troubled look from his face. “But it’s true I’m getting a bit better at it.”

“More than a bit. And that’s a good idea. We’ll do it your way.”

“Okay.” The younger Hardy looked pleased. “Oh. I nearly forgot. You had the phone turned off today, didn’t you?” he said slyly, sitting up and digging the object from his jeans pocket. “There’s about eight voice-mail messages, all from the gang, asking where are we and what’s the deal and please get in touch. I called Iola and told her what was up, maybe you want to do something along those lines yourself.”

“So that’s why we didn’t get any calls,” Frank mused, feeling his face heat a little. He caught the device as Joe tossed it to him, then got up and went down the hall to his room. He generally preferred privacy when he talked to Callie; Joe was pretty good about not eavesdropping, but that wouldn’t be remotely possible in the living room.

Three minutes later, Frank returned to the living room and laid the phone on the coffee table. Joe gave him a curious look as he sat back down on the sofa. “That was fast.”

“Her mom says she’s out, and now she’s got her phone off. So it looks like we have a good game of phone tag going.”

“Oh, those’re fun.” Joe’s attention returned to the television.

“Yeah.” Frank focused on the TV as well. He wasn’t disturbed by the thought that his girlfriend was doing something that he wasn’t privy to; he knew Callie too well. She might spend time with other people, or even flirt a bit with other guys now and then, but she would never cheat on him. If she wanted to see someone else, she’d tell him, not go behind his back. And he couldn’t blame her for going out without him; he hadn’t been the best of company lately.

After a while a commercial came on and Joe took the opportunity to got to the kitchen and get out the package of cookies. “Seems weird, doesn’t it?” he said ruefully, sitting down beside Frank on the sofa and offering the bag.

“Thanks.” Frank took two of the cookies. “Yes,” he added, knowing what his brother meant. It did seem odd to be just the two of them, in the not-yet-familiar apartment. Stranger still to think their aunt’s chosen bedroom might go unused, if Dr. Bates was correct. “Somehow when I imagined being on our own, it wasn’t quite like this.”

“Nothing like this. For one thing, I figured I’d be at least three years older...and in a college dorm or off-campus place, not...” Joe gestured around him as he bit into a cookie.

“College,” Frank muttered, distracted both by the thought and by a chill that ran down his spine. “You’ve got some applications to get, don’t you? And all that other preparation stuff.”

“Shoon as I get my SAT scores back, yeah,” Joe agreed though the cookie. “Not that itsh gonna be-” he paused and swallowed. “-Difficult to make my mind up or anything.”

“You’ve already decided?” This was startling news. When had Joe made this decision- and why hadn’t he told Frank? And where...? “But you haven’t even visited any campuses yet.” He couldn’t really have decided by instinct and a picture brochure, could he?

Joe stopped in the midst of taking a bite, gave Frank a rather surprised look, said, “Bayport U, of course,” and chomped into his cookie.

A wave of relief eased Frank’s chilly feeling, but it was quickly followed by uncertainty. “That’s it? Just...‘Bayport U’? You don’t even want to try anywhere else?” He wanted Joe to go to Bayport U with him, but he did not want to be the influencing factor in Joe’s decision.

Joe shrugged- and grinned. “I did think about certain schools in California,” he teased.

Frank had to chuckle. “I’m sure you’d get straight A’s in surfing and sun-tanning,” he teased back, giving his brother a playful nudge. “And girls, too...oh, look, you’re blushing!”

“Iola would skin me alive,” Joe remarked as his elbow dug into Frank’s ribs

“Well, you’re probably right about that, yeah. But seriously, Joe.”

“Seriously, I’m not inclined to look anywhere else,” his brother explained with a casual shrug. “Traveling on a case is all very well, but living away from home is not my style.” Joe finished his second cookie and wiped crumbs from his face and hands. “That’s part of why I like traveling; I know it’s not permanent. I’ll always come home soon. So I have an adventure on one hand, and perfect security on the other.”

Frank gazed at his younger brother in bemusement. This, from the wild kid who was always up for a quick jaunt to the ends of the earth? Frank enjoyed foreign and distant places himself, be it some part of the U.S. they hadn’t been to, or a place as exotic and dangerous as Antarctica. He also liked going back to places he’d been before, picking up on things he hadn’t caught the first time around. But none of the foreign countries they visited were ever ‘home’, no matter how homelike they seemed. He’d always thought that Joe could live just as cheerfully in the Amazon Basin as in their little city, and to hear his brother talk about ships, he’d make a great sailor. Always ready to leave with the tide, never worrying when he’d be back. This notion Joe had just confided so casually was a completely new idea to the older Hardy.

“You are staring at me,” Joe remarked without taking his gaze from the TV.

“You just astonished me,” Frank replied. “You’re getting good at that- as soon as I think I’ve got you pretty well figured out, you go and say something like that and turn all my certainties upside-down.”

Joe turned and cocked his head questioningly. “Y’mean you didn’t know that?” He sounded surprised.

“You never told me. And you’re always so eager for a trip- preferably to somewhere you’ve never been before. You always seemed more eager to leave than to come home, too.”

Joe looked down at the carpet with a small shrug, obviously not sure how to respond. “Adventures are exciting,” he said at last. “Coming home is...calming.” He seemed a little subdued.

“It just surprised me,” Frank repeated, putting his arm around the younger boy. “It’s another thing we have in common, actually. I like the travelling, too, but I’d rather live at home than try to make a home anywhere else.” This brought a smile to Joe’s lips; he leaned back against the sofa and closed the top of the cookie bag.

Joe Hardy hung up the phone with a sigh and turned to his brother. “Isn’t it nice to know we’re good at making predictions?”

“So she doesn’t want to see us?” Frank asked. The older boy was leaning back against the kitchen counter; Joe was standing near the sink.

“Correct-o. And no reason why- or why not- was given. Apparently she just kept shaking her head no, no matter what he asked her. I mean, about us. She did nod yes when he asked if she needed pain medication.”

“Anything else about the prognosis?”

“Just that they’ll be testing her overall mobility tomorrow. She’s off the respirator, so that’s one very positive sign.”

“That’s good,” Frank agreed soberly, standing up straight. “So how was it in school today?”

Joe kicked thoughtfully at one of the boxes of kitchenware that still sat on the floor. “About the same as it is after we solve a case. Questions and more questions and rumors to deflate and a lot of people saying what a terrible thing...”

“What, the house or Auntie?”

Joe looked up. “They didn’t actually differentiate,” he answered ruefully. “Though quite a few people mentioned how lucky we were that we’d gotten so much moving done.”

“I’d have to agree with that,” Frank muttered. “I got pretty much the same reaction- from professors, too, not just students...” He ran his hand through his hair and changed the subject: “We need to put this stuff away, don’t we?”

“Yeah. But we better not mess with her books.”

“’Course not, we’d probably mess it all up.”

Joe looked curiously at his brother and caught a wisp of thought: Frank was annoyed at being kept out of Gertrude’s presence for no apparent reason and it was making him ill-disposed towards her- as if he hadn’t been that already. Gertrude had forced Frank to choose between her and Joe and the older teen had come down so firmly on Joe’s side that it seemed he actually disliked her more than the younger boy did. But then, that was Frank; when he held a grudge, he made it a powerful one. Besides, his innate protectiveness of his younger brother was in full force.

“We can just take those boxes into her room and stack ‘em near the bookshelves.”

Frank’s comment jolted Joe out of his introspection; he nodded and turned to the kitchen doorway. “Let’s get that done first. Heavy lifting.”

“Good thinking.”

The projects took about half an hour to complete, with the putting-away of the kitchen implements taking the majority of the time. Then Joe went into his room to get on with his homework, suddenly glad his brother hadn’t had a lab today. He wasn’t sure he would’ve liked coming home to an empty apartment; he certainly hadn’t enjoyed returning to Elm Street and finding the old place empty on Wednesdays and Fridays. He’d taken to staying late at school and doing his homework in the library, among the bustle and buzz of other late students.

Joe started as the telephone rang, then scowled and reversed his pencil to erase the line he’d inadvertently scratched across his page of math homework. ‘Settle down, J, it’s just the phone,’ he told himself as he heard his brother’s voice. ‘Lucky Frank- wish I had an hour between each class to get all my assignments done! He’s got the whole night free...’

“We’re being invited,” Frank’s voice came suddenly from behind him. Joe turned in his chair.

“To?”

“Dinner.”

“At?”

“Where else?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Am I gonna have to knock you on the head before you start explaining yourself?”

His brother grinned. “C’mon, now. Use some of that brain-power.”

“I’m saving it for my math homework.” Joe turned back around and tried to concentrate on his math, fighting the temptation to tweak the information directly from Frank’s mind. He truly hated it when Frank insisted on making him ask for every single piece of information and doled it out in dribbles. Frank, on the other hand, absolutely loved to tease in this manner.

“I’ll give you a hint.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” the blond boy snorted. “I’ll just climb in the car and wait till we get there.”

“Maybe this isn’t a great idea, Iola. Well, he’s surly,” Frank explained into the telephone. “No, of course not!” he added with a laugh. “Hasn’t got a thing to do with it.”

“If she’s referring to you making a mockery of me, she’s correct,” Joe growled.

“So, do you want to go or not?”

“If Iola’s going to be there, absolutely. Wherever it is we’re going. And whenever. I’ll just leave everything up to the plan-maker.”

“We’ll be there,” Frank said cheerfully, then paused. “No, don’t worry about him, he’s fine. Here.” The cell-phone appeared at the edge of his vision; Joe let go of his pencil and grasped it.

“Iola?”

“Is he getting under your skin?” his girlfriend’s voice said sympathetically.

“You know how older brothers are,” Joe grumbled. “It’s what they do best. So what’s on?”

“Well, Ma and Pop are out, and Chet and I don’t feel like cooking, so we’re going to Mr. Pizza. And then Chet decided to invite some of the guys, so I invited some of the girls, and now it’s looking like most of us’ll be there.”

“Oh.” Joe thought about it for a moment, feeling oddly unenthusiastic. “And here I thought it might just be four- correct that,” he interrupted himself, frowning at Frank, who was leaning against the doorframe and listening with a smile. “Two of us- like, me and you.”

His brother’s eyebrows went up and a smirk crossed his face.

“We could do that tomorrow,” Iola suggested coyly. “Tell you what, babe- tonight, I’ll pick on your brother and you pick on mine. Chet’s driving me bonko lately.”

“Now that’s a plan I like,” Joe agreed, perking up. “And you’d probably start right now if you could see the look on his face.”

“Oh boy, I’m in for it,” Frank joked.

“Yes, you certainly are in for it, Frank. So what time?” Joe inquired of his girlfriend.

“Well, Tony’s off at eight. So if we get there about quarter till, he’ll be able to join us.”

“Okay. But I think I might have to grab a snack between now and then.”

“That’s right, you got the cafeteria lunch today- poor thing.”

“I got one of the cafeteria’s feebler attempts at lunch today. I’ve really gotta start packing something. Babe, I better get this math junk done if I plan to go anywhere tonight. Not that I wouldn’t rather talk to you, but not with this lout standing in my doorway.”

“Tell him to go away,” Iola suggested with a little laugh.

“You know what that would accomplish.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. It would glue him to the door. All right, see you at the mall.”

“Later...” Joe waited for the click, then hit disconnect. “Next time you chat with Callie, I’ll be sure to listen in,” he informed his brother, tossing the phone at him and turning back to his math.

“I’ll be sure not to tell you when she calls, then,” Frank retorted, walking over to the desk. He peered down at the calculations for a moment, then tweaked the pencil out of Joe’s hand. “I don’t think you’ve quite mastered the formula, kid brother. You’re going to get a zero if you keep on the way you’ve started.”

Joe froze, struggling with his temper, then slumped back into his chair with a tired sigh. “Ever feel like throwing something through the window?”

“Frequently,” his brother admitted. “It might not actually help, but it sure would make you feel better.”

“Yeah... Frank- you know I hate it when you tease me like that. It’s the one thing you do that makes me want to throw you out the window,” Joe said earnestly, sitting up to frown into his brother’s eyes. “I try not to let it get to me, but I can’t help it, it makes me crazy.”

Frank stared at him for a long moment, all the mischief fading from his dark eyes. Slowly, he walked around the chair to the bed and sat on the edge. “You usually take it all in stride when we joke around,” he pointed out, sounding patient, but uneasy.

“Joking, yeah, but when you deliberately won’t tell me stuff and make me guess and give me hints and tell me to think about it-” Joe stopped for a breath. “You make me feel incredibly stupid, and I hate it. Bad enough having unanswered questions when we’ve got a case going, you know how those gnaw at me... I caught myself thinking of...” Should he admit it or not? Better to admit it; it would drive home his seriousness, and it might reduced the temptation, too. “...Of doing something I shouldn’t. Taking the answers right out of your mind. And it-”

“That bad?” Frank seemed to have lost a little color.

“I thought about it. And then I realized what I was contemplating- invading your mind- and I felt sick.”

“When was this?”

“Frequently,” Joe replied tersely. “Once the notion occurred to me, I couldn’t get rid of it. So now every time you do this thing of making a riddle out of something perfectly ordinary for the fun of frustrating me- frustration isn’t fun.”

Frank nodded slowly, his expression very grave. “I won’t- I mean, I’ll try not to do it anymore. I had no idea it bugged you that much.”

“But you knew it-” Joe stopped.

“What?”

Joe took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I was going to say, you knew it bugged me. But I guess I do things that bug you, too- on purpose, even. It’s-” He managed a smile. “It’s part of being brothers.”

Frank’s tense posture relaxed somewhat. “Yeah. A little pestering now and then is okay- I just never thought it was more than a mild annoyance to you. Sorry.” He sounded penitent, which was better than indifferent, but not by much. Joe reflected that he would have known how much it bothered Frank, had their roles been reversed, but Frank wasn’t always as perceptive as Joe when it came to judging people’s feelings.

“Thanks,” he murmured eventually. “I didn’t mean to make a huge deal out of it-” Frank’s hand rested lightly on his arm for a moment.

“You didn’t. And you know, of course, that you’re not stupid.”

“I wonder sometimes,” the younger boy muttered, reaching out and ripping off the page of erroneous calculations from his notebook.

“You’re not, Joe.”

Joe shrugged. “Maybe not, but I sure feel it sometimes.” ‘Often,’ his little mental voice whispered. ‘Often and often.’ “Especially in math.” He bent over the book again, scowling at the equations, wondering what he’d missed this time.

“No. You are not stupid. None of this ‘maybe not’ business, brother. What you do is rush, and miss steps, and hurry past things. You’re not in any way unintelligent, you’re just impatient.”

Startled at the vehemence in his brother’s calm voice, Joe looked up in surprise.

“And if I catch you calling yourself stupid again, I’m gonna start fussing at you, Joe, because if you tell yourself crap like that too often or for too long, you might start believing it. You’re going to need your confidence, and you’re going to need to believe in your abilities.” The older boy’s brown eyes bored into the younger boy’s blue ones. “And so am I. All right?”

Joe blinked. Calm and easily spoken, those words, but there was an intensity behind them that shook him a little. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen it before; he had, though not for quite a while- in fact, not since Christmas. It always shook him a bit when Frank let so much of his feelings into the open at one time; Frank controlled his feelings so well that it was easy to assume he just wasn’t feeling as much in the first place. “Got it,” he replied softly.

“Good.” The air in the room seemed to relax as much as the boys did. “I’m going to get a snack, like you said- c’mon out with me and take a breather from being frustrated. Y’know- look at it with a fresh eye when your mind’s a little more settled.”

“Not a bad idea.” Joe abandoned his chair with alacrity and headed eagerly for the kitchen.

Several hours later, the Hardy boys walked into Mr. Pizza and found Chet and Iola already at a booth. Chet was smirking at his dark-haired sister, who had a very put-upon expression on her face. On catching sight of Joe, she brightened, hopped up from her seat, and came over to hug him.

“Don’t pick on Frank too much,” he whispered into her ear as they embraced.

“Why not?” she whispered back, sounding petulant.

“Because he ‘pologized. And he helped me with my calculus. I woulda gotten all the answers wrong; now I think I’ll get a B at least.”

Iola sighed and looked up at him. “Trade you- your brother for mine?” she offered hopefully.

“What is she saying about me?” Chet called out, and the couple turned to sit down at the booth.

“She’s offering a trade,” Joe explained, glancing at Frank, who grinned. “I dunno. I think I’d be gotten the worse of. What’ve you been doing to her, anyway?”

“Me? She’s been pestering me and bugging me and nagging me and-”

“I’ve been trying,” Iola said through gritted teeth, “to get him to stop working on his latest hobby and do the stuff around the house that he’s supposed to do. He, on the other hand, wants me to do all his chores for him so he can concentrate on rock-collecting! And when I tell him no way, he sulks and pouts- he even-” she added, a sudden flash of humor flickering in her green eyes, “tried to guilt-trip me!”

“Now, we all know that wouldn’t work,” Joe teased, giving her a fond smile.

“Sure didn’t,” the girl replied, tossing her hair back. “I have no guilt at all over failing to be manipulated.”

“Rock collecting?” Frank asked curiously. “I thought- oh, no, that was when you two girls were into it. When you found that amethyst.”

“Right. I guess now that we’re not interested, my big brother’s decided it’s not so silly after all,” the sixteen-year-old answered sweetly. Chet glowered at her.

“I never thought it was silly, I was just doing other things at the time,” he declared loftily.

Iola rolled her eyes ceilingwards. “The point is, you’re making me crazy-”

“You already were crazy, sis.” Chet winked at Joe. “Look who you’re dating!”

“Hey!” Joe protested, laughing. “Going out with me doesn’t make Iola crazy.”

“I wonder,” Callie Shaw’s voice remarked from behind them. Frank grinned and slid over as his date sat down beside him, and the two shared a quick kiss. “You’ve got to admit,” she went on, smiling at Joe, “you’re crazier than most.”

“Well...but in a good way,” the blond boy protested. “Not a bad way.”

“Let’s put it this way,” Iola offered. “I date Joe. I live with Chet. Chet drives me about 200 percent crazier than Joe does.”

“I guess you’d be in the right spot to know about it,” the older girl admitted, pulling out the clip that was holding her ash-brown hair back. “Anyone got some aspirin? I’ve got a wicked headache.”

Iola rummaged around in her purse as Jerry, Monica and Elena walked in. A waiter also arrived with glasses of ice water, and nearly dropped them during the trio’s efforts to be seated. Then Tony came over and asked if that was everyone.

“Phil said he couldn’t make it, but Liz and Q should be in soon,” Chet told him. Tony nodded.

“We might need some more chairs,” he mused, and then had to hurry off. Iola handed Callie two tablets and asked her what she’d been doing to procure a headache.

“Typing. I’ve got a twenty-page paper due at the end of the week,” was the discontented reply.

There were several exclamations of dismay at this and the topic turned to schoolwork in general. Liz arrived in the middle of it and added her two cents by grumbling about a deadline at the newspaper office. Jesse showed up a minute later, just as Tony came over and sat down. “We’re all here? Good, then let’s talk toppings,” the Italian boy declared. At that, the debate began, with a good deal more joking and needling than usual.

Joe watched and listened, content to say little. Normally he would have contributed more, but the remains of his antisocial mood were lingering. He wasn’t feeling cross, just unusually quiet. The only ones who really seemed to notice were Frank, who kept catching his eye; Iola, who had claimed his hand and didn’t seem inclined to let go, and- not so surprisingly- Jesse. Q was, Joe reflected, exactly the sort of person who would notice when one of his friends was in an unusual mood. But he was also one who wouldn’t ask about it in front of a bunch of people. He just let on that he’d noticed by giving Joe a slightly quizzical look.

Mindful of his promise to Iola, Joe did get in a few jabs at Chet, who appeared to be expecting them. Iola, on the other hand, heeded Joe’s request and didn’t turn her talent for being what they all termed ‘spirited’ onto Frank.

After the pizzas had been consumed (and paid for), the group all moved out into the mall and sat around talking for nearly an hour. Joe found his spirits lifting from the talk and laughter, and noticed that his brother was enjoying the back-and-forth very much.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Iola whispered, startling the youth. Then she kissed his cheek. “What’s up?”

“I dunno,” he murmured back. They were sitting side by side on a bench, away from the main group. Joe moved closer to wrap his arm around her. “I get my less-sociable moments, you know.”

“Not for a long time, though.”

“So I was due for one.” He idly ran his fingers through her hair. “Really, there’s nothing wrong.”

Iola turned to face him. “You and Frank haven’t had a very easy time of it lately,” she pointed out softly. “You’ve got plenty of reasons to be feeling down, Joe. If you want to...”

“Talk about it?” the boy finished with a wry smile.

“Well, I guess not tonight.” Iola’s gaze drifted over their friends. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

“I...” Joe paused, noticing that they were under observation, and kissed his girlfriend gently. “I’ll take you up on that,” he whispered in her ear, feeling both pleased and rather touched. He was lucky, he knew, to have a girlfriend who was so supportive. Many girls he knew would much rather talk about themselves than listen while someone else discussed their own problems. “And we’ll see if we can’t think of some way to get Chet interested in doing his own chores.” Fair was fair, after all.

“That’s what I like about you. Even when you’ve got your own problems, you want to help solve other people’s problems for ‘em.”

“I could say the same thing to you,” the blond boy muttered, trying not to blush. “And- uh-”

“What?”

“That’s not the only thing, is it?”

Iola buried her face in his shoulder, giggling. “Of course not,” she hissed. “I like a lot of things about you, but I’m not gonna go into all that now!”

“Hey, you two, enough with the billing and cooing,” Chet ordered, startling them both. “What’s so fascinating, anyway, that you can’t share with everybody?”

“Oh,” his sister said casually, turning to him with innocent eyes. “We were just talking about getting together tomorrow and coming up with plans to get you doing your own work again. I promised to bring the notebook and pencils if Joe will bring the unbreakable code.”

The entire group laughed as Chet put on a scowl. “My own best friend is plotting with my dratted little sister,” he proclaimed. “Plotting against me.”

‘Best friend?’ Joe thought, glancing over at his brother. ‘Not quite! I do feel sorry for Iola sometimes. It must be awful to always be fighting with your brother, to really wish you were an only child.’ Though, he knew from experience that Iola could be quite the whirlwind when she chose to be.

After another half-hour or so, the gang broke up for the night. Most of the teens still had at least a little homework to get done. “And some of us might even have chores to complete,” was Joe’s parting shot at Chet, who groaned dramatically.

“That was unusual,” Frank Hardy remarked to his brother as Joe maneuvered their car through the dark streets.

“What was?”

“You being all quiet-like. You still bugged at me?” Being direct was generally was the best policy when dealing with Joe. Particularly if his temper was involved.

“No!” Joe glanced over, clearly surprised. “No, not at all. We’ve settled that.”

“Okay.” Frank felt a twinge of relief. “So what’s on your mind?”

“I’d say ‘nothing’ but that’s inviting a smartass-”

Frank laughed. “I don’t deny it.”

“Actually, there’s nothing much bugging me, I just felt...quiet for a change. I don’t think anyone really noticed, aside from you and Iola. Well, and Q. He kept looking at me a little odd.”

“He’s perceptive.”

“Yes, and he’s also discreet. Fortunately.”

“Yeah...I caught that thought of yours, you know.” Frank had actually caught several of his brother’s thoughts, but the last one had been the most significant. And Joe had been looking right at him while he thought it, too.

“The one about feeling sorry for Iola-?”

“Because they fight so much. Yeah. I feel sorry for ‘em both,” the dark-haired boy agreed seriously. “I know both of them would be devastated if something happened to the other...but they sure behave like they don’t much like each other. I wonder if they really believe it, too?”

“Y’mean Chet thinking Iola scolds him because she dislikes him? And Iola thinking Chet really feels contemptuous towards her?”

“Exactly. They’ve been doing it for so long- and it’s not like the teasing that goes on between, say, you and I...”

Joe chuckled. “True enough,” he agreed, glancing over. “Or even like the teasing among the rest of the gang. Theirs has a lot more of an edge to it.”

“Yeah.”

“You notice how not one of them asked about Aunt G...or the house?”

“I did notice that,” Frank agreed. “I couldn’t figure whether it was from politeness- figuring we’ve had enough people giving us the third degree- I was complaining about that to Callie, earlier today.” He didn’t share a class with his girlfriend, but they did get together for lunch every day. “Or, they might have just felt weird about it.”

“I think Q feels bad that he never came over to help us move Auntie’s stuff,” Joe remarked.

“I told him not to,” Frank assured the younger boy. “Told him how she didn’t want her stuff moved yet anyway. Which reminds me-”

“We need to chat with Mike DeSoto about our new theory.”

“Yeah.” A brief silence fell over the interior of the car. Would Gertrude really have tried to kill herself by setting the fire, Frank wondered. Maybe it was something they should mention to Dr. Bates first. He didn’t want the old lady being put under suspicion...and it really did seem more like something the Deltas would do, than something Gertrude would do...but you couldn’t overlook any possible clue or suspect. “Joe, aren’t you a little off-course?” Frank asked quietly after a while.

“Off- oh, man! I completely forgot,” Joe muttered, sounding disgusted. “I was going on auto-pilot, I guess.” At the next intersection, he executed a U-turn and drove back the way they’d come. “Thanks, bro.”

“Should’ve let you drive more,” Frank mused. “I mean, being the fastest seat in the East is great, but I forgot you needed to reprogram your navigational system.” His light remark covered a more serious feeling; not so much dismay that Joe had been heading towards Elm Street, but a realization. Even knowing the house had burned to the ground couldn’t wipe out the habits from the eleven years they’d lived there; certainly not in just two days. And he almost hadn’t noticed, himself; if he hadn’t been actively thinking about the fire, they probably would have reached the charred shell of the old house before either of them realized where they were. “I didn’t notice either,” he admitted when Joe didn’t reply.

“I guess it’s going to take more getting used to than we bargained for,” was the soft reply.

“Have a good time?” Frank Hardy inquired as the front door closed behind his brother. He didn’t really need to ask; the grin on Joe’s face pretty much said it all for him.

“Sure did!” the blond boy exclaimed. “We had a great dinner, we talked nonstop, and we came up with several different ways to coax Chet into doing his own chores.”

“Like?”

“Well, like when he doesn’t load the dishwasher, she can leave the dirty dishes in his bed.”

Frank cracked up laughing. “Gee, I wonder what gave you that idea!” That had been a trick of their mother’s, used on both of them at various times, and Frank knew from experience how effective it was.

Joe flopped down on the sofa and stretched his legs. “Then- any time he doesn’t pick up his stuff, there’s always confiscation. And I pointed out that Iola could just as easily leave a ransom note. We tossed that around for a bit and she thought maybe a treasure map- like, ‘ten paces due north and open the closet door; here’s a treasure that’s soft and warming’-”

“And when he opens the closet door?”

“He finds a pile of his dirty socks,” Joe laughed.

“I must remember that one,” Frank mused after his own chuckles died down.

“I must remember not to tell you any more of these tactics, lest you use them on me!” Joe said with mock alarm, sitting up straight.

“Lest?” Frank repeated, arching a brow in surprise. “Since when do you speak Shakespearean?”

“Forsooth!”

“Yes?”

“That’s about all I know,” the younger Hardy admitted.

Frank grinned, pleased at what a good mood his brother was in. It made a nice change from the brooding silence of the night before. “So where’d you eat?”

“The Taj Mahal. Good stuff, nice and spicy.”

“I keep trying to get Callie to go there, but you know how she is about spicy food.”

“Yeah, she kinda leans to the mild side, doesn’t she?”

Frank nodded. He didn’t ask what else the two had talked about, knowing Joe would tell him if he felt so inclined. “I took advantage of the lack of extra ears in this place to have a talk with her. Seemed like a good idea.”

Joe canted his head. “And was it?”

Frank smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Joe leaned back again and stretched his arms up behind his head. “Poor Iola,” he said suddenly. “Chet really is a good guy, but that smart attitude of his probably gets a lot more wearing when you’re around it day in and day out.”

“It can get wearing enough when you’re not,” Frank had to agree. “And when we tell him to hush, he does. When his little sister tells him to hush, he takes it as a suggestion to get even smarter.”

“A lot of older siblings have this habit,” Joe agreed innocently, his eyes on the ceiling. “Fortunately, some rare few do actually cease and desist when the younger one suggests it...”

“And when they don’t, I suspect it’s because the baby brother- or sister- is doing something equally annoying.”

“This is a remote possibility.” Joe let his arms drop. “I don’t know why I was in such a foul mood last night,” he said suddenly. “But I feel a lot better now.”

“That’s good,” Frank said neutrally, wishing his brother had confided in him instead of Iola. But he wasn’t the one to complain, not after keeping his own mood to himself for the past three weeks.

“Sometimes...” Joe laced his hands behind his head. “Sometimes I think it’s easier- maybe not better, but easier- to talk to somebody who, first of all, doesn’t already know the whole story. ‘Cause then you don’t feel like you’re repeating yourself, or- or obsessing on it. And second of all, they aren’t likely to be feeling exactly the same way- nor liable to feel even worse when you’re done complaining. Some people, you know, you tell ‘em things and they start to feel like they need to- to do something to make everything okay. Sometimes a plain old gripe-fest is great. Nothing really changes, but at least you can get some sympathy and not make anyone feel like you want ‘em to do something about it.”

Subtlety, Frank noted with a sigh, really was not one of Joe’s stronger points. But perhaps he wasn’t trying to be subtle. “I was thinking along similar lines when I was talking to Callie,” he agreed. “Sometimes a more objective but still sympathetic listener is a wiser choice. Especially, like you said, if you don’t want to make someone feel unhappy. The sympathy, in particular, is very soothing.”

“Yessss,” the younger boy agreed. “Though, not too much of it. No good feeling too sorry for yourself.”

“Oh, yeah, that just leads to feeling worse instead of better,” Frank agreed quietly.

Silence fell as the boys each contemplated their own thoughts. Frank still wished his brother had chosen to confide in him, but he had to agree that Joe had made a good, if somewhat roundabout, point. There were times when it was better to talk to someone who was not emotionally invested in whatever situation was annoying you. Talking to someone who felt the same way as you did about it was supportive, to a point. But it could also bring them down, make them unhappy. That was one reason Frank himself so seldom talked about Mom; much as he missed her, he didn’t want to trigger Joe’s completely unnecessary guilt again.

“Had dessert yet?” the dark-haired boy inquired after he felt the silence had stretched on long enough.

“Well, sort of.” Joe sat up and let his hands drop to his sides. He had, Frank noted with a bit of amusement, ‘dressed up’ for his date, which for Joe meant not wearing jeans. Regular pants were dressy enough for him- and a shirt with a real collar was a real rarity.

“Sort of?”

“They gave us some weird concoction that tasted like sugared ants.”

“You been eating ants again?” Frank demanded. “I keep telling you, they’re not-” He stopped, perforce, as a sofa pillow whapped against his face. “Not good for you,” he concluded, grinning.

“You- you nut!”

“Takes one to know one. There’s still some cookies left.” The words were hardly out of Frank’s mouth before Joe was in the kitchen.

“What was the message?” The blond youth re-emerged with the cookie bag in his hand and a querying expression on his face.

“Oh, I picked up a few seconds late. It was Con, he wants to talk to us about a situation he’d like some help on. Tomorrow, ‘bout nine.”

“In the evening?”

“No, in the morning.” Frank took the bag as Joe stopped beside the chair. “Thanks.”

“Nine in the morning,” Joe grumbled through a mouthful of chocolate chips. “It better be good, to get me up that early on a Saturday.”