Synopsis: A fatal accident has consequences more far-reaching that anyone could ever imagine.

Rated 'T' for later chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from the Hardy Boys, I do own the ones I created.

WARNING! CONTAINS THE DEATH OF A HARDY FAMILY MEMBER.

Author's note: Hello all. This is my first attempt at writing Hardy Boys fan fiction and I hope you all enjoy it. It has been a long time since I read the books and so I hope I do the characters justice. In this fic, Frank is eighteen and Joe is seventeen.

Blame

By

Helen Louise

There's been an accident. Were there ever any more terrifying words that a person had to hear when they picked up the phone?

Fenton Hardy didn't think so. Though it wasn't the first time that he had been the recipient of a 'bad news' phone call – and he was certain it wouldn't be the last – this one chilled him to his very core.

His chosen career – the one that both of his sons were eagerly following him into – was fraught with danger. But, nine times out of ten, he could see that danger coming; could anticipate the potential for bad news.

But this time it was different. This time, he knew that there was a man out there with a grudge against him – and, by association, his family. This time he had taken every conceivable precaution to keep those he held most dear to him safe. But it hadn't been enough.

This time it had involved his wife, Laura and his youngest son, Joe.

Almost unconsciously, he pressed his foot down even harder on the gas pedal. He was already way above the legal speed limit, but he didn't care. The phone call had deemed that he get there urgently.

Frank Hardy sat white-faced and silent next to his dad and tried not to give in to the fear that was threatening to consume him.

He had been in his room, scouring the Internet for information on the recently escaped felon who had threatened severe revenge against his father – hoping to find some possible clue to his whereabouts – when he had heard the phone ring.

Then his father's voice had hollered up the stairs to him: There's been an accident. The rest had been something of a blur.

His eyes flickered toward the speedometer of his dad's sedan and they widened momentarily. Fenton Hardy was a Private Investigator, not a cop – and he was in serious violation of some traffic laws. Though most of the Bayport cops knew Fenton by reputation, they couldn't afford to stop long enough even to explain why they were in such a hurry – his urgency had easily transmitted itself to Frank.

Then his senses registered the sound of sirens and he inwardly cursed – as though his own thoughts had pre-empted this unfortunate turn of his events. He felt the car slow as his dad eased off the gas – and then could only watch uncomprehendingly as a police motorcycle peeled around a corner and took up position directly in front of the sedan. It made no effort to slow down, no attempt to pull them over – and Frank saw his dad smile grimly as he pressed down even harder on the gas.

Inwardly, Frank shivered. He could see what was happening: the Chief of Police was a personal friend of the Hardys and he had obviously arranged for this motorcyclist to clear the worst of the traffic as they neared the more congested streets surrounding Bayport Memorial Hospital.

While he was immeasurably grateful that there was no longer any fear of them being pulled over – and that they wouldn't be slowed by any inconvenient red lights – he couldn't help but fearfully wonder: how bad was it that Police Chief Ezra Collig felt the need to send them an Outrider?

Fenton shared his son's concerns but he, too, never spoke them aloud. The voice on the phone had belonged to Con Riley – another of Bayport's finest that he considered to be a good friend – but the details had been almost non-existent.

His wife and his youngest son, Joe, had been involved in a car accident – and he needed to get there pronto. No further information had been offered and Fenton didn't waste any time in fishing for details. He'd yelled for Frank and then they were on their way.

Now he focused his gaze on the flashing lights that guided him unerringly through the steadily increasing traffic – and his fear gradually began to build.

A long time ago, Graham Houghton had sworn revenge against him. And now, Graham Houghton was on the run. Though Ezra had tried to assure him that it would be foolish for the escapee to return directly to Bayport, Fenton had put his family on full alert.

Houghton was an insanely dangerous man and, foolish or not, Fenton knew that he would come back. He was as single-minded as he was psychotic – and he had promised retribution.

Never one to take such threats lightly, Fenton had instantly laid down some ground rules – and they would not be broken until Houghton was back where he belonged: None of them – not even him – would ever be left alone; not at home and certainly not when away from that relative security. They had a wide enough circle of friends to make that rule easy enough to adhere to. Sometimes, they didn't even need to rely upon those friends to help.

Like today.

Today, it had only been grocery shopping – and so Joe had accompanied his mom on her trip to the store. And that was as much as Fenton knew. That and the fact that there had been an accident.

Details notwithstanding, Fenton knew that Houghton was a part of this – that the madman was somehow responsible for what had happened to his wife and son. He inwardly cursed. He should have done more to protect them – even as a small part of him tried to reconcile to the fact that he had done everything he could.

Then Bayport Memorial loomed large in his vision – and all coherent thought was lost.

Frank braced his hand against the dashboard as his father screeched the sedan to a halt – parking both haphazardly and illegally. But not even the cop, who had stopped immediately in front of them, voiced any protest.

Frank, too, had been thinking about Graham Houghton. His dad had drilled the threat into both him and Joe – they knew not to take the unusual ground rules lightly. He was wondering how Joe had let his guard down sufficiently to allow this to happen.

The next moment, he was mentally kicking himself. There was no evidence that Joe had done anything wrong; no evidence that Houghton was even involved; no evidence that this – whatever this was – was anything more than an accident.

At least, not yet.

And Frank was mildly disgusted that he had let the panic kick his normally unflappable logic into touch. It was not a very Frank Hardy way to behave.

Thrusting all speculation aside, he followed his father through the ER doors and into the hub of Bayport Memorial.

The first thing that registered, to both of them, was the fact that Ezra Collig was there. The Chief of Police straightened as he saw them and then tugged self-consciously at his uniform jacket.

Frank also noticed that Con was there – someone whom he could more easily relate to – but the younger cop could only stare down at his shoes.

"Ezra…" The word that Fenton gasped out was a simple, desperate plea.

"Fenton…" The seasoned Police Chief had delivered bad news a thousand times in his long career, but it had never been as hard as this. "Fenton, I'm so sorry…"

Frank felt as though all of the breath had been punched from his body – and he could only watch as his dad turned an alarming shade of grey.

"Joe?" Fenton whispered the inevitable question, even whilst hardly daring to ask. And when Collig couldn't quite meet his eyes, he knew. "Laura!"

Frank's legs gave way then and he would have fallen, if it had not been for the sudden support of a man who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"My mom?" His brown eyes pleaded with the man who now held him – and then his heart shattered when Con Riley simply shook his head. It was all that he needed to confirm his fears – Laura Hardy, his mother, was dead.

"Joe?" He barely dared to whisper the enquiry. He knew that his shattered heart would turn to dust if he had lost his brother as well.

"The doctors are in with him now, Frank." Con said, as gently as he was able – but he was still powerless to prevent the devastation his words caused. He tried to ease the blow: "They said his injuries weren't life-threatening."

Relief cascaded over Frank – overshadowing even the grief that he felt for the loss of his mother. His baby brother was going to be alright and, at last, he had something positive to hold onto.

But he wasn't allowed to hold onto it for long.

"Not 'life-threatening'." Fenton's voice was cold and somehow hollow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Even Frank shrank away from that tone – so it was no surprise when Con did the same.

"Um… Mr. Hardy… Sir…" The cop eventually stuttered out. "They didn't tell us too much, but… They said something about cuts and bruises… Abrasions… Maybe a mild concussion…"

Fenton and Frank exchanged glances at that – and a silent question was passed between them: How was it that Joe had got away so relatively unscathed from a crash that had killed his mother?

It was as though Ezra Collig had read the silent communicate – as he was the one who answered the unspoken question:

"I'm so sorry, Fenton," he said. "But it looks like Laura wasn't wearing a seatbelt."

"That's impossible!" Fenton yelled, even as he heard Frank's shouted denial of 'No way!'

The ultimately experienced investigator recovered his composure more quickly and offered a brief apology to Ezra, before going on to explain: "It was a ritual with her – no matter who else was in the car. She'd look around and she'd say…"His voice broke then and he struggled to continue.

"All buckled up?"

Frank spoke the words that had so crippled his father – and then added: "She would never drive away…"

"Fenton… Frank…" Ezra Collig looked between the father and son – and then he dropped another bombshell on them: "Laura wasn't driving – Joe was."

TBC