"Catch!" eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy shouted at his year younger brother, Joe.
Blue-eyed Joe looked up from the magazine he was reading in time to see an aero-projectile slam into his face. Joe shot his brother the evil eye and put the magazine down. He bent over and retrieved the offending wad of paper and stood up. Taking aim, he let fly at his brother.
The paper sailed through the air, missing Frank as he easily jumped to the side. Frank laughed as he looked down at the paper. "You mis..." he started to say but was cut off as something crashed into his left cheek.
Joe burst out laughing as Frank stooped down to see what had hit him. Frank picked up the paper and uncurled it. It was a subscription card from the magazine Joe had been reading. He looked over at Joe with sparkling brown eyes. "Dirty pool!" he shouted, a grin on his handsome face. He picked up the other wad of paper and dropped them both in a nearby waste receptacle.
Joe picked his magazine up from the bench and walked over to where Frank stood. "I didn't expect you back so soon," Joe said shoving a stray lock of blond hair from his eyes.
"Me either," Frank stated, his expression taking on a puzzled look. "Ben said he didn't call."
Frank and Joe had arrived home thirty minutes earlier from visiting Chet Morton, their best friend, to receive a message taken by their mother informing Frank he should go to the computer shop downtown to pick up the Zip drive he had just won.
Frank had wanted to go right down, so Joe tagged along, wanting to run into the drugstore and pick up the latest issue of his magazine. He and Frank had agreed to meet in the park after they had finished.
"Then who did?" Joe asked.
"I don't know," Frank replied running a hand through his brown mane. "But it had to be someone who knew I had entered the contest."
"And the point of getting you to the computer shop would be?" Joe asked.
"I don't know," Frank said a bit more forcibly. Why did Joe expect him to know everything?
They reached the van and Frank went around to the driver's side, removing his key ring from his pocket as he did so. He unlocked the door and was about to get behind the wheel when he noticed an envelope on the dashboard. "Joe!" he shouted over at his brother. "Did we lock the van?"
"Of course," Joe replied, tugging on his own door. "We always do." He walked around to where Frank stood. "What's wrong?"
Frank reached inside and picked up the envelope. "Someone left us a calling card," he stated. He opened the envelope and pulled out a set of five instant photos.
"They're all of you," Joe observed, a worried frown on his face.
The first picture was of Frank getting out of the van at the Morton's earlier that afternoon. The second showed him laughing on the Morton's front porch. The third was of him walking up the steps to his own house. The fourth was a picture of him entering the computer shop. And the fifth picture was of Frank talking to a middle-aged man in jeans and a green tee shirt.
"Me and Ben," Frank said, frowning. "And they were all taken today."
"Someone has been following you," Joe stated the obvious. "Have you made anyone mad recently?"
Frank gave Joe a sour expression. "We make people mad all the time," he reminded Joe.
"Yeah, but this is aimed at you, not us," Joe pointed out.
Frank opened his mouth to object but snapped it shut quickly. Joe was right. All the pictures were of him even though Joe had been with him most of the day.
"For that matter," Joe continued, interrupting Frank's thoughts. "Maybe someone just likes you and wanted to get your attention. No damage has been done and we could have forgotten to lock the van," he reasoned.
"Maybe," Frank said a bit hesitantly. "But, to be on the safe side, you check under the van and I'll check inside. We'll both look under the hood."
Joe gave an accepting shrug before dropping to the ground and scooting beneath it. Frank climbed into the van and searched the glove compartment and beneath the seats and anywhere else something might be hidden.
Joe finished under the van and asked Frank to pop the hood after feeling around for anything unusual. Frank pulled the latch and the hood popped up. Both boys bent over the engine looking for any sign of tampering.
"Nothing,' Frank said, closing the hood. "I just don't get it."
"Well, let's run the pictures down to the police station," Joe suggested. "Maybe they can pick up some prints."
Joe got behind the wheel and Frank got in on the passenger side. "I don't remember any new kids at this year except for Camille, so we can probably rule out anyone from school," Joe said.
"Have you met anyone new lately?" Joe asked, glancing over at Frank who seemed to be deep in thought. "Joe, you're right! It couldn't be anyone at school. I know, it must have been someone I met last night at the lecture," Joe imitated Frank's voice and response after not getting one from him.
"You're brilliant!" Frank enthused, coming out of his thoughts and looking at Joe. "The lecture I attended with Callie at Bayport University last night is the only chance I've had to meet anyone new for days. And you weren't there," he added, explaining to himself why Joe hadn't been targeted in the photographs.
"But why would someone go to all of the trouble to take pictures and then give them to you?" Joe asked, a quizzical expression on his face.
"There are ten photos per cartridge for instant cameras," Frank pointed out. "Maybe someone took two at a time and then gave me a set to show what they had."
"Again, I ask why?" Joe said, pulling to a stop in front of the police station.
"I don't know," Frank replied with a frown. "For all I know the pictures could be from someone who just wants me to worry." He saw Joe's mouth open.
"Don't say anything," he snapped as he opened the door and got out. "Wait here," he added. "I won't be long."
Joe watched Frank go into the station with a frown on his face. He wasn't used to Frank being a target and he intended to find out who was after him and why.
Frank returned in less than ten minutes and got back into the van. "Chief Collig will call and let us know if they get any prints besides mine from them," he informed his brother.
Joe nodded, started the van and drove home. Once inside, their mother gave a shout for them to come into the kitchen. "Here you go," said the petite blond who looked so much like Joe as she handed each boy a stack of folded clothing. "You two arrived just in time to save me a trip," explained Laura Hardy, the boys mother.
"But of course," Joe told her in a dignified voice and his nose in the air. "Our timing is always impeccable."
"Impeccably bad more often than not," she teased, kissing her youngest son on the cheek.
Frank grinned at the sour face Joe made before heading upstairs with his load. Joe followed close behind. "Have you thought anymore about who you met at the lecture last night?" Joe asked, walking into his bedroom which was closer to the stairs than Frank's.
"There were about six people I actually talked to," Frank said, going through Joe's room to the bathroom that connected the boys two rooms. He came to a standstill just shy of crossing into his room, his eyes opening wide.
"What's wrong?" Joe demanded, noticing how suddenly Frank had stopped. He went to look over Frank's shoulder and let out a low whistle. "What a mess," he observed.
Frank's clothing, now in tatters, was strewn all over the floor and his bedspread was lying in shreds by the bed. His pillow had been cut open and feathers were lying all over the room. The picture of himself and Joe that had been hanging on the wall just above his bed had been defaced with red spray paint covering his face entirely.