Chapter 1

"Fenton, watch yourself. Don't step there. Watch that cord, you might trip over it. Fenton, watch out!"

Fenton Hardy rolled his eyes and jutted his jaw.

The next-door neighbor laughed as he shoveled his walkway.

Gertrude Hardy stood on the Hardy's front walk and was aiming her words at her famous brother, private investigator Fenton Hardy, who was on the roof of their house, stringing up Christmas lights. Weather and business had prevented them from putting up the decorations sooner.

Fenton Hardy stomped across the roof, the end of a string of lights clutched on one hand.

"Fenton…" came a warning from the ground.

"Gertrude, stop it," Fenton said as he stepped closer to the edge, frowning.

"But Fenton…FENTON!" Gertrude Hardy let out a shriek that made the neighbor jump.

There was a gasp and a moment later a thud came from the side of the house.

Raymond Weideman's shovel clattered to the pavement as he ran in the direction Gertrude Hardy was already scurrying in.

"Oh, call an ambulance! Someone, call an ambulance," wailed the spinster, wringing her hands as she stood over the body of her younger brother who was lying facedown, unmoving in a pile of snow.

Weideman was about to turn to do so when the detective began moving. He watched as his neighbor pushed himself up on all fours, his head moving back and forth. A gasping noise escaped his lips.

Weideman turned at the sound of running footsteps and Laura Hardy came into view, her arms wrapped around her body in a futile attempt to stay warm.

"What happened?" she asked worriedly, immediately spotting her downed husband.

"He fell off the roof," Weideman explained. "But I think he's just got the wind knocked out of him," he hastened to add when he saw her expression change to one of horror.

It took a few minutes for the detective to catch his breath. Weideman helped him to his feet.

"I told you to be careful, Fenton Hardy, and now look what happened! You-"

"Gertrude, go inside," Fenton said.

"You're not going up there again are you-"

"I'm almost done. Now, go inside!"

Muttering to herself, Gertrude Hardy turned and flounced back toward the front door.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Laura asked, concerned.

Her tall, black-haired husband nodded. "I'm alright. I landed in a soft pile of snow. Just knocked the wind out of me."

Satisfied, Laura turned and walked back into their warm house.

Raymond Weideman chuckled to himself as he walked back to his half-shoveled drive. He would have liked to have seen Gertrude and Fenton when they were younger. Then he shook his head. It was a wonder how those Hardys could walk away from an accident without a scratch.

Fenton took at deep breath before again climbing the ladder that leaned against the side of the house. In a few minutes, he had the rest of the lights up and working. He put the ladder away and went into the house.

"All finished?" Laura asked him as he brushed at the wetness on his slacks from his fall.

"All finished," he replied as he shed his winter coat and boots.

He sat wearily at the kitchen table. Laura set a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of him.

The doorbell rang just as he took a sip. Laura headed for the front door.

A moment later, she led a man and a woman into the kitchen.

"Mr. Hardy," the man began. "My name is Luke Sandel and this is my wife Jane. Our daughter is missing and we would like you to find her."

"Let's go into my study."