A/N: It is truly astounding how this story ended up bearing no resemblance to the story I'd thought I would be creating when I wrote this first chapter.

Most of the characters in this story are 14 and 15. Sometimes they speak and behave maturely, sometimes they don't; they tackle some tough issues, which happens at a younger age these days; and they are caught between childhood and adulthood. And young adults who help law enforcement catch criminals at 17 and 18 years old probably grew up quickly.

Therefore please note that this story is rated T, which means: Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

I do not own the Hardy Boys characters and I am making no money from this story.

No Chet. Perhaps a brief cameo for Auntie Gert.

This story is longer than my usual. Forgive me for the fluff, and forgive me for the meandering pace of the mystery. When the mystery is solved, the story is over, and I had a great time slowing down and enjoying these guys.

An infinity of thanks to my good friend and beta, xcherryxlipsx; your positive feedback gives me the courage to post.

Thank you very much for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated. I hope this story is fun for you. JB

9/3/18

Dear Hannah:

It's only been two weeks and I already miss you so much! That third tin of Macadamia Nut cookies was delicious as always, but it is okay to reduce the number of shipments. I don't want them to start tasting like guilt when you have nothing at all to feel guilty about. You worked hard your whole life, and no one deserves a peaceful retirement more than you do. Have you taught your nephew's family how to play gin rummy or will that forever just be our thing?

Yes, yes, yes, I am getting along with my new stepmother! I suppose I should be flattered that everyone keeps walking on eggshells asking me about that. Maybe I am a scary person who doesn't like anyone and I never knew it? Griselda (you have to admit that is an evil stepmother name, though) is pestering me with offers of Girls' Day Outs and Teas and Bonding Time and I see the effort even though it's obvious that she has never known any fourteen-year-olds or ever been fourteen herself. I still think Dad is totally whipped to be willing to switch to a crappier job and move us all the way out to Bayport just so Princess Griselda can keep her house and job and not be inconvenienced in any way.

Guess where I'm going tonight? It is too much to ask of Bayport to have a bowling alley, or a mini golf course, or a library with books that were written past 1960 (they don't) but Bayport does have a…drum roll…roller skating rink! The first day of high school is tomorrow, and the school is sponsoring tonight's session for the ninth and tenth graders. The goal is for the tenth graders to make us ninth graders feel more comfortable, but I will believe it when I see it. You know how adults are forever thinking about how teenagers will behave in theory without having a clue about how teenagers will behave in real life. Anyway, you and I know that roller skating is serious and takes all of a person's focus. That was such great advice that you gave me three years ago: skating is not about racing as fast as you can around a circle, but about losing yourself in the music and the movement, dancing and flowing and balance. I tried to explain this to Dad but he will still be disappointed when I don't make any friends tonight.

Write back soon! Love, Nancy

Ndhb

"Are you sure you don't need me to come in there with you, Nancy?" Carson Drew asked for the eighth time, pulling his Station Wagon to a halt near the roller skating rink.

"I think I'm capable of rolling around in circles on my own, Dad," Nancy said. "Although I will also cry my eyes out without you? Not sure if I should provide comfort that I do need you or that I don't need you."

Carson appeared to seriously consider this. "Both, I guess. Now, honey…believe me, I don't like saying this any more than you like hearing it, but make sure you buy all your own snacks—don't let any boys buy you any snacks—and if a boy puts his hands on you, pretending that you need help learning to skate when you obviously do not, especially during the couples skate—"

Nancy grinned wickedly, turning to her father and hooking a stray shoulder-length red curl behind her ear. "So that's the kind of place you've moved me to? Where the boys put their hands wherever they want to and make me pay them back in other ways for a dollar soda? Or are you afraid that these gangsters will slip a drug into my drink?"

"Nancy," Carson said warningly.

Nancy saw a group of girls in skin tight jeans walk past their car toward the entrance. Nancy suddenly realized that, while her father's Station Wagon might have been respected as iconic in River Heights, it might not be afforded the same status in Bayport. "I promise not to even hold a boy's filthy hands during the couples skate," she said hurriedly, gathering her skates and opening the car door.

"I'll pick you up right here at 9:30 sharp," Carson said. "You can't lollygag even if you want to because Bayport just passed a 10:00 curfew ordinance."

"Curfew?" Nancy exited the car, carefully navigating her limbs. Her entire year of seventh grade had been a rotating series of bruises as she'd struggled to adjust to several new inches of legs. Other girls had complained of sudden padding in their hips and butt, but Nancy would have welcomed just a little bit so she didn't feel quite so gangly.

"No mysteries tonight, Nancy. No searching for mysteries, no thinking about who the killer is in your latest mystery book," Carson called to her before she shut the door behind her.

Nancy saluted and began walking briskly toward the entrance. She felt a cold fist of trepidation close around her heart as she finished the lonely walk to the ticket booth and paid for her admission. She did not consider herself shy, but the past year of her life had been filled with so much change that the zero time spent in her comfort zone was becoming exhausting.

Then she opened the door and breathed a long, slow exhale of relief.

The lights were dimmed, providing as much anonymity as possible while still being safe. It was pleasantly crowded, with enough people to have a good time, but not so many that they would be obstacles on the rink. The space was not dilapidated and not ritzy either, with the just the basics: a beautiful brown wooden oval with striped lanes, tables, a few arcade games, and a snack bar. And the most essential ingredient of all, freestyle music from the olden days, released way back in the century before the one she'd been born in. Stevie B's "Spring Love" was on the loudspeaker at a surprisingly reasonable volume. Maybe if she hurried, she could still skate for the end of the song. She found the nearest empty seat and changed into her skates in record time, shoving her spare money and cell phone into the center pocket of her pullover and dashing out to the rink.

Nancy didn't get far before she heard a male voice behind her, not unkind but with authority. "Miss! Stop—you need to stop—"

Nancy heard and attempted to obey, but she couldn't stop before entering the rink, and suddenly she found herself windmilling her arms in a desperate attempt to regain her balance. She felt a firm hand on her back, quickly and gently guiding her toward the side rail so she could lean on it. But as soon as her physical danger was over, her flaming cheeks quickly matched the color of her hair. This was the first impression she'd made for Bayport High?

Her rescuer now had one hand on her low back and one hand on her left shoulder. Nancy looked over at him and nearly lost her balance again. He was only a few inches taller than her and couldn't be much older, but there was something about the way he carried himself that commanded respect. Dark hair matched dark eyes, with the black and white button down shirt of an official. One of his eyebrows slowly raised.

"You're good? Can I let go now?" he asked.

A thought entered Nancy's mind unbidden: her father had been right. Within ninety seconds of entering her first high school event, a boy's hands were all over her body. She burst out laughing.

He smiled slightly. "I take that as a yes," he said, removing his hands. "You missed the opening announcements. You obviously know how to skate, but you couldn't have known that the roller derby group oiled the rink this afternoon for their practice. The floor will get less slick as the night goes on, but we have to take it slower for now, okay?"

His eyes focused once more on the rink. Nancy desperately didn't want their interaction to end like this, with only a near-fall and maniacal laughter on her part. She blurted out the joke her father always used on people wearing black and white referee uniforms. "Take off that Patriots jersey," she said.

He turned back to her. "Not from around here, I take it. Connecticut doesn't have a football team of its own, so be careful who you tell New England Patriots jokes to."

Nancy was so embarrassed that she felt a lump begin to form at the back of her throat.

Then the boy leaned in just an inch closer. "And we do need to go a little easier on Tom Brady for buying out the referees. The football is just so much heavier when it's got all that air in it." He smiled at her. "My name is Frank, and our two adult chaperones are Coach Hafetz and Miss Swain, also in black and white shirts. Let us know if you need any help at all." He skated off, blowing his whistle and signaling to two racing students to slow down.

Nancy grinned after him even though he couldn't see her. Her father hated the Patriots more than most of the criminals he'd prosecuted, and he would howl with laughter when she told him this newest Deflategate joke. Nancy felt foolish for continuing to hang onto the side railing. She tentatively pushed off, taking the clunking tentative steps of the once-bitten-twice-shy. She slowed down around the turns and took her time crossing over her inside leg, and within only a few laps she had made the necessary adjustments and entered her "flow" mindspace. A moment later she glanced at the clock and was amazed to see that a half hour had gone by already.

Nancy checked out her fellow skaters and made some speculations to herself. The students who were out on the rink were probably the most athletic or at least the bravest, as the majority were sitting at tables chatting, probably not wanting to risk a near-fall experience as embarrassing as Nancy's. A few students were holding hands and she made efforts to memorize who was dating whom. Nancy certainly wasn't the only person skating without a huddle of friends close by.

"Couples skate, so find your special someone," the announcer said over the loudspeaker, and at least ninety percent of the crowd immediately dispersed. The two adult referees exited as well. The music didn't slow down, however; they played "Dreamboy" by Cynthia and Johnny O, which still had a nice beat to it. Nancy skated an extra lap simply because she didn't want to stop, and headed toward the exit.

Just before she reached it, however, she felt a soft, small hand in her own, assertively guiding her around the curve.

Nancy turned her head and saw nothing. She looked down and saw the top of a girl's head. A pretty elf looked up six inches to return eye contact. Everything about her was small, yet defined; her straight, blonde hair completed the effect, and it occurred to Nancy that the only missing feature was pointy ears.

"I'm Callie," the girl said, and grinned mischievously. "What's a new school year without fresh gossip? Let's give them something to talk about."

Nancy felt herself immediately infected by Callie's energy. Nancy had never courted attention but had never run from it, either. Following her first instinct, she replied, "My name is Nancy. And it's 2018. They wouldn't dare try to throw out two girls from a couples skate."

Nancy remembered her promise to her father that she wouldn't hold a boy's hand during the couples' skate. Well, she was certainly keeping her promise. Nancy laughed out loud, making Callie giggle, and Nancy pulled Callie around a curve to increase the lighter girl's momentum.

"Oh my goooood," someone drawled near the side rail.

"Oh, look, there are only four other couples out here besides us, so let's speed up. Hi, Iola!" Callie waved cheerfully at a brunette whose expression quickly turned to confusion. Iola's boyfriend—a tall, slender boy with wavy brown hair and glasses—noticed Callie and Nancy skating together and stumbled. Iola's attention immediately turned to steadying him before he fell.

"Iola and Phil. She's a sucker for funny boys and nerds," Callie explained, then abruptly pivoted, first skating backwards, and then moving in front of Nancy when both girls had made the necessary adjustments. They now faced each other and held hands. Nancy's worries of Callie falling immediately evaporated; somehow Callie's style was so smooth that the smaller girl was even helping to steady Nancy.

"You skate better than I walk," Nancy said. Nancy saw movement in her peripheral vision and realized with a shock that she had forgotten all about her dark-haired rescuer.

"Hi, Frank," Callie said, her voice a bit too sing-song. "Everything okay?"

Frank didn't answer. His expression was unreadable.

Nancy realized the impact of what she was doing. People might recognize her tomorrow at her first day of a brand new high school where she knew no one, not even this girl she was skating with; she was uncertain what Frank would think of her as a result of this; and it would be especially humiliating if she fell.

Nancy glanced nervously at the sidelines. A few people were watching, most were talking to their friends; and the male adult chaperone, Coach Hafetz, was approaching the female adult chaperone, Miss Swain. He tucked a small square piece of paper into her shirt pocket and continued skating past her.

Nancy frowned. The movement had been so quick and the light was so low. Had she imagined it? Or did she finally have a mystery on her hands—the kind she'd only ever read about?

"Focus, Nancy," Callie warned, and Nancy complied. A moment later, the song ended. Somewhat reluctantly, Nancy loosened her grip.

But Callie tightened their grip once more. "Let's sit the next few songs out while you meet the rest of your new gang," she said, leading Nancy to exit the rink and head across the carpeted floor.

Nancy saw Miss Swain roll back into the rink. Miss Swain wouldn't have had an opportunity to read her note and she couldn't very well read it while she was out there.

Nancy had no time for anticipatory anxiety, as she and Callie arrived at a table in only a few seconds. Callie sat next to a girl with long ash-blonde hair and grey-blue eyes, who she introduced as Vanessa. Callie slid over and patted the seat next to her.

Nancy took her cue, and now the three girls sat facing two boys. A lanky, spikey-haired blonde with a perpetual good-natured smirk was introduced as Joe; an olive-skinned boy with a mop of curly black hair was introduced as Tony.

"So how'd we do?" Callie said with excitement, leaning in.

"Sorry to disappoint, ladies, but people don't notice two girls skating like they'd notice two guys," Tony said.

"Sexism to men," Joe commented, nodding knowingly like he was a frequent victim of discrimination.

"The guys don't know the best places to look," Vanessa said, her eyes twinkling. "Look at this picture I got of Stacy Anderson's group."

Callie took one look and threw back her head in a loud, throaty laugh. Vanessa's phone was passed around the table so all could enjoy the wide-eyed, scandalized expressions of several heavily made up girls. One girl even had her hand over her heart.

"And I can't be sure, but I think you annoyed Frank," Joe said, holding up his hand for a high five.

Callie followed through. "Should we take bets on whether I'll get a talking-to or not?"

"Oh, you guys…don't like Frank? That's the guy who works here, right?" Nancy asked in surprise.

"He doesn't work here. He's just helping for this one night. And, no, we don't like Frank. That guy's a real asshole," Joe said. "He's got a meth lab in his basement."

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Then who else would also have a meth lab in their basement, Joe?"

"Frank and Joe are brothers," Callie explained, finally ending Nancy's suspense.

"Oh! You—wow, you two don't look alike," Nancy said.

"Nope," Joe said. "I look like our mom, Frank looks like our mailman."

"Again with accidentally insulting yourself, Joe," Vanessa teased him. "You just told a yo mama joke about your own mama."

Nancy couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "So, umm…who is dating who, in this group of friends?"

Defensive shrieks rose from the girls' side of the table, laughter and propositions from the boys' side.

"Callie is playing footsies with me under the table right now, but I'm still playing hard to get," Joe said.

"Any time you want four wheels in your crotch, just let me know, baby," Callie retorted.

"And there's a dramatic love triangle between Iola, Phil, and Tony," Joe said with a grin.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Not really. My older brother Michael has been telling me all summer about how great Iola is. Understand that he has never spoken to Iola or probably even looked at her. She has an eighteen-year-old cousin Polly who moved in with her and her parents at the beginning of the summer to start going to UConn. But Polly has been picking up takeout all the time from my family's pizzeria and taking twenty minutes to check out at the register, so I think Michael is doing okay without my help."

Soon Nancy could piece together that only Phil and Iola were dating out of their group. Joe's eyes darkened when Phil's name was mentioned, and Nancy made a mental note to find out what had come between him and Phil. Vanessa, Frank, and Phil were the only tenth graders, everyone else freshmen. The friends all lived within a mile radius of each other, with the high school close by. Frank tended to be the cautious, morally upright member who kept the rest of the group reined in, which tended to annoy Joe and Callie at times.

Nancy gazed around her new group of friends. Was this really what it appeared? Had a group of friends really fallen into her lap? She'd never had much interest in boys in middle school—Bess and George were all she'd needed—but this group seemed to seamlessly blend boys and girls. Maybe high school boys were more mature, since they were now almost men?

Joe interrupted Nancy's thought by burping so long and loud that the table shook.

Callie glowered at him and Vanessa waved her hand back and forth to clear the air.

"So what's your story?" Tony asked to transition. Nancy was intrigued by him: he had a frank, open expression, relaxed among his friends, but somehow with an undercurrent of danger. She thought that she wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of him.

Nancy kept her story brief, but included all the major details so they could get to know her: how in 2016 her long-widowed father had reached out to someone he'd attended law school with, dated long distance, and waited to marry her so Nancy could finish middle school in River Heights, Illinois. Her voice began to break when she told them that their housekeeper had chosen not to move with them because she was getting up in years and had moved in with her nephew instead.

After waiting a respectful moment of silence, Joe asked, "What kind of law work does your father do?"

Nancy looked up at him and saw an empathetic, gentle expression on his face. So he must be easily able to transition between joking around and being serious. "He transferred to the County Prosecutor's office," she answered.

"Oh, wow," Joe said, sitting up a little straighter. "My dad is a private investigator and will definitely want to reach out to him. They'll have some work together. I'll let my dad know tonight and maybe I can give you a message for your dad at school tomorrow. From Fenton Hardy."

"Hardy," Nancy said thoughtfully, and pulled out her phone to make a note on her calendar.

"Wait until I talk to my dad first," Joe reminded her.

Nancy shook her head. "I mean, sorry, yes, I will wait, it's just that your last name reminded me that one of my favorite mystery authors is coming out with a new book in November. I can't believe I forgot to put the alert on my phone. She lives around here somewhere. That was my dad's biggest selling point, trying to get me excited about moving here."

"Um…Laura Hardy, the mystery writer?" Vanessa asked.

"You guys read her too?" Nancy peeked up and saw knowing glances passed around the table.

Joe raised his eyebrows. "You're the youngest of her fans by maybe forty-five years."

"My dad doesn't want me to read any violent mystery books yet, so she's an author we can compromise on," Nancy explained, and instantly froze in embarrassment. Why had she just made herself look like such a baby?

"She's my mom," Joe said. "She gets most of the ideas for her books from my dad's cases. Do you want to meet her?"

Nancy spent the next several moments desperately trying to suck oxygen into her lungs, wrapping her hands around her abdomen and bending over at the waist as if those maneuvers could possibly help.

"Uh, does she need a paper bag or something?" she vaguely heard Callie ask.

"CPR only if she loses consciousness," Joe clarified.

Nancy was finally able to drag in a long, shuddering breath. "Ohmigod yes, yes, I want to meet her—and I can ask her questions, oh my god I have to prepare…how can I pay you back, can I do your chores or something?"

The group burst out laughing. The group topic moved on to anticipated schedules at school tomorrow, and Nancy was unable to concentrate. She saw a faint movement of black and white next to the trash cans twenty feet away on her right. Miss Swain stopped next to the trash cans, read her note, smiled, and discarded it.

Nancy waited only until Miss Swain had returned to the rink. "I need to go to the restroom," Nancy said to the group. Fortunately, the high schoolers had taken advantage of the snack bar, and there was so much trash piled up that Nancy only needed to slip her hand and wrist into the trash can. It was not a graceful operation under normal circumstances, much less with skates on, but quick enough that Nancy figured that not too many people had seen. She skated into the nearest available bathroom stall and opened the note.

MEET ME IN THE GYM FRIDAY THE 7TH at 4:00 IF YOU WANT ME TO SLIP YOU THE PACKAGE

Nancy thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the night of skating with the girls. Joe and Tony sat back down after only a few minutes of stumbling. She could finally compare the group's jarring height differences once they changed back into their shoes: Tony was Nancy's height, 5'6, while Joe and Vanessa were almost six feet tall. Despite the new mystery of the note, Nancy's favorite part of the night was when Callie asked for her phone number and volunteered to pass it around the group. So maybe this group would want to be friends with her after tonight.

Nancy gave her number to Callie and felt embarrassed by what she knew she had to say next. "But I tell everybody that, um…I don't get texts or internet on my phone. My dad is a little overprotective. But I still know things about life," Nancy added. "If he wanted to completely shelter me, he shouldn't have sent me to public schools."

"So?" Carson asked as Nancy got into his car. "Was the night more social than you thought it was going to be?"

"More social and more profitable," Nancy answered.