Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).
Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.
September Song
By EvergreenDreamweaver
Chapter 3
Frank awoke early on Saturday morning. He had come home from the game the night before, checked his e-mail for messages from Callie, and finding none, had written her a note with the outcome of the game, then had gone to bed. Sometime during the night, he had been dimly aware of Joe moving about in their shared bathroom, but had simply turned over and gone back to sleep.
He got up, showered and dressed, and headed downstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Joe could be a demon if wakened for no good reason on a morning when he was able to sleep in, and Frank didn't want to tangle with an irate younger brother this early in the day.
Laura had left a note: Boys: I've gone for a walk. Back around nine or so. Cereal okay for breakfast? Frank opened the cupboard where the boxes of cereal were kept and surveyed his choices. Nothing appeared especially appetizing, so he settled for corn flakes.
He was just getting milk from the refrigerator, when the phone rang. He hastily set down the carton, and stretching out a long arm, grabbed it on the second ring.
"Hardy residence."
"Hello?" The voice was soft, feminine, and somehow familiar. "Is – is Frank Hardy there, please?"
"This is Frank." Who was it? Not Vanessa…certainly not Callie…
"Frank, hi. This is Megan Wright….you remember, from class yesterday?"
"Megan! Hey, hi!" Unaccountably, Frank's voice cracked, and he began to cough. "S-sorry….excuse me….
"I hope I'm not calling you too early. I was wondering…" She hesitated, then finished in a rush. "I wondered if I could maybe buy you a cup of coffee this morning?"
"Uh – uh, sure, that'd be great!" Frank finally managed to catch his breath and get his voice under control. "Where can I meet you?"
"There's a Starbucks on the corner of 17th and Grant. Would that be all right? In maybe 15 minutes or so?"
"That's fine. I'll be there. 15 minutes. Starbucks." You're babbling again, Hardy! Shut up, you idiot!
"All right, see you in a bit, then. And Frank – thanks." There was a soft click as the receiver went down, and Frank was left listening to a dial tone.
He hung up the phone, scarcely able to believe what was happening. She called me up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to ask me out for a cup of coffee? Numb, he sat down and stared blankly at his bowl of corn flakes, then suddenly realized that if he was going to keep his date, he needed to leave. He dashed for the downstairs powder room to make sure his hair was decently combed, then grabbed his jacket and the van keys. Halfway out the door, he reversed fields, hastily scribbled an explanatory note to his mother, and darted out the door once again.
Precisely 15 minutes after hanging up the receiver, Frank parked near Starbucks and walked in. He spotted Megan immediately. She was leaning against the back wall, waiting for him to arrive.
"Hi, I'm sorry if I'm late," he started to apologize, making his way through a crowd of caffeine-starved Bayport residents to her side.
"It's okay; you're not late. I just got here early." Her smile was winning as ever, the dimple in evidence again. They moved together to stand in line and place their orders. Megan asked for a cappuccino, and Frank ordered a mocha; then, mindful of his lack of breakfast, also requested two cinnamon rolls. When Megan began to open her purse to pay, Frank lifted an admonitory hand to stop her.
"I'll let you pay for the coffee, since that was the bargain. But the rolls are my treat."
She laughed, nodded agreement, and they went to one of the small tables, carefully balancing their hot drinks, and settled into the chairs.
"Thank you," she said, inserting her straw through the lid of the steaming beverage before her and taking a sip. "I wasn't expecting you to buy me breakfast, you know." She glanced demurely at him from under her eyelashes.
"Hey, it's my pleasure." Frank took a bite of his roll, and arched his eyebrows in appreciation. "Say, these aren't bad!"
They ate the rolls and drank their coffee in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Megan wiped her fingers on her napkin, pushed her plate away, and sat up a little straighter.
"I have a confession to make." Her words were very soft, and after one swift glance at Frank, she looked down at her hands, which were tightly clasped in front of her.
"A confession?" Frank grinned. "What would you have to confess?"
"I – I knew who you were before I picked up your pen, yesterday." She paused, swallowing hard. "I wanted to contact you, and that was a perfect opportunity." She reached down, felt in her purse a moment, and pulled out a folded newspaper clipping, which she handed to the puzzled Frank. He unfolded it, and found it was an article written about him and Joe; it had been published following their cracking of a car theft ring. There was a photo of them both, with Joe beaming all over his face. Frank, on the other hand, looked self-conscious and a little embarrassed.
"You wanted to meet me – because of this?" Frank felt as if someone had sucker-punched him in the stomach. He had never realized disappointment could hurt quite so much. And you thought she liked you for you. Fool!
Megan nodded, still without looking at him. "I need your help. I had it all planned, how I was going to meet you and ask you to help me…" She stopped, for her voice was beginning to shake. "I didn't realize, though – how much I'd like you, right away…" She bit her lip, and finally raised her head and met his gaze. Frank saw that her eyes were filled with tears. One spilled over and slid down her cheek.
Chagrin and compassion swept through him. "Hey – hey, don't cry!" He covered her tightly clasped hands with his own, trying to convey reassurance through his warm grip. "It's okay – it'll be all right." He loosened one hand, picked up an extra napkin and gently blotted the tear. "Megan, don't cry, huh? Just tell me what's the matter." He smiled a little. "How can I help if you don't tell me what's wrong?"
"I feel – I feel like such a fool," she whispered. "This was supposed to be a business proposition. And then I saw you in person, and you were so nice, and…" She gulped and bent her head, then scrubbed violently at her eyes with her napkin. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this!"
Frank took a deep breath and exhaled slowly; waiting, giving Megan time to regain her composure. Finally she sighed, squared her shoulders, and faced him resolutely.
"I need your help, Frank Hardy of the famous Hardy Brothers. I need you to help me prove that my father was murdered."
"Your father – oh, Megan, no!" Frank was appalled. He tightened his grip on her clasped hands again. "Oh, man, I'm sorry – so very, very sorry!"
She smiled a little. "Thank you." The smile quivered, then her jaw firmed once again. "I'm sure he was murdered, and I think I know who is responsible. What I need is help in proving it. And in seeing that person prosecuted and punished. I want him behind bars for the rest of his life."
Frank watched her eyes flash azure fire as she made the last statement. "That's why you're in the criminal justice classes? Trying to find out the legalities – the chances of prosecuting this person?"
"Yes and no." she replied. "I was going to take them anyway, because I thought it would be interesting. Now I have a more important reason. Will you help me?"
