Disclaimer: These characters, I own not. This story, mine. C'est tout.

A/N: Hello, my lovelies. This chapter goes out to you. Unless you think it sucks. In which case, it was all for me. And sadly enough, I had this chapter half finished by the time I posted the last one. I have been so madly busy. Ugh. So busy.

Thanks to Lazy Panther, leyapearl, Agent Striker, Mrs. Frank Hardy, Smithy (it means "No, I do not own these characters. In fact, there isn't much that I own. Yes, I really like French. Especially French swears."), Sworn Pledge, GalacticaCAG, JackieJacks, zenfrodo, Bri22, Agent Ace, TrixieNancy124 and ege26macpcakes for reviewing!


Joe took a loud, deep breath and nodded. "Alright. So. We're going to solve this case. Sounds easy enough. I mean, we've solved at least a dozen murders before."

"Maybe two dozen," Frank agreed. The brothers stared down at the paper in Joe's hands in silence for a moment.

"Where do we start?" Joe asked anxiously, swallowing hard. "I've never felt this uncertain about a case before."

"I know," Frank nodded, grimacing. There was another tense, moment of silence between the Hardy's. The brothers had solved more cases then they could possibly count in their teen years and if they were honest with themselves, they had probably solved at least a quarter of those since they started working with their father. They had never felt so lost, but then again, they had never felt so emotionally involved.

"Well," Joe spoke up finally, "the article is dated a week ago. The…the day before Nancy died."

"That doesn't really tell us anything," Frank replied, forcing his tone to be apologetic. "We already figured that she knew too much. Is there anything else the article can tell us?"

"Umm," Joe mumbled as his eyes scanned the page. "The standard fare is a stab wound to both the chest and the stomach, followed by a good old fashioned hanging and burning. God, that's just sick." Joe took a moment to swallow and recompose himself before continuing. "The article mentions that there was no sign of forced entry at any of the victims' houses. That's pretty much it."

"Does it mention anything else about the victim?" Frank asked, leaning back against the foot of Nancy's bed.

"Not really. The name is being withheld," Joe sighed, sitting next to Frank. "What now?" His brother sat quietly for a moment, staring at the carpet before turning to his brother.

"Nancy's case file," Frank said. "She had to be keeping notes somewhere. Did you see anything that resembled one in any way, shape or form?"

"Not that I saw," Joe grimaced, standing. "And they're pretty easy to pick out. I'll take another look on my side of the room." He helped Frank to his feet and the brothers spent another few minutes searching the room before turning to each other with disappointment on their faces.

"Where could they be?" Joe groaned, running his hands through his hair. "You're right; Nancy had to have case notes. It just doesn't make sense for them to be missing."

"We've torn the room apart, Joe," Frank sighed. "I think we have to accept that they aren't here. Maybe they're at her office?"

Joe shook his head. "Nancy didn't work over the summer. She went backpacking through Europe, remember? We met up with her in Amsterdam to help her with that stolen artwork case. And then she went back to school; she wouldn't have anything at the newspaper."

"Right, right," Frank replied, biting his lip. "And she wasn't living at residence. Crap. Where are they?"

"I honestly have no clue," Joe shrugged. "Maybe Bess or George would know?"

"Maybe," Frank sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I think we're done here. You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Joe replied, nodding. "Just let me close the window."

"Oh," Frank murmured, turning back. "I didn't even notice the window open."

"I just noticed it now," Joe shrugged, crossing the room. "But it looks like it's going to rain and I don't want it to get all wet in here. I don't think that would cheer Mr. Drew up any."

Frank nodded and Joe went through the motions of closing the window. However, when he went to lock it he noticed something. The blond Hardy sat on the window seat and peered closely at the lock. It appeared to be sawed off in a way that the latch would close and appear to be locked, when in reality it would only take a slight tug on the window to come flying open again.

"Huh," Joe commented, standing again. Frank raised his eyebrows at him and Joe pointed at the lock. "The lock's been sawed off." Frank shrugged his shoulders and crossed the room to take a look.

"It wouldn't surprise me if Nancy did it," he replied dully. "I would expect there were times when she needed to sneak in and out discreetly."

"I guess so," Joe responded, following his brother out of the room. They walked down the stairs and headed towards the front door. Just as Frank was about to pull the door open, Joe grabbed his arm. He pulled his brother back towards the living room and gestured with his head towards Mr. Drew, who was sitting in a chair opposite the window with his head bowed. His breathing was even and he didn't appear to be crying, so Joe took a cautious step towards him.

"Mr. Drew?" Joe called out hesitantly. "We're going to get out of your hair now. Thanks so much for letting us spend some time up there."

Carson nodded dully and raised a hand in the fashion of a wave, but didn't quite make it. The brothers exchanged looks.

"Mr. Drew?" Frank said, clearing his throat. "Is there anyone staying with you? Hannah? Where is she?"

"I sent her home," Mr. Drew replied slowly, as if he couldn't quite remember. "She was hysterical."

Joe nodded understandingly before pulling his brother off to the side. "He can't stay here alone," Joe whispered urgently. "He's falling apart."

"I know," Frank responded sadly. "Before we leave, we should get the neighbors to keep an eye on him."

"Boys," Carson spoke up, standing shakily to his feet. "I don't need you to worry about me. I…I'm a grown man. I can handle this myself."

"Of course, Mr. Drew," Frank nodded, exchanging a look with Joe. "We'll see you around, okay?"

"Goodbye, boys," Carson said lifelessly, drudging back into the living room and sitting down heavily in the chair. Joe took cautious steps towards him and knelt down in front of him.

"Mr. Drew," Joe began quietly, staring at the floor. "Please, call us if you need anything. Honestly, we're pretty worried about you."

"I'm fine," Carson repeated monotonously. "But I'd really like to be alone, boys. So please…just see yourself out."

Joe nodded slowly, standing up and walking back towards his brother. The Hardy's headed towards the door when Joe suddenly turned back.

"By the way, Mr. Drew," he called out hesitantly. "I'd just thought you should know that the lock on the window in Nanc…on one of the windows upstairs is sawed off."

Carson's head shot up curiously and his eyebrows rose slowly as he nodded in comprehension. Then, as quickly as he looked up, he turned his head back towards the window and seemed to forget the boys had ever been there. Joe shook his slowly, feeling more despair than he ever could have known was possible and slowly opened the door.

Obviously, this would be harder than he thought.


The boys returned to their motel room in silence. It was small – only big enough to hold two tiny beds (much too small for their large frames), a cupboard, a desk, a teensy little television and a bathroom without much space for walking in between. It was the kind of room that made Joe, at just six feet tall, feel like a giant walking around in a Smurf village. As soon as the door swung shut behind him, he threw himself onto the bed he had claimed as his and winced as it groaned under his weight. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath to clear his mind. Being in Nancy's house, her room…it had been so weird. Like a museum of Nancy's life. It made memories of his beloved friend burst into the front of his mind; bright and vivid but starting to fade around the edges. He reopened his eyes and looked at his brother, who had sat at the desk and was opening his laptop.

"What are you going to do?" asked Joe, sitting up and leaning against the headboard.

"I'm going to find out as much as I can about the other murders," Frank replied. "Newspaper articles, police statements; anything is better than what we have now." He leaned back in his chair and began to type furiously; the kind of furious typing that Joe knew from years of living with his studious older brother meant Frank soon would reach the stage where he might as well be wearing horse-blinders. He got up from the bed and stretched, his hands grazing the ceiling as he did so.

"Alrighty, then," Joe replied, not one hundred percent sure if Frank could even hear him. "Well, I'm starving and obviously not going to be much help since my name isn't Mac…so I'm going to get dinner. Do you want anything?"

Frank mumbled something somewhat under his breath and shook his head in a way that was neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"What was that? Two double-bacon cheeseburgers dripping with grease and a LARGE fry? And a milkshake? Come on, Frank; at least make it a diet Coke. I know how you're watching your figure," Joe called to him, watching his brother's face barely register his pathetic attempt at a joke. With a small sigh, he shook his head and threw on his jacket. When his words finally penetrated Frank's brain and he looked up, he saw that his brother was already gone, wondering how long it had been since he left.

His eyes were straining against the harsh light of the laptop, so he closed them momentarily. So far, all he had gotten was that the three victims had no visible link. With some digging that even impressed himself, he found the names of the victims (he was almost a professional at corresponding news events with Facebook statuses): Daisy d'Alene, Jason Flynn and Elliot Arnoldson.

Daisy d'Alene was a kindergarten teacher in Chicago, twenty seven years old and single. She was absolutely adorable; petite with fiery red hair and pale, freckled skin. She appeared to be barely out of middle-school, let alone almost thirty. She seemed to be the perky kind of person that ran every committee when she was in high school and was friends with everyone.

Jason Flynn, thirty one, was a lawyer working downtown. He seemed to be a serious man, tall and broad shoulders with dark hair. What surprised Frank was how much Jason reminded him of himself. They had very similar facial features and staring at his picture too long almost freaked him out. Shaking his head and digging a little deeper, he discovered that Jason actually lived in River Heights, making nearly an hour long commute every day. His wife and son still lived there, and Frank made a mental note to find out where they lived.

The most recent victim, Elliot Arnoldson, seemed like a really easy-going guy. He was twenty nine and owned a car-repair shop with his girlfriend. On the shop's website, there was a picture of him and his girlfriend, Melanie. They were the kind of happy, blond couple that you often found in the pictures that come with picture frames. Their arms around each other and their smiles lit up the page. Something deep inside Frank's stomach twanged with sadness looking at it. Melanie looked so happy, so in love with Elliot. The tiny voice deep in Frank's mind told him that he knew what she must feel like, but he shook the thought off quickly.

He could practically feel the cogs in his brain turning as he tried to piece things together. It was one of those cases that he loved to hate. Nothing made sense, nothing fit together and there was no clear rhyme or reason. There was absolutely nothing that stood out. These people had no link to each other. They were three people who, until their death, had nothing in common. It was times like these that he was so glad to have Joe. While his brother wasn't the greatest at doing research or finding the subtext to things, he was good at seeing what was blatantly obvious; he could find context in the things where Frank had overthought and overanalyzed.

He blinked again. Without realizing, the sun had set and he was sitting totally alone in their motel room, being blinded by the screen of his laptop. He blinked once more, noticing how heavy his eyelids were. He stood to his full height, took two stumbling steps and crashed down on the bed. And just like that, without a second thought, he was asleep.


Joe strolled down the street casually, gently swinging the bag carrying their takeout. It was dark now, but he wasn't too concerned. It was the first moment in what seemed like forever that he wasn't wracked with guilt, all his thoughts focused on Nancy.

His stomach grumbled and he picked up his pace. The wind wafted the sinfully delicious smell of fries towards his nose and he internally groaned. He was, after all, a growing boy and food, after spending time with Vanessa and solving cases, was his favourite past-time.

He finally turned onto the street the motel was on and stopped dead in his tracks. On a park bench not too far ahead of him sat Cecelia and David. They seemed deep in conversation, their voices carrying in the wind but not quite loud enough to hear. Watching them almost broke Joe's heart. Cecelia talked in the exact same manner that Nancy did, quietly but passionately; emphasizing every word spoken with a thoughtful expression and a barely-quirked eyebrow. Her blond hair was pulled into a low ponytail and mostly covered by a dark blue hat. Her cheeks were flushed with cold and she had her hands shoved in her pocket. She was sitting close to her boyfriend, with her legs crossed towards him and her shoulder pressed against his. David had one hand on her knee and had his body angled towards her. Anyone who knew anything about body language would say that they were extremely comfortable with each other and were simply enjoying a quiet moment. And while Joe considered himself quite adapt in reading body language, something felt off. While everything should have pointed to them just enjoying each other's company, their faces showed something different. Their conversation wasn't a relaxed one, it was tense and stern.

Every part of Joe ached to hear what they were talking about. He knew that their conversation was not one that everyone was meant to hear. There was something secret about it, and there was nothing Joe liked more than secrets. And while his first instinct was to find some sort of way to discretely listen in, before he could stop himself he had plastered a cheery grin onto his face and was waving his arms with every intention of getting their attention.

The looks on their faces were the picture of shock. He could tell that David especially was fighting the instinct to jump up and run for the hills just by the way he was fidgeting in his seat.

"Hey, guys!" Joe exclaimed, jogging over to where they were sitting. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Yeah…" Cecelia laughed nervously, the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile that didn't quite reach her ears. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Well, wouldn't you know that Frank and I are staying in the motel just across the street?" Joe cried grandly, pointing across the street with enthusiasm that almost made him flinch. David and Cecelia exchanged nervous glances and nodded at him.

"Wow, isn't that something," David grumbled, his eyes looking absolutely everywhere but at Joe.

"It sure is," Joe quipped, trying his best to appear cheerful. "Are you guys just out on a walk?

"Sure are," Cecelia replied briskly, smiling at Joe again. "We wanted to take advantage of the weather before it starts to snow. And God knows that once it snows, I will not being leaving the house." Joe forced a laugh, nodding his head in agreement.

"Well, don't let me disrupt you," he said. "I'd best be getting back anyways before this food gets too cold. Frank wouldn't be too happy about that."

"Poor Frank," Cecelia murmured sarcastically, surprising Joe with how bitter her voice sounded. "Well, I guess we will see you around. You two should come by the bakery before you go."

"We sure will," Joe smiled, starting to cross the street. But just as his foot was about to step on the road, he turned around. As he suspected, they couple were exchanging nervous, serious looks. "Cecelia, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Oh, um…" Cecelia glanced at David. "Sure. What is it?"

"How close were you with Nancy?" Joe asked, dropping his appearance as kind and friendly neighbor. Cecelia looked taken aback.

"As close as two people can be," she replied, pressing her lips together. "We were best friends. I shared everything with her."

"It's so strange," Joe said, scratching his head. "Because Nancy never once mentioned you."

"Well, you didn't know everything about her," Cecelia replied sadly. She stood to her feet and pulled on David's sleeve. "Let's go, Dave. I'm cold."

"It's funny you say that, because I'm pretty sure that I did," Joe told her, taking a step in her direction. I knew her favourite colour, her favourite band, how she liked to drink her coffee."

"Those are just superficial things," Cecelia shot back. "Anyone could know that."

"I knew when she had her first kiss, what scared her most, her deepest secrets," Joe continued, his voice getting louder with each step he took towards them. "I've seen her cry, made her laugh, even saved her life once or twice."

"That still doesn't mean anything," she yelled back, finally turning to face Joe. "There were some things she never told you; that she never told anyone!"

"Then how would you know?" Joe screamed, getting even closer. He could see David starting to creep in defensively in favour of his girlfriend, but he didn't care.

Cecelia looked taken aback. She turned her face down towards the ground and shook her head. When she looked back up, Joe was surprised to see tears running down her face. Something deep panged inside of his chest. He hadn't meant to upset her. She retreated slowly, sniffling. "Goodbye, Joe. I hope you enjoy the rest of your time in River Heights. And just so you know, saving her life once or twice doesn't count because you still didn't save her when it really mattered." With that, she ran down the street with a speed that Joe wasn't expecting. Sending a menacing look in Joe's direction, David turned and followed her, calling her name.

With his heart pounding and his mind spinning, Joe tried to decide whether or not to follow them but by the time he had made up his mind, they were already out of sight. Shaking his head with confusion, he turned and crossed the street to the motel with Cecelia's words echoing in his head.


"Nancy," Frank whispered, his heart in his throat. Suddenly, reality had smashed into his brain with disturbing force. "What are we doing?"

Nancy inhaled deeply and pressed her lips against Frank's again, but he pulled back sharply. "Frank, please kiss me. Just…please. Kiss me."

"No, Nancy…!" Frank pushed away from her, shaking his head. "Nance, we aren't single. We can't do this! I can't…I can't do this."

"Frank," Nancy whispered, her eyes downward cast. "I need to tell you something."

"Please don't say it," Frank whispered in horror. "You can't say it…please."

Nancy looked up, her eyes full of tears. Suddenly, blood blossomed around her in the water, tangling around itself and spreading towards him.

"This is your fault, Frank," she moaned, clutching her stomach. "You killed me."

"Don't say that," Frank whispered. "I didn't…"

"You could have saved me!" Nancy screamed her face pale. "Why didn't you save me?"

"I wanted to…I really did," Frank exclaimed. "I wanted to save you…but I couldn't!"

Frank sat up in bed with sweat pouring down his face. The door of their motel room had slammed open and Joe had burst in, throwing the bag containing their food on the table.

He opened his mouth angrily, but his face softened when he saw the distress in his brother's eyes.

"Frank," Joe said with concern. "Are you okay?

And with all honestly, Frank could finally say, "No."


A/N: Holy cannoli, that took so much effort to write. But I hope it wasn't TOO rusty. Reviews?