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 written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

Fanfare for June

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 10

"What the…?" Joe's exclamation was hushed with horror, and he instinctively gripped his elder brother's arm. "That looks like – is it—?"

"Dunno…" Frank breathed. "That's about as obvious a death threat as I could imagine, don't you think? We were right about someone threatening Phil!"

Quietly, the two stepped further into the apartment. "Careful not to touch anything, we don't want to muddy potential clues," Frank cautioned, and received a disgusted look from Joe in return.

"Helloooo – I'm not a total novice at this, remember?" the younger Hardy reminded him. "PHIL?" he bellowed suddenly into the silence, nearly causing Frank to leap out of his shoes. "Phil? You here?"

No answer, only continued silence.

Frank, still edgy with reaction to Joe's yell, crossed the living room, heading for Phil's room, where the girls had changed their clothes on Friday night. He wrapped his hand into his shirt tail before touching the doorknob, and gently eased the door open.

A little messy, but just lived-in, he mused, looking around the small room. Phil was fairly neat, but all available surfaces were cluttered with various sorts of computer equipment and techno-toys; with a few pens, small tablets of paper, and office supplies included. From what Frank remembered of Phil's room back in Bayport, he deduced that Phil had acquired a few more gadgets since leaving home. I'd have a hard time figuring out if anything was missing, here – I don't know what all Phil owns, now!

Frank backed out of the room, and saw Joe emerging from Phil's roommate's bedroom. "Nothing," the younger Hardy muttered. "And he's obviously not in the bathroom," he added, indicating the open door. "This place is about the size of our garage," Joe went on. "In fact, the garage might be a little bigger! I wonder if this is what it would be like if you and I shared an apartment in the city, instead of living at home?"

"Not much chance of that happening any time in the near future; not with us going to college in Bayport," Frank replied.

"I don't even want to think about going to college!" Joe protested. "I just escaped high school, remember?"

"You haven't officially escaped high school," Frank reminded him gleefully. "Not until you have that diploma in your hot little hands, and that doesn't happen for nearly another week. There's still time for the teachers at Bayport High to realize they've made a horrible mistake with your grades, and keep you there for another year," He grinned teasingly at Joe, highly amused by his brother's stricken look.

"Bite your tongue!" Joe said. He walked over to the half-obscured picture of Phil, and leaned close, examining it carefully but not touching it. Then he laid a finger in the gooey red substance.

"Careful," Frank warned. "It might be something caustic—"

"I am." As Frank watched with apprehension, Joe brought his finger to his nose, sniffed, and then tentatively touched his tongue to it. A grin spread across the younger Hardy's face.

"Ya want fries with that?" he said.

"Ketchup?" Frank asked, heaving a sigh of exasperated relief.

"Ketchup," Joe confirmed. He went over to the desk and pushed the playback button on Phil's telephone answering machine, again being careful not to add his own fingerprints.

Silently, they listened to the messages. Three were from them; two from Joe, one from Frank. "I probably left more than that on his cell phone," Frank commented quietly. Four more messages were directed to Matt, Phil's roommate. There was nothing that sounded remotely like a threat to Phil. The final message was to Phil, but it was his boss, asking him if he could possibly change his schedule and work some hours on Sunday.

"Sunday – that's today!" Frank realized. "Phil might just be at work!" If we've dashed up here and gotten all worried over nothing, and all the time he was just at his job…!

"Can we call him there?" Joe asked, switching the answering machine back to recording mode.

"I don't have his work number," Frank frowned, and looked around near the telephone, hoping to see it written down somewhere. "I suppose Computer Wizardry is in the telephone book, though—"

"Maybe in his planner?" Joe suggested, and began hunting through the drawers of the desk, no longer being quite so careful about leaving fingerprints. He unearthed an extremely scribbled-on planner, and started leafing through it.

The sudden noise of a key being inserted into the door lock made both the boys jump. "Hope it's Phil!" Joe breathed, but their hopes were dashed when the door was shoved open and a stranger walked in. This, then, must be Matt, Phil's roommate.

The newcomer jerked to a halt, startled first by the impaled picture of Phil, and then by seeing the Hardys. "Who are you?" he demanded harshly. "What are you doing here? And what the heck did you do to my wall – and to Phil's picture?"

Frank stepped forward. "I'm Frank Hardy," he said. "I'm a friend of Phil's, from Bayport. This is my brother, Joe. You must be Matt?" He extended his hand towards the other man. "We didn't do that to your wall; it was like that when we got here." He hoped fervently that Matt didn't think to question how he and Joe had managed to get into the apartment!

"Frank Hardy?" Matt relaxed and took Frank's hand in a friendly clasp. "Phil's told me all about you guys! You're like FAMOUS, man!" He shook hands with Joe. "And yeah, I'm Matt – Matt Eckersley."

"Don't believe everything Phil's said about us," Frank chuckled. "He was probably telling you a pack of lies."

"I don't think so, man – aren't you guys like, detectives, or something?"

"Well, something like that," Joe admitted. He stared at Matt, taking in the other's guy's appearance. Matt was about four inches shorter than Joe's six foot, and extremely skinny; he probably didn't weigh much more than 140 pounds. He had long, streaked blonde hair, with one vagrant lock which hung over his right eye. Said eye and its mate were a greenish-hazel in color, and he appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in jeans and a heather-gray tee-shirt with a well-known sports logo on it, and a silver stud earring in his left ear sparkled in the beam of sunlight coming in through the window.

"Do you guys know where Phil is?" he asked now. "And what about this?" He pointed to the knifed picture.

"We were hoping you knew!" Joe exclaimed. Quickly, he explained about the strange telephone call he had received from Phil ordering them not to come to New York. "And we haven't been able to reach him since!" he concluded. "We've been trying here, and on his cell phone, but…no answer!"

"Oh, man." Matt ruefully shoved back the unruly strand of hair. "I haven't been here – I spent all of yesterday and last night with my girlfriend, Macey. I haven't seen Phil since two days ago. He wasn't home when I woke up yesterday – but that's not unusual; Phil keeps, like, really weird hours."

Frank choked back a laugh; he suspected that it was Matt who kept 'really weird hours,' rather than Phil Cohen, but he didn't voice his suspicions. Aloud, he said: "Do you have Phil's work number, Matt? Or Allison Lewis's? Or both?"

Matt nodded. "Sure do," he said, and ambled over to the small kitchen area. He opened a small card file box on the counter and pulled out a card. "This is Phil's number at Computer Wizardry. Allison's number is on the pad by the phone. So's Macey's number," he continued. "You know, in case of emergencies, and stuff like that."

"Thanks." Frank took his cell phone from his pocket, and dialed the number for Computer Wizardry. When his call was answered, he asked for Phil, but was told that Phil wasn't available. Frank asked if he could possibly speak to the manager.

"That's me," the cheerful voice on the other end of the line responded. "Brad Turnbuckle."

Frank recognized Turnbuckle's name; this had been the man who had called Phil and left the message about changing his work hours. He explained who he was, and how he had been attempting to contact Phil.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Hardy, but I can't help you," Turnbuckle said now. "Phil called and told me that something had come up, and that he wouldn't be able to work the extra hours I'd asked him to. That's why I'm here; I had to come in and take this shift. I guess I can't complain, though; Phil's usually real good about covering when we're short-handed, and if he asks to take some extra time off, it's not that big a problem."

"When did you see Phil last?" Frank asked.

"Yesterday," Brad answered. "He worked a split shift on Saturday – pre-opening at 7, till 10. Then later, noon to three. That's his usual schedule on Saturdays."

"Anything unusual happen, that you can remember?" Frank pressed, hoping for any sort of clue, no matter how marginal.

"Well, yeah—" Turnbuckle's voice was thoughtful. "Phil got a phone call about an hour before his shift was over. I don't know what it was about, but he was really quiet after that, and kind of distracted. But he did his usual good job, even so, and I didn't make a big deal out of it."

"Thanks, Mr. Turnbuckle. If you happen to hear from Phil, could you give me a call?" Frank left his cell phone number, and ended the call, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration as he tried to make heads or tails of what this all meant.

Matt had plopped himself down on the couch while Frank was talking to Brad Turnbuckle, his thin face somber as he listened to Frank's side of the conversation. Now he spoke: "Do you two dudes think someone's like, kidnapped Phil, or something?" he demanded.

"We don't know," Frank replied. "It doesn't make any sense that anyone would do that, but neither does the fact that Phil's disappeared and isn't answering his phone, or trying to contact us. It's not like Phil to act this way – so there must be something important going on!"

"Totally," Matt concurred. "Phil's like, a really level-headed guy, and way too smart to let some bogus phony scare him." He glanced at the picture. "But that's like extreme nasty, that is! What the heck's going on, anyway? You said something about a violin?"

"Allison Lewis's Stradivarius violin disappeared after the concert on Friday night," Frank informed him. "We were at the concert, and Phil asked us to look into it."

"That was after someone tried to snatch it from her right on the street!" Joe chimed in. "But then Phil called and told us not to come…"

"That is a total bummer, that someone would make off with Allison's strings like that!" Matt scowled. "Not cool – not cool at all!" He looked from Frank to Joe hopefully. "Is there anything I can do to help you guys? 'Cause it would be like totally righteous if I got to help you dudes out on a case, or something like that – I've always wanted to have an adventure!" He grinned engagingly, and both Hardys automatically smiled in response.

"If you can, Matt, we'll be sure to let you know," Joe assured him. "There may be something you can do."

"Dude!" Matt brushed back his hair again, his smile wide with anticipation.

"One thing you definitely can do is call us if you hear from Phil," Frank said, and jotted down his and Joe's cell numbers on the pad next to the telephone.

"Definitely, dude."

Taking note of Allison's phone number, Frank tried calling her next, but there was no answer. Snapping his teeth together in frustration as he listened to the monotonous ringing followed by the answering-machine pickup, Frank finally disconnected and turned to Matt again. "Do you know where Allison lives?"

"Sure do," was the response. "Her parents don't live all that far away, but she stays at the dorm at Julliard most of the time. Phil told me she lives there year-round, because she is going to be taking summer classes. I can give you directions." He paused, consideringly, then went on. "Hey, would you like me to call Macey, my girlfriend? She's a student at Julliard too – only she's a singer, not an instrumentalist. She does, like, musicals – like off-Broadway shows. Her teachers really hate that!" he added, chuckling. "They want her to concentrate on serious singing, I guess. But that's not where the money is."

Frank nodded, but steered the conversation back to Allison. "That would be great, Matt, if you would call her. If Macey could help us find Allison, it would be a big help!"

Matt nodded amiably, and dialed the number. "Babe? It's me…"

While the Hardys waited, Joe pulled another little kit from his pocket, and proceeded to go over the picture and knife and the surrounding wall for fingerprints. First he applied a fine spray, then brushed dust over the area, but after a few moments he shook his head at Frank, and mouthed clean. Whoever had done this had covered their tracks.

Matt had observed all this with fascination while carrying on a conversation with Macey. For the most part, all the Hardys heard was "Babe," and "Sure, Baby," and "no freakin' way!" but he did make his request for her to check on Allison Lewis. After a few minutes Matt hung up and reported his findings.

"Macey's like going to go over to Allison's room," he informed them. "She'll see if Alli's there, and if she isn't, at least she could talk to her roommate, Sarah, if she's there. Maybe she can find out something." He stared at Joe's activities. "Dude, that is like extreme cool!"

"Didn't come up with anything, though," Joe grunted, and returned the apparatus to his pocket.

They waited for what seemed like an interminable time, but was in reality only ten minutes or so. When the phone rang, Matt jumped for it. Frank and Joe were hoping against hope that it might be Phil himself – but they could tell from Matt's "Hey, Baby!" that it was Macey, calling him back. After a brief conversation, Matt hung up and turned to them, his eyes wide.

"Guys, Macey talked to Allison's roommate," he said. "Allison wasn't there. And Sarah had just got there; she was away last night. She said that there was a message on their answering machine – a guy said that if Allison didn't let the violin go, he was going to get rid of her! PERMANENTLY!"