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.

Many thanks to those who have posted feedback on this story. You make it worth the writing!

September Song

EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 10

Oh God oh God oh God… Frank slued the van onto the shoulder of the highway, bringing it to a shuddering halt. God no… please, God, no… Some rational part in the back of his mind told him that he needed light, and he jerked the steering wheel violently, turning the van sideways to the road so that his headlights bathed the field in glaring brightness.

Incredible as it seemed, the Wrangler was upright on its wheels; apparently it had somersaulted completely over. Thank God for roll bars! Frank switched off his engine and grabbed the large flashlight from the door pocket, then leaped from the van and scrambled down across the ditch and into the field, fighting his way through knee-high grass and berry brambles to get to the jeep.

"Joe! Vanessa!" he yelled, hoping against hope for some response. He struggled through the tangled grass, and ran up to the little vehicle. "Joe!"

"Frank?" It was Vanessa's voice, frightened, but strong.

"Vanessa!" Frank ran to the passenger side of the jeep and yanked the door open. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"I – I think I'm okay…banged around a little…" She reached for her seat belt buckle with trembling hands. "Scared…"

Frank caught her shoulders to hold her still. "Take it slow, hon. Don't try to move around too quickly. Make sure you're okay."

"I think I'm all right. But Joe—" She turned toward the driver's seat. "Joe? Joe?"

Frank handed Vanessa the flashlight and moved hastily around the front of the car to get to his brother's side. "Joe? Little brother? Joe, can you hear me?"

Joe was slumped forward, over the steering wheel. He didn't respond at first to Frank's urgent questions; but as Frank opened the driver's door, he stirred and groaned.

"Ohhhhh… Van – Vanessa?…."

"Easy, Joe. Take it easy."

"Vanessa…the car…" Joe attempted to lift his head, but dropped it back down. "Ohhhhh…"

Very cautiously, Frank took hold of Joe's chin and gently tilted his head back. He felt a warm slickness on his fingers as he did so. Uh oh – he's bleeding somewhere…"Joe, can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah," Joe squinted through barely-opened eyes. "Ow, my head!" He let Frank ease him back against the headrest, and his eyes fluttered closed again.

"Van, give me some more light, please."

In the glow of the flashlight beam, Frank could see Joe's face was streaked with blood dripping in a slow stream from a cut on his forehead. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to the laceration for a moment, then removed it to see how serious the injury was. To his immense relief, he saw the cut was only about half an inch long. He pressed the handkerchief back down firmly.

"Ouch." Joe's voice was stronger now.

"Take it easy," Frank repeated soothingly. He could see Joe also had a lump forming on his temple; apparently he had hit both the steering wheel and the side window during their abrupt flight and landing. Briefly, he wished the airbags had deployed, but decided that would have harmed Joe more than just smacking into the window. Apparently the summersault hadn't triggered them.

Joe finally opened his eyes fully, wincing away from the bright light. "Vanessa…"

"I'm all right, Joe." She leaned closer. "I'm not hurt. Just bruised a little, maybe, and scared."

"Told you…dangerous…" Joe's voice trailed off and his eyes wandered a bit, finally focusing on his brother's face hovering close beside him. "Frank…?"

"It's me, kiddo. Can you see okay? Double vision, or anything?"

"Little…bit…killer headache…"

"Vanessa, will you hold this while I get the first aid kit from the van?" Frank indicated the makeshift bandage he was applying to Joe's forehead. "I'll be right back."

"Sure." She pressed her fingers over his, and the transition was easily made. He hurried through the grass and brambles, secured the first aid kit and returned to the jeep.

"I'm okay…" Joe was muttering. "I'm fine…." He struggled to sit erect, reaching to unsnap his seat belt.

"Hey, hey, hold on," Frank chided, restraining him gently. "I didn't take all those advanced first aid classes just so I could carry a pretty card in my wallet. Just stay still a minute, okay?" He carefully raised the handkerchief and inspected Joe's wound. "I think you'll probably live." He opened the kit and took out a couple of butterfly bandages. "Hang on, I'll get that bleeding stopped in a sec…" Carefully, he applied first one, then the other suture bandage to the cut, patted the area with his handkerchief to remove the remaining blood, and looked again. "That's better."

Joe focused on him again. "Told you…dangerous…" he murmured again.

"Frank, he doesn't sound very coherent," Vanessa whispered.

Joe turned his head slightly. "I'm okay. Just…dizzy."

"He should probably go to the hospital," Frank admitted. But Joe shook his head, wincing at the pain it caused him.

"Uh-uh. No hospital. I'm fine. Stop fussing."

"Do you think you can walk to the van, Joe?" Frank asked him. "You can't drive the Wrangler out of the field. You can't drive at all. Vanessa, could you get it out, you think?"

Vanessa surveyed the ground surrounding her car. "Probably. But I'd rather do it in daylight – and without Joe in the car with a head injury." She got out and walked around to the back. "Damn it, that guy dented it!" She kicked angrily at one of the tires. "He dented my pretty Wrangler!" Her voice shook with fury, and she began to choke up. "He dented…my…"

"Vanessa – don't cry!" Joe struggled against Frank's restraining hand, trying to reach his girlfriend. "We'll get him! Ouch!" He sank back again, lifting a hand to his head.

"Settle down, brat," Frank commanded. "Yes, we'll get him. Later. Right now, we need to get you to the van, get Vanessa to her house, and then get us back home." He slid an arm behind Joe's shoulders. "Want to try standing up?"

"Yeah." Joe slowly swiveled his legs out the door, felt for the ground with his feet and shakily pushed himself to a standing position. He leaned against his older brother. "Everything's tilting…"

"Hang on." Frank pulled Joe's arm across his shoulder and looped his arm about Joe's waist. "Vanessa, grab whatever you need and let's get out of here."

She quickly picked up her purse, turned off the headlights, took the key from the ignition. Patted her pocket to make sure the tape was still there. "I'm ready." She slung her purse strap over her shoulder and moved to Joe's other side. "Come on, Joe, we've got you. Just move your feet occasionally." She slid her arm around Joe, criss-crossing with Frank. The three of them moved across the field slowly. Joe leaned heavily upon his supports at first, but walked more and more steadily as they progressed towards the road. By the time they reached the van, he was insisting he was fine, and attempting to walk unaided to prove it.

Frank slid open the side door, and he and Vanessa eased Joe onto the seat. "Stretch out flat," he advised his brother. "We're going to ignore the seat belt laws just this once; we've only got a little way to go to Vanessa's." Joe nodded silently, lay back and put his arm across his eyes.

Vanessa climbed into the front passenger seat, and Frank resumed his place behind the wheel. Starting the engine, he carefully steered the van back onto the highway, creeping along at a slow rate of speed, endeavoring not to jar Joe more than necessary.

Lights still blazed from the Benders' farmhouse, and Vanessa sighed.

"Uh-oh. It looks like Mom's still up. This will take some explaining."

"She's going to have a fit," muttered Joe from the back seat.

"Why?" Frank inquired. "It wasn't any of it our fault. Vanessa's not hurt, and the jeep's pretty much okay. And Andrea's sort of like Mom – she's getting used to occasional mayhem in her life!"

Vanessa laughed ruefully. "I think she still wishes I'd find someone a little safer to date."

They got out of the van; Joe still somewhat shaky. Frank took his arm to steady him as they went into the house through the back door.

"Mom?"

"Hi, guys." Andrea Bender, a slightly shorter version of her blonde daughter, walked into the kitchen to greet them, but the welcoming smile on her face faded as she took in their appearance. "What in the world? What's happened to Joe? Vanessa, are you okay, honey? What happened?"

"Some creep ran the jeep off the road, back there by the fields," Vanessa explained briefly. "I'm fine, Mom, but Joe's hurt. And – and the Wrangler's dented a little. And – um – it's still in the field."

"Frank, bring Joe in here so he can lie down on the couch." Andrea beckoned the Hardys toward the living room. "Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No," Joe answered quickly. "I'm fine, Andrea; it's just a bump on the head and a little cut. Frank patched it up already." He winced as Frank eased him onto the long sofa. "But I'd appreciate some ice—"

"I'm on it!" Vanessa called from the kitchen. "Be right there!" There came the sound of ice cubes being rattled in their bin.

"—and maybe some aspirin," Joe finished, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I think there's a little imp pounding messages on a log, inside my head."

"Why would someone have run you off the road?" Andrea wondered aloud. She glanced from one boy to the other. "You two on another case? If so, I'd rather you left Vanessa out of it, if it's going to put her in danger like this!"

"Forget it, Mom, I'm already involved," Vanessa announced. She bent over the couch and placed an ice pack on Joe's forehead. "There babe, that should help." She pulled the precious tape from her jacket pocket and held it up for Andrea to see. "This is something you absolutely will not believe, Mom. And I need to make a copy of it, right away." She headed toward the entertainment center against the wall and began touching buttons.

Andrea's lips twitched. "Sounds like I've been overruled, and right here in my own living room!" she murmured. "I'll get you that aspirin, Joe."

Frank watched Vanessa do her set-up and start the copying process. She didn't turn on the television to monitor it, merely made sure the original was rewound before she started. "I don't want to watch it again; at least not right now," she admitted to the boys. Joe chuckled a little, then muttered "ouch," and subsided into silence again. Andrea returned to the room with a glass of water and a couple of Excedrin, which she handed to the younger Hardy. Joe thanked her, gulped the capsules and lay down again, carefully adjusting his ice pack.

"We don't need to stick around, really," Frank said, as both Andrea and Vanessa sat down. "Joe needs to get home to rest. But we did want to explain about the jeep."

"It's not badly damaged?" Andrea asked, and all three teens were quick to assure her that the damage was minimal. "And Vanessa, you think you can get it out without a tow truck?" Again, an affirmative response from her daughter. "Well, since it wasn't your fault, nobody's seriously hurt, and we can get it back okay, I don't see that you're any of you in trouble. At least not with me!"

Frank heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Andrea. I was hoping you'd understand." He patted Joe's foot. "Hey, little brother, you up to another ride?"

"Yeah." Joe slowly sat up, still holding the ice against his forehead. "Let's get moving. Thanks again for the aspirin," he added to Mrs. Bender. "Van, see you tomorrow." He got to his feet, and Frank took his arm once again. Vanessa and her mother followed them to the door, and watched as the boys got in the van, Frank started the motor, and they pulled out onto the highway, heading for Bayport once again.

By the time the boys reached their home, it was past eleven o'clock; they knew their mother had probably gone to bed. Both felt this was fortunate; Laura might be, as Frank said, "used to occasional mayhem," but she didn't need to see Joe's condition tonight. However, Frank reminded his brother that she would need to see it the next day.

"You shouldn't do football practice tomorrow, and you'll need a written excuse from Mom. Let's just hope that swelling goes down overnight."

They slipped inside, switching off the kitchen light left on for their benefit, and went quietly upstairs. Once in their rooms, with the doors to the connecting bathroom open but the ones to the hallway shut, they could talk freely once more.

"Joe, I gambled, not taking you to the emergency room." Frank spoke around a mouthful of toothbrush. "So for Pete's sake, if you start feeling bad, tell me, right away. Okay?

"Okay, okay." Joe had already brushed his teeth, and was stretched out on his bed, the ice pack Vanessa had given him resting on his forehead. "But all I really need is some sleep. I'd be okay for football practice tomorrow."

"Don't push it," his brother advised. "Admit it, sometimes it's sort of nice to have a ready-made excuse to get out of drills."

Joe removed the ice pack and stacked his pillows so that he was half-sitting. "What do you think we should do about that tape? Once we contact the police about it, it's taken out of our hands. You know what'll happen; it's 'back off and let the police handle it' time again."

"I know," Frank conceded. He leaned against the door frame, toothbrush in hand. "I think maybe we'll mail that tape to the police department, marked for Con's attention. That might give us a couple of days to find out just where Megan's dad fit into all this."

"We know where he fit in!" Joe exclaimed, sitting upright, which he immediately regretted. "Ow!…shoot…" He lay back gingerly, then continued. "He filmed Crowley and Waring talking – looked like they all were in the parking lot at the manufacturing site. They must have spotted him; that's why the recording ends so suddenly."

"But he obviously escaped them for a while," Frank reasoned, sitting down on the edge of Joe's bed. "Otherwise the tape wouldn't have been in the Wright's family room, with the deceptive label.

"I keep thinking I've heard of this Dr. Waring somewhere before," Frank continued, frowning in concentration. "I just can't put my finger on it…something I read, somewhere…"

Joe yawned, and his eyes drifted shut for a moment. "Maybe you'll think of it during the night," he murmured. "Tomorrow you can look him up on the computer. If you read about him, it probably was in the newspaper."

"That's it!" Frank reached to give his brother's leg a congratulatory slap, but pulled back just in time, remembering Joe's condition. "It was a newspaper article. Quite a while ago, too – several years."

"Why were you reading newspaper articles about weird doctors when you were fourteen?" Joe yawned again. "Can't we get some sleep?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. You're right." Frank stood up. "Better get in bed, little bro, you don't want to sleep on top of the covers in your clothes, do you?"

"No, not especially." Joe slowly rose to his feet and began undressing. "but I may be asleep standing up, in a minute." He peeled off his bloodstained polo shirt, then wriggled out of his jeans. A few moments later he was sliding beneath the blankets, eyes already closing in sleep.

#########

Morning found both boys wishing they'd had a few more hours' rest. The bump on Joe's temple had not subsided much, and had turned purple to boot, but his headache had subsided, and he could function normally. Frank rose the same time Joe did, even though he didn't have to be at school until noon. He wanted time to research Dr. Waring on his computer.

"Morning, Mom," Frank said as he and Joe entered the Hardy kitchen. Laura looked up from the table where she was reading the morning newspaper.

"Good morning, honey. Joe, you're going to have to hurry; you're running a little bit—" Laura broke off as she got a good look at her younger son. "Joseph Hardy, what in the world happened to you?"

"Just a little accident with Vanessa's jeep," Joe mumbled, hastily sliding into his chair and reaching for the box of Cheerios on the table. "No big deal."

"Is Vanessa all right – and the jeep?" Mrs. Hardy asked with concern.

Joe nodded, drank half his orange juice in two gulps, and replied, "She's better off than I am. But could you write me an excuse from football practice for today, Mom? Frank—" with a disgusted glance at his brother – "Frank thinks I shouldn't practice today."

"He probably has a point," Laura said dryly, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen. "He does occasionally, you know."

Joe quickly ate his breakfast, pocketed his note, and prepared to leave. He automatically reached for his set of car keys, then hesitated. "It's your turn for the van today, isn't it?"

"Oh, go ahead; I'll ride again today," Frank replied, waving a dismissive hand. "If it was raining, I'd hold you to it, but it's okay. You'll be better off driving anyway; the helmet would probably make your head ache."

"Thanks!" Joe grinned his appreciation, grabbed his backpack, and was out the back door. Frank finished his breakfast, stacked his dishes on the counter, and told his mother he was going back upstairs to do some computer research.

"…and Mom – if I get involved, could you yell at me when it's 11:30, so I don't miss my class?"

"Assuming I'm here and watching the clock, of course I will," his mother answered. "If I go out, I'll tell you, so that you can keep an eye on it yourself."

Frank hurried to his room, turned on the computer, and set to work, instigating a search for articles about a doctor named Waring. Waring…Waring…Bayport General Hospital…. At three years and five months back, he hit pay dirt.

Bayport General…Dr. Gerald Waring…Bingo! Frank leaned closer to the screen, studying the words intently. Accused of questionable medical practices…indications of "mercy killings" of terminally ill patients….

The articles continued for several days, then spread further apart. The physician had been put on leave from the hospital, pending outcome of the investigation…then, two months after the first accusations had been filed, the case came to trial. Frank eagerly read on, following the proceedings through the reporters' eyes.

After all the witness were called and the evidence was in…jury deliberated for half a day…verdict of not guilty! Inconclusive evidence…reluctance of witnesses to testify…

"Acquitted for lack of evidence – and reluctance of witnesses to testify against him," Frank murmured. "And then what happened…?" He clicked on the next set of articles. Dr. Waring…reinstated as practicing physician at Bayport General Hospital…

That seems odd, Frank mused. Hospitals usually aren't too eager to associate themselves with someone in Dr. Waring's situation. Even an acquittal leaves a lot of things open to question.

Still pondering, he printed out the articles, then put them with his school books. He would show them to Megan later in the day.

At 11:30 he clattered down the stairs, gave Laura a hasty goodbye kiss, and climbed aboard his motorcycle once again, after stowing his books in the saddlebags. He pulled on his helmet, started the motor, and was down the driveway and out into the street with a swooping flourish, heading for Bayport Community College and his class on Shakespeare's plays.

##########

At 12:55 the buzzer sounded, ending the class for another day. Frank collected his notes, his head full of Elizabethan phrases, and reminded himself that he needed to read and review the second act of Henry IV before Thursday. Mental reminder duly noted, he promptly put Shakespeare and his dramatic works out of his mind, and switched gears to the problem of Dr. Gerald Waring and his medical ethics.

Frank hurried down the sidewalk towards the student center, eager to meet Megan for lunch. He spotted her waiting just outside the entrance, and waved. She returned the wave, and walked toward him, smiling.

"Hi," she said demurely, as they met. Frank reached for her hand and pulled her close to his side.

"Hey, long time no see." That was a brilliant remark, Hardy! Why can't you say anything halfway intelligent to this girl?

"How was Shakespeare?" Megan inquired, as they went into the crowded building, joining the lines snaking into the food courts.

"I'm glad I didn't live back then; too tough to talk!" Frank grimaced. "Too many 'wilt thous' and 'doths' for my taste. But the story is actually pretty interesting – at least, I think it is…if I understand it right."

"I actually like the comedies best," Megan admitted as she selected a salad. "And I expect almost every girl in the world loves Romeo and Juliet. But the histories are okay too."

They continued chatting about their classes as they got their lunches, then took them outside once again, to eat in the soft September sunshine.

"Do you know if Vanessa got the tape copied?" Megan changed the subject, as they sat down.

Frank gulped. He suddenly remembered that Megan didn't have any idea about the incidents of the previous night.

"I think so. Megan, listen, I need to tell you something. But don't freak on me, okay?"

Aqua eyes widened. "Freak on you? Why? What happened?" Megan demanded. "Frank Hardy, what haven't you told me?"

Frank recounted their encounter with the battered gray car, while Megan listened intently, her chin propped on her doubled fists, and her long-lashed eyes glued to his face. When he finished, emphasizing the facts that neither Joe nor Vanessa was seriously hurt, and the Wrangler only slightly dented, she sat back, scowling.

"Frank, this is awful," she said somberly. "I've put you all in danger."

"Uh-uh!" he denied, shaking his head vigorously. "We've been around the block before, so to speak. This wasn't the first time we've been tailed, or run off the road, and it probably won't be the last." He paused, thinking. "There's no way anyone could have known Vanessa had that tape. It was just plain bad luck that it was her car—" he broke off, grinning a little. "She was right – she probably would have been completely safe, driving home alone; it was because Joe was with her that they were attacked!"

"Crowley probably thinks the tape is in our house," Megan mused. She shivered a little. "Creepy…that probably means we'll get broken into some time soon."

"You might call the police department, and ask for a step-up in patrols around your neighborhood," Frank suggested. "It might make Crowley's little helpers think twice before burgling your house again."

"So what happens now?" she asked practically. "You're going to give a copy of the tape to the police, right?"

"Would you mind if we mailed it? They'll get it in a day or two, but that would give Joe and me a little time to work on the case. Once the police have that tape, we'll be ordered off."

"My mom would probably disagree, but I don't have any problem with it," Megan replied. "That tape will put Crowley behind bars, all right, unless he has a pretty slick lawyer – but I want to know who murdered my father. You're my best bet for that."

That's all I am? Just the way to catch and convict her father's murderer? Give it up, Hardy; you're just the means to an end, for her…

Frank reached for his backpack. "I have something to show you," he said, taking out the printed newspaper articles. "The bloody-handed Doctor Waring's euthanasia trial. It was almost four years ago." He spread the papers out on the table, and he and Megan bent their heads over them. "See – he was tried, but the jury found him innocent. Lack of evidence, lack of reliable witnesses…"

"But – assuming he actually performed those 'mercy killings,' that puts Waring in a very vulnerable position," Megan said thoughtfully. "Always under suspicion, if anything looks amiss." She re-read the last article, scowling down at the words. "Frank, why would the hospital reinstate him after all this? Surely he wasn't such a great doctor that they wanted him back regardless of the charges against him – even if he wasn't convicted!"

"I thought it was funny, too. But there's no understanding the minds of a hospital administration. Maybe he knew someone's closet skeleton, or something."

Megan gazed soberly into the brown eyes across the table. "Frank, is there anything we can do to get more evidence on Ted Crowley? Anything that will tie him to my father's death?"

"I think—" Frank spoke slowly, hesitating. "I think maybe a little computer hacking may be in order. If Vanessa and I work on it, we just might be able to get into Crowley Manufacturing's computers. If we can get in there, we just may be able to access Crowley's personal files – with luck. With more luck, there may be a record of payoffs to our dear Doctor Waring. And who knows what else we might find?"

"That's a lot of 'ifs' and 'just mays' and 'with lucks'," Megan commented bitterly. Seeing Frank's face fall, she reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. "I'm sorry, Frank; I know you are doing your best. I'm too impatient."

"You have a right to be impatient. You asked us to do an investigation for you, and so far we haven't come up with much of anything. All we've managed to do is put both you and your mother – and Vanessa! – into danger." Frank's mouth set in a grim line. "And I don't like that at all."

"We were in danger before I ever met you," Megan reminded him gently. "And we were unaware of it – and wouldn't have known why we were in danger if we had been aware. We're better off knowing."

"I wish I could zap you to a distant island, where you'd be safe." Frank was smiling a little now, and he turned his hand over to enfold her fingers in his. "Safe – and happy."

The raucous sound of the school buzzer suddenly echoed through the air, reminding students of impending classes. Both Megan and Frank jumped involuntarily, then laughed – but the tender mood was broken. Frank began gathering up the sheets of paper from the table, and Megan quickly picked up her fork and resumed eating her salad.

Just as Frank finished stowing the articles in his backpack, a musical chiming sound came from one of its pockets. Megan cocked her head inquiringly, then smiled as Frank pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.

"Hello?….Oh hi, Joe – s'up?" Frank listened, nodding. "You've got it? Good…Yeah, can you get an envelope at the school office, or something?…I know it's not a post office, but…hey, you don't have football practice, can't you take it to the post office and mail it from there?…Uh huh, just send it to Con's attention. Oh, and put a note with it, that says it's from us. Otherwise who knows what might happen to it….whaddya mean, I owe you one?…just remember who did the first aid last night, huh? Okay, bro – thanks! Catch you later."

Frank flipped the cover shut and grinned at Megan. "Vanessa has delivered the tape and its copy to Joe. He's going to mail it to—"

"I heard," she said dryly. "To 'Con's attention.' Whoever Con is."

"Sergeant Con Riley," Frank explained. "He's a good guy – probably our best friend on the police force."

"Which gives you another day or two."

Frank's smile faded. "We're back to that again. I wish we were moving faster on this, Megan, really. I feel like we're running in molasses."

"No – no! I'm sorry. This is crazy – I ask for your help and then crab all the time about the job you're doing!"

Frank pulled his phone out again, and punched a single digit. "Joe? Hey, can you ask Vanessa if she's busy after school today?…She's right there?…Yeah, I'll hold on….Vanessa, hi….do you have some free time after school? Yeah – I need some help…well, it has something to do with hacking into some computer files…"