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).
This story was originally written in the early 2000s. There are many technological differences from today's world.
Co-written with RokiaHDA, who wrote back then under the name of Aspen.
Ides of August
By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA
Chapter 14
"What in the world…?" Laura stared at her sons' hotel room in shock. "This is beyond searching, it's…it's…."
"It's weird," Vanessa murmured at her shoulder. The three women gazed about the room, while the hotel maid cowered in the doorway. "Look at it…"
"Someone with a really warped sense of humor did this," Megan commented in her turn. She walked carefully across the room, stepping over clothes and the boys' personal possessions. "Look, all the blankets and sheets are hanging off the balcony railing…"
Vanessa had poked her head into the bathroom. "Everything is dumped out on the floor – well, I don't mean shampoo, or anything, but all the bottles are on the floor, and the guys' shaving kits, and the towels and stuff."
"There are – there's—" Laura's voice was shocked, but it was beginning to quiver with something vaguely akin to laughter. "hanging on the light fixtures, there's…"
"Underwear," Megan finished the sentence, and choked back a giggle. "Please tell me this isn't because they finally decided to unpack!"
"Don't touch anything," Laura warned, as Vanessa automatically bent to start picking things up. "The police will need to check this out."
The maid, who had stepped back into the hall, popped her head into the room. "I've called hotel security," she announced. "They'll be here right away, ma'am."
Slowly, Laura and the girls backed out of the room, and waited in the hallway. In just a few minutes, the hotel security team arrived. They took one look at the chaos in the room, and started asking questions.
"When did this happen, ma'am?"
"I'm not sure; we've just arrived back from shopping. We were gone all morning," Laura replied. "When we got here, Miss – Debra, you said your name was? – Debra was standing in the hallway; she'd just opened the room and discovered it."
The security chief looked at the devastated room once again, and called the police.
When the officers from the Stateline police station got there, Laura took in Lieutenant Hunt's presence without batting an eye.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Hunt," she greeted him equably. "We seem to have encountered a little problem."
The blonde lieutenant chuckled grimly, and waved his two assistants into the room to start searching for clues. "Mrs. Hardy, I've never seen anyone get involved by accident in so many things as you and your family seem to! Well, let's hear what you can tell me."
As Lt. Hunt was taking their brief statements, the door of Laura's and Fenton's room across the hall opened, and Fenton stood there, regarding the scene with a puzzled expression. Dressed now, in slacks and a golf shirt, but no shoes, he had Frank's camcorder slung about his neck.
"What's going on?" he demanded. "I was taking a nap, and I heard all the uproar – what in the world?" He moved across the hall, and surveyed the boys' room. "What happened?"
He received explanations from Laura, Lieutenant Hunt, and Vanessa, all at the same time, but managed to get a fair idea of the situation, nevertheless. He frowned thoughtfully, absently toying with the camera strap.
"Why would anyone search Frank and Joe's room – and no one else's?" he asked.
"Had you found anything in your investigation of the food poisoning incidents, or the thefts, that might have been in there?" Lieutenant Hunt queried.
"No." Fenton shook his head. "Nothing since yesterday – I haven't been out of bed much since then," he admitted ruefully. "And evidently I slept right through this!" He slipped off the camera, and handed it to Megan. "Here, Megan." He stepped into the trashed room, watching as the investigative team worked. They didn't seem to be finding anything at all in the way of clues, he noted. Fenton was beginning to be very suspicious.
"Lieutenant Hunt, were there any thefts happening before we arrived here four days ago?" he asked.
The lieutenant shook his head. "No, sir. They started three days ago. The food poisoning, yeah – that had been going on. But not the thefts." He sighed, and swept his hand out, indicating the hotel room. "So far, the only thing we're finding here is that someone jimmied the lock to get in; other than that – zilch!"
Eventually, Laura and the girls signed their statements, the police finished their tasks, and Lieutenant Hunt swept his entourage off to the elevators. Laura, Megan and Vanessa set to work to sort out the mess, and Fenton located a chair, shoved the various articles off, and gratefully sank into it.
Vanessa started in the bathroom, picking up the complimentary bottles of shampoo and conditioner, hanging up the towels, trying to replace things in the boys' grooming kits. She had no idea whose stuff was whose; she merely laid them neatly on the counter, figuring Frank and Joe could sort it out later.
Megan and Laura set about bringing in the blankets, sheets and bedspreads from where they dangled over the balcony railing, and remaking the beds. The pillows had been stuffed in the shower, but luckily were not too wet. When the beds were made, all three of the women began putting the clothes back in some semblance of order.
Since Laura saw their clothes when she did the weekly laundry, she could usually identify which shirts belonged to which boy. The pants were easy to separate; Frank's were an inch longer leg length. The shorts, however, were a tossup, although the damp ones were clearly Frank's from the day before. Megan and Vanessa, both blushing slightly, left sorting underwear to Laura.
"What is this?" Laura's voice sounded just a bit choked, as she removed a scanty, dark-red article from the hanging lamp over the table. "And whose is it?" The girls looked – and laughed.
"Um – that's Frank's new swim suit," Vanessa informed Laura, winking at Megan, but secretly hoping this wasn't going to cause a problem. The Hardys weren't terribly strait-laced – in fact, they were among the most easy-going parents Vanessa was acquainted with! – but that was quite some swimwear, all the same!
Laura's eyebrows shot up, but she didn't say anything, she merely turned her head and caught Fenton's eye. He looked like he was trying very hard not to explode with laughter. Her lips twitched in response. "Very pretty color," she remarked calmly, and folded it into a drawer.
As they worked, Laura told Fenton what she and the girls had overheard at the restaurant, and the ensuing conversation with the waitresses from the Grand Tahoe Resort. He listened closely, mulling things over in his mind.
So Evan Reed had a fiancée who killed herself because she was fired by Cameron Jacobs for accused theft…. he mused. I just need a little more information; I can feel it coming together – but I don't know quite enough yet.
Now that things were nearly back to normal in the room, Megan began to think about Frank's camcorder again. She wondered how much tape there was left in the camera. Frank had been filming a great deal, those first two days.
"Van, did you see any other camcorder tapes around?" she asked, looking about the room.
"No, I didn't see any." The younger girl shook her head. "I'm sure Frank brought plenty of extra film; where could it have gone? I didn't see Frank's laptop either, but nothing else is missing…." Vanessa, too, looked about curiously.
"What are you missing, girls?" Fenton roused himself from his abstraction to inquire.
"Frank's extra film, and his laptop," Megan explained. "If they're gone…"
"Oh, no – it's okay; it's in my room," he reassured them. "I've got the whole bag of extra film and other stuff in there, including Frank's laptop."
Still wondering just how much film was left in the camera, Megan decided to play the whole thing from the beginning. She plugged the camera into its AC adaptor, and sat down on the couch to watch.
There was the first day…arriving at the airport in Reno…film of the rental car, the road from Reno, the mountains, the lake. There's the first Shakespearean reenactment, and scenes from around the hotel…. She kept watching, mentally reliving their activities as she did so. There we are on the beach – Joe doing his handstands, and Vanessa with sand in her shoes – why did Frank take so much film footage of me, for Pete's sake? She smiled warmly. There we are with the statues back at Caesars…and there's Vanessa doing 'Walk Like an Egyptian'…. And there we are posing, and there's the reenactment rehearsal behind us….
Megan frowned slightly, watching the movement of the actors in the background. Somehow, they didn't seem to be doing the same professional-looking job they had during performance. She rewound the tape a bit, and watched it again, noting they were working on the stabbing scene. Why does that look odd…? She stopped the tape with a gulp, feeling the color drain from her face.
The knife held by the 'actor' was gleaming a bright red.
#####
Joe blinked his eyes open slowly. His vision was blurry, and his eyes stung and itched, full of dust and particles of sandy dirt. He lifted one hand and rubbed them, hard, encouraging them to water enough for tears to wash away the dust.
What happened? Why do I hurt so much? Joe turned his head gingerly, trying to remember where he was, and why he was there at all. Slowly, recollection seeped into his brain. Mount Rose…he and Frank had come to Mount Rose, following the lead left in the telephone message. They had come here, but no one was around…the gunfire! Joe jerked his head up, suddenly remembering the aftermath of that gunfire. Rockslide!
Moving his head hurt – moving everything hurt, but not so badly that he couldn't do it. Joe pushed himself to a sitting position, and looked around. Rocks littered the ground all about him, but he'd evidently been missed by the larger ones – lucky there! he thought. His motorcycle was knocked over, and gouged and dented by the rocks, but not buried. Gathering himself, he struggled to his feet, and began to check himself over for injuries.
He found blood trickling from a cut on his left cheekbone, but it didn't feel too serious. His windbreaker sleeve had been torn and shredded, and his forearm was scraped raw in consequence. His arms and legs felt bruised, but intact. He had a massive headache…Joe rubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to concentrate through the throbbing in his head. Should've left my helmet on….Guess I'm okay…. Suddenly, he looked around, aware of something missing. Frank! Where's Frank?
"Frank? Frank? FRANK!" Joe shouted his brother's name several times, but the only responses he got were echoes, and the soft soughing of the wind in the pine trees. Then more memory trickled back. I came ahead; he wasn't right here, he was back…there…!
Suddenly panic-stricken, Joe backtracked as fast as he could down the access road, picking his way through the increasing amounts of rock and scree lying in the roadway. He reached a mound of rock, and saw what looked to be part of a motorbike sticking out of the rubble…and near it, he then saw the khaki-clad leg and athletic shoe he knew belonged to his brother!
"FRANK!" Joe dashed to the spot, and began frantically moving rocks, trying to be careful, trying not to let anything start sliding onto Frank again. "Frank, I'm coming – hang on, I'll get you out…it'll be okay, just hang on." Carefully, do it carefully…oh God, he's got to be all right!
Frank wasn't totally buried in rock, Joe realized with relief. He was lying facedown in a pile of smallish boulders and stones, but only a few were actually on top of him, it was mostly gravel and debris. "Frank, can you hear me? Talk to me, Frank – come on, wake up and talk to me…." Joe babbled frantically as he scooped rubble from his brother's body, trying desperately to gain a response from that quiescent figure.
Frank was alive, no question about that. He was breathing, and when Joe laid a hand against his throat, he felt a steady pulse beat. But he wasn't regaining consciousness, and Joe didn't like some other things he was finding. Frank's left arm was bent at an angle that no arm was ever meant to go…obviously broken. He'd evidently been hit by several rocks, some of which had struck his back, and one, at least, had hit his head; blood was oozing from a scalp wound near the crown. Joe felt in his pocket, hoping against hope that he'd thought to stick in a handkerchief, something – anything! – he could use to staunch the blood from that seeping wound…but no handkerchief was there.
Gotta get help…he needs help…. Joe staggered to his feet, thinking of trekking out to the main road in hopes of flagging down a passing motorist, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he realized what a futile – and dangerous! – idea that was.
Someone started that slide on purpose…what if whoever did it is waiting around and comes after us again? It's nearly six miles back to the ski resort, and that's closed anyway; there wouldn't be anyone there! And if I left Frank, if the guy who did this is still around, he'd use it as a chance to finish him off. No way am I gonna let that happen!
Joe closed his eyes, fighting for composure. It's up to me to get us out of here.
A low moan behind him caused Joe to turn around and hurry back to Frank's side. "Frank? Hey pal, you ready to wake up?" He knelt down in the rubble beside his brother.
Short pained breaths interspersed with moans were all the response he received to his questions. Frank's eyelashes were fluttering, and he moved his head slightly, but coherent speech seemed beyond him at this point.
"Frank?" Joe put a gentle hand on his brother's back. "Come on, wake up and talk to me."
Another groan, and then a single clear word: "…hurts…" Frank's voice trailed off into another jumble of incoherencies.
"I know it hurts, pal – but I want you to wake up and talk to me. Come on now, try, Frank, please!" A note of desperation crept into Joe's tone.
Slowly, the pained breathing steadied, and then the dark lashes lifted momentarily. "…rocks…." Frank made a feeble attempt to move, but that movement jarred his injured arm, and he cried out sharply in pain before subsiding into weak moans once more.
"Easy, easy…don't try to move, Frank, lie still." Joe gently restrained him. "Stay quiet; just stay still." He wasn't sure Frank was hearing him, but all the same, Joe kept up the steady stream of soothing words, trying to penetrate the fog of semi-consciousness. "Take it easy, bro, take it easy…you're gonna be okay, just hang in there…."
But Joe was realizing just how much trouble they were actually in. Supplies – next to nothing. Communication with the outside world? Hopefully, Joe felt in his pocket for his cell phone, which Fenton had insisted he carry on this trip. He felt the broken plastic before he pulled it out – smashed beyond redemption. And if his was this bad, there was no way Frank's could have survived the rockslide, he knew that.
The soft groans had ceased again, and Frank's eyes were flickering open once more.
"Frank? Come on, talk to me," Joe urged. "Talk to me, Frank…" Desperately, Joe tried to remember the instructions from his first-aid classes…something about repeating a victim's name…people respond to the sound of their name. "Frank, can you feel your legs? Tell me if you can feel your legs, Frank."
"Mmmflmm…" The dusty lips moved, but the sound that emerged was unintelligible. And then, "hurts…" followed by another groan.
Joe repeated his question, and got essentially the same response. He sighed, and looked around. All right – I'm going to have to do this all by myself. Fine. Let's get on it, then.
The first thing to do, Joe decided, was to immobilize Frank as much as possible. If he didn't, Frank could get an even worse injury. But what to use? There was nothing out here but rocks and dirt and wood and grass. Rope, now…rope would have been handy. Well, there wasn't any rope. He'd have to make do with what Nature had dumped him with.
First, to keep that arm still…Joe stood up and made his way through the rubble across the road, to where scrubby pines still stood, despite the slide's efforts to rip them out by the roots. He broke off some fairly straight branches, then began hunting through the tall grass, hoping to locate some vines which would be strong enough to use as rope. He found some, but knew it would be necessary to braid them together to form a thick enough binding. This was going to take time!
Hearing Frank groaning again, Joe returned to Frank's side and knelt there once more, and again tried to rouse him, to make him talk. Frank mumbled incoherently a bit, then muttered "Joe…"
"Frank? I'm here – It's me, talk to me!" Joe bent close, encouraged by this sign of lucidity. But Frank's next words made the younger boy swallow hard and his eyes sting.
"…Megan? Please…I want…I want to tell her…" Silence.
As gently as he could, Joe examined Frank's back, although he knew he could easily miss an injury, even something as evident as a broken bone. I'm no doctor, he could have any sorts of injuries and I'd never know it. Joe winced at the sight of Frank's back; it was badly bruised by the rocks, and already starting to swell. I need to find something to brace his back – just in case! I'm not sure this is going to work, but I've got to do the best I can….
Joe stood up once more, and was about to look for something large enough to use as a sturdy brace, when he was halted in his tracks by Frank's voice.
"Joe?" It was soft, but clear. His brother had – momentarily, at least – regained his senses.
Joe turned, and dropped to his knees again. "I'm here, Frank; take it easy."
"What happened?" Frank attempted to turn his head enough to look at his brother, but winced and desisted.
"You were caught in a rockslide, pal."
"Rockslide?…" Frank's blurred voice repeated the word, wonderingly.
"Yeah – somebody started one and dumped half a mountain on us." Joe attempted a smile. "But we'll show 'em – we're both still alive and kicking…." He swallowed. "Can you feel your legs?"
"Y-yeah…"
"Does your back hurt? I mean, do you think it's injured?"
"I don't know – it hurts all over," Frank murmured. He shifted slightly, and flinched, to Joe's immediate alarm. "Ouch….Everything moves, though – so I guess it's okay."
"I don't like you trying to move," Joe fretted, although he was beginning to realize there were few options open to them. Frank couldn't stay there, he was going to have to move!
"My arm hurts," Frank whispered. "It hurts really bad, Joe."
"I know; you've broken it. I'll try to get it immobilized in just a minute," Joe attempted to reassure him. "Then it won't hurt you so much."
"'kay…." Frank closed his eyes once more.
"Frank – do you think you could possibly roll onto your back?" Joe hated this thought, but again, what choice did he have? Frank couldn't simply lie there on the mountainside forever!
"…can…try." Frank didn't open his eyes.
"Okay." Joe tried to sound positive and optimistic. "We'll try it. But if it hurts at all, tell me, and I'll stop. I mean, I know it'll hurt, but if you feel something sharp…oh hell, you know what I mean!"
"Yeah—" Frank's voice held the slightest tinge of amusement. "I know. I'll tell you…believe me, I'll tell you!"
"Okay – easy now – easy…you're doing good – little farther, that's all…." Gently, very gently, Joe pulled Frank's limp form over onto his back, trying to shut out the gasps of pain Frank couldn't quite stifle as his broken arm was jarred – and froze, staring numbly at an incredible new problem.
Protruding from Frank's upper left arm, just below his shoulder, was a round stick about half an inch thick…and suddenly, everything was becoming drenched in blood!