Riches in the Night, by Jeni: Chapter Three
*Author's Note. Okay, this chapter may seem a little strange and out of place, but trust me. It is important to the story's plot-in solving the mystery and helping to lighten Joe's depression. See keep that in mind when you read it, please! Also, because the story never uploads the way I want, things that should be in italics will be marked like this *. That's pretty much it for now-please R&R! Oh, and if anyone has any suggestions for making uploading with the correct format easier I would love to hear them! Thanks!*
Chet Morton stepped off his porch with a loud thump. It was early-so early, in fact, the sun had not yet risen, but he was not sleepy. It was unusual, for normally he disliked getting up any earlier than he had to, but today he couldn't bring himself to care. Time flowed slowly and quickly, endlessly and freely; ever since Iola's death he either paid little attention to time, or too much attention.
Iola. Thinking of her always brought a lump to his throat. His sister, his beautiful, cheerful sister, was dead. No longer would they tease each other, no longer would they plan pranks on their parents, no longer would they help the Hardys on a case. which brought him to another point. Chet did not blame the Hardys for Iola's death. Had they known, they would have prevented it, but the attack had been so sudden, with no hint of danger, that preventing it was an impossibility. Not that any of that mattered. What was done was done, and no amount of wishing could change it.
But he had chores to complete, and standing still contemplating recent events would do nothing. Hurriedly he grabbed a bucket of chicken feed and dumped on the ground before moving to collect the eggs. The egg collecting normally was Iola's chore-the chickens liked her and allowed her to gather the eggs with ease, but whenever Chet tried. he winced. But at least this time he was armed. Hefting the slender stick in his hand, he stalked over to the first nest. The hen was watching him suspiciously, as if she knew his plan, and he gulped. Slowly he reached his hand toward the nest, intent on gathering the eggs without scaring her. Quicker than a flash her beak snapped; if Chet had not been expecting the move and snatched his hand away a scant second later, his fingers would be bleeding. But he had, and they weren't. Even so, he wasn't willing to try a second time. It was time for his secret weapon.
"So," he told the chicken grimly. "It has come down to this. I asked you for your egg nicely last week, and you attempted to eat me. This time I tried to take it-true, I didn't ask, but I *do* feed you and its only polite to give me something in return." He shook his head grimly. "But enough of that. You want to be stubborn, that's fine with me. But I'm stubborn as well, and this method has never failed me yet. Sure, that's only because I've never *used* it before, but that's hardly important." He extended the stick slowly. "You are getting sleepy." Once he was certain the hen was preoccupied with it (he hadn't believed his plan would actually work!), he made his move. Gently reaching under the hypnotized chicken, he extracted the eggs. It was only until they were in his basket and he was to the next nest that the hen realized the theft, but the poor animal was too confused to be angry.
One by one, the other nests fell to the power of hypnosis, and so it was with no small pride that Chet left the chicken barn. After all, he had never succeeded in stealing eggs before with not even a mere scratch! And if chickens could be hypnotized, then other animals could, as well! He could just imagine all the possibilities, all the chances at fame. Chet Morton, the lion tamer! Or, Chet Morton, trainer of all animals! It did have a nice ring to it, he thought smugly.
"Isn't it too early in the morning to be skipping across the lawn?" Came a voice from behind him. He gasped, whirling around in surprise. Unfortunately, the whirl off- set his balance, and the basket with his precious cargo escaped his grasp. It sailed through the air toward the speaker and landed with a loud 'smack!' on the person's head.
The unlucky person's companion laughed. "Chet, old buddy, that was great!"
It was Tony. The teenager was laughing so hard he was crying.
"Yeah, yeah. Real funny," grumbled a voice. Chet groaned; he knew that voice like he knew his own.
"Biff! I'm so sorry! You startled me!"
"I should hope so," came the wry reply. "I certainly hope you didn't do that intentionally. Still, it's better the eggs hit me instead of that stick."
Chet moaned. "My eggs! Are they broken? I just spent all morning collecting them and that was my breakfast!"
"One breakfast, anyway," Tony muttered. "Still, I understand why you're upset. You worked hard despite your vow not to, and now your reward has been spoiled. Although in this case I'd say you had it easy. Poor Biff will have to change clothes!"
"But I can't!" Biff wailed. "This was my only clean pair of clothes! I told you, the basement flooded during last night's storm. All my clothes were down there (all except this pair), and have yet to be cleaned! What am I going to do?"
Chet shrugged. "I'd offer you some of mine but they're too large." Ignoring Tony's snicker, he continued. "Frank or Joe probably have a pair you could borrow. I'd suggest Tony but he's too short, and Phil's out of town for the weekend."
"Oh, yeah. Joe." Immediately the three friends sobered. They had tried calling Joe several times throughout the past week, only to be told the younger Hardy was away. And it was true, too. A couple times they had stopped by the house to confront him only to be met by Frank. Still, it was early enough in the morning for Joe to be there, and if they hurried they might be able to catch him.
The silence lasted, until Chet could no longer stand the tension. Breaking into a sprint, he called back, "Last one to the car is a rotten egg!"
The ride to the house, Chet decided as they pulled into the Hardy driveway, was one of the funniest moments in his life. In their haste to meet Joe they accidentally went a little faster than allowed and were pulled for speeding. Although it really had been quite unfair, Chet mused as he unfastened his seat belt. Sure, they had been going twenty miles over, but there hadn't *been* any other cars on the road.
But the funniest part had been wriggling out of the ticket. The friends hadn't even developed an excuse to give, or a plead to receive just a warning. No, the officer had simply stuck his head in the car, turned green in the face, and agreed to let them leave with no ticket or warning.
*"Just make sure you take a bath*," the officer managed to say. *"Better yet, take two baths*."
A snicker from Tony caught Chet's attention. "Hey, Biff. Stay away from the kitchen, will you? You don't want to be accidentally cooked, do you? Sunny side up?"
"Will you shut up about the egg jokes already? First it was the rotten egg one, then the bath, the 'hey, Biff, stay away from that dog- it'll-think-you're-a-chicken-and-try-to-eat-you, and now the cooking joke. What next?"
Chet shrugged. "I wouldn't ask if I were you. After all, it's mostly been Tony making these remarks. Just wait until Joe finds out what happened. Hah! He'll tease you for a week!"
"At least his jokes are somewhat creative," Biff muttered. "A four- year old child could have done better than yours."
"Now I resent that!" Tony cried. "My jokes were masterfully done. A work of art, they are. Why, someday I'll have my own tv show. Giggles and Laughs, they'll call it. I'll be so funny, the audience will wet their pants!"
Biff gave an exasperated nod. "Oh, yes, very famous. Sounds just like my kind of show."
They reached the door and were about to knock when it swung open. Frank stood there, eyebrow raised. "I heard you coming," he said as he ushered them inside. "And I'm glad you've come. Something came up a few days ago and we need your help- what's that smell?"
Biff coughed. "Well, um, that would be me. See, Tony and I went to the farm this morning, and Chet was doing a weird sort of dance."
"Kind of a mix between ballet and a jig," Tony chimed in.
Frank rolled his eyes. "Something tells me I don't want to know. It's against my better judgment, but continue."
"Well, it was really funny, you know?"
"Yeah, he had a basket of eggs in one hand and a stick in the other. Personally, I thought he was rehearsing for a play, but Biff didn't agree with me."
"Absolutely not! Chet rehearsing? This is the same fellow who refused to learn his lines as a main character, remember? The same play that he actually went on stage in a giant hot dog costume? Man, the director was furious!"
Frank laughed. "I remember that! It really was mean of you, Chet, and the director had every right to yell at you."
"Yeah," Chet moaned. "But he didn't have to ruin my hot dog costume!"
They chatted for a time then, Tony explaining Biff's unfortunate encounter and Frank describing the case, and would have continued if not for a noise from the stairs. It was Joe, but not the Joe they knew. He looked pale and tired, but a tiny gleam of light shone in his eyes, and they realized his attention was channeled into the mystery. No matter what the situation, Joe never denied a case. Indeed, he seemed almost glad of the distraction, and the friends felt the case might snap him out of his depression.
Upon seeing them, he stopped short. They regarded each other in an awkward silence that stretched on until even Frank seemed nervous. Finally, just when Chet was about to say something, Joe asked in a confused tone, "Frank? I thought you said we were out of eggs."
For the next several minutes the only sound heard was laughter and the muttered grumbling from Biff, while Joe watched on helplessly.
Twenty minutes later, the teens were sprawled in various positions throughout the living room floor. Biff had taken a shower (despite Tony's constant reminders about his promise to the officer), and was dressed comfortably in Joe's clothes.
"So," Frank said. "We have a murder but no suspects. There are no clues, no apparent motives other than greed, but why kill Dobbins for money?"
Joe shrugged. "Dobbins might have known too much. Maybe he discovered the robbers' identity and was about to turn them in. In order to keep their money and freedom, they killed him."
"But why wouldn't he write that in his note? Maybe his killers aren't the robbers; maybe there's more to this case than at first glance."
Frank sighed. "Believe me, Biff, we thought of that. But it doesn't add up. He didn't have any enemies that we could find. he was simply a wealthy man who became paranoid once the robberies began. But that has nothing to do with why he was murdered- at least, we don't think it does. This whole case is confusing, and we have no clues or background information in which to start."
"What I don't understand," Joe said quietly, "is this: if he was so paranoid as to write a letter to Collig, explaining this case is ours, then why not write more? Why not give us background information or at least a hint about the suspects? I think he knew he was in danger. I think he had time enough only to write what he did and hide it before he was killed. Had he lived but an hour or two longer, we would have more information."
Tony nodded. "That makes sense."
"Except for one part." Frank said. "If he knew he was going to die, why'd he stay there? Why not call for help or try to leave? There's something we're missing here, some important piece of the puzzle." he trailed off, lost in thought.
"It truly is a difficult case," Chet commented. "It's very confusing and you've little to go on. But I think you'll solve it even without our help, but I'd just like to say you have it. As long as it isn't too dangerous, of course," he added hastily. "A fellow could lose ten pounds from fear alone!"
As soon as the words left his mouth he realized his mistake. Suddenly all teens were grinning and teasing, saying he needed more cases, and how they would each take turns scaring him. The teasing went on for a while, and was just coming to a close when a muffled knock came at the door.
"I got it!" called Joe. A second later, his voice drifted from the front door, sounding slightly baffled. "Uh, Frank? There's a calf here!"
"A what?"
"A calf! You know, a baby cow?"
The teens looked at each other, similar expressions of disbelief on their faces. Had they heard him correctly, or was he simply playing a trick? In a twinkling they were crowding at the door. True to what Joe said, a calf was standing on the front porch, peering into the house. Mouths agape, the teenagers could do nothing but stare until, in a perfect imitation of Gertrude's voice, Joe asked, "Oh, dear. By any chance Chet, was there any milk in your egg basket?"
*Author's Note. Okay, this chapter may seem a little strange and out of place, but trust me. It is important to the story's plot-in solving the mystery and helping to lighten Joe's depression. See keep that in mind when you read it, please! Also, because the story never uploads the way I want, things that should be in italics will be marked like this *. That's pretty much it for now-please R&R! Oh, and if anyone has any suggestions for making uploading with the correct format easier I would love to hear them! Thanks!*
Chet Morton stepped off his porch with a loud thump. It was early-so early, in fact, the sun had not yet risen, but he was not sleepy. It was unusual, for normally he disliked getting up any earlier than he had to, but today he couldn't bring himself to care. Time flowed slowly and quickly, endlessly and freely; ever since Iola's death he either paid little attention to time, or too much attention.
Iola. Thinking of her always brought a lump to his throat. His sister, his beautiful, cheerful sister, was dead. No longer would they tease each other, no longer would they plan pranks on their parents, no longer would they help the Hardys on a case. which brought him to another point. Chet did not blame the Hardys for Iola's death. Had they known, they would have prevented it, but the attack had been so sudden, with no hint of danger, that preventing it was an impossibility. Not that any of that mattered. What was done was done, and no amount of wishing could change it.
But he had chores to complete, and standing still contemplating recent events would do nothing. Hurriedly he grabbed a bucket of chicken feed and dumped on the ground before moving to collect the eggs. The egg collecting normally was Iola's chore-the chickens liked her and allowed her to gather the eggs with ease, but whenever Chet tried. he winced. But at least this time he was armed. Hefting the slender stick in his hand, he stalked over to the first nest. The hen was watching him suspiciously, as if she knew his plan, and he gulped. Slowly he reached his hand toward the nest, intent on gathering the eggs without scaring her. Quicker than a flash her beak snapped; if Chet had not been expecting the move and snatched his hand away a scant second later, his fingers would be bleeding. But he had, and they weren't. Even so, he wasn't willing to try a second time. It was time for his secret weapon.
"So," he told the chicken grimly. "It has come down to this. I asked you for your egg nicely last week, and you attempted to eat me. This time I tried to take it-true, I didn't ask, but I *do* feed you and its only polite to give me something in return." He shook his head grimly. "But enough of that. You want to be stubborn, that's fine with me. But I'm stubborn as well, and this method has never failed me yet. Sure, that's only because I've never *used* it before, but that's hardly important." He extended the stick slowly. "You are getting sleepy." Once he was certain the hen was preoccupied with it (he hadn't believed his plan would actually work!), he made his move. Gently reaching under the hypnotized chicken, he extracted the eggs. It was only until they were in his basket and he was to the next nest that the hen realized the theft, but the poor animal was too confused to be angry.
One by one, the other nests fell to the power of hypnosis, and so it was with no small pride that Chet left the chicken barn. After all, he had never succeeded in stealing eggs before with not even a mere scratch! And if chickens could be hypnotized, then other animals could, as well! He could just imagine all the possibilities, all the chances at fame. Chet Morton, the lion tamer! Or, Chet Morton, trainer of all animals! It did have a nice ring to it, he thought smugly.
"Isn't it too early in the morning to be skipping across the lawn?" Came a voice from behind him. He gasped, whirling around in surprise. Unfortunately, the whirl off- set his balance, and the basket with his precious cargo escaped his grasp. It sailed through the air toward the speaker and landed with a loud 'smack!' on the person's head.
The unlucky person's companion laughed. "Chet, old buddy, that was great!"
It was Tony. The teenager was laughing so hard he was crying.
"Yeah, yeah. Real funny," grumbled a voice. Chet groaned; he knew that voice like he knew his own.
"Biff! I'm so sorry! You startled me!"
"I should hope so," came the wry reply. "I certainly hope you didn't do that intentionally. Still, it's better the eggs hit me instead of that stick."
Chet moaned. "My eggs! Are they broken? I just spent all morning collecting them and that was my breakfast!"
"One breakfast, anyway," Tony muttered. "Still, I understand why you're upset. You worked hard despite your vow not to, and now your reward has been spoiled. Although in this case I'd say you had it easy. Poor Biff will have to change clothes!"
"But I can't!" Biff wailed. "This was my only clean pair of clothes! I told you, the basement flooded during last night's storm. All my clothes were down there (all except this pair), and have yet to be cleaned! What am I going to do?"
Chet shrugged. "I'd offer you some of mine but they're too large." Ignoring Tony's snicker, he continued. "Frank or Joe probably have a pair you could borrow. I'd suggest Tony but he's too short, and Phil's out of town for the weekend."
"Oh, yeah. Joe." Immediately the three friends sobered. They had tried calling Joe several times throughout the past week, only to be told the younger Hardy was away. And it was true, too. A couple times they had stopped by the house to confront him only to be met by Frank. Still, it was early enough in the morning for Joe to be there, and if they hurried they might be able to catch him.
The silence lasted, until Chet could no longer stand the tension. Breaking into a sprint, he called back, "Last one to the car is a rotten egg!"
The ride to the house, Chet decided as they pulled into the Hardy driveway, was one of the funniest moments in his life. In their haste to meet Joe they accidentally went a little faster than allowed and were pulled for speeding. Although it really had been quite unfair, Chet mused as he unfastened his seat belt. Sure, they had been going twenty miles over, but there hadn't *been* any other cars on the road.
But the funniest part had been wriggling out of the ticket. The friends hadn't even developed an excuse to give, or a plead to receive just a warning. No, the officer had simply stuck his head in the car, turned green in the face, and agreed to let them leave with no ticket or warning.
*"Just make sure you take a bath*," the officer managed to say. *"Better yet, take two baths*."
A snicker from Tony caught Chet's attention. "Hey, Biff. Stay away from the kitchen, will you? You don't want to be accidentally cooked, do you? Sunny side up?"
"Will you shut up about the egg jokes already? First it was the rotten egg one, then the bath, the 'hey, Biff, stay away from that dog- it'll-think-you're-a-chicken-and-try-to-eat-you, and now the cooking joke. What next?"
Chet shrugged. "I wouldn't ask if I were you. After all, it's mostly been Tony making these remarks. Just wait until Joe finds out what happened. Hah! He'll tease you for a week!"
"At least his jokes are somewhat creative," Biff muttered. "A four- year old child could have done better than yours."
"Now I resent that!" Tony cried. "My jokes were masterfully done. A work of art, they are. Why, someday I'll have my own tv show. Giggles and Laughs, they'll call it. I'll be so funny, the audience will wet their pants!"
Biff gave an exasperated nod. "Oh, yes, very famous. Sounds just like my kind of show."
They reached the door and were about to knock when it swung open. Frank stood there, eyebrow raised. "I heard you coming," he said as he ushered them inside. "And I'm glad you've come. Something came up a few days ago and we need your help- what's that smell?"
Biff coughed. "Well, um, that would be me. See, Tony and I went to the farm this morning, and Chet was doing a weird sort of dance."
"Kind of a mix between ballet and a jig," Tony chimed in.
Frank rolled his eyes. "Something tells me I don't want to know. It's against my better judgment, but continue."
"Well, it was really funny, you know?"
"Yeah, he had a basket of eggs in one hand and a stick in the other. Personally, I thought he was rehearsing for a play, but Biff didn't agree with me."
"Absolutely not! Chet rehearsing? This is the same fellow who refused to learn his lines as a main character, remember? The same play that he actually went on stage in a giant hot dog costume? Man, the director was furious!"
Frank laughed. "I remember that! It really was mean of you, Chet, and the director had every right to yell at you."
"Yeah," Chet moaned. "But he didn't have to ruin my hot dog costume!"
They chatted for a time then, Tony explaining Biff's unfortunate encounter and Frank describing the case, and would have continued if not for a noise from the stairs. It was Joe, but not the Joe they knew. He looked pale and tired, but a tiny gleam of light shone in his eyes, and they realized his attention was channeled into the mystery. No matter what the situation, Joe never denied a case. Indeed, he seemed almost glad of the distraction, and the friends felt the case might snap him out of his depression.
Upon seeing them, he stopped short. They regarded each other in an awkward silence that stretched on until even Frank seemed nervous. Finally, just when Chet was about to say something, Joe asked in a confused tone, "Frank? I thought you said we were out of eggs."
For the next several minutes the only sound heard was laughter and the muttered grumbling from Biff, while Joe watched on helplessly.
Twenty minutes later, the teens were sprawled in various positions throughout the living room floor. Biff had taken a shower (despite Tony's constant reminders about his promise to the officer), and was dressed comfortably in Joe's clothes.
"So," Frank said. "We have a murder but no suspects. There are no clues, no apparent motives other than greed, but why kill Dobbins for money?"
Joe shrugged. "Dobbins might have known too much. Maybe he discovered the robbers' identity and was about to turn them in. In order to keep their money and freedom, they killed him."
"But why wouldn't he write that in his note? Maybe his killers aren't the robbers; maybe there's more to this case than at first glance."
Frank sighed. "Believe me, Biff, we thought of that. But it doesn't add up. He didn't have any enemies that we could find. he was simply a wealthy man who became paranoid once the robberies began. But that has nothing to do with why he was murdered- at least, we don't think it does. This whole case is confusing, and we have no clues or background information in which to start."
"What I don't understand," Joe said quietly, "is this: if he was so paranoid as to write a letter to Collig, explaining this case is ours, then why not write more? Why not give us background information or at least a hint about the suspects? I think he knew he was in danger. I think he had time enough only to write what he did and hide it before he was killed. Had he lived but an hour or two longer, we would have more information."
Tony nodded. "That makes sense."
"Except for one part." Frank said. "If he knew he was going to die, why'd he stay there? Why not call for help or try to leave? There's something we're missing here, some important piece of the puzzle." he trailed off, lost in thought.
"It truly is a difficult case," Chet commented. "It's very confusing and you've little to go on. But I think you'll solve it even without our help, but I'd just like to say you have it. As long as it isn't too dangerous, of course," he added hastily. "A fellow could lose ten pounds from fear alone!"
As soon as the words left his mouth he realized his mistake. Suddenly all teens were grinning and teasing, saying he needed more cases, and how they would each take turns scaring him. The teasing went on for a while, and was just coming to a close when a muffled knock came at the door.
"I got it!" called Joe. A second later, his voice drifted from the front door, sounding slightly baffled. "Uh, Frank? There's a calf here!"
"A what?"
"A calf! You know, a baby cow?"
The teens looked at each other, similar expressions of disbelief on their faces. Had they heard him correctly, or was he simply playing a trick? In a twinkling they were crowding at the door. True to what Joe said, a calf was standing on the front porch, peering into the house. Mouths agape, the teenagers could do nothing but stare until, in a perfect imitation of Gertrude's voice, Joe asked, "Oh, dear. By any chance Chet, was there any milk in your egg basket?"