Hey Bro!
Okay, okay, so I have been lax in getting to you, and Vanessa. But man, do I ever have good reason. My first night here, Steve, my roommmate, and I went down to the lake and met some of the counselors from the girl's camp across the lake. I met an angel!
Her name is Karen Blake and she is a vision to behold. Blond hair, blue eyes, two inches shorter than me and the most dazzling smile I have ever seen. I was swimming and she swum up to me and started splashing me for no reason. Naturally, I splashed her back. We carried on like that for a bit then got out of the water and lay on the dock drying off. We started talking.
She's from Southport, which isn't all that far from us. Her dad is a lawyer and her mom is a candy striper at the hospital there. She is not only gorgeous, she is also a good listener. Karen is perfect. I really like her. I mean really, really like her. I think I have found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.
I know, that makes me a heel where Vanessa is concerned, but I can't help the way I feel. I've never felt like this about anyone. Maybe if I don't write Vanessa at all, she will dump me and then neither of us will feel as bad as we would if I dumped her.
Glad you guys got the house finished. Now I won't have to dread helping when I get home. The party sounds good, but I am quiet content to spend my spare time alone with Karen.
Pretty much all of my spare time is spent with her and there isn't a lot of it, let me tell you. I've got a load of boys I have to keep my eyes on. They are up at the crack of dawn and don't turn in until nine. I'm skipping lunch today to send this to you. Happy now? I'm meeting Karen after lights out for the boys. Nothing personal bro, but she does come first. Mabye when camp is over, you can meet her. You're gonna love her!
It's a good thing Mr. Morton put Chet to work this summer. He can stand to lose a few pounds. Besides, you didn't really want to help him do all that work, did you?
Has Phil told you what the gizmo is supposed to do yet? Has he even finished it? Such a brain in that guy. Sometimes I wish I could invent stuff. Don't tell him, though. It'll go to his head.
Any leads on Darren Cook yet? It does sound suspicious that he would take off after the bomb was found. Are you sure he isn't involved?
I haven't gotten homesick. I've been having too much fun and besides, all my thoughts have been on when I get to see Karen next. I can hardly wait until tonight.
So, now that I have written you a letter, will a postcard be okay next time?
Keep in touch,
Joe
Frank frowned as he read the letter from Joe. His face transforming into a scowl as he came to the end.
"What's wrong, honey?" asked Mrs. Hardy, seeing his scowl turn into a distressed expression.
"It's not from Joe," Frank answered, handing the letter across the table to his father. The three Hardys were having a late lunch in the kitchen. Frank had just retrieved the day's mail and had brought the letter from Joe into the kitchen to share with his parents.
Mr. Hardy scanned the letter, his face puzzled. "It's your brother's handwriting," he said finally, looking back at Frank.
"I know," Frank said. 'That's not it."
"You think Joe didn't send this because of what he said about Karen?" Mr. Hardy guessed. "Maybe he has finally met someone he cares about more than Iola and Vanessa."
"No," Frank denied. "I mean, that could be possible, but I don't believe it. But that isn't the reason," he added with a shake of his brown head.
"Then why?" Mr. Hardy demanded. He couldn't see anything wrong with the letter that might imply Joe hadn't written it, except maybe the remark about Chet. That didn't sound like Joe.
"The last time I wrote him, I told him to send a letter, not a postcard, or you and I would go and check on him," Frank said.
"But he did write a letter," Mrs. Hardy pointed out, her blue eyes worried as she saw her son's distress increase.
"I know," Frank said. "That's why I know he didn't send that. He's in trouble. It's a kind of code we have," he explained, seeing the matching mystified expressions on his parents' faces. "If he had been okay, he would have sent a postcard."
"Then why is this in Joe's handwriting?" Mrs. Hardy asked.
"Someone must have forced him to write it," Mr. Hardy repiled, his mouth forming a grim line as he finished speaking.
"But Joe wouldn't have written it just because he had been told to," Frank pointed out. "You know how stubborn he is. They had to of hurt him."
Okay, okay, so I have been lax in getting to you, and Vanessa. But man, do I ever have good reason. My first night here, Steve, my roommmate, and I went down to the lake and met some of the counselors from the girl's camp across the lake. I met an angel!
Her name is Karen Blake and she is a vision to behold. Blond hair, blue eyes, two inches shorter than me and the most dazzling smile I have ever seen. I was swimming and she swum up to me and started splashing me for no reason. Naturally, I splashed her back. We carried on like that for a bit then got out of the water and lay on the dock drying off. We started talking.
She's from Southport, which isn't all that far from us. Her dad is a lawyer and her mom is a candy striper at the hospital there. She is not only gorgeous, she is also a good listener. Karen is perfect. I really like her. I mean really, really like her. I think I have found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.
I know, that makes me a heel where Vanessa is concerned, but I can't help the way I feel. I've never felt like this about anyone. Maybe if I don't write Vanessa at all, she will dump me and then neither of us will feel as bad as we would if I dumped her.
Glad you guys got the house finished. Now I won't have to dread helping when I get home. The party sounds good, but I am quiet content to spend my spare time alone with Karen.
Pretty much all of my spare time is spent with her and there isn't a lot of it, let me tell you. I've got a load of boys I have to keep my eyes on. They are up at the crack of dawn and don't turn in until nine. I'm skipping lunch today to send this to you. Happy now? I'm meeting Karen after lights out for the boys. Nothing personal bro, but she does come first. Mabye when camp is over, you can meet her. You're gonna love her!
It's a good thing Mr. Morton put Chet to work this summer. He can stand to lose a few pounds. Besides, you didn't really want to help him do all that work, did you?
Has Phil told you what the gizmo is supposed to do yet? Has he even finished it? Such a brain in that guy. Sometimes I wish I could invent stuff. Don't tell him, though. It'll go to his head.
Any leads on Darren Cook yet? It does sound suspicious that he would take off after the bomb was found. Are you sure he isn't involved?
I haven't gotten homesick. I've been having too much fun and besides, all my thoughts have been on when I get to see Karen next. I can hardly wait until tonight.
So, now that I have written you a letter, will a postcard be okay next time?
Keep in touch,
Joe
Frank frowned as he read the letter from Joe. His face transforming into a scowl as he came to the end.
"What's wrong, honey?" asked Mrs. Hardy, seeing his scowl turn into a distressed expression.
"It's not from Joe," Frank answered, handing the letter across the table to his father. The three Hardys were having a late lunch in the kitchen. Frank had just retrieved the day's mail and had brought the letter from Joe into the kitchen to share with his parents.
Mr. Hardy scanned the letter, his face puzzled. "It's your brother's handwriting," he said finally, looking back at Frank.
"I know," Frank said. 'That's not it."
"You think Joe didn't send this because of what he said about Karen?" Mr. Hardy guessed. "Maybe he has finally met someone he cares about more than Iola and Vanessa."
"No," Frank denied. "I mean, that could be possible, but I don't believe it. But that isn't the reason," he added with a shake of his brown head.
"Then why?" Mr. Hardy demanded. He couldn't see anything wrong with the letter that might imply Joe hadn't written it, except maybe the remark about Chet. That didn't sound like Joe.
"The last time I wrote him, I told him to send a letter, not a postcard, or you and I would go and check on him," Frank said.
"But he did write a letter," Mrs. Hardy pointed out, her blue eyes worried as she saw her son's distress increase.
"I know," Frank said. "That's why I know he didn't send that. He's in trouble. It's a kind of code we have," he explained, seeing the matching mystified expressions on his parents' faces. "If he had been okay, he would have sent a postcard."
"Then why is this in Joe's handwriting?" Mrs. Hardy asked.
"Someone must have forced him to write it," Mr. Hardy repiled, his mouth forming a grim line as he finished speaking.
"But Joe wouldn't have written it just because he had been told to," Frank pointed out. "You know how stubborn he is. They had to of hurt him."