Frank stopped at one more neighbor's house to question them before returning home. Only Mr. Coleman had been of any help. He met Officer Paisley at the foot of his walk and together they hurried into the house. Frank related what Mr. Coleman had told him.
Fenton frowned. "It does sound like Dr. Mayhem was in the area," he said, convinced now that it was indeed the doctor who had taken his son.
"Your neighbor down the street, Mrs. Rutledge saw him too," Paisley inserted. "Apparently, he wasn't sure where you lived and he asked her. He told her Frank and Joe had stayed at his home while working on a mystery last week and had forgotten a few things when they left."
"Lots of prints," said the Forensics officer coming into the room via the dining room. "But they all match one or the other of the Hardys. The kidnapper obviously wore gloves."
"He didn't need to bother," harrumphed Laura. "He didn't bother hiding his identity."
"Actually, the gloves may have nothing to do with disguising himself," Sergeant Bryson said. "The people who we talked to in connection with his disappearance said he always pulled on a pair of gloves before getting into his car."
"Car?" demanded Frank. "He stole a truck."
"This was prior to the theft of the truck," Bryson informed him. "When he was first reported missing we were put on the alert for him and his car, a '97 Lexus."
"Have you located his car?" Fenton asked.
"Negative," was the reply. "But since he stole the truck we believe he may have left it somewhere near campus."
"Do you think he might be somewhere near campus?" Laura asked hopefully.
"We don't know ma'am," Bryson answered truthfully. "There is a state wide APB out on him although once this report is filed it will go into effect across the country and the FBI will be notified."
Laura nodded. She knew cases involving kidnappings all fell under Federal Jurisdiction.
"Try and get some rest," Bryson continued. "We'll be in touch as soon as we have something. And if you find anything..."
"We'll keep you informed," Fenton promised wearily. He had been through this many times on both sides and he could honestly say he preferred to be the investigator rather than the parent at times like these. Fenton walked the men out then returned to the living room where Laura was sitting on the sofa, her eyes dry but distant.
Frank returned from the kitchen where he had taken Joe's unfinished dinner and sat down next to his mother. Taking her hand in his, he looked up at his father. "Now what?"
"We get some rest," Fenton said, holding up a hand to ward off the protest he was positive his eldest son would make. "Apart from heading to Mayhem's old address, which is still under surveillance, there isn't anything we can do tonight."
Frank wanted to argue but knew his father was right. With a look of defeat he kissed his mother lightly on the forehead, said goodnight to his father, and ran upstairs to his room.
***
Morning arrived to find Frank dressed and sitting on his brother's bed perusing one of the werewolf books Joe had checked out of the library. While he didn't believe in the existence of werewolves there was little doubt his brother did and so, he assumed, did Craig prior to his disappearance.
Frank closed the book with a snap and dropped it on the bed. He buried his head in his hands and sighed. I should have listened, he thought as he rubbed the back of his neck with his thumbs. Joe's instincts are almost always right on the mark. When he suspected Mayhem, I should have listened.
Frank dropped his hands and stood up. He returned the book to where he had found it and headed downstairs, his face set in a scowl.
"You didn't get any sleep either?" asked Laura looking at her eldest through bloodshot eyes.
Frank shook his head. "Your father is on the phone with Chief Collig," she informed him. "If you'll get the mail, I'll put on breakfast."
Frank nodded and left the kitchen going through the living room into the foyer where his dad was listening to something that didn't seem to brighten his spirits any and out the front door. Frank walked to the end of the walk where the mailbox stood with its little red flag alert, and opened it.
He removed three envelopes and closed it back, dropping the flag and glanced at the return address. Two credit card bills and a letter from Gertrude, the boys aunt on their father's side. He turned to go back to the house but spotted Elie's red truck parked three houses down.
A trap? Frank wondered starting for it. He paused and frowned. Don't walk right into it, stupid, his brain screamed the warning. He made a sharp right turn and headed for the house.
"Dad, Elie's truck is parked down the street," he said as his father lowered the receiver onto the handset.
"Let's check it out," said Fenton, following Frank outside. The two kept looking around for sign of anyone hiding nearby. Fenton even kept glancing up into the trees although Frank was sure Mayhem couldn't have managed climbing one. He simply wasn't in shape.
"I don't see any sign of Mayhem," Frank said as they reached the truck and each took a side and began circling.
"It may not be Elie's truck and even if it is, it may not be Mayhem who is responsible," Fenton reminded Frank.
"It's Mayhem," Frank declared with certainty. Although he had told his father about nearly being run down on campus and Mayhem's disappearance he hadn't revealed Joe's fears about being a werewolf. Fears no one but Mayhem could be responsible for...except for Anderson and Frank was still convinced he and Mayhem were in cahoots.
Fenton never responded but moved closer to the truck and looked in the bed. Empty. Frank headed for the driver's door. "The keys are in the ignition," he said and grabbed the handle. He pushed his thumb on the handle and heard an ominous click.
"Dad!" Frank shouted, his voice pitched higher than normal.
Fenton hurried to Frank's side. "Check for a bomb," Frank instructed, careful to keep his grip the same as when he heard the click.
Fenton looked beneath the vehicle but could see nothing. Next, he went to the passenger side and peered through the window at the driver's door. A wire attached to the handle led to the space beneath the driver's seat.
"Don't move," Fenton told Frank, his voice quiet but firm. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called the police.
"A bomb squad is on the way," Fenton told Frank. "Just don't let..." he broke off as a loud barking began.
Frank turned his head and his eyes widened. It was Sweetheart, their neighbor's overly friendly Saint Bernard, and its eyes were set on Frank as it bounded down the walk toward him!
Fenton frowned. "It does sound like Dr. Mayhem was in the area," he said, convinced now that it was indeed the doctor who had taken his son.
"Your neighbor down the street, Mrs. Rutledge saw him too," Paisley inserted. "Apparently, he wasn't sure where you lived and he asked her. He told her Frank and Joe had stayed at his home while working on a mystery last week and had forgotten a few things when they left."
"Lots of prints," said the Forensics officer coming into the room via the dining room. "But they all match one or the other of the Hardys. The kidnapper obviously wore gloves."
"He didn't need to bother," harrumphed Laura. "He didn't bother hiding his identity."
"Actually, the gloves may have nothing to do with disguising himself," Sergeant Bryson said. "The people who we talked to in connection with his disappearance said he always pulled on a pair of gloves before getting into his car."
"Car?" demanded Frank. "He stole a truck."
"This was prior to the theft of the truck," Bryson informed him. "When he was first reported missing we were put on the alert for him and his car, a '97 Lexus."
"Have you located his car?" Fenton asked.
"Negative," was the reply. "But since he stole the truck we believe he may have left it somewhere near campus."
"Do you think he might be somewhere near campus?" Laura asked hopefully.
"We don't know ma'am," Bryson answered truthfully. "There is a state wide APB out on him although once this report is filed it will go into effect across the country and the FBI will be notified."
Laura nodded. She knew cases involving kidnappings all fell under Federal Jurisdiction.
"Try and get some rest," Bryson continued. "We'll be in touch as soon as we have something. And if you find anything..."
"We'll keep you informed," Fenton promised wearily. He had been through this many times on both sides and he could honestly say he preferred to be the investigator rather than the parent at times like these. Fenton walked the men out then returned to the living room where Laura was sitting on the sofa, her eyes dry but distant.
Frank returned from the kitchen where he had taken Joe's unfinished dinner and sat down next to his mother. Taking her hand in his, he looked up at his father. "Now what?"
"We get some rest," Fenton said, holding up a hand to ward off the protest he was positive his eldest son would make. "Apart from heading to Mayhem's old address, which is still under surveillance, there isn't anything we can do tonight."
Frank wanted to argue but knew his father was right. With a look of defeat he kissed his mother lightly on the forehead, said goodnight to his father, and ran upstairs to his room.
***
Morning arrived to find Frank dressed and sitting on his brother's bed perusing one of the werewolf books Joe had checked out of the library. While he didn't believe in the existence of werewolves there was little doubt his brother did and so, he assumed, did Craig prior to his disappearance.
Frank closed the book with a snap and dropped it on the bed. He buried his head in his hands and sighed. I should have listened, he thought as he rubbed the back of his neck with his thumbs. Joe's instincts are almost always right on the mark. When he suspected Mayhem, I should have listened.
Frank dropped his hands and stood up. He returned the book to where he had found it and headed downstairs, his face set in a scowl.
"You didn't get any sleep either?" asked Laura looking at her eldest through bloodshot eyes.
Frank shook his head. "Your father is on the phone with Chief Collig," she informed him. "If you'll get the mail, I'll put on breakfast."
Frank nodded and left the kitchen going through the living room into the foyer where his dad was listening to something that didn't seem to brighten his spirits any and out the front door. Frank walked to the end of the walk where the mailbox stood with its little red flag alert, and opened it.
He removed three envelopes and closed it back, dropping the flag and glanced at the return address. Two credit card bills and a letter from Gertrude, the boys aunt on their father's side. He turned to go back to the house but spotted Elie's red truck parked three houses down.
A trap? Frank wondered starting for it. He paused and frowned. Don't walk right into it, stupid, his brain screamed the warning. He made a sharp right turn and headed for the house.
"Dad, Elie's truck is parked down the street," he said as his father lowered the receiver onto the handset.
"Let's check it out," said Fenton, following Frank outside. The two kept looking around for sign of anyone hiding nearby. Fenton even kept glancing up into the trees although Frank was sure Mayhem couldn't have managed climbing one. He simply wasn't in shape.
"I don't see any sign of Mayhem," Frank said as they reached the truck and each took a side and began circling.
"It may not be Elie's truck and even if it is, it may not be Mayhem who is responsible," Fenton reminded Frank.
"It's Mayhem," Frank declared with certainty. Although he had told his father about nearly being run down on campus and Mayhem's disappearance he hadn't revealed Joe's fears about being a werewolf. Fears no one but Mayhem could be responsible for...except for Anderson and Frank was still convinced he and Mayhem were in cahoots.
Fenton never responded but moved closer to the truck and looked in the bed. Empty. Frank headed for the driver's door. "The keys are in the ignition," he said and grabbed the handle. He pushed his thumb on the handle and heard an ominous click.
"Dad!" Frank shouted, his voice pitched higher than normal.
Fenton hurried to Frank's side. "Check for a bomb," Frank instructed, careful to keep his grip the same as when he heard the click.
Fenton looked beneath the vehicle but could see nothing. Next, he went to the passenger side and peered through the window at the driver's door. A wire attached to the handle led to the space beneath the driver's seat.
"Don't move," Fenton told Frank, his voice quiet but firm. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called the police.
"A bomb squad is on the way," Fenton told Frank. "Just don't let..." he broke off as a loud barking began.
Frank turned his head and his eyes widened. It was Sweetheart, their neighbor's overly friendly Saint Bernard, and its eyes were set on Frank as it bounded down the walk toward him!