Joe felt the sun penetrate his eyelids and blinked them open as dirt was pushed away from his ears. "Morning, little lamb," Avery said, leering down at him.
Joe looked up into hazel eyes, his own blue ones deliberately devoid of any emotion, and forced himself to smile. Avery gasped and paused in his task. Then his face became one big smile. It's working, Avery thought happily, as he continued digging Joe out.
Mr. Hardy and Frank arrived at the gas station in Signet just after sun-up. Mr. Hardy pulled to a stop beside the pump and asked Frank to fill it up while he went inside. Once there, he went straight to the counter.
"Tom Carlysle," Mr. Hardy greeted the attendant. "Are you still working for McBride?" he greeted the clerk with a friendly smile.
"Fenton Hardy," Carlysle returned the greeting, a big welcoming smile onhis face. "I haven't seen you 'cepting in the paper for going on twenty years now."
"It has been a long time," Mr. Hardy agreed. He remembered stopping here for gas on his way into Bayport at least once a week after he had obtained his driving license. He had been born at Bayport Memorial, the nearest hospital, but raised on a small farm in Signet.
"I bought this place from McBride about two years ago," Carlysle answered Mr. Hardy's question. "What brings you this way?" he added his question with a curious twinkle in his blue eyes.
"I'm looking for someone who was last seen heading this way," Mr. Hardy informed him. "He's six foot one with hazel eyes. His hair was brown but it culd have been dyed. He was driving a blue Plymoth Reliant."
"I've seen him," Carlysle admitted. "Why are you looking for him? Did he rob a bank or something?"
"He kidnapped my youngest son," Mr. Hardy replied truthfully, his eyes weary. "When did you see him? Did he have a teen-age boy with him?"
Carlysle stood up straight, his blue eyes darkening. "That scum-bag!" he snarled loudly. "I saw him last night at Phil's," he told Mr. Hardy, naming the owner of the hardware store. "He was buying a shovel."
Mr. Hardy's face went white and he grasped the counter for support. The bell rang announcing another customer. It was Frank. "Dad!" he exclaimed, seeing his father leaning heavily on the counter and looking pale. He rushed over to his side at once.
Mr. Hardy released the counter and took Frank's arm, squeezing it both to comfort Frank, and himself. "Do you know where he went after he left the hardware store?" Mr. Hardy asked Carlysle.
"Sorry," he answered. "I'll call Phil and see if he can tell me anything," he added, picking up the phone and dialing Phillip Moore's home phone. When he hung up, he knew no more than he had before.
Again, the bell rang. Mr. Hardy pulled out his wallet and paid for the gas. "If you see him or the car again, call the police immediately," he entreated.
"Who are you looking for?" asked a middle-aged, woman with short blond hair.
"A fellow driving a blue Reliant," Carlysle answered for the Hardys, then went on to give her the description he had been given.
"I saw that car this morning," the woman said. "On my way into town. It was parked out near the cemetery."
Frank was having a hard time breathing but that was nothing compared to his father. "Call the sheriff and the Bayport police," Frank ordered the clerk. "Tell them to go to the cemetery."
Frank helped his father outside and into the passenger side of the car. As Frank got in behind the wheel, Mr. Hardy did his best to stop hyperventilating. "Are you going to be all right?" Frank asked as he pulled out onto the two lane road and headed toward the cemetery. He had never seen his father this shaken-up.
Mr. Hardy nodded as he rolled down the window. "It's just so unfair," he rasped, his eyes shining. "He went through so much and we got him back and now..." he quit speaking, unable to say what he was thinking.
"He's not dead," Frank said sharply. "Douglas said Avery would...would desecrate Joe; make his soul Satan's. He won't kill him until that happens and it won't. Not ever! Joe could never be bad. Avery isn't even giving him a chance too. Unless..."
"Unless he just meant to take away Joe's innocence," Mr. Hardy finished for him. "But why did he need a shovel? And why take him to the graveyard?"
They finished the trip in silence. Frank pulled to a stop just outside the cemetery gates. "I'll go in the front, you take the back," Mr. Hardy told Frank. "I'll give you five minutes to get there."
"Make it three," Frank said, taking off at a run. He entered the back of the graveyard three minutes later and stood still, listening for a sound to indicate someone was inside.
Hearing nothing, he looked around. An older cemetery, this one was not flat and pristine like those in the city. Instead, there were graves scattered over four acres of land with trees and thick brush hiding some of the gravesites. Frank headed off to the left, not exactly sure why, but he had a gut feeling if Joe were here, it would be near their grandparents' graves.
Perhaps Avery had brought Joe here to scare him, Frank thought as he made his way further into the graveyard. But, no, he realized, there had to be more to it than that. But what would Avery have brought Joe here for except to bury him? Maybe Douglas had been wrong. Maybe Avery just planned on killing Joe outright and even now his lifeless body was lying in a shallow grave. But why would he bury him on hallowed ground?
Frank passed a large oak tree and came to a shocked standstill. What little color he had drained from his face as he made his way closer to the grave that was his grandfather's. He fell to his knees beside the grave, tears falling as he saw the distinctive outline of his brother's body where he had lain.
"Little lamb, are you ready for breakfast?" Avery asked Joe, sitting down on a sofa in the living room. Joe said not a word but never turned away when his captor looked into his eyes.
Joe knew where they were. Oh, the appearance had changed, the outside was now a colonial blue and the inside had been completely redecorated, but the structure was the same. He had to give the guy credit; he had done his homework. Not only had he known where Marshall and Alice Hardy had been buried, but he also knew where they had lived.
Joe wondered as he watched Avery pour wine into a glass if he would be put in his grandfather's old room or his dad's. Then again, perhaps this man knew where to find Hooligan's grave. Hooligan had been his father's pet Huskie. He had gotten into a fight with a mountain lion some twenty odd years ago and although he had gotten away, he had died later that night. He remembered his grandmother telling him how heartbroken his dad had been when it had happened.
Joe doubted this man had found that out but he knew he was in for more torture. He only wished he knew what to expect so he could prepare himself. If his plan were going to succeed, he couldn't let fear or pain, or any emotion for that matter, overtake him.
Joe accepted the glass from his tormentor and downed the contents quickly. It really didn't quench his thirst, but it was wet. He wasn't hungry. He hadn't had any real food since his last day at home and he had ceased wanting to eat near the end of his first week of captivity.
Joe returned the glass and looked around the room wondering where the current owners were. It became obvious this is where his abductor had spent the night for he knew his way around. He pulled Joe to his feet and half carried him down the hallway to the master bedroom. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling Joe with him.
Joe barely managed to control the gasp, which threatened to alter his features as he caught sight if a man and woman, presumably the owners, through the open bathroom door. They were sitting, their hands tied behind them, on stools in the center of a large tub. The faucet was dripping and it was obvious there was water near their feet. Lying over the edge of the tub was a cord, which was plugged into the wall. Should either of the people attempt to get up or fall from their perch, they would be electrocuted.
Avery dragged Joe over to the bed and pushed him down. The bedspread had been turned down to reveal a set of pristine white satin sheets, but once Joe's body hit the bed, it became covered in dirt. "Rest, little lamb," Avery told Joe, pushing him back onto the bed and taking a pill from the nightstand beside the bed. He dropped it into a glass then picked up the bottle of wine from the table and filled the glass. He gave the glass to Joe who swallowed once, then put the glass to his lips and tilted his head back, letting the contents pour down his throat. Joe knew it was dangerous to mix drugs with alcohol, but he really had no choice. And besides, knowing his captor, it was a combination that wasn't lethal anyway. It would be too easy.
Avery took the glass and returned it and the wine to the bedside table. He sat down on the bed beside Joe and reached for the scissors, which had also been laid out in anticipation of Joe's arrival.
As Joe's eyelids grew heavy, Avery rubbed the blades of the scissors up and down Joe's face, beginning with his left temple and gliding down around his chin and up the other side, repeating the movement which helped lull Joe to sleep even as the feel of the steel struck fear in his heart.
After Joe's breathing evened out, Avery began cutting Joe's blond locks, tossing them in the floor and on the bed beside Joe. He deliberately took off more in some places than others, leaving Joe looking like someone had taken hedge clippers to his head rather than scissors.
After cutting Joe's hair, Avery realized this might not be such a good place to hide after all. Surely, there was one person intelligent enough to think he might come here...that is, if the disturbed grave was discovered.
He looked at the couple who had watched in horrific fascination as he had toyed with the boy's hair and smiled. He laid the scissors on the bed beside Joe and stood up. Entering the bathroom, he pulled the cord from the wall. He lifted the woman and carried her back across the threshold and tossed her onto the bedroom floor. He returned and put the man over his shoulder, dropping him beside his wife seconds later.
Avery then let the water out and carried the stools back to where he had gotten them the previous evening. Next, he carried Joe outside and laid him on the floor in the back of the car, positive the youth would not awaken for several hours. He snatched up a bucket from beside the back porch on his way back inside and took a knife form the kitchen drawer.
Upstairs, he came to a standstill by the man and set the bucket down. As the woman watched, screaming behind her gag, he slashed at the man until his blood flowed freely. He caught some in the bucket then rammed the knife into the man repeatedly until he ceased breathing. Avery looked at the woman. When next he stood up, he wondered where to dispose of the bodies, or if he should even bother.
Joe looked up into hazel eyes, his own blue ones deliberately devoid of any emotion, and forced himself to smile. Avery gasped and paused in his task. Then his face became one big smile. It's working, Avery thought happily, as he continued digging Joe out.
Mr. Hardy and Frank arrived at the gas station in Signet just after sun-up. Mr. Hardy pulled to a stop beside the pump and asked Frank to fill it up while he went inside. Once there, he went straight to the counter.
"Tom Carlysle," Mr. Hardy greeted the attendant. "Are you still working for McBride?" he greeted the clerk with a friendly smile.
"Fenton Hardy," Carlysle returned the greeting, a big welcoming smile onhis face. "I haven't seen you 'cepting in the paper for going on twenty years now."
"It has been a long time," Mr. Hardy agreed. He remembered stopping here for gas on his way into Bayport at least once a week after he had obtained his driving license. He had been born at Bayport Memorial, the nearest hospital, but raised on a small farm in Signet.
"I bought this place from McBride about two years ago," Carlysle answered Mr. Hardy's question. "What brings you this way?" he added his question with a curious twinkle in his blue eyes.
"I'm looking for someone who was last seen heading this way," Mr. Hardy informed him. "He's six foot one with hazel eyes. His hair was brown but it culd have been dyed. He was driving a blue Plymoth Reliant."
"I've seen him," Carlysle admitted. "Why are you looking for him? Did he rob a bank or something?"
"He kidnapped my youngest son," Mr. Hardy replied truthfully, his eyes weary. "When did you see him? Did he have a teen-age boy with him?"
Carlysle stood up straight, his blue eyes darkening. "That scum-bag!" he snarled loudly. "I saw him last night at Phil's," he told Mr. Hardy, naming the owner of the hardware store. "He was buying a shovel."
Mr. Hardy's face went white and he grasped the counter for support. The bell rang announcing another customer. It was Frank. "Dad!" he exclaimed, seeing his father leaning heavily on the counter and looking pale. He rushed over to his side at once.
Mr. Hardy released the counter and took Frank's arm, squeezing it both to comfort Frank, and himself. "Do you know where he went after he left the hardware store?" Mr. Hardy asked Carlysle.
"Sorry," he answered. "I'll call Phil and see if he can tell me anything," he added, picking up the phone and dialing Phillip Moore's home phone. When he hung up, he knew no more than he had before.
Again, the bell rang. Mr. Hardy pulled out his wallet and paid for the gas. "If you see him or the car again, call the police immediately," he entreated.
"Who are you looking for?" asked a middle-aged, woman with short blond hair.
"A fellow driving a blue Reliant," Carlysle answered for the Hardys, then went on to give her the description he had been given.
"I saw that car this morning," the woman said. "On my way into town. It was parked out near the cemetery."
Frank was having a hard time breathing but that was nothing compared to his father. "Call the sheriff and the Bayport police," Frank ordered the clerk. "Tell them to go to the cemetery."
Frank helped his father outside and into the passenger side of the car. As Frank got in behind the wheel, Mr. Hardy did his best to stop hyperventilating. "Are you going to be all right?" Frank asked as he pulled out onto the two lane road and headed toward the cemetery. He had never seen his father this shaken-up.
Mr. Hardy nodded as he rolled down the window. "It's just so unfair," he rasped, his eyes shining. "He went through so much and we got him back and now..." he quit speaking, unable to say what he was thinking.
"He's not dead," Frank said sharply. "Douglas said Avery would...would desecrate Joe; make his soul Satan's. He won't kill him until that happens and it won't. Not ever! Joe could never be bad. Avery isn't even giving him a chance too. Unless..."
"Unless he just meant to take away Joe's innocence," Mr. Hardy finished for him. "But why did he need a shovel? And why take him to the graveyard?"
They finished the trip in silence. Frank pulled to a stop just outside the cemetery gates. "I'll go in the front, you take the back," Mr. Hardy told Frank. "I'll give you five minutes to get there."
"Make it three," Frank said, taking off at a run. He entered the back of the graveyard three minutes later and stood still, listening for a sound to indicate someone was inside.
Hearing nothing, he looked around. An older cemetery, this one was not flat and pristine like those in the city. Instead, there were graves scattered over four acres of land with trees and thick brush hiding some of the gravesites. Frank headed off to the left, not exactly sure why, but he had a gut feeling if Joe were here, it would be near their grandparents' graves.
Perhaps Avery had brought Joe here to scare him, Frank thought as he made his way further into the graveyard. But, no, he realized, there had to be more to it than that. But what would Avery have brought Joe here for except to bury him? Maybe Douglas had been wrong. Maybe Avery just planned on killing Joe outright and even now his lifeless body was lying in a shallow grave. But why would he bury him on hallowed ground?
Frank passed a large oak tree and came to a shocked standstill. What little color he had drained from his face as he made his way closer to the grave that was his grandfather's. He fell to his knees beside the grave, tears falling as he saw the distinctive outline of his brother's body where he had lain.
"Little lamb, are you ready for breakfast?" Avery asked Joe, sitting down on a sofa in the living room. Joe said not a word but never turned away when his captor looked into his eyes.
Joe knew where they were. Oh, the appearance had changed, the outside was now a colonial blue and the inside had been completely redecorated, but the structure was the same. He had to give the guy credit; he had done his homework. Not only had he known where Marshall and Alice Hardy had been buried, but he also knew where they had lived.
Joe wondered as he watched Avery pour wine into a glass if he would be put in his grandfather's old room or his dad's. Then again, perhaps this man knew where to find Hooligan's grave. Hooligan had been his father's pet Huskie. He had gotten into a fight with a mountain lion some twenty odd years ago and although he had gotten away, he had died later that night. He remembered his grandmother telling him how heartbroken his dad had been when it had happened.
Joe doubted this man had found that out but he knew he was in for more torture. He only wished he knew what to expect so he could prepare himself. If his plan were going to succeed, he couldn't let fear or pain, or any emotion for that matter, overtake him.
Joe accepted the glass from his tormentor and downed the contents quickly. It really didn't quench his thirst, but it was wet. He wasn't hungry. He hadn't had any real food since his last day at home and he had ceased wanting to eat near the end of his first week of captivity.
Joe returned the glass and looked around the room wondering where the current owners were. It became obvious this is where his abductor had spent the night for he knew his way around. He pulled Joe to his feet and half carried him down the hallway to the master bedroom. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling Joe with him.
Joe barely managed to control the gasp, which threatened to alter his features as he caught sight if a man and woman, presumably the owners, through the open bathroom door. They were sitting, their hands tied behind them, on stools in the center of a large tub. The faucet was dripping and it was obvious there was water near their feet. Lying over the edge of the tub was a cord, which was plugged into the wall. Should either of the people attempt to get up or fall from their perch, they would be electrocuted.
Avery dragged Joe over to the bed and pushed him down. The bedspread had been turned down to reveal a set of pristine white satin sheets, but once Joe's body hit the bed, it became covered in dirt. "Rest, little lamb," Avery told Joe, pushing him back onto the bed and taking a pill from the nightstand beside the bed. He dropped it into a glass then picked up the bottle of wine from the table and filled the glass. He gave the glass to Joe who swallowed once, then put the glass to his lips and tilted his head back, letting the contents pour down his throat. Joe knew it was dangerous to mix drugs with alcohol, but he really had no choice. And besides, knowing his captor, it was a combination that wasn't lethal anyway. It would be too easy.
Avery took the glass and returned it and the wine to the bedside table. He sat down on the bed beside Joe and reached for the scissors, which had also been laid out in anticipation of Joe's arrival.
As Joe's eyelids grew heavy, Avery rubbed the blades of the scissors up and down Joe's face, beginning with his left temple and gliding down around his chin and up the other side, repeating the movement which helped lull Joe to sleep even as the feel of the steel struck fear in his heart.
After Joe's breathing evened out, Avery began cutting Joe's blond locks, tossing them in the floor and on the bed beside Joe. He deliberately took off more in some places than others, leaving Joe looking like someone had taken hedge clippers to his head rather than scissors.
After cutting Joe's hair, Avery realized this might not be such a good place to hide after all. Surely, there was one person intelligent enough to think he might come here...that is, if the disturbed grave was discovered.
He looked at the couple who had watched in horrific fascination as he had toyed with the boy's hair and smiled. He laid the scissors on the bed beside Joe and stood up. Entering the bathroom, he pulled the cord from the wall. He lifted the woman and carried her back across the threshold and tossed her onto the bedroom floor. He returned and put the man over his shoulder, dropping him beside his wife seconds later.
Avery then let the water out and carried the stools back to where he had gotten them the previous evening. Next, he carried Joe outside and laid him on the floor in the back of the car, positive the youth would not awaken for several hours. He snatched up a bucket from beside the back porch on his way back inside and took a knife form the kitchen drawer.
Upstairs, he came to a standstill by the man and set the bucket down. As the woman watched, screaming behind her gag, he slashed at the man until his blood flowed freely. He caught some in the bucket then rammed the knife into the man repeatedly until he ceased breathing. Avery looked at the woman. When next he stood up, he wondered where to dispose of the bodies, or if he should even bother.
