Frank and Callie went up the walk and mounted the steps of the Shaw home. "Want to come in for awhile?" Callie invited. "We can make it legit, and work on our calculus. That's one assignment I could use some help on." she added.
"Sure."
They went inside, and settled at the kitchen table, with Callie's calc book open in front of them. Perhaps thirty minutes later, when they were immersed in their assignment, Frank's cell phone rang.
"Hello," Frank answered, watching as Callie jotted the answer to a problem down on a sheet of notebook paper.
"Fr…Frank?" Joe's voice was fuzzy.
"Joe? You sound funny – you okay?" Frank demanded, hearing the hesitation and tone of his brother's voice.
"I…don't think so, no…." Joe replied slowly. He had lost consciousness when the car hit the barn, and had only recently come to. He was having a hard time focusing, and if Frank's cell number hadn't been on his speed dial, he probably wouldn't have been able to call. "Mom's car isn't," he went on. "I'm out – at the old – Burgess farmstead…." he continued. "Frank, I think I need…."
His voice trailed off into silence, and Frank heard a soft thump at the other end.
"Joe? Joe!" Frank leaped to his feet. "Callie, call 9-1-1. Joe's been in an accident, and he's out at the old Burgess farm." He took off out the door without looking back. Jumping into the van, Frank tossed his cell phone on the passenger seat without disconnecting the call. Perhaps Joe might come to, and talk to him again.
He drove as fast as he could to the old farm, and as he neared it, on the deserted country road, he could hear sirens wailing somewhere in the distance behind him. He made a sharp turn into the drive leading to the old barn, and accelerated recklessly when he saw his mother's car, unmindful of the bumpy lane. Pulling up next to the barn, he parked the van and leaped out, then ran over to the car and started pulling away the broken planks strewn over the car, to get at the driver's door.
"Joe…" Frank tossed the last plank aside, and found the driver's window rolled down. He leaned inside, and reached to check for a pulse. "Joe, can you hear me? Wake up, little brother!" he said urgently, praying for Joe to open his eyes and respond.
Joe moaned and turned his head slightly, then moaned again. He half-opened his eyes. "Knew…you'd come…" he muttered.
"Don't move," Frank commanded. "Just stay still." He glanced around, as strident sirens filled the air, and an ambulance swept into the barnyard, closely followed by a police cruiser. "The ambulance is here." Frank added, unnecessarily.
Frank was pushed firmly back, as the paramedics moved in to work on Joe, who was carefully removed from the wrecked car, and placed on a stretcher. More coherent now, Joe was beginning to object to the proceedings.
"I'm okay," he protested, as one of the medics attempted to make him lie still.
"Joe, let them do their job." Frank moved forward to sternly issue the order.
"I would, but I'm okay – really!" Joe countered, trying to sit up again.
"You stay put, or I'll call Mom and tell her what happened." Frank threatened, holding up Joe's cell phone, which he had retrieved from the car once Joe had been removed. Of course, he knew he'd be calling Laura soon anyhow, but Joe wouldn't think of that, right now.
Joe shot him a dirty look, but subsided, and allowed himself to be strapped to the stretcher and carried to the ambulance.
The police officer who had accompanied the ambulance came up now. "The brake line was cut." he said grimly. He had looked under the car to see if he could figure out why the accident had occurred.
Frank's face hardened. Someone had deliberately tried to kill Joe. Or Mom! The thought hit Frank like a fist in the solar plexus. Joe didn't normally drive their mother's car. What if the target was Mom? Who would want to kill her? Somebody trying to get back at Dad for something? Frank's face took on a determined cast. He wasn't going to rest until he'd found out who was trying to harm a member of his family, and why...and do what he could to stop it! He gave the officer Joe's name, and his, and told him he would be at the hospital if he was needed, then went to the van.
Grabbing his own cell phone, he hit the End button, then dialed Callie's number. He explained what had happened, and requested Callie to pick up Laura and then meet him at the hospital; he then called his mom and told her Callie was on her way over. Finally, he put the van in gear and peeled out of the barnyard, heading for Bayport's hospital.
Upon arrival, Frank went in and started filling out Joe's paperwork. I've done this so many times, I could practically do it in my sleep! he thought. Just as he finished, Callie and Laura arrived.
"Is he okay? What happened? Why was he out at the Burgess farm?" Mrs. Hardy pummeled her eldest son with questions as she came into the waiting room.
"He was conscious, Mom, and he claimed he was all right." Frank hugged her comfortingly. "But the paramedics wanted to bring him in to make sure. And I don't know why he was out there." he added, not wanting to mention the severed brake line. His father Fenton Hardy, a former member of the NYPD who had resigned to start his own investigative practice, had been out of town and out of touch for almost a week now, and Frank knew his mother was extremely worried. He wasn't about to add to her concerns if he could get away without it. He knew Joe would feel the same way.
The three waited, and time passed. Nearly an hour had gone by, and Frank was practically ready to pound on the receptionist's desk and demand information, when Joe walked out, a nurse by his side.
"He refused a wheelchair," the nurse informed the worried group, resentfully. She evidently didn't like her authority questioned or undermined.
"Joe can be very stubborn," Laura admitted, going to her younger son and hugging him gently. "Is he all right?" she asked the nurse.
"A few cuts and abrasions," the nurse said. "There's no concussion, and he's refused to remain overnight for observation, but we do recommend keeping an eye on him tonight, and waking him every few hours. If he develops any nausea or dizziness, bring him back here immediately."
"I will," Mrs. Hardy promised, hugging Joe again. "Let's go home." she said, taking his arm and leading him outside.
"Thanks, Callie, for all your help." Frank put his arm about Callie as they walked to the parking lot. Joe and Laura, just ahead, turned and thanked her too.
"Any time," Callie said, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek.
Frank escorted her to her car, while Joe and Laura climbed in the van; then he joined them, got behind the wheel, and drove home.
It was too late for dinner when they got home, but Joe insisted he was starving, and Laura fixed some sandwiches and heated a can of soup while Joe took a shower and changed. They ate, then the boys worked on their school homework for a while. When bedtime came…
"I'm going to sleep in your room." Frank announced to his brother. Joe eyed him skeptically, but knew he wasn't going to win this round. "Mom, we've got that rollaway bed someplace, don't we?"
She nodded. "It's in the storage closet upstairs."
Frank set up the cot, and set the alarm on his wristwatch. Every three hours, throughout the night, he woke, and roused Joe, to be sure he was all right. Joe declined to be grateful for this service, and grouchily demanded to be allowed to sleep, each time Frank woke him up, although he had to admit it was nice to know his brother cared about him so much.
When Joe awoke for real, at around seven, he found the cot had been removed from his room, and Frank was in his own room, on the telephone with the police. Clatter and aromas from the kitchen announced that Laura was downstairs preparing breakfast.
Joe dragged himself out of bed, feeling each and every bruise and aching muscle from the night before. He stumbled through the bathroom connecting his room and Frank's, and stared inquiringly in his brother's direction. Frank finished his conversation and hung up the phone.
"No leads," he reported. "The police haven't any idea who might have cut your brake line, or made the call that took you to the drycleaners'."
"You know what worries me?" Joe asked, scowling.
"What?"
"Mom got the call to go to the cleaners. On her cell phone. She doesn't just give that number out to everyone." Joe reminded his brother.
"I thought about that myself," Frank admitted. "But who would have something against Mom?" He waited for a response from Joe, but Joe couldn't come up with one. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore." Joe grumped. He turned and shuffled back to his own room. "I guess I'd better get ready for school, huh?"
After breakfast, the boys gathered their things and set out for school. Laura assured them that she had already been in contact with their insurance company, and arrangements for her car repairs were underway. She thought she would be getting a loaner car, while hers was fixed; in the meantime, she would just stay home, she announced, to the boys' relief!
Upon their arrival at school, Frank and Joe headed for their lockers, moving through the crush of students milling in the halls. To their shock, each found that his locker had been broken into and left standing open.
"What the…?" Frank reached out and detached something taped to the back wall of the compartment. It was a picture of Joe, with an enormous red "X" covering his features. He quickly made his way down the hall, to where Joe's locker was, and found that he, too, had discovered a picture. Joe's memento was a photo of Frank, with the same red "X".
"This is totally crazy!" Joe expostulated. "One, who could have gotten into our lockers, and two, why leave pictures like this?"
"Well, it's probably pointless, but I think I'll get the fingerprint kit from the van, and dust for prints." Frank said. Accordingly, he retrieved the kit, and the two boys proceeded to dust their lockers for prints. Students nearby watched curiously, and eventually, word of this strange activity made its way to the school office.
"All right, Frank, what are you two up to? Aren't the custodians keeping things up to par, you have to dust your lockers with little brushes now?" Frank, who was concentrating on what he was doing, jumped as he heard the voice, and snapped his head around. Principal Craig Dyson was standing in the hallway, watching him work, a smile creasing his face.
Frank explained, and the smile faded. "This sounds serious; maybe we should notify the police." Principal Dyson suggested.
"I don't think it's quite that serious." Frank demurred. "It's probably just a prank." Finished with his work, he packed up the fingerprint kit and tossed it into the locker. He'd return it to the van later. Right now, he needed to get to class.
"Well, keep me posted," Dyson insisted. "If anything else unusual occurs, let's nip things in the bud, pranks or no pranks."
The school day progressed as it usually did. Joe's classes started with science, then U.S. history, then English. In his history class, he found the usual teacher absent, and a substitute there instead, a lean, red-haired woman about 5'6" with piercing green eyes and a decisive manner. She announced that Mr. Bartlett had gone to New York City to attend a seminar, but would return the next day.
When the final bell rang for the day, students flooded the halls, heading for the parking lot. Joe and Frank joined the throng, making their way slowly through the crowded halls. Although they normally would have been trying to hook up with Callie and Vanessa, and some of their other friends, today they wanted to get home and check on what had been decided about their mother's car – and they optimistically hoped for news from Fenton, too.
Frank fished out his keys, and went to the drivers' door, with Joe trailing behind him a step or two. When he opened the door, however, he halted abruptly.
"What's that?" Gingerly, he reached for the piece of paper lying on the seat.
Joe crowded close to peer over his shoulder. "What's it say?"
"It says…" Frank's voice was grim. "'Tick…tock…tick…tock.' Joe – let's get out of here, fast!"
They backed away from the van, careful not to close the door, and Frank got out his cell phone to call the police, while Joe began warning their fellow-students to keep away. Immediately, a curious crowd gathered, more attracted by Joe's warnings than repelled. Shaking his head at human nature, Joe slipped off his backpack and set it down, and kept trying to steer people away from the van.
The bomb squad arrived with swirling lights and snarling sirens, and firmly cleared the area around the van, but the investigating officers could find no trace of a bomb.
"False alarm," One of the officers tendered the boys a sympathetic grin. "Must have been a prank." He looked around. "Show's over!" he said, more loudly. The watching students groaned, disappointed, and began to dissipate.
"Yeah…there's a lot of that going around." Frank muttered. "Sorry to bring you out for nothing."
"Hey, it wasn't nothing. You had sufficient reason to think something had been planted." The policemen began packing up and preparing to leave.
Joe retrieved his backpack from where he'd set it down, and hefted it over his shoulder. He stopped walking and frowned. It felt heavier than it usually did, and he knew – knew! – that he didn't have his Economics book with him tonight; that was his heaviest textbook. Curious, he slipped it off again, and unzipped it…and stared at the black device with the timer connected, where the seconds were inexorably ticking away – 17…16…15….!
"Sure."
They went inside, and settled at the kitchen table, with Callie's calc book open in front of them. Perhaps thirty minutes later, when they were immersed in their assignment, Frank's cell phone rang.
"Hello," Frank answered, watching as Callie jotted the answer to a problem down on a sheet of notebook paper.
"Fr…Frank?" Joe's voice was fuzzy.
"Joe? You sound funny – you okay?" Frank demanded, hearing the hesitation and tone of his brother's voice.
"I…don't think so, no…." Joe replied slowly. He had lost consciousness when the car hit the barn, and had only recently come to. He was having a hard time focusing, and if Frank's cell number hadn't been on his speed dial, he probably wouldn't have been able to call. "Mom's car isn't," he went on. "I'm out – at the old – Burgess farmstead…." he continued. "Frank, I think I need…."
His voice trailed off into silence, and Frank heard a soft thump at the other end.
"Joe? Joe!" Frank leaped to his feet. "Callie, call 9-1-1. Joe's been in an accident, and he's out at the old Burgess farm." He took off out the door without looking back. Jumping into the van, Frank tossed his cell phone on the passenger seat without disconnecting the call. Perhaps Joe might come to, and talk to him again.
He drove as fast as he could to the old farm, and as he neared it, on the deserted country road, he could hear sirens wailing somewhere in the distance behind him. He made a sharp turn into the drive leading to the old barn, and accelerated recklessly when he saw his mother's car, unmindful of the bumpy lane. Pulling up next to the barn, he parked the van and leaped out, then ran over to the car and started pulling away the broken planks strewn over the car, to get at the driver's door.
"Joe…" Frank tossed the last plank aside, and found the driver's window rolled down. He leaned inside, and reached to check for a pulse. "Joe, can you hear me? Wake up, little brother!" he said urgently, praying for Joe to open his eyes and respond.
Joe moaned and turned his head slightly, then moaned again. He half-opened his eyes. "Knew…you'd come…" he muttered.
"Don't move," Frank commanded. "Just stay still." He glanced around, as strident sirens filled the air, and an ambulance swept into the barnyard, closely followed by a police cruiser. "The ambulance is here." Frank added, unnecessarily.
Frank was pushed firmly back, as the paramedics moved in to work on Joe, who was carefully removed from the wrecked car, and placed on a stretcher. More coherent now, Joe was beginning to object to the proceedings.
"I'm okay," he protested, as one of the medics attempted to make him lie still.
"Joe, let them do their job." Frank moved forward to sternly issue the order.
"I would, but I'm okay – really!" Joe countered, trying to sit up again.
"You stay put, or I'll call Mom and tell her what happened." Frank threatened, holding up Joe's cell phone, which he had retrieved from the car once Joe had been removed. Of course, he knew he'd be calling Laura soon anyhow, but Joe wouldn't think of that, right now.
Joe shot him a dirty look, but subsided, and allowed himself to be strapped to the stretcher and carried to the ambulance.
The police officer who had accompanied the ambulance came up now. "The brake line was cut." he said grimly. He had looked under the car to see if he could figure out why the accident had occurred.
Frank's face hardened. Someone had deliberately tried to kill Joe. Or Mom! The thought hit Frank like a fist in the solar plexus. Joe didn't normally drive their mother's car. What if the target was Mom? Who would want to kill her? Somebody trying to get back at Dad for something? Frank's face took on a determined cast. He wasn't going to rest until he'd found out who was trying to harm a member of his family, and why...and do what he could to stop it! He gave the officer Joe's name, and his, and told him he would be at the hospital if he was needed, then went to the van.
Grabbing his own cell phone, he hit the End button, then dialed Callie's number. He explained what had happened, and requested Callie to pick up Laura and then meet him at the hospital; he then called his mom and told her Callie was on her way over. Finally, he put the van in gear and peeled out of the barnyard, heading for Bayport's hospital.
Upon arrival, Frank went in and started filling out Joe's paperwork. I've done this so many times, I could practically do it in my sleep! he thought. Just as he finished, Callie and Laura arrived.
"Is he okay? What happened? Why was he out at the Burgess farm?" Mrs. Hardy pummeled her eldest son with questions as she came into the waiting room.
"He was conscious, Mom, and he claimed he was all right." Frank hugged her comfortingly. "But the paramedics wanted to bring him in to make sure. And I don't know why he was out there." he added, not wanting to mention the severed brake line. His father Fenton Hardy, a former member of the NYPD who had resigned to start his own investigative practice, had been out of town and out of touch for almost a week now, and Frank knew his mother was extremely worried. He wasn't about to add to her concerns if he could get away without it. He knew Joe would feel the same way.
The three waited, and time passed. Nearly an hour had gone by, and Frank was practically ready to pound on the receptionist's desk and demand information, when Joe walked out, a nurse by his side.
"He refused a wheelchair," the nurse informed the worried group, resentfully. She evidently didn't like her authority questioned or undermined.
"Joe can be very stubborn," Laura admitted, going to her younger son and hugging him gently. "Is he all right?" she asked the nurse.
"A few cuts and abrasions," the nurse said. "There's no concussion, and he's refused to remain overnight for observation, but we do recommend keeping an eye on him tonight, and waking him every few hours. If he develops any nausea or dizziness, bring him back here immediately."
"I will," Mrs. Hardy promised, hugging Joe again. "Let's go home." she said, taking his arm and leading him outside.
"Thanks, Callie, for all your help." Frank put his arm about Callie as they walked to the parking lot. Joe and Laura, just ahead, turned and thanked her too.
"Any time," Callie said, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek.
Frank escorted her to her car, while Joe and Laura climbed in the van; then he joined them, got behind the wheel, and drove home.
It was too late for dinner when they got home, but Joe insisted he was starving, and Laura fixed some sandwiches and heated a can of soup while Joe took a shower and changed. They ate, then the boys worked on their school homework for a while. When bedtime came…
"I'm going to sleep in your room." Frank announced to his brother. Joe eyed him skeptically, but knew he wasn't going to win this round. "Mom, we've got that rollaway bed someplace, don't we?"
She nodded. "It's in the storage closet upstairs."
Frank set up the cot, and set the alarm on his wristwatch. Every three hours, throughout the night, he woke, and roused Joe, to be sure he was all right. Joe declined to be grateful for this service, and grouchily demanded to be allowed to sleep, each time Frank woke him up, although he had to admit it was nice to know his brother cared about him so much.
When Joe awoke for real, at around seven, he found the cot had been removed from his room, and Frank was in his own room, on the telephone with the police. Clatter and aromas from the kitchen announced that Laura was downstairs preparing breakfast.
Joe dragged himself out of bed, feeling each and every bruise and aching muscle from the night before. He stumbled through the bathroom connecting his room and Frank's, and stared inquiringly in his brother's direction. Frank finished his conversation and hung up the phone.
"No leads," he reported. "The police haven't any idea who might have cut your brake line, or made the call that took you to the drycleaners'."
"You know what worries me?" Joe asked, scowling.
"What?"
"Mom got the call to go to the cleaners. On her cell phone. She doesn't just give that number out to everyone." Joe reminded his brother.
"I thought about that myself," Frank admitted. "But who would have something against Mom?" He waited for a response from Joe, but Joe couldn't come up with one. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore." Joe grumped. He turned and shuffled back to his own room. "I guess I'd better get ready for school, huh?"
After breakfast, the boys gathered their things and set out for school. Laura assured them that she had already been in contact with their insurance company, and arrangements for her car repairs were underway. She thought she would be getting a loaner car, while hers was fixed; in the meantime, she would just stay home, she announced, to the boys' relief!
Upon their arrival at school, Frank and Joe headed for their lockers, moving through the crush of students milling in the halls. To their shock, each found that his locker had been broken into and left standing open.
"What the…?" Frank reached out and detached something taped to the back wall of the compartment. It was a picture of Joe, with an enormous red "X" covering his features. He quickly made his way down the hall, to where Joe's locker was, and found that he, too, had discovered a picture. Joe's memento was a photo of Frank, with the same red "X".
"This is totally crazy!" Joe expostulated. "One, who could have gotten into our lockers, and two, why leave pictures like this?"
"Well, it's probably pointless, but I think I'll get the fingerprint kit from the van, and dust for prints." Frank said. Accordingly, he retrieved the kit, and the two boys proceeded to dust their lockers for prints. Students nearby watched curiously, and eventually, word of this strange activity made its way to the school office.
"All right, Frank, what are you two up to? Aren't the custodians keeping things up to par, you have to dust your lockers with little brushes now?" Frank, who was concentrating on what he was doing, jumped as he heard the voice, and snapped his head around. Principal Craig Dyson was standing in the hallway, watching him work, a smile creasing his face.
Frank explained, and the smile faded. "This sounds serious; maybe we should notify the police." Principal Dyson suggested.
"I don't think it's quite that serious." Frank demurred. "It's probably just a prank." Finished with his work, he packed up the fingerprint kit and tossed it into the locker. He'd return it to the van later. Right now, he needed to get to class.
"Well, keep me posted," Dyson insisted. "If anything else unusual occurs, let's nip things in the bud, pranks or no pranks."
The school day progressed as it usually did. Joe's classes started with science, then U.S. history, then English. In his history class, he found the usual teacher absent, and a substitute there instead, a lean, red-haired woman about 5'6" with piercing green eyes and a decisive manner. She announced that Mr. Bartlett had gone to New York City to attend a seminar, but would return the next day.
When the final bell rang for the day, students flooded the halls, heading for the parking lot. Joe and Frank joined the throng, making their way slowly through the crowded halls. Although they normally would have been trying to hook up with Callie and Vanessa, and some of their other friends, today they wanted to get home and check on what had been decided about their mother's car – and they optimistically hoped for news from Fenton, too.
Frank fished out his keys, and went to the drivers' door, with Joe trailing behind him a step or two. When he opened the door, however, he halted abruptly.
"What's that?" Gingerly, he reached for the piece of paper lying on the seat.
Joe crowded close to peer over his shoulder. "What's it say?"
"It says…" Frank's voice was grim. "'Tick…tock…tick…tock.' Joe – let's get out of here, fast!"
They backed away from the van, careful not to close the door, and Frank got out his cell phone to call the police, while Joe began warning their fellow-students to keep away. Immediately, a curious crowd gathered, more attracted by Joe's warnings than repelled. Shaking his head at human nature, Joe slipped off his backpack and set it down, and kept trying to steer people away from the van.
The bomb squad arrived with swirling lights and snarling sirens, and firmly cleared the area around the van, but the investigating officers could find no trace of a bomb.
"False alarm," One of the officers tendered the boys a sympathetic grin. "Must have been a prank." He looked around. "Show's over!" he said, more loudly. The watching students groaned, disappointed, and began to dissipate.
"Yeah…there's a lot of that going around." Frank muttered. "Sorry to bring you out for nothing."
"Hey, it wasn't nothing. You had sufficient reason to think something had been planted." The policemen began packing up and preparing to leave.
Joe retrieved his backpack from where he'd set it down, and hefted it over his shoulder. He stopped walking and frowned. It felt heavier than it usually did, and he knew – knew! – that he didn't have his Economics book with him tonight; that was his heaviest textbook. Curious, he slipped it off again, and unzipped it…and stared at the black device with the timer connected, where the seconds were inexorably ticking away – 17…16…15….!