Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).
Note: This story was written around the year 2002, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines! Also it was originally co-written with another person, to whom I give much credit and thanks.
Thanks to those readers who have kindly left commentary on prior chapters.
My deepest apologies; I downloaded the wrong chapter for #5, and posted #6 instead. They are both correctly posted now. I hope. I won't blame anyone for ceasing to read the story, since I'm botching it up so badly.
January Thaw
By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH
Chapter 5
Frank drove home through the deepening twilight in a daze. He had played the cassette tape over and over, trying to catch anything that might give him a clue as to the speaker's identity, or to Callie's whereabouts. But he could find nothing there that gave him any hope.
Once upon a time, he reflected bitterly, Callie would have managed to drop a hint. She would have thought of something that might help me find her. But not this time. Not now…not when Megan's life is at stake too! He pulled himself up short, realizing that he was being utterly unfair to Callie, who had been put in a terribly position through no fault of her own. Sorry, Cal; I know you would if you could.
Frank pulled into their usual parking spot in the driveway, noting that Joe was still absent. He went into the house, and was greeted with tantalizing aromas issuing from the kitchen. Unable to help himself, he sniffed experimentally, and thought, Mom's making lasagna or spaghetti for supper. He remembered the instructions on the tape, and realized he needed to act normally; it was difficult to keep secrets in the Hardy household.
"Hi Mom," he greeted his mother, going into the kitchen. "Something sure smells good."
His mother looked up from the pan whose contents she was stirring. "Just spaghetti," she commented. "Everyone's tired of turkey leftovers now, so I'm having something completely different." She frowned a little, still looking at her elder son. "Are you feeling all right, Frank? You look upset."
"I'm fine, Mom." Frank turned away, and hastily got a glass from a cupboard; he went to the sink and filled the glass with water.
"Joe told me about your accident yesterday—" she began.
Accident? What accident? Oh….
"Oh, on the ice? No big deal." Frank kept his back to Laura as he spoke. He sipped the water, staring at the wallpaper abstractedly.
"Are you sure, honey? Joe said you took quite a bump on the head…perhaps you should have seen a doctor—"
"Mom, I'm fine; I don't need to see a doctor, okay?" Frank snapped, and set his glass on the counter with a thump.
"Frank—"
"I'm sorry, Mom; I didn't mean to yell like that. But I'm really okay – nothing wrong with my head at all." Yeah, if you don't count being insane with worry….
"Is there something else troubling you?" Laura persisted, gently.
"No, Mom!" Frank shouted. "There's nothing wrong, okay?" He bolted from the kitchen – and in his haste nearly flattened his father, who was emerging from his den.
"Whoa there!" Fenton put up his hands to fend off his rapidly-moving son. "If you're going to dash through the house like this very much, we'll need to install traffic lights!"
"Sorry, Dad," Frank muttered. "I was just going upstairs…." He stepped to the side, hoping to avoid any more conversation, but Fenton laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Thanks for helping your mother with those Christmas decorations today, son. I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you a hand, but these security arrangements are giving me fits. You should have heard what the German security chief proposed today—"
"Dad, I – I don't – uh, can we talk about this later?" Frank blurted, desperate to get away from his all-too-observant father.
"I was just making conversation, Frank; it isn't something we need to talk about later," Fenton answered gently. "Is everything all right?" he added with some concern.
"Sure, sure – everything's fine. Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm all right?"
"Maybe because you look like something's troubling you," Fenton replied. "Is everything all right between you and Megan? You – didn't have a fight, or something, did you?"
"No, we didn't have a fight!" Frank shouted. "Can't we just drop the subject?" He jerked away from his father and dashed for the stairs. As he flung himself into his bedroom, he heard his parents conversing softly below. Oh, great! Now they think Megan and I are quarreling, and I'll get the "calm down and let things blow over" lecture! Oh God, what am I going to do? Where could Callie and Megan be? And who could have them? What is it I'm going to be told to do?
Frank pointedly closed his bedroom door, and sprawled across his bed, fighting to regain control of himself. The questions streaming through his mind couldn't be answered, and the more he tried, the more appeared. All he could do was wait. What if someone else answered the telephone when his mysterious caller tried to contact him? Would he calmly ask for Frank Hardy, or would he hang up and try again later? If they – whoever "they" was – couldn't reach him, would they patiently wait, or would they kill Callie…or Megan? Frank groaned and pounded his bed with his fists.
"Frank?" There was a light tap on his door, and Laura's voice called his name. "Dinner in about 15 minutes, all right?"
"Okay. Thanks," Frank managed to reply, although nearly choked by misery.
Just as Frank was forcing himself to get up and go downstairs to eat, he heard familiar footsteps outside his door, and Joe's off-key whistling. He sat down on his bed again, trying to prepare himself for another possible confrontation. Evading his parents' questions was one thing; Joe was harder to fool.
After a moment he heard Joe in their connecting bathroom, apparently washing up before dinner; then came a perfunctory rap on the door, and Joe popped his head into the room.
"Hey bro, how's it going?"
"Fine." Frank grinned at his younger brother tightly. "How was the basketball game?"
"You missed some fun!" Joe replied. "We had enough people for three-on-three; and Biff and I ended up on the same team. We slaughtered 'em!"
"Yeah, who's going to stop that combination? Who'd you have to play forward?" Frank hoped he sounded convincing. At any other time, he would have been enthusiastic about discussing the finer points of the game; now he could barely concentrate on what Joe was saying.
But Joe had stopped talking about basketball, and was sitting down beside Frank on the bed. "Uh – Frank? Mom said something about you being upset when you came home….Is everything okay?"
"Sure, everything's fine. What would be wrong?" Frank felt as if an invisible hand was clenching his stomach.
"Well – she seems to think you and Megan might have had an argument, or something. Now, don't get all hostile!" Joe rebuked, as Frank drew in a breath, ready to argue. "I didn't say you had a fight, I said Mom was worried you might have. I know you and Megan are crazy about each other and don't fight – but you know mothers. 'Even the most devoted couples can have a spat…' sort of thing."
"Megan and I—" Frank stopped to draw another deep breath. How many times am I going to have to go through this? "Megan and I did not have a fight! Everything is just fine between us! Okay? It's fine!"
"Okay, okay, fair enough!" Joe said soothingly. "But I know you, and you look worried. You've looked worried ever since last night. If everything's okay with you and Megan, is there something else wrong?"
"No!" Frank gritted. "Can't you understand plain English? I keep saying it over and over, and nobody listens!"
"Hey, it's me, remember?" Joe grasped Frank's arm, trying to turn Frank towards himself. "We don't keep secrets from each other, right? I know you don't always think of me as having any brains, but I have enough to know when you're upset."
Frank jerked himself free and stood up. "Joe, leave me alone!" he shouted. "I'm sick and tired of all your questions! I'm tired of everybody's questions!"
Joe stood too, exhibiting amazing patience with Frank's temper. "Look, I'm just trying to help – can't you tell me what's wrong?"
"NO!" Frank practically screamed. "Now get out!" He seized Joe's arm in an iron grip, dragged him to the door and shoved him out. "Just get out and leave me alone, Joe! I don't need your help! I don't want your help!" He slammed the door with a resounding bang, leaving an astonished Joe standing in the hallway.
"You may not want my help," Joe whispered, staring at his brother's door, "but I know something's wrong. And if it's so bad you can't even tell me…well, big brother, then I guess I'll just have to find out what it is on my own!"