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 credit for most of the plot, and heartfelt thanks.
Thank you to everyone who has been so kind as to leave commentary and feedback.
January Thaw
By EvergreenDreamweaver and Sparks JSH
Chapter 13
"I hate this!" Joe burst out. He drummed his gloved fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. "I wish Vanessa hadn't come up with that crazy idea about wanting to use the bathroom; she doesn't have any business walking into some loony-tune's house where she might end up held hostage too!" He turned to glare at Frank, seated in the passenger seat. "It's your fault; you thought up the idea in the first place!"
Frank returned the glare. "My fault? Oh thanks, little brother, that makes me feel just great! When all the kids are out there tramping up and down the street, calling attention to themselves – maybe putting Dad and Megan and Callie into even more danger, if any of them are recognized as being associated with us…."
For a few seconds the brothers stared at each other hotly – and then Frank suddenly broke eye contact, put his head back and began to laugh softly.
"Listen to us, would you? We don't do too well sitting on the sidelines while someone else does the investigative work, do we?"
Joe's mouth curved into a smile that quickly became a self-deprecating grin. "I guess you're right. We do this sort of thing all the time – never think twice about the danger—"
"That's not true, I think about the danger!" Frank interposed.
Joe snorted derisively, and continued, "—but when it's Vanessa and Biff and Tony and the others doing it, we freak out." He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I wonder why?"
Frank considered it a moment, then replied, "It's because we don't have any control over what happens. We can't do anything about it, one way or another." He met Joe's eyes. "God, Joe, I'm so scared….what if we've done something that will trigger the situation – the wrong way?"
Approaching the first house on the block, Tony, Phil and Vanessa looked it over carefully. It was a smallish residence, single-story, with a front porch overflowing with junk of various sorts. The freshly-fallen snow covered up the front yard, but rusty-looking objects poked through the white blanket here and there.
"What a rat-trap!" Tony breathed as they started up the front walk. "Van, maybe you'd better let Phil or me do the telephone angle here, huh?"
"No, it's all right," Vanessa whispered, carefully mounting the warped steps to the porch. She clutched at Phil's hand for support as her foot slipped on the icy surface. "I'll do it." Reaching the door, she took a deep breath and then knocked sharply.
In a few moments, footsteps were heard approaching, and then the door was pulled ajar.
"Yeah?" The speaker was a young man, possibly in his late twenties. Several days' worth of stubble adorned his face, and he had longish dark hair pulled back in a pony tail.
Vanessa swallowed, and cast a quick glance at Phil. Have we hit pay dirt already? "Uh – hi. I was wondering – could we possibly use your telephone? We've had some car trouble, and need to call Triple-A, but my cell phone battery's gone dead." She smiled at him as sweetly as she could, but she was anticipating rejection.
"Sure!" To her shocked surprise, the young man swung the door open wider. "Come on in." Vanessa and Phil entered; Tony indicated that he'd wait on the porch. Several more men appeared from the back of the house, and Vanessa instinctively shrank against Phil, for all of them were what she mentally termed scuzzy. Biker-gang types her mind whispered, noting leather clothing and an abundance of tattoos. Was this what they were looking for? Vanessa squared her shoulders. Joe and Frank were counting on her; she would not let them down.
"Uh – maybe you could phone, Phil, and – uh – could I possibly use your bathroom?" Vanessa asked their guide.
"Sure," another of the young men answered, stepping forward. This one had a full beard, his hair was cut very short, and he was wearing a leather jacket and boots. "Phone's right over here, man." He beckoned Phil in the direction of what appeared to be a living room – except that the floor was covered with what looked to be motorcycles in pieces, and tools.
"Bathroom is down the hall, sugar." A third man grinned appreciatively at Vanessa. Hair as long and blonde as hers cascaded over his shoulders, and he would have been good-looking if it hadn't been for the scar decorating his right cheek. "Come on, I'll show you." He led her down a passageway and indicated a half-open door. "Right in there."
"Thank you," she said faintly.
"Anything for a beautiful lady in distress!" he replied, and winked broadly before retreating up the hall again.
Vanessa went into the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and halted in dismay. My gosh, don't these guys ever clean? With great care she picked her way across the grimy floor, through the heaps of soiled clothing and wet towels flung thereon. Shuddering, she noted cockroaches scurrying around the perimeter of the room. What this place needs is a housekeeper – or an exterminator! Thankful that she didn't actually need to use the facilities, Vanessa fastidiously flushed the toilet, vowing to wash her hands as soon as possible. With soap, and the hottest water I can stand – and maybe bleach – or hydrogen peroxide!
Upon returning to the entrance, Vanessa found Phil waiting for her. "Thank you so much," she told their hosts. "You've really done us a favor."
"Any time, sweetheart!" The first man, he of the stubble and ponytail, opened the door with a flourish. "Come back and visit again, huh?"
"Um – maybe we'll do that," she replied, trying not to appear frantic to flee the premises.
As they made their way down the sidewalk, Tony vainly attempted to keep from laughing out loud. "You guys! – if you could only see your faces!" He choked, trying to control his mirth. Vanessa gave him an icy look, but Tony only laughed harder.
Across the street, Biff and Chet were mounting the steps of a small but extremely tidy frame house. In response to Biff's pressing the doorbell, an elderly woman swathed in an apron opened the door and smiled at them inquiringly.
"Excuse us for bothering you, ma'am," Biff began, on his best behavior. "But my friend and I are doing research for a report for school. We're supposed to take a survey on whether people take down their Christmas trees right after Christmas, or leave them up until New Year's, or even later. Could we ask you a few questions?"
"Of course," she beamed. "Come right in, boys. I wasn't expecting company today but I've got cookies just out of the oven, and you're just in time to try them. Do come along and sit down!"
She bustled ahead of them, leading the way to a kitchen redolent with the smell of ginger and cinnamon. Chet's eyes sparkled with anticipation; if this was detective work, he'd do it all the time!
"Sit down, please! And as soon as you've tried the cookies, I'll answer any questions you like for your report. My name's Wilma Rogers, by the way."
Biff and Chet found themselves seated at a large kitchen table whereon sat several wire racks covered with cooling ginger cookies. The little old lady scurried about for a few moments, pouring two glasses of milk and setting these in front of the boys, and putting a dozen or so cookies on a plate which she set between them. Then she settled into another kitchen chair and folded her hands on the table. Gray curls nodded above her wire-rimmed eyeglasses as she bobbed her head. "Are you all set? My name is Wilma Rogers, as I said, and I'm 76 years old." She pushed the plate of cookies closer to Chet, then continued speaking.
"There. Now, about the survey…let's see. I always take my tree down three days after Christmas…I don't know why, exactly; that's just the way we always did it. My husband, Gerald – he's been gone now for nearly 15 years – said that was long enough to leave it up. Of course, we always put it up on the second Saturday of December, so I suppose Gerald was right; it would get so dry anyway."
Biff exchanged a quick glance with Chet, and hastily snatched a notebook and pen from his pocket, giving the impression he was taking notes. Chet drank some milk and reached for another cookie.
"The children always wanted to put it up earlier, but we held firm; not until the second Saturday. And they'd fuss to leave it up until New Year's, but I always thought it was nice to get things cleaned up and put away before the new year started, and that's what I told them…."
"Uh, thank you Mrs. Rogers—"
"Of course, back during the War, we couldn't put up outside lights – you boys wouldn't remember that, of course; I was about your age when that was going on. The blackouts, you know. They were afraid that the Germans or the Japanese were going to come over with their bombers and blow us up. We couldn't even have the tree lights on at night, and it didn't do much good to turn them on in the daytime! But we put them on just the same, even though we couldn't light them."
Biff took a gulp of his milk; he'd stopped even attempting to take notes. This is crazy! Mentally shrugging, he picked up a cookie and bit into it.
"Nowadays, they have so many lights, and they have them on all day and all night, seems like! My Andrew – that's my oldest son, Andrew – and his wife, they bought an artificial tree this year. Can you believe that? And they paid $200 for it! Andrew said if they'd gotten one all decorated already, it would have been $500! Tell me, what's the use of an artificial tree? It doesn't smell like a Christmas tree, does it? And why would you want to get one already decorated? That's the fun of a Christmas tree, decorating it!"
"Yes, of course." Biff cast an anguished help me! look at Chet, but the other boy was calmly scooping cookies off the plate and sliding them into his jacket pocket. He caught Biff's eye and grinned.
"…and they got it – what did they call it? – flocked. Why, when I was young, if you wanted a tree with snow on it, you mixed up Ivory Snow soap flakes and water, and made a paste, and patted it onto the tree branches. Looks just like real snow, you know."
Biff rose to his feet in desperation. "Ma'am – Mrs. Rogers, we really appreciate this, but we need to go on and survey more people. Come on, Chet!" He grabbed Chet's arm and hauled him from his chair, then backed them both out of the kitchen and toward the front door. "Thanks again, ma'am, we'll use the information you gave us. And thanks for the cookies."
Mrs. Rogers followed them, still chatting. "I'm so glad you boys dropped in; I needed someone to help eat up those cookies, and my grandchildren aren't going to be here until Saturday! I hope your survey goes well. Come back again and visit, won't you?"
As they walked toward the next house on their route, Biff castigated Chet soundly. "Was there some reason you couldn't jump in and help? Why'd you just sit there and make me have to listen to all that stuff about the trees and the lights and the soap flakes?"
Chet chuckled. "The cookies were good, pal!"
Phil, Vanessa and Tony waved at them from across the street, and the two sauntered over to talk for a moment.
"How's it going?" Tony asked. For some reason, he appeared to be having a hard time keeping from laughing. Vanessa slugged him in the shoulder, hard.
Biff related their time spent at Mrs. Rogers' house, and as he had anticipated, the tale was greeted with howls of laughter. Vanessa then shared her experience in the bikers' house.
"If this is what detective work is about, let's leave it to Frank and Joe!" Tony spluttered. "Hey, Morton, share the cookies, huh?" He held out his hand, and Chet reluctantly placed a ginger cookie in it.
"Enough!" Vanessa clapped her hands together, and then regarded them distastefully. "Rubbing alcohol," she muttered, then continued, "let's switch sides of the street, okay? You two take that one, and we'll go across the street."
The boys exchanged glances, then nodded. "Sure, no problem," Chet replied, and tugged Biff in the direction of the house Vanessa had indicated.
When Chet knocked upon the door, there was an almost immediate response: several loud wails, a scrabbling sound just inside the door, and finally a loud, irritated voice.
"Just a minute; be right there! No, Eric, you can't go outside! It's too cold!"
The door of the house opened suddenly, to reveal a woman in her mid-30s, perhaps, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and holding a crying baby on one hip. Clinging to her leg and peeping out curiously was a small girl with her thumb stuck in her mouth. She stared distrustfully at the two boys with her big brown eyes. "Whoops, there he goes! Eric! You come back! One of you grab him, huh?" the woman shouted suddenly.
As Biff automatically retreated, something small and swift-moving exited the door and headed for the porch steps. Chet, who was standing behind him, bent down and grabbed for the elusive Eric, who appeared to be about two years old, scrambling on all fours. He wriggled frantically in Chet's grip.
" 'Emme go! Wanna p'ay inna snow!" the toddler shrieked, and struggled to be released. "Wanna p'ay in it!" He kicked Chet soundly in the stomach as Chet endeavored to restrain him. Biff made a slight choking sound and bit his tongue hard.
"Ma'am, we're sorry to bother you, but we're taking a survey for a school report—" Chet began, trying to talk over the wails of the baby and Eric's frustrated shrieks.
"I really don't have time, guys!" the woman said loudly. "Say, why aren't you in school?" she asked curiously, jiggling the baby in an effort to hush its cries.
"The heating system's broken at the high school," Biff replied. "We can't go back until next week."
"Wow – I'm glad the elementary schools are open!" she muttered. "Otherwise I'd have two more here! Hey, I'm sorry, but I really can't take part in your survey. I just don't have the time. Melissa, honey—" addressing the little girl, "grab Eric as soon as the nice man puts him down, okay? And I'll shut the door really fast…." She gave Biff and Chet a somewhat frazzled grin and motioned to Chet. "Just set him inside the door and run like mad!"
Chet deposited the screaming Eric inside the door and he and Biff beat a hasty retreat.
Vanessa, Phil and Tony walked toward their next destination. Vanessa noted the presence of the dark brown car parked directly across the street from them; she recognized that car. It was the one she had seen in a certain store parking lot on Monday afternoon. "Heads up, guys," she murmured. "Maybe this one will be it."
They mounted the steps, and Vanessa rang the doorbell. After a bit it opened to reveal a tall, lean man in his late 30s. He had dark hair and eyes, and he scowled at his uninvited visitors. Vanessa smiled sweetly, and went into her spiel about a problem with a car, a dead cell phone battery, and her need to use the bathroom while one of the others used the phone.
"Naw – can't help you; the phone's dead – ice dropped the lines," the man said gruffly. "Sorry." He moved to close the door, but Vanessa stepped onto the threshold.
"Could I at least use your bathroom, then?" she asked, attempting to look plaintive. "It's so cold out, and I really—"
"Sorry, lady—"
"Please? It's really kind of an emergency—" Vanessa moved another step into the house.
"Okay, okay, but make it snappy, huh?" The man stepped back, and waved his hand toward a door nearby. "Right there."
Vanessa stepped into the bathroom, which thankfully was much cleaner than the last one she had visited. When she exited the room, a minute or two later, her reluctant host practically shoved her out the front door. As she departed, however, Vanessa turned her head sharply just before the door closed. What was that? It sounded like – crying!
"Guys, something's going on in there!" Vanessa grabbed Tony's and Phil's arms and hustled them down the sidewalk. "I'd swear I heard someone crying, just as I left. And that guy was in an awful hurry to get me out of the house!"
"I noticed that," Phil nodded. "That he wanted you out, I mean; I didn't hear any crying."
"It was faint, but I'm sure that's what it was." Vanessa pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and punched a single digit. "Joe? We think we've got a possible."
In just a few minutes, the teens were gathered beside Biff's Blazer; Joe and Frank slipped inside the vehicle where they could remain out of sight. Vanessa hastily explained her findings and opinions, corroborated by Tony and Phil.
"Well, it's not a sure thing, but it bears checking out," Frank said, glancing at the house. "We don't dare leave anything uncertain. Let's go, guys."
They marched back up onto the porch, and Joe pressed the doorbell. When the man opened the door, Biff sprang into action, shoving the door open wide. Frank and Tony leaped through the opening and grabbed the startled man's wrists. They pushed him against the nearest wall and held him there while Phil, Chet, Joe and Vanessa piled into the house and slammed the door behind them. Biff and Chet immediately moved to take Frank's and Tony's places.
"Hey, what's the idea? What's with you punks? Get outta here!" The dark-haired man struggled ineffectually against his captors; Biff and Chet simply leaned a little harder against him and held him still.
"Check the rooms; where'd you hear the crying from, Van?" Frank snapped.
"Back here," she answered, and headed down the hallway.
"What's going on?" screamed the man. "Are you guys nuts? You can't just come in here like this! I'm gonna have the police on you so fast it'll make your heads spin—"
"Joe, you check out the rest of the downstairs and make sure there's no one else here," Frank directed. "Phil, you and Tony look upstairs." Quickly, the three of them departed, leaving Frank glaring at the furious man Biff and Chet held pinioned against the wall.
"Are you the one that made the tape?" Frank snapped. "Or are you just one of the hired guns that knocked me out in the parking lot?"
"Huh?" The dark-haired man stared at Frank, totally confused. "What're you talking about?"
There was a sudden cry from the rear of the house where Vanessa had disappeared. "Frank! Joe!"