A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone for all of your reviews! You know who you amazing, wonderful people are…you are definitely my inspiration and what keeps me motivated as a writer. As always, any feedback and thoughts are always appreciated and very welcome!
Disclaimer: One Super Mystery book…Four dollars. One Super Mystery book on eBay…Twenty dollars. Owning Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys…Priceless. And, considering that I can barely afford a Super Mystery on eBay, I definitely don't own Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, or any of the other characters from the books, for that matter. Oh well. At least there's always eBay!
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Frank drove with a blind intensity, his mind miles away from the miles that stretched before them. He could still hear Krieger's voice on the phone reverberating through his brain, deliberately taunting them about his next victim, an innocent young girl who was the namesake of her father's beloved deceased sister, and who also happened to be Joe's beloved deceased girlfriend. There was no doubt in any of their minds that Krieger spoke of young Iola -- his deliberate mention of a namesake, and the fact that the clue was addressed to Joe, who had never truly gotten over the grief of the older Iola's death – was more than enough to convince them. After all, this was the kidnappers' modus operandi, to target one of their loved ones, someone important in their lives, in order to cause the detectives anxiety and pain. Hadn't that been one of the kidnappers' words to them in the warehouse, that they would have to trample over their own lives in order to get to their fathers? Frank glanced in the rearview mirror, his gaze alighting on Nancy, who sat looking out the window lost in her own thoughts. Nancy had already faced the pain of nearly losing her best friends, of shouldering the guilt of innocent lives being lost in an explosion that she could not stop. Now, it appeared that it was his and his brother's turn. Frank's throat tightened as he thought of their friend, who had already lost so much in his life. How could Chet bear it if he lost his young daughter as well?
The time between Krieger's phone call and their arrival at the Helena Airport was a vague blur; Frank could recall nothing but the desperation coursing through his veins as they all faced the reality that nothing, no mode of transportation would be fast enough to get them to Chet's place in time. They had struggled with the decision of whether or not to call Chet to warn him that his daughter's life was in danger, or to say nothing lest they worry him for no reason. In the end, it had been Nancy who had reluctantly pointed out, from her perch in the back seat of the SUV as Frank had frantically driven them to Chicago O'Hare airport, that so far, none of the kidnappers' threats had been idle. Calling Chet was a necessary precaution, and possibly their only chance of forestalling disaster. So, with dread in his eyes, Joe had tried to reach their old friend on his cell phone, only to get his voicemail, repeatedly. Boarding the plane from Chicago to Montana had forced him to stop, having to turn his cell phone off per aviation regulations. Frank looked over at his younger brother now, seated in the passenger seat beside him, as he hit the button to end yet another failed call with more force than was necessary.
"Still no luck?" Frank asked quietly.
"Where the hell can he be?" Joe asked, the anger in his voice a clear mask for the deeper terror that he was feeling. "I even tried the main house, but I keep getting a message saying that the phone has been disconnected or is no longer in service."
"Krieger and his partner may have cut the lines to Chet's place so that we can't warn him," Frank mused.
"What about his cell phone? Surely they don't have enough clout to take over the wireless companies now, do they?" Joe's voice was deliberately baiting, almost as if he was willing his brother to argue back so that the argument could take his mind off his helpless fear. But Frank wouldn't take the bait.
"I don't know, Joe," Frank said softly. And that was the end of the conversation.
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As Frank drove, the terrain around them slowly became more rugged as they left the main city of Helena and entered the surrounding wilderness. Mountains and tall trees formed a picturesque backdrop, the peaks capped with winter snow. Chet owned a ranch approximately fifty miles outside of Helena; it was this that Frank drove towards with as much speed as he felt he could safely manage, given that mountain roads were prone to surprises such as wildlife crossings and sharp turns. Finally, he saw the sign that indicated the turn-off for Chet's ranch, and slowing down, he turned into the long driveway. The road was not yet paved; Chet had bought the ranch only five years before, right after he had gotten married, and he was still in the process of making repairs and improvements to the property. Given that all those things took considerable finances, it was not surprising that the driveway was still in the state that it was in. The SUV bounced over the gravel gently, and despite the urgency of their situation, Frank was forced to drive slowly to avoid fishtailing the vehicle. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they approached the main house – a charming, two-story rustic building with a wide balcony surrounding the upper level and an inviting wooden front porch on the lower level complete with a porch swing and an old-fashioned rocking chair.
Before Frank could even bring the vehicle to a complete stop, Joe was out the door running up the porch steps. Frank quickly parked, and he and Nancy reached Joe just as he was knocking on the wood frame of the screen door. Seeing the front door was open and the living room beyond appeared to be empty, Joe tried the screen door and found it unlocked. He went in, Frank and Nancy following closely behind, and called out, "Chet?"
"Who's there?" an elderly female voice answered. Seconds later, a woman matching the voice appeared in the doorway leading from the kitchen, leisurely wiping her hands on her apron. Seeing the trio standing just inside the front door, she stopped abruptly.
"Who're you?" she asked suspiciously.
"Who are you?" Joe returned, with equal suspicion.
"Joe," Frank said warningly, and laid a part-restraining, part-comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. He could hear Nancy shift uncomfortably behind them. The woman before them was easily in her seventies, wearing a knee-length dress with a large floral pattern on it, a red apron, and her gray hair up in an austere bun on her head. Everything about her was matronly, and not in the least bit threatening. But Frank understood that his brother was on edge, and he couldn't blame him. Still, there was no point in upsetting the older woman.
"We're sorry, ma'am. It's just that we're good friends of Chet's, and we've never seen you here before. Is Chet here, by any chance?"
The woman's features relaxed slightly, though the scowl remained firmly on her face. "I'm Mr. Morton's housekeeper. Any business you have with him, you can discuss with me."
Joe made to move forward, a low growl emitting from his throat. Frank's firm grip stopped him, but he couldn't stop the menace in Joe's voice.
"Look, lady, we don't have time for this. We need to find Chet, and we need to find him now."
To his surprise, the woman stepped right up to him, her face level with his shoulders, but intimidating nonetheless. She drilled a finger into his chest. "No, you look here. I know all about young brats like you, who have no respect for their elders. Mr. Morton's a nice man, and he's raising a lovely, respectful daughter. He would never associate himself with the likes of you."
"It's because of his daughter that we're here!" Joe exploded. Next to him, Frank cringed as the woman's eyes widened in shock, and her expression grew even angrier. Before she could release the full brunt of her wrath on them, however, a male voice interrupted them.
"Mrs. Paulie, who's there?" The voice came from behind the housekeeper, in the direction of the mudroom at the back of the house, and all three detectives looked over the woman's shoulder at the man approaching them. If Nancy had ever had an image in her head of what a cowboy should look like, this would have been it, she realized. The man was young, in his twenties, tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, and with brown hair that had been bleached by the sun. The same sun had weathered his skin, giving him a certain rugged charm. He wore a western-style flannel shirt, jeans that were faded at the knees, and cowboy boots. His Stetson hat was gripped loosely in his right hand.
"Frank and Joe Hardy?" The man questioned, as he drew closer and was able to look at the brothers more closely. His face broke into a wide grin as he moved past the housekeeper to embrace first Joe, then Frank, in what Nancy could only term as "manly" hugs. "Well, I'll be damned. What brings ya'll here?" Just then, he caught a glimpse of Nancy out of the corner of his eye. He grinned abashedly and tipped an imaginary hat on his head toward her. "Pardon my language, ma'am. I didn't see you standing there behind these two men here. Although, how I managed to miss such a lovely lady is beyond me." He gave her a charming wink, and Nancy couldn't help the small smile that came to her face at the cowboy's flirtation.
Frank cleared his throat pointedly.
"Justin, we need to find Chet right away."
At the same time, Mrs. Paulie exclaimed, "You know these hooligans?"
Justin inclined his head back towards the housekeeper. "They're not hooligans, Mrs. Paulie, they're friends of Mr. Morton's." He turned back to Frank, all business after hearing the seriousness in Frank's voice. "Is something wrong?"
"There might be," Frank replied quietly. Justin looked from the grimness in Frank's eyes to the quiet desperation in Joe's. He nodded. "Follow me. I'll take you to him."
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The trio climbed back into their rental and waited for Justin to pull out in front of them. Seeing the red pick-up truck, Frank shifted into drive and started down the gravel road after Justin, following in the cloud of dust that the large truck kicked up. The road led further onto the ranch property, forking off at a small pond. Justin took the left fork, which was a crude dirt road, and Frank followed suit. Shortly thereafter, they could see another pick-up truck, this one black, parked in the distance in front of a white fence. Justin and Frank pulled up next to the black truck and everyone got out.
"Chet's down that way," Justin said, pointing to a dirt trail in the verdant grass that disappeared out of sight over a hill. "He was riding fence earlier and found a breach that he's workin' on fixing."
"Let's go," Joe said, and deftly jumped over the low fence. The other three followed suit, moving swiftly down the trail. On either side of them, cattle grazed lazily, ignoring the humans altogether as they crossed the terrain. Once over the hill, they could see Chet's outline in the distance, with two other ranch hands, all of whom were bent over a section of barbwire fence. As they drew closer, the men heard them approach and turned to see who was coming. Joe, in the lead, was able to see the look of pleased surprise that spread over his old friend's face at the sight of them. Joe's stomach clenched as he realized that he was about to wipe that look of pleasure right off Chet's face.
"Joe!" Chet exclaimed, jogging the last few steps to meet Joe midway and embracing his friend in a bear hug. "Frank!" He turned to bestow an equally tight hug on Frank. "And Nancy! It's been so long!" Releasing Frank, he grasped Nancy's hands warmly and kissed her cheek. "What are you guys doing here?"
Dread formed an even tighter ball in Joe's stomach. "Chet, where's Iola?" he asked carefully, trying his best to keep his tone neutral. But his friend had known him for too long and knew him too well.
"Why? What's happened? Is something wrong? Did something happen to her?"
Frank stepped forward and put a bracing hand on his friend's shoulder.
"We don't know anything for sure, Chet. But we have reason to think that she might be in danger."
Chet whirled on him so quickly that his hand lost its grip.
"What reason? How can you possibly know something about my daughter that I don't? And why the hell didn't you call me!"
This time it was Nancy who stepped forward, laying a comforting hand on Frank's forearm as she did so. She knew that Chet's agitation bothered him and Joe deeply, simply because they both felt responsible for him being involved in this mess. I know that feeling all too well, she thought bitterly. But right now, they had to get Chet calmed down so that they could figure out where Iola was and how to help her.
"We did try to call, Chet," she said softly. "But you weren't answering your cell phone. We got here as quickly as we could once we found out that Iola might be in danger. We can fill you in on all of the details later, but right now, the important thing is that we find Iola and make sure she's okay."
Chet took a deep, calming breath, though the others could visibly see the effort that it cost him to do so.
"You're right. Finding Iola is all that matters right now." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "It's quarter past two – she got out of pre-school half an hour ago. Mitch should be bringing her home any minute now."
"Who's Mitch?" Nancy asked.
"Mitch is my foreman and Iola's favorite person on this ranch besides me." Chet's lips curved upward in a small, fond smile. "She calls him Uncle Mitch and accepts no less than two piggyback rides from him a day. She's told me, in no uncertain terms, that she likes for her Uncle Mitch to pick her up from school." Chet's expression darkened. "If Iola's with him, I know she'll be safe. Mitch wouldn't let anything happen to her."
He turned to the two ranch hands who had been helping him with the fence. "You guys finish up here." Then he looked at the detectives and Justin.
"Let's head back to the main house so we can meet them when they get home."
As the four hurried back up the trail, no one voiced the possibility that they might not find Mitch and Iola when they got there.
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