CHAPTER 6

By the time the Hardys returned home, they dashed straight upstairs to Frank's room. Frank opened the closet door and pulled out the casing he had stashed inside last night. Mr. Winston had let them keep the fake Durville instead of destroying it. Though his desk was neat, he cleared the surface to make way for the painting. Carefully unrolling the canvas, he laid the painting on the desk. The scene depicted Barmet Bay during sunrise with a lone silhouette of a fishing trawler in the middle of the sea.

Joe grabbed a couple of magnifying glasses and handed one of them to his brother.

"So, what are we supposed to look for? Brushstroke pattern?"

Frank smirked. "Learn that from Iola, huh?"

Joe shrugged. "If you could call it that. Now, come on. Time's a wasting."

"I learned something about art from Iola today, too. We'll have to look for the forger's signature. Sometimes, artists put their signatures in their work."

"Yeah, Iola mentioned something 'bout that. You search that side and I'll look for it on this side."

It felt like ages scrutinizing the painting inch by inch until Frank suddenly spoke up. "I think I've found it."

Joe sidled next to his brother as Frank zoomed in on the spot with his magnifying glass. A tiny print was written in black paint.

"MB," Joe muttered. "Great. It could be anyone."

"We know one MB from school — Morgan Bailey."

Joe snapped his fingers. "That could be it! She's good in arts and painting. I'd bet making forgeries of original paintings isn't that a stretch for her."

"She didn't seem at all concerned about the real painting when we retrieved it from her," Frank pointed out. "If she were the thief, you'd think she'd fight to keep that painting. Don't you think so?"

Joe waved it off. "Things to think about later. We'll talk to her at school tomorrow. It's dinner time, Frank. My stomach needs replenishment."

Only the three of them were at the dinner table. The boys' father, Fenton Hardy, a private detective, was away in DC for a law enforcement conference.

"Say, where's Aunt Gertrude?" Joe asked his mother, Laura Hardy, pushing away some peas to one side of his plate.

Aunt Gertrude was Fenton's older sister. Lately, she was busy throwing herself into organizing a mystery book club, attending workshops or mystery conventions. She had been keeping mum on the details, though. When Frank had asked her once why she was being so secretive, she had enigmatically replied, "I don't want to jinx it." He had given up asking ever since.

"Your Aunt Gertrude's at a book convention in New York City, together with the other book club members," Mrs. Hardy replied. "She'll be back by this weekend. How's school today?"

"The usual," Joe replied. He forked the chicken and popped it into his mouth. "We've met a couple of new kids at school — Dana and Morgan Bailey."

"Have you heard of the Baileys?" Frank asked. "They just moved here about a month ago."

Mrs. Hardy pursed her lips. "It's hard not to. Mr. Bailey bought a building downtown. Moved his company there. I think it's called Meru, Inc."

The ringing of the phone interrupted the dinner. Frank put down his fork. "I'll get it," he said, pushing back his chair, and went over to the kitchen counter to answer the call.

"Frank," Callie's voice came over the line.

"Oh, hi, Callie. What's new?"

There was silence for a second before she answered, "I got into a little accident."

He clutched the receiver tighter. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. There's… There's some trouble with my car. Can you pick me up at Westford Street? I'm at the gas station — probably a mile from the animal shelter."

Callie was a volunteer at the local animal shelter. Since Frank had visited there a few times, he knew exactly where she was.

"All right, I'll be right there." He hung up the phone and turned to the others.

"Where are you going?" Joe asked when Frank gathered his plate to the sink. "Callie's got some car trouble. I'm going to pick her up."

–o–

When Frank arrived at the location, a mechanic was pulling a metal chain from the tow truck and hooked a large metal yoke under the bumper of a green car. Callie was standing near a phone booth at the gas station. She didn't notice him at first while she watched her car being hoisted onto the back of the truck. Only when he was closing in on her that she looked up and waved at him. His mouth went dry when he saw a scratch on her forehead.

"You okay?" he asked her.

She nodded.

His eyebrows arched when he noticed her cradle something fluffy in her arms.

"Is that your cat?" He pointed to the orange tabby, not expecting they would have an extra guest.

"He's been at the shelter for six months. So, I've decided to keep Gigi."

"You already have a name for it?"

"Of course," she said defensively. "It's short for Giorgio."

Gigi meowed.

It took him only a moment before he recognized the name.

"A-ha," Frank remarked with a grin. "This wouldn't be after the name of that Italian soccer player, right?"

"I'm not telling," Callie replied with a mischievous smile. During summer, the Hardys, Callie and Iola went to a soccer match in New York City. Since then Callie was hooked. It didn't take long before she could explain the tactics and formations of a soccer game. The same couldn't be said for Joe, who was more of a baseball fan. The only action he was excited about was when the players were near the goalposts, where crazy things usually happened.

Then Callie's smile vanished. Her still shaking hand stroked the cat's head. Her dark eyes looked troubled. "I don't get it. I serviced my car last week, and everything was fine."

"What went wrong today?"

"The brakes weren't working." She shuddered. "I followed how you did it before — shifted it to lowest gear and pulled the emergency brakes. It worked, the car stopped. Only the bumper scraped the railing though."

Once the tow truck had left with her car, Callie followed Frank into the van. Gigi curled on her lap and napped.

"Let me know what the mechanic discovers," he said when he dropped her off at her house.

The cat in her arms hissed at him, apparently annoyed when its sleep was disrupted. Callie's brows furrowed. "You think it wasn't an accident?"

"I hope not, but just to be sure."