Boosting - Chapter 7
Nancy returned to the agency the next morning and let herself into the office. She headed straight for Fenton's desk and laid her purse on top – not really understanding why Fenton had decided to turn his workstation over to her, she supposed he was simply being chivalrous.
Unbeknownst to Nancy, Fenton Hardy had been fighting an internal argument for half an hour after she'd walked into the building the previous evening about which desk to allocate to her – he simply hadn't wanted to give her Frank's workstation. For all his big talked with Con the day before, he really didn't want to go advertising for a replacement for his oldest. Giving her Frank's desk would have meant admitting something to himself and he wasn't ready for that yet – it seemed wrong somehow.
But Joe's table was a pigsty, despite him having given it a tidy and he simply couldn't let the girl sit there! In the end, he decided to allow her to sit at his own and turned over his computer passwords to her. He'd simply have to use Joe's desk himself, after he'd disinfected it!
For the first few minutes, Nancy set about making herself comfortable. She cleared out a little area in one of the drawers to have somewhere to put her hand cream, lip balm, mascara, and other female products that she couldn't do without. She adjusted the chair's seat height and back support, and switched on the PC.
Nancy went to the filing cabinet and pulled out the dossier of stolen vehicles and started scrutinizing them. She was hoping that something would immediately jump out at her as being out of the ordinary, but they were all extraordinary to her. She was no car expert and didn't even recognise the names of some of the cars they were so unusual – all she knew was that they were either vintage models, sporty, or babe-mobiles. She came to the conclusion that their only and best lead at the moment was actually Frank's convertible.
Nancy figured she needed to find something that was unique about his ride – other than it being her boyfriend's of course! That way, if she went to view the same types of vehicles, she could identify it on sight and not have to rely on any documentation that she might be shown. Then she realised she didn't actually know the make and model of his car either! Obviously she'd seen it and ridden in it, but she'd not bothered to ask about it. Turning to the last page, she was peeved to see that Frank's car had been boosted so recently that it hadn't even made the list. "Blast!" she grumbled as Con came through the door.
"Morning, friend," he said, slouching past and patting her on the shoulder. Unfortunately he had a whole stack of magazines under his arm, which he'd obviously forgotten about because they fell to the ground. "Hell!" he sighed, and went about gathering them all up again with Nancy's help. "Caffeine, I need my caffeine fix!" he muttered and went to switch the kettle on before deviating unsteadily towards his office.
"Morning Con," Nancy said, watching him with amusement. He was barely even cognizant. Con was most definitely not a morning person. She took pity on him and went to make him that drink. "What time does Fenton usually get in?" she asked, glancing at her watch.
Con gazed red-eyed and slack jawed at her from his desk. "Uh—he's not today." He looked across at the clock above Fenton's desk. "He's currently in the air."
"You mean he's flying somewhere?" Nancy asked, surprised. "In a plane?"
"No, I mean he grew big, white, feathery wings overnight…of course he's flying somewhere in a plane – Jack Wayne is winging him to Harrisburg International so he can interview Bobbie Shandley's family in Pennsylvania. He phoned me earlier to let me know."
Nancy sighed. "That's a nuisance. I needed to ask him some questions about Frank's car." She placed a cup of steaming liquid in front of him and went to sit in Fenton's chair again.
Con took a big gulp of his drink. "That's better – caffeine good! Can I be of assistance, my-lady?"
Nancy smiled. "Perhaps, my-lord. Do you happen to know what make and model of car Frank's convertible is?"
"That's an easy one, it's a 2002 Chevrolet Corvette."
"Do you also know if there's anything unique about it that would make it stand out from the crowd?"
"Ah, that I don't know, although I know Frank tinkers with it a lot, so it wouldn't surprise me if the kid added something fancy. It was a wreck when he bought it – was actually crashed by a perp he and Joe were pursuing and Frank took pity on it afterwards. By all accounts it was a ground up restoration job, a bit of a project." He smiled suddenly. "I know it drove Laura mad, because it was under their carport for months in pieces and wrapped in plastic. Why don't you phone him?"
"Because that would mean Frank finding out his car's gone and I'm here, and we were hoping to avoid that."
"I see what you mean. Rock-and-a-hard-place."
Nancy pondered the problem for a while and said: "I'll give Joe a call," and picked up the phone.
It took quite a while for him to answer and when he did, he sounded thick with sleep. "Yo—" he breathed.
"Hi Joseph, it's Nancy. I'm sorry; I woke you, didn't I? Are you able to talk?" There was a fairly extensive silence from the other end, although she could hear the phone creaking and Joe breathing, so she knew they were still connected. "Joe, you still with me?" she finally prompted loudly when it became obvious the pause was starting to become rather more permanent.
"Erm…yeah, head's not working – zonked. Can I phone you back in five?"
"Of course. Speak to you in a while," she put the phone down, and turned to Con wryly. "Joe sounded a tad out of it, I feel a bit guilty phoning him now."
*****
Joe had no idea for how long his phone had been ringing before he answered it. He had to fight through a real head-fog to wake up, and it had taken quite a mental effort to get his head around the fact of why he was in bed fully clothed, apart from his boots.
Finally locating his phone, he put it to his head. "Hello?" Immediately he realised he'd not pressed the green button as it screeched down his ear. He flinched and tried again. "Yo—"
"Hi Joseph, it's Nancy. I'm sorry; I woke you, didn't I? Are you able to talk?"
Joe lay there trying to figure out where Frank could possibly be. He didn't want to talk openly to Nancy if there was any possibility he could be overheard. Not that he gave it too much thought, because he was dropping off again and dreaming about Nancy Drew, standing in front of him drumming her fingers impatiently. She put her hands on her hips and snapped: "Joe, you still with me?"
Her voice bucked him awake again. "Erm…yeah, head's not working – zonked." He forced his eyes wide open and rapidly blinked. "Can I phone you back in five?"
"Of course. Speak to you in a while."
He let the phone drop through lazy fingers onto the pillow next to his head and scratched his chin before sluggishly raising himself. Looking through hooded eyes into the living room area, he realised he wasn't the only one with sleep issues, Frank was slumped in the sofa and hadn't been awakened by the sound of the phone, and his brother was an early riser usually and quite a light sleeper.
Joe swung his legs out over the side and briskly rubbed his face to try and conjure some depth of alertness. He retrieved his phone and slithered quietly past his brother; half noticing that Frank hadn't even removed his boots, and slipped out through the front door to sit on the porch and return Nancy's call.
"Hi Joe. Sorry about waking you, is everything alright?"
"Yeah. I didn't have a good night. Overloaded myself. What did you phone about?"
"Frank's not with you, is he?""No. He's dead to the world in a chair – in fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he is dead! I can see him from here through the window and he hasn't moved one inch. What's up?"
"How's it going?"Joe made a rocking motion with his hand. "So-so. He started talking about some stuff last night, and then a cramp happened and we had to stop, but we're getting there."
"That's good, because I've got some bad news – but I don't want you to tell Frank about it."
"Babe, you're not filling me with joyful morning cheer! What's happened?"
"It's Frank's car, it's been stolen."
"Oh what?" Joe grunted and added a choice word, which questioned the parentage of the person who stole his brother's convertible.
"Yeah, I agree! I'm damned if I'm going to let some two-bit thief steal it! I'm going after it, but I need your help."
"Hit me—"
"Is there anything unique about Frank's car, something that makes it stand out from the crowd? Con said he'd 'tinkered' with it?"
Joe rubbed the back of his head and stifled a yawn. "Yeah. It has a new CD stereo with a multi-disc system under the passenger seat. That year of car didn't have anything other than a basic CD player and radio combo. And it's a manual rather than an automatic – Frank loves his stick shift, reckons it gives him greater control and makes it more fun to drive."
"Down with him on that one…anything else?""He had the carpeting changed to black."
"What's so unusual about that?""It's a dark black, not like the charcoal color the others are fitted with. And on the passenger seat, if you look at the side that's adjacent to the door…there's just the slightest white paint mark that somehow got on it and wouldn't come off no matter how hard it was rubbed."
There was a pause from Nancy's end: "And how did paint get onto the seat?""Well, I kinda did it by accident, but don't tell Frank cause he'll kill me." He listened to Nancy tittering. "How come dad didn't tell you this?"
"He's not here right now, he's on his way to Pennsylvania with Jack Wayne. The agency's been hired to look into a rash of cars that have been stolen – Frank's being the tip of the iceberg. Your dad is trying to track down another P.I. who disappeared while looking into it, and me and Con are concentrating solely on the cars."
"Oh, I gotcha – you're doing a bit of freelance—" A sudden, violent movement from inside the house, followed by an ear-splitting yell abruptly hijacked Joe's attention. "—What the?!"
"Was that Frank?" Nancy asked, evidently having heard it too.
"Nancy, I gotta go!" Joe jabbered and dropped the phone in order to burst into the house.
Frank wasn't in the chair any more; he was standing in the middle of the living area looking shell-shocked and pale.
"Frank? You okay, man?" Joe asked.
Frank blinked a couple of times and pulled his shoulders back and squinted at his brother. "You're up then?" he muttered.
Joe put his palms against his chest and approached. "Dude, I've been up for a while. You were the one still asleep and shouting. Bro, what's goin' down?"
"Nothing. How's the cramp?"
"Gone. Did you go to bed last night or get any sleep?"
"Yeah, Joe, didn't you see me in the chair? I've been to bed and then got up to wait for you and nodded off again. I've been dressed for ages."
Joe sniffed. "So let me get this straight. Not only did you get dressed in yesterday's clothes, you decided to be extra specially thorough by including your jacket, done right up to the neck?"
Frank looked down at himself and shrugged. "I didn't want to disturb you by getting the fire goin'."
"Yeah right!" Joe snorted.
Frank's eyes shifted towards his bedroom. "I'm goin'—"
"—To the bathroom? Yeah, I get it." Joe said, as Frank strode away.
Joe returned to the porch and dialled Nancy again. She answered immediately.
"What's going on?""Did you know about Frank's nightmares?"
Nancy paused. "Well yes, but he said they'd stopped."
"Well, he was lying to you." Joe sighed, seriously irritated. "You know I said earlier that 'we're getting there'? Well scratch that, we're most definitely not!"
****
Fenton drove the rental car out of the parking lot and double-checked the map on his lap to ensure he knew exactly where he was going. He didn't know the 'Quaker State' of Pennsylvania hugely well, although he'd been a few times in the course of duty. He was heading for Bradford County, which is where Senator Shandley and his wife lived, usually with their now missing daughter. Bobbie. They knew Fenton was on his way to see them, having phoned ahead the previous evening before letting Con know what he was going to be doing.
An hour later and he was downtown, red brick buildings lining the streets, many with flat-fronted shop fronts. He passed a cinema, the ubiquitous McDonalds and a white church with its clock towering above. It was an oil painting of a town, with mountains rising up around on all sides and lush green fields. This was largely a dairy farming community with the main transportation consisting of dozens and dozens of pick-up trucks. Fenton's shiny sedan car looking wholly out of place as it zipped along.
Pulling over not far from a gazebo that was occupied by unruly teenagers, he consulted his map again. His mind drifted as he stared at the document, wondering how on earth a girl like Bobbie from a place such as this had gotten involved in detective work. But then he smiled wryly and remembered Nancy Drew. He supposed that when the sleuthing bug called, there was little you could do to stop the burning need. He remembered how he drove his own parents to distraction by sticking his nose into other people's business, and how his sons had been exactly the same way.
Satisfied that he knew where he was going, he put the map down on the passenger seat and entered the traffic again to complete the final fifteen minutes of his journey.
"Ha!" he suddenly said to himself. The realisation had dawned that he'd spent months trying to persuade Con Riley to become not only a partner in the business but also his compadre, and he'd gone and turned him over to young Nancy. He snorted and laughed at himself in the mirror. "You jackass!" he jibed himself and turned the wheel to aim the nose of the car into the Shandley's long driveway.
At the end of that long entranceway loomed an impressively large red brick colonial house, the front of which had six columns standing to attention and holding up a gabled roof. Fenton cocked an eyebrow. "Well, politics pays well, that's for sure!" He pulled up outside, exited the car and stepped up to the white front door. Pressing on the bell, he heard it clanging inside and could tell before the door even opened that he would be seeing a large entrance and hallway on the other side that was probably bigger than the whole ground floor area of his own home. And he wasn't wrong.
"Can I help you?" asked a middle-aged woman.
This wasn't either of the Shandley's, Fenton was sure of that. This person didn't have the natural dignified stance of someone of a high social standing. "I've an appointment with Senator Shandley and Mrs Shandley."
"You're Agent Hardy?" she asked.
"That's right," he said and remembered to pull his badge from his pocket and show it to her.
"Come right on in." Smiling, she waved him through. "Please, would you wait in the library and I'll let the Senator know you're here."
She led him across the hallway and into another room, which housed wall-to-wall mahogany bookcases and smelled of musty paper. He turned back to her after quickly scanning the area.
"Can I get you anything while you're waiting – tea, coffee?" she asked.
"No thank you," Fenton replied, trying not to appear intimidated by these people's obvious wealth. People of a certain social standing always made him feel irrationally jumpy and he couldn't trust himself not to go and tip a drink all the way down his front, a hangover from being raised poor.
The woman left the room, closing the double doors after her and he listened as her clipped footsteps faded into the distance.
He turned back to the room and started wandering around, looking absent-mindedly at the books, noting on a subconscious level that there wasn't anything on the shelves that had been published at least during the last forty years or more. Considering this was a library, there wasn't one speck of dust in the whole room – impressive!
Presently, he approached a side table and worked his way along a line of photographs until he came to one that contained a picture of Bobbie Shandley. She was standing between two people who he assumed must be her parents as she was a mixture of the both of them. Not at all like Joe and Frank. Joe bore a more than passing resemblance to Laura – blond and blue eyed, whereas Frank was like himself – dark, a fact he was always being constantly reminded of! He picked up the picture and carried on looking at it.
Presently the door opened and he jumped and spun around, feeling like a snoop and an interloper.
"Ah, I see your professional curiosity is already in full swing," said a sturdy looking man who'd entered the room. "Senator Arnold Shandley," he introduced himself and walked forward to take Fenton's hand.
"Hello Senator, I'm Mr—"
"—Fenton Hardy, Private Investigator."
Fenton raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How did you know? I introduced myself on the phone and to your employee as an FBI agent – I must be slipping!"
"Not at all. You're not the only one who has a natural curiosity. I assumed it would be you or one of your sons when I heard the surname. You don't have a daughter who's preoccupied with detectives not to recognise one of her favorites on sight!"
"Oh I see." Fenton said, not knowing what to say. Instead he raised the photograph. "Your daughter is a pretty girl."
"Yes she is," Senator Shandley agreed. "And now she's missing." His eyes latched onto the picture and he stared at it for a few seconds before turning away to take in the view across the grounds through one of the floor to ceiling windows.
At the instant the Senator had stared at the picture, Fenton had mentally read his expression and countenance and knew what it meant – worried desolation and helplessness. It was a reflection of his own face from when Frank had disappeared all those weeks ago and Joe had been so badly hurt. He had to fight the almost impossible-to-ignore urge to slip a supportive arm around the man's shoulders.
Fenton could hear the shake in Mr Shandley's voice when he said: "The police, they try to say the correct things, but they can't possibly understand. This is just another job to them, of that I'm convinced. They keep inferring that she has simply run away, but I keep telling them that she had no reason to leave. But I'm no fool, I can tell they think my daughter is dead and are looking for a body. They're saying what they think we want to hear. The horrible truth is that the longer Bobbie is gone, the more I'm starting to fear the worst myself."
"It's not simply another job to me," Fenton assured him. "And believe me, I understand only too well."
Senator Shandley turned back to him with a doubtful expression.
Seeing the scepticism in Arnold Shandley's face, Fenton said. "Let me show you something."
Replacing the photograph of Bobbie on the table, he retrieved his wallet from his inside pocket and slid out a picture. He took a step closer to the Senator and showed it to him. "This is my wife Laura with our sons," he pointed. "That's—"
"—Joe Hardy," the Senator interrupted.
"You have done your homework!" Fenton said in admiration. "Joe's my youngest and is always getting himself into trouble, too headstrong for his own good." He pointed to the other side of his wife. "And that's—
"—Frank Hardy."
Fenton smiled. "Yep. He's my oldest and usually the more sensible one of the two. However, several weeks ago, he went missing after becoming involved in something nasty, just like your Bobbie. We didn't know what happened to him either. But we never gave up hope and when we found him, he—" Fenton stopped dead, realising that giving any more details would do nothing more than alarm Mr Shandley further and could even be construed as cruel. What he was meaning to demonstrate was that he only too well understood what Senator Shandley and his wife were going though, not to scare him silly. He left the end of the sentence hanging and continued, barely missing a beat: "—but we got him back and alive, and that was really all that matters."
"Was your son well when you found him?" Arthur Shandley asked, obviously not having missed the way Fenton had caught himself.
Looking sharply at him, Fenton was about to lie, but saw that this was not a man who could be duped or would appreciate someone watering the truth down, he'd obviously had his fill of that already. "No, not really, still isn't."
"I'm sorry to hear of that, Mr Hardy."
"Don't be. It's taking some time, but he's slowly clawing back. He'll be fine, Joe will see to that." He returned the picture to his wallet with his mouth set in a firm line. "So you see, I do understand. Believe me, you won't be getting any empty promises from me; all you'll get is honesty and a tenacious doggedness. I'll put every ounce of my energy into locating Bobbie, every bit as much as I did with my own son. I'll find her, one way or the other – I'm a father too, you see."