Boosting - Chapter 8

Frank had left the cabin's keys on the dining table the night before and for some reason, all the way through breakfast; Joe's eyes kept on straying back to them. He couldn't work out why at first, but he eventually did. There was a mysterious padlock key housed on the bunch with the front door and patio keys, but he didn't have a clue what it was for. "What do you reckon this unlocks?" he asked Frank eventually, picking it up.

Frank shrugged with disinterest. "Dunno."

"Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Not really."

"Dude, you have been stripped of your investigator DNA, haven't you?"

Frank laughed and stood up to collect the plates and take them to the kitchenette. "Joe, if it means that much, go and look for what it opens. Knock yourself out…not literally, of course." He squeezed some dish detergent into the basin and started running the hot water faucet, dropping the plates in at the same time and returning for the rest of the cutlery and cups.

"Right, I will!" Joe said and left the table.

He walked around the cabin, trying to see where there was a lock that the key would fit, but coming up empty, even venturing into Frank's room. He eventually returned to his brother who was drying the dishes and silverware and putting them away and loitered, looking at Frank expectantly until he was finally asked:

"Any luck?"

"Nope."

"Try outside."

Joe smiled. "See, I'd never have thought of that. Told you it would be impossible for you to ignore your detective roots for long!"

Frank shot Joe a withering look and flicked the towel with an audible snap, sending Joe skittering backwards out of range. "Thin ice, Joe, extremely thin ice!"

"Aw man!" Joe muttered and headed for the patio doors. He opened them and stepped outside to survey the area. Looking to the right, he suddenly discerned a small jetty stretching out into the water that they hadn't noticed the day before as it was partially obscured by trees. Joe walked down the steps and moved forwards a way to broaden his visual aspect, and was able to see that next to it, half on the shore and half in the water stood what appeared to be a boathouse, not unlike the one their father had rented for them when they were kids for their small motorboat 'Sleuth'. He started heading straight for it, confident that he'd found what the key was for.

"Hey, wait up, Joe!" said a voice behind him, so he slowed down sufficiently enough to allow his slightly limping brother to catch up with him.

"Couldn't resist the urge?" Joe asked and winked.

"Maybe."

Joe opened his mouth to deliver a sarcastic retort, but Frank interrupted him before he could.

"—Say nothing."

Before long, they were both standing in front of the side door and Joe was lifting a padlock up. "Well, let's see if this fits!" He inserted the key and turned it. Sure enough, the lock clicked and fell open in his hand. He worked it free of the hasp and Frank pulled the door across on its squeaky runners.

There, bobbing gently in front of them on the water was a motorboat, the exact same model as the 'Sleuth' had been – a sleek, four-seater with an outboard motor, steering wheel and windshield. It was painted white with a blue stripe along the top of the hull. They both turned as one in surprise and regarded one another, grinning widely and stupidly.

"Have you been playing me, bro?" Frank asked, flabbergasted. "Did you plan this all along?"

"Uh-uh, I swear I didn't. I wish I had though!" Joe answered, equally as bemused. He gave his brother a good-natured jostle. "What a weird coincidence, huh?"

*****

Fenton Hardy was continuing his interview with Senator Shandley, Bobbie's father, but they were now in armchairs facing one another. Mr Hardy had taken a chance on a coffee and had managed thus far not to spill any.

Mr Shandley set his cup down. "Mr Hardy, you are without doubt the first person who has spoken to me like I'm a human being rather than a statistic. I would have liked to have introduced you to my wife, but she's been taken ill; literally sick with worry. She'd have taken such comfort by your presence."

"Thank you." Fenton said. "I was lucky in that my wife was away when Frank went missing, so she didn't experience all the worst parts of what happened to us. How did Bobbie get involved in the case? I must admit I was surprised at how inexperienced she appears to be?"

"She is inexperienced, but she has dabbled, and not unsuccessfully I might add. But the one area where she is practised in is twisting me around her little finger. Unfortunately, I can deny her nothing!" he shook his head in disgust at himself. "She overheard a discussion I was having with one of my colleagues about a rash of cars being stolen and she convinced me to allow her to look into it. I'm afraid I used my influence as a senator to have her hired – she viewed it as her first professional step onto the ladder. I didn't see the harm at the time; they were only vehicles, and I thought that once she got it out of her system, that she would go back to college and that would be the end of it. I'm afraid to admit that I was naive!"

"College?" Fenton asked in surprise. "Exactly how old is Bobbie?"

"Nineteen next birthday."

Fenton's jaw dropped. "I didn't realise she was quite that young!"

"Oh yes, just eighteen." The Senator continued: "One day, she came home and announced to my wife that she was going to look into a 'lead'. I was out at a meeting, so I didn't see her myself before she left. It was a case of "That's nice dear!" and my wife went out shopping and left her to it. And that was literally the last time either of us heard from our daughter. You cannot fathom the burden of culpability we have both suffered from ever since."

"Yes I would!" Fenton assured him. "When was that?" he asked.

"Eight days ago, and counting."

"Did she give any clues as to where she was going?"

"Believe me Mr Hardy, my wife and I have wracked our brains trying to remember anything she might have said that would have given any indication as to where she was going, but she didn't tell us a thing."

"Were any of her clothes missing, perhaps a suitcase?"

"Yes there was enough for a few days away, longer if she used a laundry service."

Fenton took a sip of his coffee and looked out of the window across the grounds, thinking about what Senator Shandley had told him. He turned back. "Have you a list of what she took, and can you tell me what she was wearing?"

Mr Shandley immediately pulled out a drawer in the table they were sitting at and extracted a sheath of papers, which he handed over. "We prepared a full inventory for the police, including what she was wearing that day."

"Can I take this with me?" Fenton asked, flicking through each page quickly.

"Of course."

"Has she been accessing her bank accounts, her phone, e-mails perhaps?"

"No, nothing like that and the police have been monitoring them. Other than Bobbie withdrawing a large amount of cash from her bank account on the first day, there's been nothing else since, and no phone calls have been made at all from her mobile."

"Okay, one last thing," Fenton was dreading asking this question, but he ventured anyway. "Would you and your wife mind if I have a look in Bobbie's room?"

Senator Shandley shot Fenton a perverse look. "The police have already thoroughly searched her room!"

Fenton leaned back in his chair. "I know, and I realise what an intrusion it is into Bobbie's privacy, but sometimes the police miss things – trust me, you were right to assume that this is just another job for them. But to me, and people like me, it's an obsession, and we don't stop until we get to the truth."

There was a long silence while the Senator watched Mr Hardy, and Mr Hardy watched the Senator. Eventually, Mr Shandley was the one to break the impasse: "Well, I suppose if it's a balancing act between Bobbie's safe return and her privacy, there can only be one winner." He slapped the arms of the chair and rose himself. This way Mr Hardy—"

They began to leave the room together.

"Please, call me Fenton."

"Arnold." Mr Shandley reciprocated and took Fenton across the tile floored front entrance to the main staircase. They began climbing and walked past a number of doors until they came to one with a plaque that read 'Bobbie'. The Senator swung the door open and prepared to enter.

Fenton put a restraining hand on his arm before he could finish his move. "Do you mind if I do this alone, Arnold?" Fenton asked. "I know it's asking a lot, but I find it easier to center my mind without the distraction of someone else being there, I'd much prefer to go in cold. Trust me, it's the best way."

"I find I do trust you, Fenton," Mr Shandley said without hesitation. "I'll be waiting in the library when you've finished, so come and find me."

"I appreciate your confidence." Fenton said.

Senator Shandley nodded stiffly and walked away, leaving Fenton to finally enter. He stepped over the threshold, shut the door behind him and went to sit on the bed. Looking around him, he started to process.

*****

Joe entered the boathouse and stood at the side of the walkway looking down into the boat, feeling the tug of familiarity. He jumped down into the stern and bent over the front seats to look at the controls. "The key's in the ignition," he reported.

"There's fishing equipment here as well," he heard Frank say, his voice sounding hollow and echoing in the watery chamber.

Joe turned to find Frank was surveying a choice of rods that were hanging on hooks from the wall. He leaned his rump against the back of the seat. "Do you think we—"

"­—Should take a fishing trip?" Frank finished for him and looked across and grinned. "Why the hell not? Obviously the use of the boat came with the cabin or we wouldn't have been supplied with a key."

Joe smiled back and then it slipped. "Problem…no bait!"

"Baloney!"

Immediately irritated, Joe crossed his arms and glared back. "Frank, pull your head in! I know you didn't get much sleep last night, but seriously, man!"

Frank frowned in confusion. "Uh? Wha…no, I didn't mean it like that – there's a bologna sausage in the refrigerator that we can use as bait." He tipped his thumb over his shoulder towards the cabin.

"Oh—"

"Jeeze Joe, touchy much!" He started heading out the door. "I'll go and get it shall I while you load up? Unless you want me to stay so you can carry on taking verbal pot-shots at me!" Frank muttered, as he disappeared around the corner out of sight, only to appear seconds later walking along the shoreline towards the cabin, still complaining under his breath, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Good one, Joseph." Joe berated himself and stepped back up onto the walkway. He began rummaging around, selecting suitable rods and dropping things onto the boat's deck.

Joe soon forgot about their misunderstanding, and evidently so had Frank who returned a little while later with some other bits and pieces, humming tunelessly under his breath.

"Here you go," Frank said, handing Joe his jacket.

"Thanks," Joe said, accepting it from him and dropping it onto the bench seat in the back of the boat. Frank's own coat hit the deck a second later as he did the same. "Probably won't need it. It's warm today." Joe observed.

"Might not feel quite so warm once we get out into the open water."

"True. Ready to go?" Joe asked, climbing over into the front seat to take the wheel.

Frank remained standing on the walkway, looking down. "Um…yeah, except—"

"—Except?"

Frank began rubbing his knee. "I can't step down that far. No way my leg will allow that!"

Joe stared at Frank's kneecap, which was right in his eye line and mentally estimated the drop. "I see what you mean." He clambered back over into the stern, widened his stance to give the boat more stability, and offered his hand.

Grasping onto his brother's proffered palm and bracing his other hand against Joe's shoulder, Frank jumped awkwardly down with Joe attempting to lessen the impact of his landing by catching him around the waist and slowing his descent.

They ended up eye-to-eye, still clinging to one other and swaying. With a little shuffling and treading on of toes, they managed to stay on their feet.

Joe smirked. "May I have this dance?" he asked, realising the pose they found themselves in. "I'll lead." He pirouetted and turned his brother, and even though Frank tutted, he had a good-natured grin on his face. However, as soon as Frank was positioned towards the front, Joe suddenly found himself shoved backwards and partnerless – forced to watch as Frank deftly scrambled fore to claim the captain's position.

Taken by surprise, Joe spluttered: "What the—

Frank just laughed at him.

"You're no lady! Could you get into the boat the entire time?"

"Of course I could, I'm not that helpless. No way was I goin' to let you get away with piloting this baby first! All's fair in love and war, brother. Now go and open the roll-top door."

"So totally not fair, dude!"

*****

Bobbie Shandley was without doubt a 'girlie girl', not a tomboy. Everywhere Fenton Hardy looked in her vacant and lonely bedroom, there were pinks and purples. Not in a sickening, Barbie way, but with an indication towards femininity, not unlike Vanessa. He also recognised something of a compulsive personality. There were collections of various things displayed, such as Beanie Babys with their original tags intact and put on view behind glass in a cabinet, and a batch of unusually shaped Avon perfume bottles settled into small related groups on the dressing table.

On the shelves, there were at least three separate book series. He got up and looked at the book collections and saw that each volume had been carefully displayed according to the order they were published. A notebook was at the start of each section. He pulled one out and opened it to find it was a list of each book, with publisher's date, a synopsis of each story and a tick next to which one's she had acquired and which she was outstanding. Bobbie was obviously an organised individual. Fenton considered that this was not a girl who would ordinarily walk into a situation without fully considering all angles and probabilities.

Something suddenly struck him as odd. Considering Mr Shandley had told him that she was interested in real life investigators, there wasn't any evidence of this. Her imaginary detective friends were only too evident in the serial books, but the real ones…where was the confirmation of that interest?

He started searching the room, opening up drawers, looking under the bed, the mattress, in the closet. He didn't find anything.

"Hmm," Fenton muttered, intrigued, and started inspecting the wall to wall carpet instead, moving around the edges of the room to see if it appeared to have been lifted in any way. Eventually, his foot hit a loose floorboard by the furthest corner, a squeaking noise emanating forth. Bending, he carefully pulled back the rug and found a board underneath with a knothole. He put his finger in and lifted. Underneath, he found Bobbie Shandley's hiding place.

"You can fool some people some of the time, Bobbie!" Fenton pulled the notebook free that from off the top of the jewellery boxes, replaced the board, and dropped the carpet back into place.

He went and sat down at her desk and started leafing through the book. He quickly realised that she'd been making a careful log of as many P.I.s as she could – not only the Hardys. It included photographs, press cuttings, contact details and she'd also noted down her thoughts. Oscar Smuff's page had some very interesting comments – darned insulting in parts! Fenton started to chuckle and by the time he'd reached the sections about him, Sam Radley and his sons, he was laughing out loud, especially at the comments she'd made about Joe. 'Wow, look at him!' she'd jotted, and 'It's official! I've reserved a place for Joe Hardy under my bed!'

"Jailbait!" Fenton remarked and laughed some more. He liked this girl!

Eventually, and as he fully expected, he got to a page dedicated to Nancy. She'd made extensive notes on his son's girlfriend, obviously completely fascinated with her, viewing her as a kindred spirit. Fenton supposed that Nancy was a bit unusual in that not many women went into his line of work, and certainly not flying solo as Nancy did. In fact, few men did that, including himself. She was the only real-life female detective in the book.

His eyes moved to the bottom of the page and something made him pause. In dark writing and underlined were the words. "March 13, River Heights." Fenton made a quick calculation, confirming that had been the day after Bobbie had gone missing. He'd been successful in uncovering where she had been heading that day. Ironically, she'd been on her way to visit Nancy, but of course, Nancy hadn't been at home. But that didn't mean she didn't speak to someone at the Drew's residence.

He knew where he was heading next.