CHAPTER 11
"Callie!"
Her body was sprawled half on the asphalt, half on the grass, facing up. Her eyes were closed. Frank felt for her pulse. For a heart-stopping moment, he couldn't find it — and then it was there — faint — but definitely alive.
"She's okay," he told Joe, surprised to hear his voice shaking.
"Call the ambulance!" Joe called out, the lines on his forehead deepened.
Callie opened her eyes slowly and tried to get up but winced.
"Shhh, don't move," Frank said. He checked the rest of her condition, and could not see any blood on her body, but her head had a bloody gash and one of her arms looked awkwardly twisted.
It felt ages before the wailing siren of the ambulance became closer. The crowd dispersed as paramedics pushed through with a stretcher. A couple of police cruisers arrived next. The paramedics examined her for a moment before attaching a neck brace around her neck, and soon she was wheeled into the ambulance. Frank followed closely next to her.
"F-Frank," Callie spoke up, fixing her gaze on his face.
"I'm here," he told her. His throat felt constricted when he saw the pain in her eyes.
She tried to lift her intact arm. A crumpled paper lay in the palm of her hand.
"What's this?" Frank picked up the paper. It was a typed message: WANNA KNOW WHO KILLED GIGI? SCHOOL PARKING LOT 3.30 PM. COME ALONE.
He wasn't sure how long he had been staring at the message until Joe interrupted his thoughts.
"Let's go to the hospital," Joe urged. "They're bringing her to Bayport General." Then he noticed the note. "What's that?"
Frank held it up to him.
"Of course she had to go alone," Joe berated to no one. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Hello, boys." Officer Con Riley came up to them. His usual friendly face looked grave.
"Con!" Frank said in surprise. The Hardys had known Officer Con Riley nearly their whole lives. They considered him as one of their best friends and their contact in the Bayport Police Department.
"Did anyone see what happened?" Riley asked, pulling out his notepad with his gloved hand. "I didn't get much from Miss Shaw. She's incoherent due to the knock on her head."
"I didn't see much," Joe told him. "I only saw a gray Dodge leaving the scene. I didn't get a view of the plate number."
"What about you, Frank?"
"I saw a gray Dodge, too," he replied. "There was a scream. People were running and there were so much confusion."
"Did you find out anything?" Joe asked Riley.
"Unreliable witnesses," Con Riley fumed, shaking his head. "The car came out of nowhere and went straight at Callie. Some said the driver was a girl, another said it was a guy. And the car make and model? Nobody noticed it. Then you get several different versions of color from some witnesses — blue, green, brown, gray. Take your pick. There's another one who said the windows were rolled up and tinted. I took some photos of the skid marks." He paused for a second to study the boys' faces thoughtfully. For as long as he knew them, the Hardys were never short of trouble with their cases. The hardest part on the job was being impartial when finding out the victim was one of the Hardys or someone close to them. "Do you have any reason why anyone want to hurt Callie?"
Frank shook his head and lifted the note to him. "She gave me this."
With expert ease, Riley pulled out a pair of tweezers and lifted the note. After reading it, he dropped it into an evidence bag. "Who's Gigi?"
Frank explained to him today's events leading up to the hit-and-run. The older Hardy appeared devoid of emotion, but Con Riley noticed the clenched fists while he gave his statement.
After hearing Frank's narrative, Con reacted with disgust. "This person sounds like a piece of work. Killing and torturing animals — this is something you normally hear at the FBI. I did a police officer training at the FBI last summer and they have a whole lot of files on the crazies over there." He tapped his pen against the notepad with a thoughtful look. "Let's get back to the case. Are there anymore information you'd like to add? You boys investigating any dangerous cases lately?"
"We were looking into a stolen painting at the museum," Frank replied. "I wouldn't call that dangerous."
"Hmm, okay."
"Can we go now? I want to check on Callie."
Riley nodded. "Let me know if you've got more information."
"Likewise."
"I was going to tell you boys to drop this hit-and-run case and leave it to the police, but you're not gonna listen anyway. Of course, I don't need to remind you boys to be careful." He clapped a hand on Frank's shoulder and walked past them, heading to the main building.
Frank tunneled his fingers through his dark hair as he planned their next course of action. "We'll need to talk to the security guards tomorrow about the CCTV footage," he told Joe when he saw Con Riley interview Bobby, one of the security guards.
"Hopefully, the camera caught the plate number," Joe replied.
The Hardys returned to the van. After everything that had happened the last couple of hours, Frank had forgotten that Dana was taking a ride with them. "I hope you don't mind following us to the hospital first," he told Dana, who was sitting at the back of the van.
"Not at all," she replied.
The wait at the hospital went for hours. Joe was getting restless as he paced up and down the waiting area. Frank was sitting on a chair, staring on the floor in deep thought. Dana had occupied herself with a sports magazine she'd found lying around on one of the chairs.
Then a middle-aged man in a white coat strode into the waiting area.
"Callie Shaw?" he inquired, glancing at the waiting area.
"Here." Frank shot up from his seat and approached the doctor.
Joe stopped pacing and sidled next to his brother.
"I'm Dr. Leon." He studied them with a dubious look. "Are you all family members?"
"N–" Frank started.
"I'm her cousin," Joe spoke up. "Her parents are out of town. Is she okay?"
Dr. Leon looked skeptical at Joe's reply, but finally, after some deliberation on his part, he said, "There's no permanent injury. She's sustained a broken arm and leg, and some bruising on her hips. However, Miss Shaw needs to stay in the hospital for a few days while we monitor her concussion."
"So, she's going to be okay?" Joe asked.
"In due time."
A collective sigh of relief came from the Hardys.
"Can we see her?" Frank asked.
"Come back tomorrow. She's sleeping now."
–o–
Moments later, the Hardys were already on the road. The sky had turned black, not a sight of speckled stars was visible. Street lights cast dull yellow beam under the cover of darkness, highlighting the gradual emptiness of the streets. Since the trip from the hospital, nobody in the van spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.
When the van arrived at the Bailey's home, Dana spoke up, "There's something I need to show you."
Frank exchanged a glance with his brother and parked the van. They followed Dana into the spacious mansion. Modern furniture occupied the living room. A leather sofa, and a chrome and glass coffee table took one section of the room. The adjacent side had a fireplace, there was only an antique clock on the mantelpiece. Joe couldn't see any personal photographs, even the shelves that flanked the fireplace contained only bric-a-brac. One corner of the room had a grand piano. He wondered who in the Bailey family played the piano. Everything in the room was spotlessly clean, like something out of a home magazine. Still, the place felt empty and hollow, even their footsteps against the marble floor echoed throughout the house. It must have been depressing living in a house like this. Joe could understand why Morgan rather spent her time outside her home.
"Where are your parents?" Frank asked.
"Somewhere," Dana replied in dismissive fashion. "Wait here." She went up a spiral stone staircase.
Joe walked over to the French windows that faced the back of the house. About half a dozen rows of solar panels were put up at the backyard. Joe would bet this was Mr. Bailey's personal project. He heard a soft click of a door being shut coming down from one of the hallways. Turning to his right, Joe could see Mr. Bailey strolling toward them with his hands inside the pockets of his creased khakis. This time the older man was wearing a brown sweater vest over a light blue shirt. There was a splotch of blue ink on the collar of his shirt. On his feet was a pair of brown mules.
"I thought I heard voices," Mr. Bailey said to them. When he finally stood before them, Joe could see a pen behind his ear. "Hardy, isn't it?"
"Right," Frank replied in a distracted manner. "We were just dropping off Dana."
"I see."
"You built this?" Joe nodded his head toward the windows.
"Y-Yes," Mr. Bailey said, turning to look at the backyard. "Errr, I bought this property just b-because the size of the land is enough to fit those s-solar panels."
"Having money helps, too."
"True." Mr. Bailey chuckled, albeit a little restrained. "If you're plying in this trade, practicing what you're preaching… well, your credibility will carry you far."
Joe noticed his brother was not in his usual inquisitive mode. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know that Frank was still thinking of Callie in the hospital. I guess it's up to me to pick up the slack, Joe thought.
"Your house feels empty," he blurted out.
Mr. Bailey nodded with a lopsided smile. "Yes, yes. We still have m-mountains of boxes that haven't been unpacked, yet. Perhaps… after a month or two, it'd f-feel like home." His face grimaced. "Oh, crikey, where are my manners? Would you lads like anything to eat? A drink? Tea perhaps? I can get you… s-something… from the kitchen."
"We're fine." Joe waved it off.
"Very well." He paused for a second. "So, um, h-how well do you know Dana?"
"Honestly, we've only known both of your daughters for less than a week."
"Oh, of course." Mr. Bailey nodded.
"Is Morgan home?"
"She wasn't in her room when my wife checked it ten minutes ago. So… you've met Morgan, too. I don't s-suppose you know… if she's… adjusting in school?"
"She's a trouble magnet," Joe spoke up. "Shouldn't you be asking this to her?"
"You're blunt," Mr. Bailey remarked with an approval nod. "Uhm, I m-may not be a father-of-the-year, though I'm trying my best… I'm just rather worried… for both of them. Errr, rather difficult to please everyone, you'll just, uh, end up pleasing nobody. Y-Yes, it hasn't been easy — well, for all of us, actually — when, um, Dana's mum passed away. She was very close to her mum, you see. I admit she didn't take it very well. Why, I'm pretty sure it was like that s-story of the swan — or perhaps the eagle…" His voice trailed off as his mind seemed to wander to another place.
"Your point is?" Joe asked, trying to get him back to earth.
"Oh, I — I'm rambling, am I?" Looking flustered, Mr. Bailey moved on. "Yes, yes, um, s-so you can imagine how Dana reacted wh-when she found out I was planning, uh, to get married again. She began acting out…" He tilted his head for a second as if recollecting his memories. "It was curious… but in the end, out of the blue… she finally accepted my decision. Of course, everyone was ecstatic, because, uh, well, we didn't expect it. And then there's Morgan. She is… well, Morgan." He cleared his throat with an uneasy smile. "Suffice to say, there were too m-many painful memories there. So, we moved here, uh, across the country… getting a fresh start for everyone."
"I'm curious about Morgan," Joe began. "Is she the type to hurt… animals?"
Mr. Bailey's eyes widened in shock. "An-Animals? What a curious question to ask. She may be allergic to some furry animals, but hurting them? Absolutely not. She w-wouldn't even touch them. Although–" He stopped for a moment.
"What?"
Mr. Bailey gave a dismissive shake with his head. "Oh, sorry. I w-was thinking of something else. My mind… can be a jumbled mess up here." He tapped to the side of his head. "My first wife used to, uh, tell me I have a brilliant mind but b-being articulate on, uh, non-scientific subjects is… is not my strongest feature." Then he glanced at his gold wristwatch. "Well, I'm trying not to keep you lads too long here."
"I hope everything works out in the end," Frank finally spoke up.
"We'll see how it goes. Uh, I guess what they say about life is true… it's a long preparation for something that never happens." He awkwardly raised his hand and gave them a small wave. "Good night, lads." Pivoting on his feet, he returned to the room he had just exited earlier.
"He's kinda… geeky," Joe remarked. "You believe him about Morgan?"
"He sounds sincere."
"Maybe, but I don't know. I get this feeling there's something that he's not telling us."
At that moment, Joe heard footsteps coming down the stairs. It was Dana. He wondered if she had overheard everything and had taken that moment to appear.
"We just talked to your dad," Frank told her.
"Yeah? He's a bit of a wimp," Dana said, but she was quick to add, "and I meant that as a compliment." Motioning them to the living room, she came with a large book with lime green hardbacked covers, and set it down on the coffee table. The book looked like a photo album until Dana lifted the cover. "This is Morgan's scrapbook," she told them.
Newspaper articles and photographs were glued on every page, along with some doodles in colorful gel pens. The newspaper clippings were mostly on a boat accident that happened more than nine months ago. Joe pointed to one of the articles that was circled in pink highlighter.
Teenager killed in boating crash in Elliot Bay
SEATTLE, Wa. – An 18-year-old Quinn McNeil has died from injuries he sustained in a boat crash 25 miles off the coast of Seattle. The victim was flung from the boat as it traveled in Elliot Bay on Saturday night. McNeil, a valedictorian at Queen's Hill High, was found unconscious and taken to a hospital after the crash, according to the Washington State Police. One survivor, Morgan Zeller, 16, also from the same school, was injured when the boat struck a warning beacon. None of the people involved in the crash were wearing life jackets.
Local officials have made contact with next of kin. Emily McNeil, the victim's mother, was "devastated and shocked." Meanwhile his father, Bernard McNeil, 50, "want answers" over the death of his son, who "was too young to have this happen to him."
"Quinn was an extraordinary person," said the student body president, who preferred to be known as Dana. "For as long as I've known him, he was well-liked by his peers. The school will be having a prayer vigil on Monday night."
The tragic incident is still under investigation as of Sunday evening.
There was another article saying the police investigation didn't find anything suspicious and concluded the case closed. The rest of the pages were filled with Quinn's pictures. Some were cut out from the rest of the photo. Two things hit Joe at once. The first one was Morgan's name in the article — Morgan Zeller. The second was the strong resemblance between Quinn and Frank that they could almost be twins. To Joe's bewilderment, why no one in this family had bothered to mention this tiny but important detail to them? Were the Baileys had some kind of family pledge of silence?
Joe threw a glance at his brother and wondered what the latter was thinking when he saw the pictures. As usual, Frank had put on an impassive face. Joe had to admire his brother's adeptness at internalizing his emotions.
"How long have you known Quinn?" Frank pointed to the boating crash article. "This Dana is you, isn't it?"
"We were neighbors." Dana shrugged.
As Joe flipped through more pages, pictures of Quinn gradually ended and replaced with more recent photos. But this time they weren't of Quinn. They were photos of Frank. Frank inside a van. Frank in the school library. Frank in the museum. Frank in the cafeteria. Frank taking out the trash. Not only this girl was obsessed, she was also a stalker — the unstable type. The shots looked like taken by a pro, something that could be produced by a professional camera — like the one Morgan had used during his cringe-worthy photo session.
"I think Morgan's been having some kind of PTSD since the accident," Dana explained. "She was obsessed about Quinn."
"Didn't she get help?" Frank asked.
"She did, but she quit. She couldn't adjust to school after that. There were rumors flying around about the boat accident that wasn't really an accident. That's why we moved here. To get away from it all."
"Why would anyone think that she might be responsible?"
"Quinn's parents couldn't accept their son's death was accidental, and started accusing Morgan. I guess from there, words spread around."
"What did Morgan say?"
"Nothing. She did neither deny nor confirm the rumors."
"But why hurt Callie, too?"
"I think you can see there's a resemblance to you, Frank. Maybe seeing your face became a trigger for her. Maybe she wants to get rid of Callie to get to you."
"Her name here is Morgan Zeller," Frank pointed out. "Was this before her mother married your father?"
A tight smile appeared on her lips. "Uh-huh. Morgan and I were in the same school. Her mom met my dad in one of those PTA meetings, yadda, yadda, yadda. You know the rest."
"Why didn't you guys tell us about Quinn looking like my brother?" Joe asked her, partly incensed. "Wouldn't this help explaining why she was acting weird around Frank?"
Dana gave a dramatic sigh, like someone who was patronizing a spoilt child. "Because we didn't want to trigger her depression by saying his name. Morgan is quite sensitive from what I've seen so far."
As Joe studied the scrapbook, he couldn't help feeling that something was amiss. He might not know Morgan well, but he had seen Morgan help Iola with her art. If she were obsessed with Frank, wouldn't she conjure up some kind of plan to get closer to him? Of course, that would take some planning, something that Joe couldn't see someone as temperamental as Morgan would do.
"So, Joe, what do you think?" Frank's question brought him out of his thoughts.
"I don't know," Joe admitted. "I'm not convinced, yet. But we do need to find her first."
"Dude, who else could it be?" Dana retorted.
"Do you know where she is now?" Frank asked. "You must have some idea."
"We're not that close," Dana said. "Truthfully, I'm scared of her."
"Maybe she simply doesn't like you," Joe spoke up.
Dana seemed to take his comment in resentment. "Well, you guys are the detectives. I'm just trying to help."
"Which we are grateful," Frank acknowledged. "Can we have the scrapbook?"
"Absolutely not. This is private property. I'm pretty sure this scrapbook is like a therapy for Morgan. If you want it, get a court order."
"Now, you suddenly don't want to help us," Joe countered.
"I'm only thinking about Morgan's well-being."
Joe fought himself from rolling his eyes at hearing her reply.
"Then there's nothing more we can do now," Frank said. "Call us if Morgan's back."
"That I can do." Dana nodded enthusiastically.
When the Hardys walked out of the house, Joe said, "I need to call Iola, in case Morgan reaches out to her — and also warn her about Morgan."
Frank nodded. "Good idea. Morgan might be unarmed, but we have to consider her dangerous."