Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally co-written with another person, who is not currently available to ask for permission to post it. Therefore it is being posted under one author name. Also, it was written in the late 1990s, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.

SEPTEMBER SONG

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 6

Somehow, the afternoon and evening passed. Frank remained in his room for the most part, lying on his bed and attempting to read his textbooks. Once the sick, shocked feeling had dissipated, he merely felt numb, with a heavy ache inside his chest that reminded him of when he'd once been sick with bronchitis. Only this time, penicillin wouldn't help.

Joe had jittered about, alternating asking Frank if he was okay, and making savage telephone calls. He told Laura what had happened, and she had spent some time in Frank's room, with the doors shut. When she emerged, her eyes were wet, but she assured a worried Joe that she thought things would work out all right.

"He's stunned, of course, but somehow I think he might have sensed it coming. Right now he's on an emotional roller-coaster." She smiled gently. "All of a sudden, Joe, I'm very, very glad that Megan Wright chose to go to Bayport Community College this fall."

Joe hadn't considered that. He thought about it for a bit, then elevated an eyebrow and nodded in agreement. "Couldn't have come at a better time – both her, and her case."

"Case?" his mother inquired. "What case?."

"Well, just some preliminary snooping, anyway," Joe amended, mentally kicking himself for the slip of the tongue. "We're going over to her place tonight; you knew that, right?"

"Yes," Laura replied. "and that's fine. But for pity sake, Joe, be careful! With you two, snooping has a way of becoming total chaos!"

Joe grinned. "Always," he said enigmatically, bent to kiss her cheek, and went back to his telephoning. Vanessa…(Boy, was she mad! Doubt if Callie'll ever get a civil word from her again! ), Chet…(shocked speechless), Biff, whose first reaction had been similar to Joe's: to kick her teeth in…Tony…. Tony had sputtered and sworn in the fluent Italian he rarely used – (Joe had had a sudden mental image of Tony as a young Mafia Don, putting out a contract on Callie Shaw!) and then asked if there was anything he could do for Frank. Joe told him no, but he'd keep it in mind. Phil's response was nearly identical: what could he do to help Frank? Joe realized yet again just how faithful these friends were, and wondered if Callie knew what she had done to herself with one e-mail message.

After a silent dinner which no one felt like eating, Frank flopped onto the couch in the family room and turned on the television, killing time until he and Joe could leave for Megan's. He had thought briefly about calling her and confiding his troubles, but decided against it. She didn't need anything else dumped on her shoulders. Joe, although he hated leaving Frank just then, had a date with Vanessa to go to a movie, and didn't want to renege. Promising he would be home before 11:00, he left to pick her up. Laura sat curled in one of the recliners, reading a book and attempting to keep an eye on her oldest son at the same time.

Time passed. Phil and Tony both called, but Frank assured them he was okay, and didn't really feel like getting together with anyone just then. They're acting like I've just come down with some sort of terrible illness…pretty soon they'll be bringing me casseroles and jello, or something! The bleak humor of his thought made him snicker suddenly, and a little of the ache eased inside.

Mrs. Hardy went to her bedroom around ten-thirty, kissing Frank fondly and repeating her admonition that the boys take care if they were doing anything for a case that night. Joe arrived home from his date. The brothers quietly went to their rooms and changed into dark clothing, then filled their pockets with various paraphernalia such as Joe's lock picks, miniature cameras, and their penlights. They got into the van and Joe eased it down the driveway and into the street.

Megan's directions were easily followed, and soon they pulled up in front of a white, ranch-style house. A tiny, dark-clad figure detached itself from the verandah and trotted down the drive toward the Hardys' van.

"Hi!" she greeted them breathlessly, hopping into the middle seat and cautiously sliding the door shut, attempting to do so quietly. "I thought 11:30 would never come! Okay, you know where the industrial park is; head there, and I'll direct you when we're closer."

Once they reached the general area, Megan pointed out the building where her father had worked. Joe parked a fair distance away, and the three of them slipped from the van, trying to stay in the minimal shadows as they made their way to their destination. Bright halogen security lights turned the parking areas nearly daylight-bright, and concealment was difficult.

The parking lots were deserted. Apparently, no one worked late at Crowley Manufacturing, at least not on a Saturday night. The three teens walked as silently as possible, however; there was no sense in advertising their presence. Frank took his penlight from his pocket and shone it on the keypad beside the front door.

"Now we find out," Joe breathed, watching Megan as she confidently began tapping a sequence of keys. The boys held their breaths – and then the red lights blinked out, and turned green. They had passed the first hurdle! Quickly, they slipped inside the building, and Megan tapped another sequence on the board inside the door; one that would relock the door, but not set off an alarm when they moved about inside.

The entryway was mainly large glass windows. Light poured in from the parking lot, and they could see a reception desk, some chairs and a low table with magazines scattered across the top. A few soft security lights glowed dimly. Megan led the way with sure steps down a short hallway to a bank of elevators. She pushed the "up" button, and the door of one of the elevators slid silently open, lights automatically coming on inside. They stepped in, Megan punched for the third floor, and they were wafted upward.

When the elevator doors opened, Frank peered out cautiously, but the corridor was deserted. They walked quietly down the hall, Megan in the lead. She turned a corner, paused in front of a door, and pulled a key from the pocket of her jeans. Again, she touched the keypad mounted beside the door, while the boys watched tensely. The lights glowed green, Megan fitted the key to the door lock, and they were inside.

When the door was closed behind them, the three were in total darkness. "Inside office? No windows?" Frank whispered, and at Megan's affirmation, carefully felt for a light switch. In a moment, a fluorescent panel came to life in the ceiling.

A standard office: desk, a swivel chair behind it, and a couple of straight chairs in front. Banks of filing cabinets. A computer setup. Frank nodded as he looked around. Basic setup. We should be able to work with this.

"Here," Joe said softly, reaching into his jacket. "Put these on. We were never here, okay?" He held out a soft wad of something that proved to be three pairs of latex gloves. Megan and Frank took a pair each, and all three donned them.

"Do you have any reason to think things are still in the same place as when your dad was here?" Frank asked Megan. "After all, this is someone else's office now."

"Only apathy," she replied. "Why change a method if it works? I'm depending that whoever took his place is too lazy to change the filing system." She walked over to the filing cabinets and tugged on a drawer handle, but it was locked. "Oh, darn!"

"Let me try." Joe had his tiniest lock pick in hand. In a few moments, the cabinet was open. Megan riffled swiftly through the files, and found what she wanted. "Here's the financial records starting just after Dad was killed. Let's work backwards from there."

Frank was carefully clearing the desk, creating space to work. "You bring us the files, and we'll photograph. Joe, don't bother reading stuff now, just take pictures as quickly as you can. We have to work fast!"

"I know, I know, I've done this before, remember?" Joe grumbled. He pulled out his tiny camera as Megan set a manila file folder down in front of each of them.

Two hours later, Megan replaced the last file and slid the drawer closed. "That's six months back. Is that enough?"

"It will have to be; I'm out of film," Frank told her. He patted his pockets experimentally. "Not a single cartridge left. And I thought I'd brought plenty! Anything left in yours, Joe?"

"Maybe one or two more shots, but that's all." his brother replied. "And I've got a backache you wouldn't believe. Let's split."

Frank replaced items on the desk, trying to remember their arrangement. "Fine by me. Let's get out of here."

They turned out the light and eased silently out of the door. Megan re-locked it and re-set the code, and the three began to make their way back to the elevators. Joe kept stretching his neck and rolling his shoulders, trying to ease the ache in his back as he walked.

Feeling quietly jubilant at their success, they were about to round the corner – when a sudden chime rang out! Someone was using the elevator – and it was stopping at their floor!

For a second, they froze, staring at each other. Then Megan turned about, ran a few steps and yanked open a door. "Cleaning closet," she hissed, beckoning the Hardys frantically. "Quick!"

Frank and Joe moved fast, sneaker-clad feet silent on the carpeting. Frank shoved Joe in first, then Megan; he slipped in and silently pulled the door shut, just as they heard footsteps approaching their hiding place. They stood perfectly still, in total darkness, waiting.

To his horror, Frank realized that whoever the person was, he or she was stopping right beside them! He breathed shallowly through his mouth, trying to be totally silent. Behind him, he could feel Megan holding her breath, rigid with tension. There was the clear sound of keys jingling, a lock clicked, and then the footsteps proceeded into the room right next to their closet and a door closed.

Frank let himself relax a little, panting to catch his breath. Megan exhaled softly and took a deep breath. From the depths of the darkness behind them, came a soft, pain-filled whisper:

"Damn!"

Frank turned on his penlight, cupping the head with his fingers so that only the tiniest bit of light leaked through. "What's wrong?" he breathed, turning just a little toward his brother.

"Something's jabbing me in the back, right where I got hit Friday night…and Megan's standing on my foot," Joe replied, barely audible. He was gasping a little; obviously he wasn't kidding about hurting.

"Don't move for just a second." Frank let a little more light through, and they surveyed their quarters. A mop pail and mop – which was what Joe had encountered – a large push-broom, and boxes and packages of paper goods: paper towels, bath tissue, Styrofoam coffee cups. "Okay, now we can shift." With the interior of the closet visible, they were able to move slightly apart. Megan inched her way forward, removing her foot from Joe's, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thanks. You're little, but not that little!" He rubbed his back gingerly, where the mop had pushed in.

"I'm sorry!" she hissed. "I couldn't see a thing!"

Through the walls of their prison, they could now hear someone talking. The voice was somewhat muffled, but Megan cocked her head, listening.

"That sounds like Ted Crowley," she whispered.

"What's he doing here at three in the morning?" Joe wondered. "Wish we could hear what he's…" his voice trailed off. Frank followed his brother's intent gaze, and found he was staring at the box of coffee cups. "It's not a stethoscope, but…"

Luckily, the box was already open. Frank reached down and eased two of the cups out. He handed one to Joe, and the two boys silently set the cups against the shared wall, then leaned to press their ears against the other end. Once again holding his breath, Frank listened intently. As Joe had said, it wasn't a stethoscope, but the words were a little clearer now.

"…You're going to have to search that house again! It's got to be somewhere in there! Wright didn't have time to hide it anywhere else; it has to be in his house!… What?….No, I don't think his wife or girl have found it; if they had, they might have gone to the police with it… Well, I don't give a rip about that – so she's seeing some guy, is there a problem with that?….Huh?…Hardy? Those brats of Fenton Hardy's?… Oh, hell! Put a tail on them, then and see what's up. And get back into Wright's house soon, and find that tape!" There came the audible bang of a receiver being slammed back into its cradle, and the voice was reduced to barely-heard mutterings, accompanied by the sounds of desk drawers being yanked open and shut.

Frank put his cup back into the box. "Come on," he breathed, "We've got to get out of here, now!" He eased the door open, tiptoed out, and headed around the corner, closely followed by Megan and Joe. Miraculously, the elevator stood open; they dived in and hit the button for the first floor.

When the elevator door opened, the three dashed for the entrance. Megan checked to be sure the doors were unlocked and the alarm turned off, before she shoved the push-bar down. They darted toward the lot where the Hardys' van was parked, running as silently as possible.

Both Frank and Joe had their keys out. Frank went to the driver's side, swiftly unlocking it, while Joe did the same with the sliding side door. As Frank jumped into his seat and put the key in the ignition, Joe picked Megan up bodily, tossed her across the seat, and flung himself in after her.

"Floor it, bro!" he gasped, and slammed the sliding door.

Frank already had the gears engaged, but he didn't 'floor it,' instead he drove sedately across the parking lot and out into the street. Once there, he switched on the headlights and continued at a normal pace through the nearly-deserted streets. When he was several blocks away from the industrial park, he pulled the van over and parked.

"We're trying to be inconspicuous, remember? If I'd peeled out of there like you wanted me to, everyone within blocks would have heard it." He glanced in the rear-view mirror at the back seat, then turned around to view it more closely. "And if you don't want me pulled over for a questionable morals check, Joe, get up off of Megan."

Cheeks aflame, Joe raised himself to a sitting position, glad for the dimness of the van's interior. Megan stayed flat, and for a terrifying moment he was afraid he'd hurt her when he tossed her into the seat. "You okay, Megan?" he asked, putting a tentative hand on her back.

She was shaking, and Joe's concern increased – and then he realized she was laughing, giggling so hard she was unable to speak. Finally, she sat up, tears of laughter streaking her face.

"I'm – I'm fine – that was—" the giggles bubbled again, and the boys found themselves grinning in response. "that was absolutely incredible! I can't believe we got away with it." Her laughter was contagious, and both Joe and Frank began to chuckle, then laugh harder. For a minute or two, nearly hysterical shrieks filled the van. Finally, Megan managed to control her giggles. She brushed wet streaks from her cheeks with her fingers and tossed back her curls. "You two really try to live up to your reputations, don't you?"

Frank sighed with relief. "Not on purpose! Jeez, Megan, you had us scared for a minute."

"Yeah," Joe chimed in. "I thought I'd killed you or something, flinging you on the seat like that."

"I'm tougher than I look," she reassured him. She reached for the seat belt, to buckle in. Joe considered snuggling into the seat beside her, but a glance at his older brother made him change his mind. He wriggled between the front bucket seats and buckled himself into the passenger seat.

"Whaddya say we go get a pizza?" he suggested. "Breaking and entering always gives me an appetite."

"Joe, it's after 3 a.m.," Frank protested. "Nobody's open at 3 a.m. Besides, I want to go home and go to bed."

"Spoilsport," Joe sulked. However, he had to admit Frank was right; nothing was open. Megan reached forward and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"It's okay, Joe," she said. "We'll get pizza some other time."

As Frank drove to Megan's house, they talked of plans for the next day.

"We can develop those photos tomorrow morning – I mean, this morning," Joe said. "And you could come over in the afternoon and we'll start going over the files. Say, would you mind if we brought in some reinforcements? My girlfriend Vanessa's got a pretty good eye for reading files."

"Of course not," she replied. "Bring a whole troop, if you want to."

"It's not just the files, now," Frank interposed. "Crowley said something about your dad having a tape, Megan. That's what whoever-it-was was searching for when your house was broken into. And it sounds like they may do it again." He thought it better not to mention Crowley's instructions to have Megan – and them – tailed, or the fact that he and Joe had already been identified; at least not right now.

"A tape," Joe muttered. "Audio tape? Video tape? Duct tape? Scotch tape?"

"Don't get carried away," his brother admonished affectionately. "It's got to be either audio or video."

"I'll start looking as soon as I get home," Megan promised.

"Don't do that," Joe said. "Like Frank said, it's after 3 a.m. Get some sleep."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted. As if mentioning sleep had triggered something, she yawned, deeply, and all three of them broke into laughter once more.

"Call me tomorrow, and we'll set a time for you to come over," Frank told her, when they pulled up in front of Megan's home. She nodded sleepily, and slid across the seat. Joe leaped out and pulled the sliding door open for her, and she got out, yawning again.

Frank, moving quickly, yanked open his door and hurried around the back of the van to take her arm. "You're practically asleep on your feet," he chided, guiding her toward the front door. "Get in there and get to bed."

"Okay – I – I will," she mumbled through another yawn. Then, as she unlocked the door and Frank turned to go, she caught his arm. "Frank?"

"Hmmm?" he said, turning back.

"Thank you." Megan went on tiptoe, reached, caught the back of his head, and pulled downward. When he was within reach, she pressed her lips against his for a brief moment, then released him. "Thank you so much. Good night." Then she was gone, and the door clicked shut.

Frank stood frozen, still feeling the kiss. It was only when Joe shook his arm impatiently that he snapped out of his daze. The two boys walked silently back to their van, climbed in, and drove home without exchanging another word. Wisely, Joe took the wheel.

"You okay, bro?" Joe asked finally, as he swung the van into the Hardys' driveway.

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah – yeah, I'm fine," Frank replied.

Joe glanced over, considered Frank's bemused face for a moment, then grinned wickedly. Goodbye, Callie – and good riddance!