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 11

At 3:30 that afternoon, Frank, Vanessa and Megan were gathered in Vanessa's room, in front of her impressive display of computer equipment. Vanessa booted up, then switched places with Frank. He typed in the web address for Crowley Manufacturing, and they began their project.

After some unsuccessful attempts Frank conceded defeat, stood, and waved Vanessa to his chair. "Madam, I bow to your expertise. Have at it!"

She chuckled, shoved her long hair back, and settled in.

##########

Half an hour later, Vanessa was still trying access codes, passwords and various hacking tricks. Frank hovered over her shoulder, offering occasional advice, but mostly letting her do it on her own. Megan had watched closely for a while, but was growing more and more discouraged as time passed and access was denied again and again. She now was staring out the window at the Benders' yard, watching leaves drift toward the ground from the yellowing maple trees.

The sound of a car alerted her, and she watched Joe arrive. He got out of the van, approached the front door, and was admitted. In a moment, she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Try – yeah, try that…" Frank was murmuring softly. "maybe…nope, damn it! How about this…?" He reached over Vanessa's shoulder and tapped some keys. "Aagghh."

Megan leaned her head against the windowpane and shut her eyes despondently.

"Hey, guys!" Joe announced his arrival at the bedroom door. "How's it going?" He glanced from one person to the other. "Oh." He entered quietly, and sat down on the bed.

"What about this…" Now it was Vanessa speaking. "…whoever designed this has a twisted, devious little mind…so…Aha!"

"Yes!" Frank whooped with delight, hugging Vanessa's shoulders, then turned around. "Megan! Look! She got in!" He leaped across the room and seized Megan's arm, whirling her towards him, and enveloping her in a hug. "Joe! Hey, hi, didn't see you come in! She got in!" He grinned in triumph.

"Oh, that's so wonderful! Vanessa, you're incredible!" Megan gasped, nearly squeezed breathless by the elder Hardy's embrace.

"I hate to admit it," Frank grinned. "but she really is much better than I am at this sort of thing. It's a good thing you don't have any criminal tendencies, Vanessa!"

Vanessa was rapidly delving deeper and deeper into Ted Crowley's computer files now, and hitting "print" for page after page. She chuckled at Frank's gibe, and turned in her chair to share a hug with Megan.

"This is just the first step, though," she reminded her jubilant companions. "Now we have to find the information we want, that will incriminate our Mr. Crowley in some murders."

The four of them began poring over the sheets of paper, checking the lines of print with as much attention to detail as they could muster. Megan sat on the floor, pages in her lap. Frank and Joe sprawled across opposite ends of the bed, and Vanessa sat before the computer, still tapping an occasional key to keep the flow of information coming.

"Look at this," Megan finally said, holding up a sheet of figures. "A payment to Dr. Gerald Waring, dated over a year ago."

"I have one on this page, too," Joe replied. "And – yup, here's another. Looks like he gets paid about once every two months…and note the memo line – services rendered!"

Vanessa shuddered. "That is so cold. It sounds like a – a – carpet-cleaning service, or something."

"Have you noticed," Frank commented quietly, "that there are large deposits that don't correspond with any payments to Dr. Waring? And they're noted as insurance payoffs. So obviously Mr. Crowley's scheme worked the way he'd intended, part of the time. People died, the insurance policies paid the benefits, and he got the money."

"Frank…" Megan's voice was so small it was almost nonexistent. "there's a payment right after my father's death…" She handed the incriminating document to him, her hands shaking so hard the paper rattled. Frank glanced down at the indicated date, then reached for her hand, pulling her to sit beside him on the bed.

"Megan…" he began, helplessly. She ducked her head, waving his sympathy away with one hand while she dashed tears from her eyes with the other.

"I'm all right," she said.

"Vanessa, have you got the latest dates there?" Joe asked, craning his neck to see the computer screen.

"Yes – as of last week," she answered. "No deposits or payments to Waring. Just regular business-as-usual."

"And the last time there was one?" Joe continued, scanning the sheets of paper scattered across the bed.

"Ummm, about six weeks ago."

"Then I'd predict that Crowley Manufacturing is ripe for another insurance policy payment…which means another untimely death at Bayport General," Joe said grimly.

Vanessa glanced at Joe, then Frank and Megan. "I think I'm going to become Dr. Gerald Waring's new best friend tomorrow," she announced. "He's just acquired his own private errand-runner."

"Are you crazy?" Joe exploded, leaping off the bed. "You are not going to traipse around the hospital with a known murderer!"

"Want to bet?" she shot back. "I work there, and can make up all kinds of reasons for being in various places. I didn't say I was going to hang on his coat tails, but he's not going to do anything that I don't know about."

"Vanessa—" Frank began, hoping to try and talk her out of such a mad scheme, "it really isn't a good idea for you to be too close to him—"

She stuck her nose in the air and ostentatiously ignored both Hardys, concentrating on tapping the computer keys to save the entry code words and exit out of the system. Frank glanced at Megan, hoping for some backup, but she was studying Vanessa with something akin to envy.

"I wish I could go with you and help," she said quietly. Vanessa glanced over at her and smiled in a conspiratorial fashion.

"I wish you could, too. But unfortunately, you're not familiar with the place, and I am. This one is mine, guys, so don't try to argue with me or talk me out of it." She gave Joe a long straight look, and as she saw the anguished worry on his face, her eyes softened. "Joe, I promise I won't do anything stupid. I'm not exactly going to walk up to him and say 'I know you've been murdering people,' now am I? I'm just going to keep a very close eye on him. If he makes clandestine phone calls, I'll be around to notice. If he goes into the rooms of terminal patients, I'll be around. If someone dies suddenly and he's been there – I'll notice that, too."

"I thought you didn't work the critical care floor," Frank commented.

"I don't – not usually. But I can invent a whole lot of errands, real quickly."

"I wish you wouldn't do this," Joe whispered miserably. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his face in his hands.

Shortly afterward Frank, Joe and Megan took their leave. They stayed in a tight convoy, Frank leading the way on his cycle, followed by Megan's car, then Joe in the van, until Megan's turn-off was reached. Frank swung the cycle out of traffic, waved as she passed him, then pulled in again, directly in front of Joe.

When they reached home, both boys were silent and thoughtful. Joe was worried about Vanessa's plan to keep tabs on Dr. Waring; Frank was intent on finding a provable connection between Waring, Crowley, and Darryl Wright's death. They went into the house, to find places set at the kitchen table and a note from their mother on the counter.

Dear Frank & Joe,

I have a meeting to go to tonight, and since you are not home yet, I have left dinner in the oven for you. Please clean the dishes up when you are finished.

Love, Mom

"You want milk?" Joe was already reaching into the refrigerator. He got out milk and a bowl of tossed salad.

"Please." Frank picked up a couple of pot holders, and carefully removed what appeared to be a chicken-noodle casserole from the oven, then set it on a trivet on the table. The boys washed up, then sat down to eat. Both were still very quiet.

"You have any trouble getting out of football practice?" Frank finally broke the silence.

"Mmm-mmm." Joe shook his head, took a quick drink of milk, then continued. "Coach took one look at my forehead and told me not to practice tomorrow, either. He said Thursday would be soon enough."

"That's good. You take another crack on the head right away – helmet or no helmet – and you're just asking for trouble. Bruising of the brain…fracture…post-concussion syndrome…"

"Okay, okay, I get the point!" Joe couldn't help laughing a little, even as he protested. "Man, you sure are gloom-and-doom tonight, big brother!"

"It's just that we don't seem to be getting anywhere with this case," Frank replied. "We know what happened. We know who was involved. We are pretty sure they're going to do it again. And we can't prove anything!" He sighed, pushed back his chair and got up to put his plate and silverware in the dishwasher. "I have studying to do – gotta read Henry IV."

Joe duplicated his brother's actions. "And you may not believe it, but I have an essay to write for English. Hmmm, maybe I'll write about gloomy older brothers, and how wearing they can be to have around — sort of like having Hamlet living in the house…" He dodged Frank's half-hearted slap, laughing.

##########

The next morning both Frank and Joe left early. This time Joe took his motorcycle, and Frank drove the van, although not without a keen glance or two at his brother's face, making sure Joe was feeling well enough to take the more jarring ride. But Joe waved him off reassuringly, and Frank was forced to concede he looked fine.

Megan met him for their shared classes, and they ate lunch together. For once, they didn't talk much about Gerald Waring or Ted Crowley. Frank did relate some stories from his and Joe's past cases, reminiscing with both pleasure and distaste. Megan listened wide-eyed, chin resting on her fists, in fascinated absorption. When he finally declined to repeat any more case stories, she told him a little about Lakeridge Academy and her years there. They went to the library for an hour of shared study, working through the assignment for their Criminal Justice class, and then went to the actual class, hand in hand.

When the final buzzer rang, Frank started to head for the parking lots, but Megan turned toward the library again.

"I have to do some more homework," she explained. "I have chemistry to work on, and I'd rather do it here than at home."

Frank frowned. "I don't like you being here by yourself," he said soberly.

"I'll be fine in the library, and I'll go right to my car afterwards," she assured him. "Frank, you can't put me in a glass bowl and keep me there, you know."

"I could stay too—" he offered.

She shook her head, and her aqua eyes sparkled with mischief. "Not that I wouldn't appreciate the help; you have to be better at chemistry than I am. But if you stay, we wouldn't either of us get any studying done," she teased. "I've heard the stories about what goes on in those study carrels."

Frank blushed. "I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry. I'll try and stay with a group of people when I'm outside the library building, okay? I'll be really careful going to the parking lot, and all that. Frank, you're treating me the way you said Joe was treating Vanessa the other night. She didn't like it, and neither do I."

He looked down at her, frustrated. "Megan, if anything happened to you – and you know Crowley or someone could be watching you—"

"I know." Her voice was even softer than usual. "But I won't take any chances, I promise." She tiptoed and pulled his face down to hers; kissed the corner of his mouth lightly. "I'll see you tomorrow at lunch. Good night."

Frank departed, unhappy but unable to do anything about the situation. He could only hope that Megan would remain safe.