A/N: Late posting, sorry! Merry Yule to All!

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Frank had stood there, shocked to a standstill as his and Joe's little tagalong — Kris — took out Angie with a well-aimed punch to the stomach. Kris, the little abused runaway who had fled the kitchen in tears after just seeing a card with the word whore on it, who couldn't handle either Frank or Joe getting even a little angry with her. Frank couldn't wrap his mind around what he was seeing, not even when Joe piled into the sixth-grade Neanderthals who'd started for Angie and Kris.

But then Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Schafer, and the other teachers were there, separating everyone, and at that point, it was too late to back Joe up. Frank simply moved out of the way. Someone had to stay free to investigate the crime scene before the teachers swept it under the rug. They would, too. Mr. Schafer wanted things quiet at his school, no matter what. Frank and Joe had found that out when they'd investigated the vandalism of Mr. Mack's lab, and Frank had overheard Dad more than once refer to Mr. Schafer as that overbearing fathead when Dad thought his sons weren't in earshot.

Then the cops came — Officer Harlan and Officer Riley, which didn't give Frank much hope of being taken seriously. Still, he had to try.

"Look, son," Officer Harlan said, as Frank tried for the third time to explain what he and Joe had done to the lockers, "just go back to class, all right? This is our job, not yours."

But Frank stood to the side, fuming with frustration. Those lockers had to have the evidence they needed to identify whoever was doing this, and the cops were ignoring him. With all his classmates and the sixth and eighth graders milling around and trampling past all the spilled papers and books, the evidence would be ruined before Frank could get to it.

"Don't worry," Phil said in his ear, and Frank startled. "Me and Chet and Tony are watching. We're making sure no one touches anything." Phil grinned. "Oh, come on, Hardy. The way you and Joe go on about all this stuff, we've learned that much."

But Frank still worried. They'd have to get to class, the janitor would clean up this mess once the cops left, and Frank wouldn't be allowed to skip classes to deal with it, so any evidence that was here would be ruined…

Then Frank noticed Sharon was still standing near the door of Mr. Mack's room, staring at the wreckage as if mesmerized. "Sharon?"

She blinked up…then ran off towards the cafeteria.

"Frank?"

Now Frank startled. Mr. Mack waited until he had Frank's attention, then gestured Frank into the science lab. "Hang on a moment."

Mr. Mack disappeared into the supplies closet, came out with a Nikon camera and a pair of latex-gloves. "I heard what you were trying to tell the cops, and I know you and Joe are probably dying to get at this. I was going to cover cameras and all that with the eighth graders as part of the properties of light, but there's no reason you can't use the camera."

Frank couldn't believe it. "You mean it?"

"Get out there and get the pictures," Mr. Mack said, smiling.

Joe was the one who'd been showing an interest in photography, but Frank wasn't about to lose the chance. With Mr. Mack helping him with the lens settings and flash, Frank started taking pictures of the whole scene: the lockers, the coats, the notepaper, how everything had spilled out and been damaged…

"Son," Officer Harlan said, the moment the first flash went off, "will you please stop interfering with the crime scene? Believe it or not, the Bayport police know what we're doing. Run along. Go play elsewhere."

"He's not interfering, officer," Mr. Mack said. "I'm right here, supervising him. Once you're done and release the scene, I can use this as a teaching opportunity." Mr. Mack paused. "I'm sure you officers can appreciate the science behind this kind of thing. It's not often we have such a chance for real world application of class room theory to drop into our laps, so to speak."

Officer Harlan looked suspicious, but finally nodded. Frank got as many pictures and close-ups as he could, then let Mr. Mack take charge of the camera again. By that time, the officers had finished with their reports and had headed for the school office, shaking their heads.

"I'll develop this at home and drop off the pics at your house when I'm done." Mr. Mack slid the film roll into a plastic baggie and locking it in the secure area of the supply closet.

"Thank you, sir," Frank said, relieved.

"Go grab some lunch," Mr. Mack said. "By the time you're back, the cops should be done, and I'll try to clear it with everyone for you to skip afternoon classes so you can…hmmm…work on an extra-credit science project. Anyone you want to help?"

"Phil," Frank said instantly. Phil was the only one of the Hardys' friends who was into science, though from an engineering standpoint, and Frank and Phil had a continuing friendly rivalry over grades.

Mr. Mack nodded. "Good. You're both way ahead of everyone else, so it shouldn't be a problem. Go on, scoot. Check back here when you're done."

Frank grabbed Phil, who was standing with Tony and Chet, and led them all to the lunchroom. As they passed the office, Frank saw Mar and Aunt Gertrude through the glass, and winced: Joe and Kris were going to be lucky to escape with whole skins. Still, he hadn't thought their little tagalong had absorbed that much karate, to have been able to do that to Angie — Kris was there at the Y classes, but Mar kept her paired with either Joe or Frank, as Kris shied from everyone else.

Between bites of pizza, Frank told Phil about what Mr. Mack was doing for them, and what Dad and Mar suspected about the hate-gifts.

"Aw, man," Tony said. "No fair. You big kids get all the fun."

"Us straight-A's get all the fun, you mean," Phil said, grinning. "That's what you get for not studying."

"Better them than Sharon," Chet said. "I was right next to her. She was freaking out and claiming to see all kinds of things."

"She was?" Frank said.

Chet snorted. "Little ET aliens, fairies, gypsy curses, that kind of thing. You know her."

Unfortunately, Frank did. It'd been a good thing, Joe getting Sharon and Kris paired up for the whole Secret Santa nonsense. While Kris didn't have a solid grip on reality, she still had a grip, and she'd seemed to be settling Sharon down somewhat. But now, this…the last thing they needed was for Sharon to toss her hysterics, especially in the middle of a crime scene with the cops right there.

After lunch, Frank came back to the lockers, only to find them picked up, and the doors covered in plastic garbage bags. Mr. Mack was taping a sign to them that read "Science Project In Progress: Do Not Touch — Gene Mack".

"Your teachers said no," Mr. Mack said. "So I used gloves and just packed everything into the lockers. And I locked them with my own padlocks, with keys, not combinations, and the old locks I've got sealed in plastic baggies in my desk. Now. Would you like me to call your parents and explain you're staying after school, or would you like the honors?"

Frank glanced at Phil; he hadn't expected any of this. Mr. Mack was treating it as a real case!

Mr. Mack noticed and waggled a finger at him. "Mr. Hardy, I haven't forgotten that you and your brother caught the lab vandals. Now…?"

"Um, if you would, please, sir. I think Dad's in Boston on another case for the day, but my aunt should be home."

"Considering she hauled your brother out of here, I'd say so," Mr. Mack said dryly. "Phil?"

"Please," Phil said. "That way Mom doesn't think I'm conspiring with Santa Claus."

All through the afternoon, Frank could barely keep his mind on his classes. Finally, finally, the last bell rang, and Frank shoved his books in his locker, then made the rounds of Joe's and Kris's teachers to gather their homework for the next three days. What to do if their books were ruined, though…

Mr. Mack was the last stop, and he handed both Frank and Phil pairs of latex gloves and the keys to the padlocks. "The problem," Mr. Mack said, "is that I don't have the means to dust for prints."

"Joe brought all that with him," Frank said, then stopped. "Oh, no…"

"Well," Mr. Mack said, "either he took it home with him or he left it in his locker. If it's the latter, let's hope the vandals didn't ruin it. If the former…well, we'll do our best until tomorrow morning."

"But then there's no guarantee that the prints will be all right," Frank said, as he and Phil pulled the plastic off and unlocked the lockers. "There's no guarantee now, even."

"Think it through, Frank," Mr. Mack said. "You said you and Joe wiped the lockers clean this morning. So that means any prints on there now…"

"…will either be the cops' or someone who shouldn't have been touching your lockers," Phil said, and grinned at Frank. "You're not the only Sherlock Holmes around here."

"Yup," Mr. Mack said. "And if it's…say…a certain group of cheerleaders' prints on there, they'll get a very fast lesson in why messing with a marked crime scene is a huge no-no. Especially if I change my lesson plans to study fingerprints for a couple days."

"Which means you can print everyone in the school," Frank said. "But Dad says it has to be done by a licensed expert before it can be real proof."

"In court," Mr. Mack said. "Not for purposes of a science project. And I certainly don't need to have a licensed expert before I give out detentions to certain folks for messing with things I've marked off limits. Now…" Then Mr. Mack stopped, looked down the hall. "Excuse me — who are you?"

"Unfortunately, I'm someone who just proved something I really wish wasn't the case," Charlie sighed, walking up. His khaki parka unzipped, he was in flannels and jeans, looking for all the world like a weathered mountain man. "Hey, Frank."

"Frank, this is…?" Mr. Mack said.

"Oh," Frank said. "Um, Mr. Mack, this is Charlie — Charlie Mountainhawk, I mean, Kris's older brother. He's a fighter pilot."

Nodding, Mr. Mack offered his hand. "Gene Mack. I try to pound science into all these little rattling skulls."

"First Lieutenant Mountainhawk, technically," Charlie said, reaching out to shake. "Hopefully, that'll become Captain if the paper-pushers get the promotion through before I get back — I'm on leave between duty tours in 'Nam. Mama sent me here to give Frank a proper military escort home, once he's done. Here." Charlie handed Joe's backpack to Frank. "Your brother said you'd need that."

"You said you just proved something," Frank said, as he opened the pack. Joe's fingerprint kit.

"Yeah," Charlie said. "How far a stranger can get in this place before being stopped. Bluntly, I don't match the neighborhood, so I thought sure I'd be stopped before I got very far. But your teacher here's the first person that said anything…and look where I'm at."

"To be fair," Mr. Mack said, "at this point, everyone's just thinking about going home, but point taken. Small town mentality, I'm afraid. No one sees a reason for big-city security."

"It might get to that point," Charlie said. "Frank, how much do your teachers know…?"

"I don't know," Frank said. "I mean, I haven't said anything, but I don't know who Joe's told or if Dad contacted anyone here. I know Dad spoke to Chief Collig."

"Okay," Charlie said. "Is it safe if I sit there —" He pointed to a spot across from the lockers, "— while you folks work? Just think of me as extra security."

"Yeah," Frank said. "All the mess was on this side."

"Mar told most of us teachers about Kris's background last year," Mr. Mack said to Charlie, as Charlie folded himself down to sit against the wall. "Just so we understood what problems we might run into with her. I take it there's more going on."

Frank listened with half an ear as he and Phil sorted out the stuff in the lockers. It was a mess; everything was splattered with mud and the red stuff. Frank spread out two more garbage bags on the floor to lay out what they thought needed further examination: the Revelations note, Kris's and Joe's splattered coats, three of the textbooks that looked to have taken the worst damage.

"What I don't get," Phil said, as they worked, "is why no one heard anything. I mean, it's right outside the lab, and your brother and Tony were there. So why didn't they hear anything?"

"The door was closed," Mr. Mack said.

"But Phil's got a point," Frank said. "This had to have made a lot of noise — I mean, the lockers rattle whenever you just walk by. And why didn't anyone see anything?"

"They used magic," said another voice, and Frank glanced up. Sharon stood there, staring at the mess and lockers, that same mesmerized look she'd worn earlier.

"Great," Phil muttered, "just what we need. Another weirdo cry-baby. What is it about you and Joe…?"

Frank elbowed him, hard. "What do you mean, Sharon? Like Tag's magic tricks?"

"No," Sharon said. That wide-eyed gaze moved to Frank.

"Sharon, what are you doing here?" Mr. Mack said. "The bus already left."

"I was supposed to walk home with Kris," Sharon said. "But the principal said he sent her home and I saw you here working on the magic stuff." That gaze moved back to Frank. "You don't believe me. I can tell you don't believe me."

"I just want to know what you mean, Sharon," Frank said reasonably, hoping to avoid a scene. "I mean, Tag does stuff all the time, and it's just stage magic, like Blackstone uses."

"Not that you can tell the little weirdo that," Phil muttered.

"It's not stage stuff," Sharon said, at the same time. "It's…it's unearthly. It's all over that stuff. Can't you see it?"

Oh no, Sharon was getting weird again. "Um…no," Frank said. "What's all over this stuff?"

"I told you!"

"Sharon," Mr. Mack started.

"Hey there," Charlie broke in, getting to his feet, and Sharon blinked, "so you're Kris's new friend? She's told me about you. I'm Charlie, her older brother."

"He's okay, Sharon, really," Frank said. "He's a fighter pilot."

"I'll be driving these boys home after they're done," Charlie said. "I can drive you home, too, if that's okay. How about you let the boys work, and you tell me what you're talking about?"

"You think I'm crazy!" Sharon said, backing up. "And I'm not! That's all magic, and it's bad, that's how they did it, I can see it, and…and…"

"You're not crazy," Charlie said quietly, with a glance at Mr. Mack, who nodded. "You sound pretty upset. Anyone would be, with all that stuff."

Sharon stopped, staring at Charlie. At that point, Frank's already-high estimate of Charlie went up a few dozen points. If Charlie could head off Sharon's hysterics…

"Here, kiddo…" Charlie steered Sharon a little ways down the hall, "…let's talk. I won't laugh, cross my heart."

Frank breathed out. Dealing with Sharon when she got like that — everyone knew about her and that she was seeing a shrink, and he really didn't want to deal with someone having a mental breakdown. But then Phil brought Frank back to the task at hand with a sharp shock.

"Is that blood?" Phil said in a hushed voice, holding up the note.

"Looks it," Frank said; the dried letters were brownish-red and stank of rust. "But we don't have the stuff to test it. Dad won't get it. He says he doesn't want me and Joe trying to get donors to test with."

"Hello?" Mr. Mack said, waving a hand. "Science teacher here. As it happens, I do have guaiacum and Uhlenhuth's serum in the lab —"

Frank perked up. "Guaiacum? The stuff Sherlock Holmes used?"

"Only you, Hardy," Phil muttered.

"The same," Mr. Mack said to Frank. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get my hands on luminol, but the guaiacum will do as a historic science lesson. Use that to see if it's blood, then the serum to see if it's human blood."

"And you're a grade school teacher?" Charlie said, looking over with a shudder.

"You should've heard him with Joe and Santa's toilets," Sharon piped up.

"A grade school teacher who knows his students," Mr. Mack corrected, grinning. "Especially a certain segment of them who are friends with two particular boys. Unfortunately that particular blood test will ruin whatever it's tested on."

Frank nodded. He wanted to save the Revelations note for Dad, at least. He folded it up and wrapped it carefully in a plastic baggie, then looked over the rest of the splattered items.

"If you want to dust for prints, I can take that —" Phil pointed at Kris's English textbook, "— and Mr. Mack can help me with the blood tests."

Most of the splatter was on the grocery-bag book cover; Frank nodded. He really wanted to see that blood test in action, since it was a real test used by the police when Arthur Conan Doyle wrote the Sherlock stories, but it could wait. Frank didn't want to keep Phil too long after school; it wasn't fair, even if it was extra credit.

Phil picked up the book and followed Mr. Mack into the lab as Frank started dusting both lockers down.

"Kiddo, go call your mom," Charlie said, giving Sharon a gentle push. "Straight to the office, call from there, and come right back here when you're done. Let her know you'll be with Kris. And if you see anything not right, start screaming your head off and run back here, got it?"

Sharon scurried off, and Charlie settled back to watch as Frank worked. Frank wasn't fooled.

"You guys are scared Kris's original parents are out here," Frank said. "That's why you're really here. That's why you volunteered to help us at Bell Book and Candle."

"You got it." Charlie sounded completely serious. "Mama ever tell you about them?"

Frank shook his head. Dad and Mar had talked about it, Frank knew that much, but they'd been careful to make sure Frank and Joe weren't in hearing…that they were aware of, anyway. "Some. Dad told me and Joe about child abuse and Kris being a runaway, but not much about her parents."

"Hmmm." It was a long drawl of sound. "They probably didn't want to scare you. But forewarned is forearmed, that's what I go by. The place Mama lived before — think of it like…well…an open apartment complex. Everyone knows each other, lots of different people, families with kids, that kind of thing. Those…cockroaches…started stalking the place. And when Mar kept Kris out of reach, they went for the other kids."

Went for. Charlie's gaze was sober, serious, scary. "So that's why…" Frank had to swallow, "…that's why…Joe…"

"Exactly," Charlie said. "Assuming it's not those spoiled brat bullies I've been hearing about, of course."

"That's what Joe thinks," Frank said, as he finished up the dusting. He sat back in satisfaction. Clear as anything — quite a few fingerprints, including a thumbprint and what looked to be most of a right hand; Joe was the one really into fingerprints, but Frank had also read up, and it looked as if there were several different people's prints here, judging from sizes and shapes. But then Frank scowled, hiding a sudden jump of fear as he held his own hand up for comparison. The hand-print was somewhat larger. That didn't necessarily mean anything, but…

Charlie pushed himself up and came over, eyeing the dusted prints, then held his own hand close for comparison. "Big hands," he said. "That matches what Mama told me. A big man who looks like every fairy tale giant you've ever read about."

Maybe Kris's love of fairy tales had a horrible basis in reality. Frank dug out the tape and the slides and carefully pressed the tape over each print, labeling each one and putting it into its own slide. If they were lucky, those stupid sixth-grade cheerleaders would have been dumb enough to mess with the locker and leave their prints, and then they'd find themselves explaining to Dad — maybe even Chief Collig — how their prints came to be on vandalized lockers.

"Blood, all right," Phil said, coming out of the lab. "Not human though." He sounded disappointed.

"I'm guessing pig or cow," Mr. Mack said, wiping his hands with a paper towel. "That'd be the easiest to get at the meat counter. Unfortunately, I don't have those specialized chemicals to tell for sure."

To Frank's mind, that probably let out the cheerleaders doing this, since girls tended to be squeamish about such things. Then again, there had been a group of the dumber boys with them — the ones that Joe called "Neanderthals".

Mr. Mack had come over, watching as Frank transferred the last of the prints to the slides. "Very neat work," Mr. Mack said, nodding.

"If you're going to do fingerprints in class, I guess I have to leave all these here." Frank glanced up; Sharon was coming back, looking around nervously.

"Take everything home with you, and bring the prints back tomorrow, if you can. That way your dad can get a look at them, in case he gets some better police attention than our fine principal did." Mr. Mack laid a couple large grocery sacks on the floor. "Use that for your brother's and Kris's coats. At this point, they're — what's the word — compromised for official evidence, but we've got enough other stuff here to cover that."

"I've got Mama's Jeep," Charlie said. "And I'll be happy to drive you home, too, Phil. If you don't mind riding with a savage Injun warrior, that is."

"You can't be any worse than Frank's aunt," Phil said, grinning, as he helped Frank gather up the coats and books.

"Hey, no insults against Glorious Pot Roast Woman," Charlie said.

As they were carrying everything out to the Jeep — being extra careful of the steps, as the snow was falling thick and fast again — Sharon gasped, stopping dead in the middle of the stairs, and Frank stopped, too, fear jumping in his stomach. Someone else was out there at the far edge of the parking lot, watching. "Charlie," Frank said.

Charlie carefully laid his armload into the back of the Jeep and moved in front of it, arms crossed and staring towards the watcher — challenge in every line of Charlie's stance. Frank squinted through the snow: it was a large, thick man with a crew cut, he could tell that much. Rough clothes: flannels, jeans, a khaki parka like Charlie's.

"I don't know, kiddo," Charlie said. "I've never met the cockroach. But whoever that is fits what Mama said. Go on, kids, get in the Jeep."

"But it doesn't make sense," Frank said. "Why now? Who would he be watching for? Tag's not here, and school's been out over an hour…" Then he stopped.

Charlie was looking at him…and nodded, slowly. "That's what we're afraid of, Frank. That's exactly what we're afraid of."