Chapter 1

"Fenton Hardy! What on earth do you think you're doing!"

The shrill voice of Gertrude Hardy cut through the silence of the study, and Fenton grimaced as he looked up from the computer.

"Playing Solitaire?" He smiled weakly at her.

Gertrude glared at him. "Of course you are, and I'm the Queen of Sheba! Switch off that computer now, Fenton."

"I'm just having a quick read of some papers," he said quickly. "Twenty minutes and I'll be off the computer, I promise."

"You're not even supposed to be on that thing!" she snapped irritably. "You're supposed to be lying down resting! You know what the doctor said…"

"Give me twenty minutes and I'll be the world's most perfect patient!" Fenton begged, glancing back at the computer screen.

"I don't think so," said Gertrude sniffily. "Computer. Off. Now."

"For heaven's sake, Gertrude, I'm not a child!" said Fenton, his temper rising. "Twenty minutes on the computer isn't going to kill me."

"Would you like me to get Laura in here so you can finish explaining that line of reasoning to her?" asked Gertrude, her eyes glinting dangerously.

Fenton growled in frustration and started to shut down the computer.

Almost a month earlier, he had been shot by a criminal he was trying to apprehend and the bullet had nearly killed him. He had to be revived twice during surgery and had spent two weeks in the Intensive Care Unit. The Doctors had only released him from hospital just two days previously with strict instructions to rest.

Laura and Gertrude had taken those words as Law, and conspired to ensure that the most activity he undertook was when he changed positions in bed.

It was driving Fenton insane.

He could understand their concern, even if he didn't like it, but their incessant hovering was driving the already housebound detective stir-crazy. Not to mention what it was probably doing to his blood pressure.

Yeah, right. Try explaining that to Laura and Gertrude.

Fenton smiled wryly to himself as he shuffled out of the study and down the hall to the kitchen. He could feel Gertrude's eyes boring into his back the whole way.

Fenton Hardy, ace detective - can't even handle two women by himself!

Of course, these two particular woman could put even a US Marine to shame on a good day.

"Hi, honey," he greeted his wife as he entered the kitchen.

"Fenton!" Laura chided softly. "You're supposed to be resting!"

"Please, Laura, anymore rest and I'll have to be peeled off that bed," said Fenton desperately.

Laura gave a small laugh. "Alright then. Why don't you sit down and I'll make you some tea?"

Fenton moved over to the table and sat down. Through the kitchen window he glimpsed a small, blond figure forlornly kicking a football around the backyard.

"Where's Frank?" he asked.

"At a friend's house, working on a school project," said Laura tightly.

Fenton could hear the worry in her voice and sighed.

Frank had started Junior High in September and the change in him had been startling. Seemingly overnight, he had turned from a quiet and relaxed child into a moody, stubborn teenager. Things had gotten worse in November when, just days after Frank had turned thirteen, Fenton's father had suffered a heart attack and died. Frank had been very close to his grandfather and his death had hit Frank hard. He became surly and temperamental, something previously unheard of for Frank.

Fenton knew that much of it was the loss of his grandfather and the upheaval of turning thirteen and starting a new school, and so he had been very patient with Frank. His calm attitude to Frank's mood swings had seemed to work, and over Christmas Frank's mood had greatly improved. Then shortly after New Year, Fenton had been shot and Frank had completely retreated into himself. Often, he took off without telling his parents where he was going and it was driving Laura mad with worry. Fenton had tried to reassure her that all children went through difficult phases as teenagers, but his words had absolutely no effect. Laura had argued that it was so unlike Frank to behave like this that there must be something else wrong.

He glanced at his wife and felt a stab of guilt when he saw her strained face. Between Fenton's shooting and Frank's behaviour, the past few weeks had been very tough on her. Fenton silently promised to be a better patient and cause her as little worry as possible.

Laura placed a steaming mug of tea and a plate of biscuits on the table in front of Fenton, before sitting down opposite him with a cup for herself.

"How are you feeling, really?" she asked softly.

"Much better," he answered, as he reached out and took Laura's hand. "No, really," he added as she raised her eyebrows sceptically. "I'm okay. But what about you? You look tired."

"I'm fine," she smiled at her husband. "When you're back on your feet you can take your turn to spoil me!"

"I'm afraid I wouldn't do nearly as good a job as Gertrude," Fenton laughed.

As if on cue, they heard the sound of the vacuum cleaner being switched on upstairs followed by vigorous pounding.

"She's been a big help," Laura admitted. "And Joe loves having her around…"

Laura's voice trailed off and Fenton guessed what was bothering her. "But not Frank, right?" he finished softly.

Laura looked at him sadly. "I just wish he'd tell us what's wrong. Frank used to confide in me about everything."

"There might not be anything wrong," said Fenton, trying to reassure her. "Frank's a teenager now, and hasn't Gertrude being telling us for years how difficult teenagers are?"

Laura smiled weakly. "Maybe. I just never thought it would apply to Frank, he's always been so mature."

"He's still just a kid," Fenton reminded her.

"I know. I guess I just wasn't prepared to see Frank behave like this. Joe maybe, but not Frank."

At the mention of his youngest, Fenton glanced out the window at the small figure in the back garden. He felt another stab, but this time it was one of pity.

Frank's bad moods extended to Joe as well, and he was giving his younger brother a distinctly wide berth. He hadn't said anything, but Fenton knew how much his older brother's behaviour was upsetting Joe.

"I'm sure it will all work out," Fenton told his wife soothingly.

But deep down, Fenton wasn't so sure, and he wished that whatever was bothering Frank, he would confide in his parents.

XXX

Frank kicked the empty coke can out of his way as he trudged home through the snow, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He knew his mother would have picked him up, but then he would have had to endure her concerned questions and attempts at conversation. And Frank really didn't feel like making conversation.

The dark-haired teenager scowled to himself and his brown eyes narrowed. He wished everyone would stop asking him if he was okay and if he needed to talk. What he needed was to be left alone.

Frank turned onto Elm Street and the house on the corner of Elm and High came into view. Unconsciously he slowed his pace. He was over an hour late and he knew there would be a lecture once he got in.

Frank hadn't meant to be late. He was at a friend's house and was supposed to be working on a school project. His friend Paul, however, had other ideas.

Paul Knox was fourteen and a year older than Frank. He was repeating his first year of Junior High, but Frank didn't know why he'd been kept back; Paul never talked about it. What Frank did know was that Paul was a lot of fun.

They hadn't even started their school project that day. Paul's dad had bought him a new computer game and Paul wanted to try it out. When Frank had arrived at Paul's house that afternoon, Paul's dad was working and his older brother was out. As Paul's mother was dead there was no one to tell them what to do, and so the two teenagers had spent the afternoon indulging in car chases and car crashes.

It was the most fun Frank had had in weeks.

Frank sighed. He knew his parents wouldn't like it if they knew who he was hanging out with. Paul was considered a trouble-maker by their teachers. He was loud in class, he didn't do his homework and he got involved in at least one fight a week. What the teachers didn't know was that those fights were usually because Paul was defending someone.

That was how Frank had first met Paul. One day, some of the other kids in his class had been giving Frank a hard time. Apparently, the brains that had been the envy of the other kids when Frank was in Grade School, now placed him firmly in the 'geek' category.

Paul hadn't been long making them shut up.

After that, Frank and Paul had become friends and nobody bothered Frank again. Nobody liked to mess with Paul and his gang.

Frank grinned as he walked up the path to the front porch. He'd had many friends in Grade School, but he had never been one of the 'popular' crowd. Now, suddenly, Frank found himself being considered one of the coolest kids in the year because he was part of Paul's gang. It was a heady feeling.

Frank opened the front door and stepped in out of the cold. He was just removing his coat when he heard his mother call from the kitchen, "Frank? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," he called back.

"Can you come in here, please?"

Frank sighed as he headed for the kitchen. He hadn't missed the irritation in his mother's voice.

He pushed open the door and entered the kitchen. His mother and his Aunt Gertrude were clearing away the remains of dinner.

"You're late," said his mother in annoyance, folding her arms.

"Yeah, sorry," Frank mumbled. "I lost track of time."

"And you couldn't have called to say you'd be late?" Gertrude asked.

"I forgot," said Frank.

"You forgot?" Gertrude repeated. "You need to learn to be more considerate, young man. Aside from the fact that your dinner is ruined, didn't it occur to you that we might be worried?"

"I said I was sorry," said Frank, annoyed.

Gertrude opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut at a warning look from Laura.

"Frank, I can understand that you lost track of time trying to get the project finished," said Laura. "But the rule in this house is you call if you're going to be late."

Frank nodded and his mother sighed. "Okay, Frank. I'll let it go for now, but don't let it happen again."

"I won't."

"What are you going to eat?" his mother asked.

"I'm not really hungry. I ate something earlier," said Frank.

Laura suppressed a sigh. "Fine. But if you get hungry later, let me know and I'll make you a sandwich or something."

"Okay. Thanks, Mom," said Frank and turned to go.

"Where are you going?" Laura asked.

"My room. I still have some homework to do."

Laura bit her lip as Frank left the kitchen. Gertrude gave her arm a comforting squeeze but wisely stayed quiet. Lectures on teenagers' mood swings weren't going to make Laura feel any better right now.

XXX

Once upstairs, Frank closed his door and flopped onto his bed. He had lied about having homework in order to escape to his room.

As he stared up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head, Frank felt surprised at how easy it had been to escape his mother's questions tonight. Usually his mother had a list of questions as long as her arm, meaning Frank didn't escape until he had answered at least half. This evening, however, her questions had been somewhat jaded.

She looked tired, Frank realised with a twinge of guilt and frowned to himself. He hadn't meant to worry his mother, or upset her by being short with her, he just felt smothered by her concern.

Hers and everyone else's.

Frank sighed inwardly. He was tired of everyone asking him if he was okay, and he was utterly sick of the fact that everyone was whispering about his 'strange' behaviour. Just because he had started to behave like every other kid in his class, his parents were questioning his mental state. Frank scowled. He really resented the fact that everyone expected him to be perfect. After all, he was only human and he had faults just like everyone else.

And lately, one of those faults was anger. Frank seemed to be constantly angry lately, and he was finding it difficult not to lash out. At least Paul didn't expect him to be a model of perfection. Frank could be as moody and surly as he liked, and Paul didn't care. It was part of the reason he liked Paul's company so much.

But he still couldn't talk to Paul.

Frank felt a familiar lump rise in his throat as he thought of who he'd really like to talk to.

Gramps.

Abruptly he got up off the bed and stalked over to his computer, whacking it on. He wasn't ready to think about his grandfather yet.

Throwing himself into the chair in front of the computer, Frank stared irritably at the screen. He needed to distract himself.

A soft knock at the door broke into his aggravated musings. Muttering, Frank strode over to the door and pulled it open.

It was Joe. Frank stared down at the figure of his brother who stared up at him half-apprehensively. Frank had grown several inches in the last few months, and his tall, lanky figure was now in direct contrast with that of his brother. Joe had always been a small child, but now he didn't even reach as far as his brother's shoulder.

"What?" said Frank, more abruptly than he intended.

"Um, can you help me with this?" said Joe timidly, holding up his English book. "Dad's asleep, and Mom and Aunt Gertrude are busy."

"Okay," said Frank gruffly and stood back so Joe could enter the room.

"Thanks," said Joe, almost shyly, as he shuffled into the room.

"So what don't you understand?" asked Frank as he closed the door.

"We have to write a descriptive passage," Joe answered, "but without using the words like or as. And I don't know how to do it."

"Just describe something without using like or as," said Frank impatiently. "It's not that hard."

"But I've tried," protested Joe. "I can't do it."

Frank frowned at his brother. He had a sneaking suspicion that Joe was only pretending to have trouble with his homework to spend time with him.

Joe's blue eyes stared innocently back at him.

"Fine," said Frank. "I'll give you an example." He crossed to his closet and pulled out some of his old school books. Rifling through them, he managed to find his English notebook and opened it to the page he was looking for.

"Read this," he instructed as he thrust the notebook at Joe.

Joe glanced at the short paragraph which read; I trudged through the still frozen, forest. All I could hear was the sound of soft, clean snow crunching beneath my feet. Everywhere I looked, shades of white and silver glittered in the pale, morning sun. But despite its beauty, the cold still bit me with its hungry teeth and my jaw ached from trying to still my chattering teeth. I walked for quite some time, only stopping to break the frozen puddles and gaze at my reflection in their broken, silver shards.

"That's really nice, Frank," said Joe as he finished reading.

Frank ignored the compliment. "All you have to do is describe something. A football, a tree, anything. Use colours and shapes, just don't use like or as."

"Okay," said Joe.

"Is that it?" asked Frank.

"No…." Joe's voice trailed off and he bit his lip.

"What, Joe?"

"Do you want to go to the movies Saturday night?" asked Joe tentatively. "We haven't gone in a while."

"I can't, I have plans."

"Oh."

Silence fell and Frank looked expectantly at Joe. "Anything else?"

Joe shook his head and moved to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when he turned to Frank again.

"Frank, what have I done?" he asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

"You're mad at me."

"No, I'm not."

"You are!" Joe insisted. "You don't talk to me anymore, and you're always busy whenever I ask you to do something."

"That's because I am busy."

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad!"

"You are."

"Joe," Frank groaned. "We're too old for this. I'm not mad, I just have a lot of stuff to do lately. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Joe sighed and nodded.

"Now, I've got some homework to do, Joe," said Frank.

"Okay," said Joe quietly. "Night, Frank. And thanks for helping."

"You're welcome," said Frank, as Joe opened the door.

Joe turned back to look at his brother, but Frank was sitting at the computer once more. Sadly, Joe closed the door.