|
MISSING PERSONS A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story PART 1 by Dreamweaver and Talefeathers
Rating:
PG-13. Mild angst, mild hurt/comfort, mild profanity Feedback: Feedback for Dreamweaver and Talefeathers can be sent here [click on the link]: Sentineldreamweaver@yahoo.com **** “Frank – Joe? Could you two come in here a moment?” Fenton Hardy popped his head out of his study and beckoned to his sons, who both happened to be in the family room watching television. A few moments later the boys were seated in Fenton’s ‘client’ chairs facing their father, who had re-seated himself behind his desk. “What’s up, Dad?” Frank asked curiously. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up before I left,” Fenton replied. “I’m following the trail of a missing person – at least, her family thinks she’s missing. Personally, I expect she’s just asserting her independence a little, but if they want me to locate her and make sure she’s all right, I can do that.” He grinned a little, brown eyes twinkling. “It sounds like a pretty easy case...but I wanted to tell you about it before I left, just so you’d have some idea what I’ll be doing.” They waited while Fenton opened up a manila file folder. “Her name is Roberta Van Lansing, nickname Bobbi,” the detective began, “and she’s been living in New York City, and working in marketing in Manhattan. Her parents – and a younger sibling – live in Highland where her father is as banker. Background states that she’s highly intelligent, motivated, a rising star in the world of finance.” He grinned at his sons briefly. “You know the type. Here’s her picture.” He turned the folder around and displayed a 5x7 color photograph of a young woman with long, straight auburn hair, wide brown eyes and a teasing smile. “Pretty!” Joe commented appreciatively. “Don’tcha think, Frank?”. “Mmm-hmmm.” “She’s been incommunicado for about two weeks,” Fenton continued, turning the file folder back so he could read his notes, “and according to her parents, she never called, came home, or sent a card to her mother on Mother’s Day, although she had written briefly a day or two prior. This is apparently such aberrant behavior that it triggered all sorts of alarms.” “And...?” Frank prompted, as his father paused. “They tried her at all the telephone numbers they had available, and got nothing other than voice mail and answering machines. They tried e-mail and got no replies. Somehow they got the idea in their heads that she must have been kidnapped, but they didn’t want to call in the police—” He smiled slightly. “because of the publicity inherent. Bankers hate adverse publicity. So, they called me.” “Do you think she’s been kidnapped?” Joe asked shrewdly. “Have there been any ransom notes or calls or anything like that?” “None – and I very much doubt it,” his father replied. “I’ve checked with her place of employment, and they said she asked for some personal leave time. She’s arranged to have her mail held at the post office, and her apartment manager said she paid a month’s rent in advance, but told him she might be gone for awhile. And,” he added, “she paid for an airline ticket with a credit card.” “Where’d she go?” asked Frank, at the same time Joe burst out, “Why would her parents think she was kidnapped, then?” “It’s sort of a...well, they don’t want to believe that Bobbi would just leave the area without telling them,” Mr. Hardy explained, “so they’ve convinced themselves that since she is gone and didn’t say goodbye and didn’t send her mother a card for Mother’s Day, that – well, that she must have been kidnapped! There simply is no other explanation for it, in Mr. and Mrs. Van Lansing’s minds.” His eyes twinkled. “And as for where she went – well, this is one reason I thought you two might find the case interesting. She went to the West Coast. Specifically, Washington state. More specifically, a city on Puget Sound called Cascade.” “CASCADE!” The cry burst from two throats in unison, and Fenton’s smile broadened at his sons’ reaction – which he had fully expected. “You’re going to Cascade? Dad, can we go along? Please?!” Joe implored. “We could help you look for her,” Frank cut in, “and it’s not like we’re busy—” “Frank’s done with classes at the U—” “Joe just graduated from high school—” “We could see Jim and Blair again – and Captain Banks!” “CAN we?” “Whoa! Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Fenton was laughing heartily, but shaking his head in denial of the impassioned pleas. “I’m sorry, boys, but I don’t think the expense account can be padded to fit in two more flights out there when I don’t really need you there. All I’m going to do is find this young woman, verify that she’s all right, and encourage her to contact her anxious relatives. She’s using credit cards and her own name; I don’t foresee any need for two extra assistants.” “Awww...shucks.” Frank and Joe exchanged disappointed glances. “Dad, will you look up Detective Ellison and Detective Sandburg while you’re there, though?” Frank suggested. “It would be nice if you could meet them – they’re really cool guys.” “I fully intend to,” his father said. “I’d like to get acquainted with them, since you two seem to be so impressed with them.” Joe nodded enthusiastically at this. “Nicest cops I’ve ever met – well, aside from Con, maybe – and you, Dad,” he grinned. Privately, he intended to e-mail Sandburg immediately and mention his father’s impending arrival in Cascade, so they’d be expecting a call from Fenton. “Thank you – I think.” Fenton rose to his feet, sliding the file folder into his opened briefcase. “I’d better be heading for the airport,” he said. “I should be back within a week, but I’ll check in every evening like usual, and let you know if plans change. Oh, and I’m leaving a copy of the file, just in case.” “You just taking that?” Joe indicated the briefcase with a smile. “My travel bag is already in the car,” his father laughed. “I want to say goodbye to your mother; then I’m off.” He hugged each of the boys quickly. “Take care of things here, and I’ll talk with you all tonight after I get there.” “Bye, Dad! Have a good trip!”
Frank and Joe watched Fenton drive away, each feeling somewhat disappointed. They would have been delighted to accompany their father to Cascade and to reconnect with Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg – but they realized that he didn’t need them along. “Maybe next time,” Joe sighed, turning away from the window. “I’m gonna go email Blair and tell him Dad’s going to be in town, so they aren’t surprised when a total stranger calls and tells them ‘hi’ for us.” ***** Fenton Hardy casually sauntered down the slight decline of the Jetway and entered the early-evening hustle-bustle of Cascade International Airport. He was enjoying himself; due to his profession, he was used to travel, and this particular journey had been a relatively easy one. Although he loved Bayport and the East Coast, and had no intentions to ever relocate, Fenton had to admit that the Pacific Northwest held an allure all its own, with its seacoasts, mountains, rainforest, timberlands and cities all in close proximity. No one was expecting him; no one was meeting him. Should he go first to his hotel, or start in at once tracking down Ms. Van Lansing? The detective considered his options for a few moments, and then decided that since it was still early by this time zone, he might as well do a little tracking of the Van Lansings’ lost lamb, then check into his hotel and then follow his sons’ strict instructions to contact those Cascade PD detectives! Stopping at a convenient bench in the concourse, he took his notes from his briefcase and consulted them. According to the paper trail created by reservations made with credit cards, Bobbi had reserved a room at the Cascade Silver Reef Hotel. Having noted the prices quoted in the hotel brochure, Fenton grimaced a little; Ms. Van Lansing flew high – he, himself, was booked in the Best Western motel nearest the airport! Sighing a little at the injustice of it all, Fenton proceeded to the car rental desk. ***** “Something interesting?” Detective Jim Ellison paused in his dinner preparations and leaned curiously over the shoulder of his roommate and partner, Blair Sandburg. Sandburg had settled at the kitchen table when they got home, and was pulling up e-mails on his notebook computer; it was his soft whistle of surprise that had snared Ellison’s attention. “It’s a note from Joe Hardy.” Blair leaned back in his chair to give Jim an unobstructed view. “He says his dad is coming to Cascade on a case – he’s intending to look us up.” “Hopefully not to punch us in the snoot for endangering his children every time we encounter them,” Ellison said ruefully. He scanned Joe’s brief missive and went back into the kitchen to resume his tasks. “We don’t endanger them – well, we didn’t the first time,” Sandburg amended. “That was purely happenstance. Anyway, Joe doesn’t say he’s mad at us. Just that he gave him our phone number.” He reached up to loosen the tie which confined his long, dark curls, and shook his hair out gratefully. Jim chuckled. “I can just see that,” he mused. “Joe sending an e-mail that says ‘My dad is coming to Cascade on a case – oh, and he’s also going to punch you out while he’s there. DO make him welcome, won’t you?’” Blair cracked up. “We could at least take him out for a drink, or dinner, or something, if he calls,” he suggested when he finished laughing. “We can do that,” his partner nodded. “Lucky the weekend’s coming; we ought to have some free time.” “If the criminal element of Cascade behaves itself and Simon doesn’t decide we haven’t had enough to do lately,” Blair added, meaning Captain Simon Banks, head of the Major Crimes Division, and their boss. “Keep your fingers crossed, Chief,” Ellison replied, and went on chopping green pepper for the stir-fry he was concocting for their dinner. ***** The front desk clerk at the Silver Reef had been reasonably polite and helpful – but Fenton was still frustrated by his lack of success in locating Roberta Van Lansing. According to the desk clerk she was registered in the hotel, but was not currently in residence. The best Mr. Hardy could do was to leave her a message – and how to word that message was a problem in itself. If, as Fenton privately suspected, she was just trying to get away from a smothering set of parents for awhile, she wasn’t going to take kindly to discovering that she’d been tracked down by a private detective at their behest! If she was actually up to something shady, which was unlikely, she wouldn’t be pleased about his showing up either. If she was in trouble – who knew what the repercussions might be, or if she’d even get the message? Finally he merely scribbled a note that identified himself and his mission, and stated that her parents were worried about her, and had asked that he locate her if at all possible. He requested that she contact him at her earliest convenience, and mentioned that if he did not hear from her in the next day he would stop by again. A postscript suggested that she call her parents, as well. Placing the note in a hotel envelope, he entrusted it to the desk clerk’s care, and departed. Having eaten a quick dinner in the coffee shop near the motel, unpacked and settled in his own slightly more moderate lodgings, Fenton debated whether or not to call Detectives Sandburg and Ellison that night. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock, so it wasn’t too late to be calling someone, even a relative stranger, but still, he hesitated briefly. He didn’t want to intrude, and these two cops might not want to be contacted – but he’d promised Frank and Joe, after all. Finally he lifted the receiver of the room phone and dialed the number he’d been given. “Ellison.” The single-word reply was terse and no-nonsense. “Uh – yes, Detective Ellison? My name is Fenton Hardy. I believe you’re acquainted with my sons, Frank and Joe?” To Fenton’s real surprise the curt voice immediately warmed. “We’ve been expecting your call; Joe e-mailed Sandburg that you were coming to Cascade.” “You were? Joe did?” Fenton hastily gathered his wits, as he heard Jim Ellison’s amused chuckle. “Mr. Hardy, we’d like to invite you over for a drink, or meet for dinner, or lunch, or whatever best suits everyone,” Ellison was saying now. “Sandburg and I have the weekend off, and tomorrow evening after work we’re free. And there’s always lunch hours. What does your schedule look like?” “I’m here looking for a missing person,” Fenton explained. “Perhaps Joe told you. It all depends on whether I can connect with her or not; she doesn’t seem to be really missing, just not contacting her family. And please, call me Fenton.” “Missing persons. Been there, know the drill,” Jim grunted. “Suppose you give us a call tomorrow around lunchtime, and we can set up something more definite. Oh, and lunch can be anywhere from eleven to three,” he added ruefully. “Do you have our cell numbers? No? Let me give them to you – and my number at the precinct.” Mr. Hardy jotted down the numbers, and reciprocated with his own cell number and the number at the motel, and promised to call. “The boys wanted to come along with me,” he found himself saying, and heard two sets of chuckles in response; evidently Detective Sandburg had picked up an extension. “That sounds like them,” a new voice put in – a more mellow voice than Jim Ellison’s clipped tones. “Blair Sandburg here, Mr. Hardy. I’m looking forward to meeting you in person.” “Likewise,” Fenton responded, and found it was true. These strangers were surprisingly engaging. “We’d ask you over tonight, but we know you’ve had a long day,” Sandburg said. “So we’ll just shoot for lunch tomorrow, and then go from there.” “Let us know if there’s any way we can assist in your search – unofficially,” Jim put in, and again Fenton felt a stab of surprise at the man’s cordiality. Ending the conversation, Mr. Hardy dialed home. It was getting late back on the East coast, and he knew he needed to ‘report in.’ Frank answered. “Dad? We were beginning to get a little worried!”“Sorry,” Fenton apologized, “I know it’s later than I usually call, but it was so early when I got here that I started right to work.” “Anything?”“Found her hotel, but she was out. I left a message, and I’ll check back tomorrow. It’s nicer than mine – the Silver Reef, it’s called. Right on the water.” “Did you call—”“Yes,” Fenton laughed softly. “I just got off the phone with your friends Jim and Blair. They sound very pleasant, and we’re planning to get together tomorrow, probably for lunch. Maybe for dinner as well.” “Good.” Frank was obviously pleased. “Is your mother still awake?” “I think so; hang on...” After speaking briefly with Laura, Fenton decided to call it a night. It might be only 9:30 here, but his body still insisted he was on Eastern time, and was demanding sleep. ***** Morning brought a fruitless phone call to the Silver Reef, a decent breakfast in the coffee shop, and a lot of thumb-twiddling. Finally, armed with the photo of Bobbi Van Lansing, Fenton went over to her hotel, left another note with the front desk clerk, and began working his way outward, stopping in at various nearby shops and stores which a young woman might be tempted to visit, and inquiring if Bobbi had been there. Maybe he’d get lucky and actually encounter her while she was shopping; unlikely things happened sometimes, after all. Lunchtime came at last, and Fenton gratefully dialed the number Jim Ellison had given him the night before. “Ellison’s desk; this is Detective Sandburg.”
“It’s Fenton Hardy,
Detective—” “Call me Blair,” Sandburg interrupted. “You ready for lunch with a couple of cops?” “More than ready,” Mr. Hardy sighed, and heard Blair laugh knowingly. “That kind of a morning, huh? Jim and I are ready to get outta here too; we’ve been writing reports since 8:30. Where are you now?” After hearing Fenton’s location, Sandburg thought a moment. “How about meeting us at The Breakwater in about 20 minutes?” he proposed. “It’s just down 25th from you, toward the Sound, and it serves good seafood. Their crabmeat sandwiches are to die for!” A muffled voice on Sandburg’s end of the line caught Mr. Hardy’s attention, and then he heard Blair chuckle and say, away from the phone, “Yes, Jim, yes, that’s what I said, The Breakwater, and you know what their lunch specials are like – okay, okay, I’m hanging up so we can leave!” Then, returning to his phone conversation, he said, “Does that work for you, Mr. Hardy?” “That’s Fenton, and it sounds great! I’ll meet you there.” ***** “He said he’d meet us here – it’s right down the street from the hotel,” Sandburg fretted. “Relax, Chief, maybe he got a phone call or had car trouble or something. It’s only been fifteen minutes.” “He’d have called. He has our cell numbers.” Blair refused to be soothed. He looked at his watch again and sighed. “Maybe we ought to go over to the Best Western and check...” “And if he comes and we’re not here?”“Well then, one of us stays and one of us goes. I got a bad feeling about this, man.” “Okay, okay.” Ellison sighed and got to his feet, running a hand over his short dark hair. “I’ll go. Will that satisfy you?” “Thanks, Jim.” Sandburg’s ocean-blue eyes were filled with gratitude. “I’ll call you if he shows up.” “Okay.” “Jim – I’m sorry; it’s just that I can’t help worrying...” “Hey.” The older detective rested a hand on Sandburg’s shoulder. “I’m worried too, partner.”
Ten minutes later Ellison was more than slightly worried. There had been no answer when he knocked on the door of Fenton’s room. Flashing his badge got him an escort with a passkey, who opened the door to an empty – and disorderly – room. All of Ellison’s cop instincts were screaming at him that there was something amiss here, and he leaned against the closed door and snapped open his cell phone. “Chief? Grab a cab and get over here. I think we’ve got a missing detective.” ***** “Of all the IDIOTIC – what are we going to do NOW?”The young woman flung up her hands in dismay and spun on her heel, pacing the width of the basement storage room. She whirled again, her long auburn hair flying about her face with the momentum of the turn. She brushed it back impatiently. “Bruno, why in Heaven’s name did you knock out that man and bring him here?” She glared at the big man standing next to the door, and he actually cowered away from her fury. “He was tryin’ to track you down, Miss Bobbi. I didn’t figure you wanted him to find you—” “He already had found me, you – you – augh! All I had to do was talk to him, tell him I’d call my parents, or whatever might satisfy them, and he’d have gone home, back to Bayport!” “Bobbi—”She whirled again, her angry gaze now directed at someone else: a handsome man in his late twenties who was leaning comfortably against the frame of a massive furnace, his arms folded across his chest. “Are you going to try to defend him, Darius?” “It wasn’t entirely Bruno’s idea,” the man faltered. His brilliant dark eyes dropped before Bobbi’s challenging stare. “I – um – suggested it to him and Rico.” She blinked. Took a deep breath and let it out. “Why?” she finally asked – in a surprisingly calm tone. “Having some detective following you...well, it made me nervous.” Bobbi sighed. “Darius, darling, you are the most brilliant stockbroker and potential juggler of funds I have ever met – not to mention the most deliciously handsome – and I love you dearly...” She paused, watching the young man’s face flush with pleasure at the compliments. “But everything – and I mean everything – makes you nervous!” “That’s not true! And anyhow, you don’t think being followed from the East Coast by a private eye is something to be nervous about?” he challenged. “He wasn’t following YOU! And I think that when that ‘private eye’ is Fenton Hardy of Bayport – the Fenton Hardy – it would be well to be careful. And kidnapping the man from his hotel room is not exactly being careful, now is it? He wasn’t tracking me to apprehend me for some crime, Dar – he was following me because my parents are worried about me! He was just trying to locate me for them! Remember, I came out here and didn’t tell them anything about it. I just...left.” Her eyes flashed, speaking volumes to the man. “I wanted to be with you.” “But we don’t know that for sure, do we?” Darius began nervously. “What if it was the Morano family? What if they discovered that the stock portfolio I set up for them isn’t worth as much as they think? Maybe they did their annual audits early. Do you think they discovered—” “Darius – darling – enough! Fenton Hardy was after me, not you.” “But how can you be sure of that?”“I read the notes the man left for me at my hotel, that’s how.” She threw exasperated looks at both men. “AND the notebook Bruno brought along – I’ll admit, Bruno, if you were going to snatch him, bringing the case notes was a good move. Makes it look more like he left of his own accord and took them along.” “Thanks, Miss Bobbi,” the big man grinned. “But you didn’t need to snatch him in the first place!” Bobbi shrilled, furious once more. Bruno sagged against the door, looking down at the floor sadly. “Cuddles—” Darius took a hesitant step towards his irate girlfriend. “We can work it out; it’ll be okay.” “Darius, kidnapping’s a federal crime! And right now I don’t think I care to be called ‘Cuddles’!” His dark eyes raked her humorously. “So’s fraud, but you seem to be able to live with that!” The twinkle in the eyes faded slightly. “Maybe trying a little larceny on the side wasn’t such a good idea after all.” Now it was Bobbi’s turn to fold her arms and look at the floor. “This is getting awfully complicated,” she muttered. ***** In another storage room nearby, Fenton Hardy slowly raised his head, wincing sharply at the throbbing pain emanating from the back of it. Try though he might, he couldn’t see anything – and after a few moments he realized why: a soft cloth bound over his eyes prevented it. He had been blindfolded, and, he discovered, he was tied to the chair where he sat! His hands weren’t confined, but ropes looped about his chest and arms kept him firmly secured, and it felt like his ankles were tied as well. What in hell is this all about? He tried to focus through the pounding headache, attempting to remember exactly what had taken place, and how he had ended up here in this very unanticipated predicament. He’d been in his motel room, having just finished his telephone conversation with Detective Sandburg. He’d gone into the bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth before their lunch date. Just as he emerged, there had been a knock on the outer door. Assuming it to be someone from the motel staff, he’d opened it – foolishly, it seemed in retrospect. He’d barely cracked it open when it was shoved from the outside, and two men had roughly barreled their way into the room, men with woolen ski masks covering their faces – definitely unusual for the current climate and temperature! Before he could react, Fenton had found himself grabbed by the larger of the two – who was considerably bigger than the Bayport detective – and his struggles to free himself were useless. He’d done his best, trying to fight them off, but the odds weren’t good. He’d heard just one sentence: “Aw, just knock him in the head and be done with it, Bruno!” And he’d felt one crashing blow to his head – and all went dark.
So...here he was, and he had no idea why. Or where here was, for that matter. He shifted, trying to find a little ‘give’ in the ropes, but there didn’t seem to be much slack. Whoever had tied him was a professional...but wasn’t sadistic. Fenton abruptly stopped moving, tensing. He was sure he had heard something – had heard movement nearby. A rustling noise, as of clothing shifting...someone was close to him. “Hello? Who’s there?” he ventured, trying to sound annoyed, rather than alarmed. “Speak up!” There was no reply, but the rustling noises continued, and then the detective heard footsteps, followed by the sound of a door being opened. The footsteps receded. The door was not closed. Straining his ears, Fenton heard a not-too-distant voice speaking. It sounded familiar; he suspected it was the same man who had advised ‘Bruno’ to knock him in the head. “He’s awake.” “So now what do we do?” To Fenton’s surprise, the second voice was feminine – and very cross! “Question him?” It was a third voice, a soft, educated tenor. How many people are in there? The detective squirmed vainly against his bindings, then settled down again to listen. “Question him about what?” It was the woman again. “We already know why he was following me!” Okay....So he was being held captive by the elusive Roberta Van Lansing – or rather, by her friends or associates. And she didn’t sound very happy about it. Just what sort of associates is she...associating...with, anyway? “Maybe we should move him – somewhere else, you know, further out of the city.” “Take him out in the country and leave him – but not so far that he wouldn’t be found...eventually.” Another male voice, this one deep and gravelly. “Bruno, do you have any idea of what the country is like, around here?” It was Bobbi again, and she still sounded exasperated. “You’ve been here, what – a week? Two? Have you even been out of Cascade in that time? We’re talking mountains here, and forests with extremely large, hungry animals in them!” “Geez, Miss Bobbi, I’m just suggestin’—”“Taking him away from Cascade might not be a bad idea – just for a couple of days, until things have settled a bit.” “I repeat: where? Darius, you haven’t been here any longer than Rico and Bruno; just where would you take him? And how would it look, with all of us having to run back and forth to guard him and feed him and...” “Well, I suppose we could just kill him and be done with it.” WHAT? Kill me? Hey, wait a minute here...! “NO! Are you insane?” “It was a joke, Cuddles. A joke. Okay, okay, enough already! We leave him here for the time being, and try to figure out what to do.” Fenton sagged against the ropes with a huge sigh of relief. Bobbi...Darius...Bruno...and someone else, he mentally cataloged his captors. Obviously Miss Van Lansing was into something that her loving family had no clues about – which was why she’d been playing hide-and-seek with him. Well, he’d wondered. Now he knew – well, at least he knew that she wasn’t merely out here on a vacation. But who in the world were these other guys? And what time was it? Had Ellison and Sandburg wondered why he didn’t show up for lunch? Or assumed that he was some sort of flake, and ditched them? What would his family do, when he failed to check in with them this evening? Fenton sighed again, no longer quite so relieved. He was in a real mess, and no mistake. He wanted to hear more, but to his dismay someone abruptly shut the door – leaving him with his dismal thoughts.
In the adjoining room conversation lagged momentarily while Rico returned to watching his charge. “Bruno,” Darius began after a short interval, “Could you arrange to feed our guest? And perhaps pick up some more groceries while you’re at it? I don’t know that we have enough food here to feed us all, and going back to the hotel might not be a very good option – at least, not for long periods of time.” “Sure thing, Darius,” the large man answered with a smile. Bobbi watched Bruno leave the room, then turned to address her boyfriend. “Can you just tell me – again – why we shouldn’t just let him go, or leave him somewhere and tell the cops where to find him?” she asked plaintively. “But he knows who we are! He’ll be able to lead the police right back to us!”“HOW, Dar?” Bobbi challenged, her voice rising, “How in the world will he lead anyone back to us? He never even saw us.” “Do we know that for sure? Maybe he got a glimpse of Bruno. I don’t want Bruno to go to jail.” The redhead took a deep calming breath as she silently counted to ten. “Darius, darling, will you stop and listen to yourself? He didn’t see any of us. And even if he had, we could just tell him it was all a bit of fun. A practical joke that got out of hand. Or...a mistake, a misunderstanding.” The young woman crossed over to her boyfriend and took his hand in hers, stroking it gently, soothingly with her thumb. “No one has to go to jail. We can even arrange to upgrade his hotel accommodations if that makes you happier. Throw enough money at a problem, and it will go away.” “I don’t know Cuddles...” the young man began anxiously, only to be cut off by a finger against his lips. “Darius, please,” she implored him, “Let him go. We don’t need the kind of trouble a kidnapping will bring. You’re not thinking clearly.” Darius sighed, and smiled worriedly at his girlfriend. “Let me think about it. You’re right – I’m not really thinking very straight at the moment. I just get so jittery sometimes...” “I know, Dar, I know,” Bobbi crooned softly, soothingly. “Give me a day or two, I’ll have figured out what to do by then. I mean, it won’t hurt him to wait a couple of days. We’ll take good care of him. I mean, it isn’t like we’d mistreat him or anything.” Bobbi nodded her head. Apparently, that was the best she was going to get. A day was all she figured it would take to bring Darius around, anyway. ***** Jim Ellison was still leaning against the outside door of Fenton Hardy’s motel room when his partner arrived. Blair – the thrifty grad student still cropping out in him, even after more than a year as a detective – hadn’t waited for a taxicab; he’d hopped on a city bus and ridden the ten or so blocks from the restaurant to the motel. Jim spotted him jogging across the dusty parking lot, and waved and whistled sharply. “Here, Sandburg!” A few moments later Blair was beside him. “I feel like you ought to give me a puppy treat, after that!” the younger man complained teasingly, then sobered. “What’ve we got?” “C’mon in. I didn’t want to start without you.” Ellison unlocked the door with the passkey he’d been given and propelled his partner through it, followed him in and shut it behind them. “Whoa....” Blair stared at the clothing scattered about on the floor, the open dresser drawers, the crumpled sheets of paper from a yellow legal pad, the overturned wastebasket. “That was kinda my take on it too. Something went down here. I wonder if someone was in a fight – or someone else was looking for something?” Sandburg narrowed his eyes. “Well...maybe...,I guess he could just be a slob, ya know?”The Sentinel shook his head. “That’s stretching things, Chief. I’d say if there’s anyone not likely to be a slob, it’s probably Fenton Hardy.” “It doesn’t look all that much different from my room at home, though....Frank said Joe was messy; maybe he takes after his father,” Blair argued weakly, then shrugged, conceding that Jim was probably right. “Okay, I admit that’s a little different. I live there; he’s only been here one night and this morning. Do you see any signs of injury – blood or anything? Should we report it?” He glanced up at Ellison, briefly meeting the ice-blue eyes. “Right. We’ll hold off for a bit. Okay, let’s see what we can come up with.” Using all their skills as police detectives and all Jim’s specialized skills as a Sentinel, they went over the room, inch by inch. There was distressingly little to find. Toiletries on the counter in the bathroom; the toothbrush clearly had been recently used. A few dark hairs in a comb. Clothing neatly hung up in the closet contrasted with the articles dumped on the floor, quite evidently from the drawers. “Prints?” Blair asked, as Ellison emerged from the bathroom. “Just ones that I assume are Hardy’s, on the glass, and his razor and other things. Doubtful that the maid’s been here yet today, since the bed was unmade. You pick up on anything out here?” “Maybe...” Sandburg said slowly. “It’s the absence of something, though, rather than the presence. There’s no case notes anywhere. His briefcase is here, but there’s nothing in it except that legal pad and a pen. No pictures of who he was looking for, no file...nada! I suppose he could have left suddenly and taken them along, though.” Ellison frowned. “Anything on those sheets of paper?” he asked, indicating the wadded-up pages now in the righted wastebasket. “No. Odd, huh? Why rip out blank pages?”Jim was reaching into the trash, pulling out the papers and smoothing them carefully on the surface of the table. “Maybe they aren’t quite as blank as they seem,” he said cryptically, and bending over, began carefully running his fingertips over the sheets, one by one. “Someone took the original page, but there are some indentations...” Blair, realizing what he was doing, drew near and hovered at his elbow, resting his hand lightly on the bigger man’s shoulder blade. “Go ahead and dial touch high,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” After long seconds, Ellison looked up, lips curling in a feral grin. “There are things written in two different handwritings. One says ‘The Breakwater, 25th Street.’ Nice, neat block printing; I’d bet that’s Hardy’s. The other is scribbled, hardly legible...write this down,” he murmured, still tracing over the paper, and Blair obediently copied down a telephone number as Jim read it to him, followed by the initial ‘J,’ and then a cryptic ‘L. Twrs.’ “That’s all,” Ellison sighed, straightening up from his stooped position. “We can try to trace the number – and what do you suppose ‘L. Twrs’ means? Someone’s name?” Blair carefully pocketed the card on which he’d jotted their scant information. “That we’ll have to find out.” Jim began replacing clothing in the dresser drawers. “For now, let’s straighten things up a little and get out of here. Mr. Hardy’s still checked in here, so it’s not like the motel’s going to rent out the room from under him. Maybe we’re wrong about this, and he’ll be back here this afternoon from following up a hot tip on his missing person.” “He would have called us,” Blair said sadly, following his partner’s example and setting the disarrayed room to rights. “I know he would have, Jim.” “I agree, Chief. And,” Ellison paused, looking somber. “How long do we wait before we call the Hardy kids and tell them we think their father’s been assaulted and kidnapped?” ***** “Anything on that phone number yet, Chief?”“Not so far. No answer when I dial it, and I haven’t been able to locate it by cross-reference yet. What about ‘L. Twrs’?” “Couple of possibilities we can check on. Nothing definite.” Ellison glanced surreptitiously about the Major Crimes bullpen to make sure that no one was paying any especial attention to what he and Sandburg were doing. Since they looked to be busy and absorbed in running searches, no one questioned whether or not it was actually case-related. Late Friday afternoons were usually pretty relaxed anyway, unless a major bust was going down, so it wasn’t likely that their activities would be noticed. “Keep looking.” “I’m going to keep trying Hardy’s telephone numbers, too,” Sandburg noted quietly. He’d already gotten an irritating ‘The party you are trying to reach has either turned off his cell phone or is out of the service area,’ recording when he dialed Fenton Hardy’s cell number. He paused in his dialing as a soft ‘ping’ from his computer announced the arrival of e-mail. Putting down the phone he clicked the mouse to access the new message. He hastily scanned it and felt himself turning pale. “Jim?” “What’s wrong?” Ever alert to his Guide’s stress levels, both physical and emotional, Ellison noted the elevated heartbeat and quickened breathing. “I just got an e-mail from Joe Hardy,” Blair muttered. “Wondering if we’d had lunch with his dad as planned...because he’s missed his usual check-in time with the family.” “Uh-oh.” The casual reply belied the detective’s worry. “Chief, maybe you ought to give the kids a call, huh?” Blair sighed deeply. “Yeah, I guess so.” Reluctantly, he picked up the telephone receiver again, and with the other hand began twirling his Rolodex. After a few seconds he located the number and started punching buttons on the phone. “Hardy residence.” Blair glanced at his partner; Jim had his head cocked in his familiar ‘listening’ pose and Blair knew he was keying in on the conversation. “Who?” Blair mouthed silently. “Joe,” was the soundless reply. “Uh – Joe? Hi, this is Blair Sandburg. I just got your e-mail—: “Blair? Wow, that was fast!” “Uh, yeah, yeah, I guess it was.” “Did you and my dad get together?” “Well, we were going to, but...uh...Joe? I think there may be a little problem—” “Problem? What kind of problem?” Joe’s voice sharpened. “Your dad didn’t show up for our lunch appointment—” “Maybe something came up!” “...which he’d confirmed with me only about fifteen minutes before...and he seems to have...disappeared. He’s not answering his cell phone, and when Jim and I checked his motel room, it looked as if someone had tossed it.” “WHAT?”Blair winced at the raw anguish in the cry and noted Jim’s similar reaction. “We think maybe someone took him,” he said quietly. “H-hold on a second...lemme get Frank.” The receiver dropped with a sharp clunk. Seconds later both Hardy boys were on the line. “Blair? What’s this about Dad disappearing?” Frank’s slightly deeper tones came across the wire clearly. As quickly as he could, Sandburg explained what had happened, noting absently that Jim was covering for him by looking busy and involved with file folders...and at the same time, was monitoring the conversation closely. When Blair finished his brief recounting of the situation there was a few seconds of silence, then Frank spoke again. “I think maybe Joe and I had better get out there. Joe – go tell Mom that Dad needs us in Washington and then see what’s the first flight we can catch.” “Right.” There was a soft thud as Joe set down the phone he’d been using. “Frank, you sure about this? I mean, I understand why you want to come, but—”“Yeah, I’m sure. Dad’s got too many enemies to just let this go and hope he turns up soon,” the elder Hardy said grimly. “Do you happen to have copies of his case notes?” Blair asked hopefully, as Jim shoved a hastily-scribbled note across their desks. “Everything was gone from his room...so either he took it with him, or...” “We have a copy of his file, yeah,” Frank replied. “Photos of the woman he was trying to locate, anyway, and names of her relatives.” “That will help,” Sandburg said fervently. “Bring them along.” “All right. One of us will e-mail you as soon as we know when we’ll be getting to Cascade and the flight number. I’ve gotta go and throw some clothes in a suitcase.” “Right. We’ll meet you at the airport. See you soon – and Frank? I’m really, really sorry, man.” “I know.” For a brief moment Frank’s voice sounded choked. “See you in a few hours.” Blair hung up the phone and stared at his partner, shaking his head grimly. ***** “Boys, are you positive you need to do this?” Laura Hardy looked from one son to the other, her blue eyes wide in her pale, anxious face. This wasn’t the first time she’d received upsetting news about her detective husband, but it never got any easier to hear or deal with, no matter how often the situation repeated itself. “Mom, if Jim and Blair are concerned about it, that’s good enough for us,” Frank stated. “You know that Dad would have called us if he possibly could, and since he didn’t – and since he missed the lunch appointment with them AND they think his motel room was ransacked—” “I know, I know,” she interrupted. “I’m just worried that if you two go out there, something will happen to you, as well!” “Mom, we’ll be under the protection of two of the best police detectives around,” Joe said persuasively. “Three, if you count Captain Banks. Jim and Blair won’t let anything happen to us!” “Who knows, maybe by the time we get out there, Dad will have turned up anyway,” Frank added optimistically. She nodded, looking slightly less unhappy. “I got you seats on a flight leaving at six a.m. It has a short stopover in Washington, D.C., and gets to Cascade about eleven in the morning, Pacific time. That’s the earliest flight there is.” “Then that’s the one we want. Thanks, Mom!” Frank got to his feet. “I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep. You’d better too, little brother.” He nudged Joe’s shoulder and then bent over to hug his mother. “Mom, why don’t you figure on not getting up to see us off – just say goodbye now? There’s no reason we can’t get ourselves off to the airport.” Laura smiled, hugging him tightly. “If I’m awake and hear you get up, I’ll get up too – but I won’t set an alarm if you don’t want me to. Stay safe, sweetie.” “Bye, Mom.” Joe took his turn embracing Laura. “We’ll be home before you know it, Dad in tow and his missing person found!” ***** Two very bedraggled young men trudged through the Jetway and into the concourse of the Cascade International Airport at noon, PST, the next day, duffel bags slung over their shoulders. They were weary from hours of flying exacerbated by very little sleep the night before, and their whole outlook was jaded by intense worry over their missing father. During their flight they had alternately fretted and reassured each other of Fenton’s wellbeing, trying to keep up a brave front – but their resolve was slipping badly. “I don’t remember this place being so huge,” Frank muttered, plodding wearily past gate after gate, his gaze fixed on the distant security checkpoint. “It never took us so long to walk it when we were here before, did it?” “Maybe they added on to it,” Joe offered. “Since August? Remodeled an airport in less than a year? C’mon.” Joe shrugged slightly. “It was just an idea.” Finally they slogged past the barricades, relieved that incoming passengers weren’t subjected to security checks, and paused to look around. “See anything of them?” Frank asked wearily. “No. Blair said he’d meet us,” Joe mumbled. “Maybe he got delayed or something.” “Or not,” a somewhat-familiar voice broke in. The Hardys turned, surprised, and discovered both Detectives Sandburg and Ellison standing nearby, smiling at them. “How are you two doing?” Ellison continued, his blue eyes studying them keenly as he stepped forward and relieved Frank of his duffel. “C’mon, it’s not too far to the car.” “We fudged and parked in a No-Parking zone – used the Mars lights,” Blair chuckled and took Joe’s bag. “You okay, Joe?” he added, his gaze nearly as sharp as his partner’s. “Just tired. Long flight.” Joe shook himself alert. “You haven’t heard from Dad—?”“No. Sorry.” Ellison patted his shoulder gently and again urged them forward. The boys tried to move a little more energetically, but it took effort, and they appreciated the fact that neither detective attempted to make casual conversation. They were glad to step out of the terminal and find Blair’s car, a green Volvo sedan of indeterminate age, parked close to the huge revolving door. As Sandburg had said, a flashing portable red-and-blue light was perched on the dash, indicating an ‘official’ police visit. “People will think you arrested us, or something,” Frank muttered gloomily, scooting into the back seat as Jim put their bags into the trunk and Blair slid behind the wheel. Sandburg laughed. “You aren’t cuffed,” he reminded them. Joe and Jim got in and shut the doors. “Would you two rather stay in your dad’s motel room, or come home with us?” he continued. “Or maybe get another room?” Frank and Joe shared a glance. Somehow neither one of them felt like being on their own just now. “Um...if we wouldn’t be a bother to you...” Frank began. “If it was a bother we wouldn’t offer,” Ellison said. “And I can appreciate how you might not want to stay in what might be a crime scene. As long as you don’t mind sleeping on the couch or a sleeping bag on the floor of the living room—” “Or in my room,” Blair interjected. He spared an oblique look at Jim, and his lips moved, murmuring words only a Sentinel could discern. “Protector of the tribe – even tribal members from out of state....” Ellison winked at him and turned to gaze serenely out the front window. “That’s fine; we’re not picky.” Frank nodded his appreciation, and sat back, trying to relax. He was exhausted, yet wired at the same time. It’s hard to categorize these two, the elder Hardy thought, surveying the police partners through half-closed eyes. Ellison was just about old enough to be his and Joe’s father, if Jim had been the sort who started early – but he didn’t really seem all that paternal in nature. Protective, yes. Authoritative, definitely. Paternal?...uh-uh! Blair wasn’t even remotely father-like; there was a youthful exuberance about him that belied his age, and yet...and yet...that protective aura surrounded him as well. Frank sighed and decided that perhaps ‘younger uncles’ might fit – or maybe way-older brothers. Or just really good friends, he mused, and stopped trying to compartmentalize them into boxes. Whatever they were, right now Sandburg and Ellison were comforting and reassuring. “We’re very close to the motel; would you like to stop in and see the room, before we go over to the loft?” Blair asked. “I would,” Joe answered quickly. “Like Frank said, we don’t want to stay there, but maybe there’s something – some clue – we could pick up, that you guys might have missed. Something that might help us locate Dad.” Sandburg’s mouth quirked slightly; evidently something amused him, but he nodded and flipped on the turn signal to take an exit ramp. In moments they were pulling into the parking lot of the modest motel, and only minutes later were being allowed access to the room in question. The Hardys stared around the room as if to wrest information from it by sheer force. “Is this the way it was when you found it?” Frank asked. Ellison shook his head. “There were clothes pulled out of the dresser drawers lying on the floor, and some blank paper torn from a legal notepad,” he said. “After we went over the room for clues we put them back. And I put his briefcase in the closet. It was empty, except for a pen and the notepad.” “Dad wouldn’t throw his clothes on the floor,” Joe stated emphatically. “He’s like Frank – a real neat-nik.” “We figured as much,” Blair concurred. “It didn’t seem in character. That’s one reason we think he was taken from here by someone – and very likely against his will. And they took whatever information he had, as well.” “Fingerprints?” Frank inquired. “Ones we think were your father’s,” Jim replied, “and probably motel staff.” Joe opened the dresser and gazed down at the neatly folded articles of clothing for a few seconds. Chewing his lower lip, he shut the drawer again and sighed. Frank had ducked into the bathroom, but now returned, shaking his head. “Nothing unusual,” he said glumly. “Let’s head over to the loft,” Blair encouraged softly. “You guys need to relax and unwind for a little while.” “And then we can decide where to start looking for your father,” Jim added. Silently, the boys followed the two Cascade detectives from the empty motel room. ***** Mid-afternoon found the Hardys enjoying a quiet interlude at the spacious loft on Prospect. Sandburg and Ellison had fed them a lunch of sandwiches and fruit upon arrival, and then Blair had started preparations for what he promised would be a supper they’d never forget. “Ostrich chili!” he announced triumphantly, appearing not to notice the dubious looks the Hardy brothers exchanged. “It’s great, trust me! But it does have to simmer quite awhile, so I’m going to start it now.” Jim chuckled, evidently understanding Frank and Joe’s reluctance regarding the proposed dinner menu. “It really is good,” he encouraged them. “In fact, Joel – you remember Captain Taggart? – almost ate himself sick on it, he likes it so well. So don’t worry.” “I’m too wiped out to worry about ostrich chili,” Frank admitted unwillingly, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. “I know we need to start going over what you guys found, if anything, and the case notes we brought, but...” He broke off, yawning again. “’Scuse me.” ‘Hey.” Jim rested a hand on the dark-haired Hardy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you catch a few Z’s? We’ve got time to do all that a little later, and you aren’t in any shape for a sensible discussion right now; you’re too tired.” “Use the bed in my room,” Blair concurred. “Just kick off your shoes and flop on top of the spread, if you want. Nap as long as you need to.” Frank looked longingly in the indicated direction, then glanced back at his brother. “You okay with that?” “Sure.” Joe waved him on. “Go ahead. I’m good.” “Well...okay, I guess.” Without further dissembling, Frank followed the suggestion. He disappeared into Blair’s room, shutting the French doors behind him. Jim’s sensitive hearing caught the sounds of shoes being removed, and then a heavy sigh as Frank lay down – followed by steady, even breathing that indicated almost immediate sleep. He turned to Blair and Joe, smiling. “Bet he’s out like a light. Well...although it hurts me to admit it, I think it’s my turn to do laundry. Hope you have all your dirty clothes in the bathroom hamper, Chief, because I’m sure not going in your room to get anything now!” Blair laughed as he meticulously chopped onions. “Go ahead; everything’s in.” Ellison nodded and quietly ascended the stairs to his bedroom to gather more items. A few minutes later he left the apartment carrying two large baskets of clothes stacked on top of each other. “Washer and dryer are in the basement,” Blair explained to Joe, who nodded. The younger Hardy was drifting about the apartment, seemingly unable to settle down anywhere. He wandered over to the kitchen and watched as Blair continued to work, cutting onions, then cloves of garlic. “Want to help?” Sandburg smiled, nodding to a fat green pepper which waited on the counter. “That needs to be chopped up.” “Uh...you know, I think I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you,” Joe muttered, embarrassed at his own churlishness. Although he’d seen Sandburg and Ellison working together in that kitchen, and they seemed to manage it with surprising ease and grace, it seemed awfully small to him for two people. He was used to the spaciousness of their kitchen at home. Blair seemed unfazed. “No problem,” he said cheerfully, and attacked the pepper. Joe drifted back to the living room and stood in front of the bookshelves, idly toying with the objects thereon. Candlesticks...a squatty little statuette....He squatted down and began inspecting the multitudes of CDs, then stood again and restlessly roamed over to the balcony doors. He stared out at the sunshiny afternoon. A whisper cut through the quiet serenity of the loft, barely audible to Blair in the kitchen. “It just never gets any easier.” Sandburg stilled, setting his paring knife down silently. He hoped Joe would feel free to speak, and although he wanted the boy to understand that if he wished to talk, Blair would be glad to listen and try to help, he wasn’t going to leap in. It was going to have to be Joe’s choice. He waited, trying to exude calmness and serenity. He’d had a lot of practice at it over the years with his partner. Joe turned his head and saw Blair standing quietly and gazing at him, evidently waiting for him to continue if he so wished, but not pushing. The younger Hardy smiled a little sheepishly. “Sorry...I guess that sounded a little...over-dramatic, huh?” Blair shook his head gently. “Nope.” Joe sighed. He hadn’t intended to confide in Sandburg – he thought highly of the man, and respected him, and liked him, and consequently wanted to impress him, but still, Blair was a relative stranger, and Joe wasn’t much on sharing his innermost feelings in any case....But there was no impatience or ridicule on Sandburg’s face, merely an attentive concentration and a desire to help. Blair wasn’t likely to belittle him, or dismiss his fears, Joe realized, and the urge to do something...to confide, to share his worries and concerns, was too strong to be ignored. Joe found words spilling out of his mouth, almost of their own volition: “I mean, you know, you would think it should get easier. We’ve lived with this – feeling, fear, whatever – all our lives. We’ve known for a long time that Dad’s job is dangerous.” He paused and a reluctant grin spread across his face as he considered the fact that it wasn’t merely Fenton’s job that was dangerous any more; he and Frank had garnered their full share of attention from the criminal element in the past few years, and gotten into a pretty appalling number of scrapes. “Heck, we’ve known that from our own personal experiences!” Blair nodded encouragingly. When Joe didn’t immediately resume speaking he began quietly tidying up the kitchen. Chili preparations were going to have to wait for a bit. Exit the sous-chef and enter the Shaman of the Great City; Joe needed someone to listen and...just maybe...counsel. Joe returned to staring out the glass doors at the bright glint of the Sound in the distance. He was fiddling nervously again, this time fussing with the cord to the blinds. He dropped it and returned to the shelves of CDs, absently taking out one and looking at it, then thrusting it back and removing another. In his distraction, he fumbled one jewel case, nearly dropping it on the floor. Managing to catch it, Joe glanced guiltily at Sandburg, jolted out of his introspection. “Sorry.” “Not a problem.” Blair smiled. “You seem a little twitchy, pal. There’s a ratty little park just down the block, remember? Not much, but there’s a basketball court of sorts. Feel like shooting some hoops?” For the first time, a genuine smile lit Joe’s face. “That would be great! But don’t you have to fix your chili?” “It can wait a little while.” Blair went to the storage closet and retrieved a basketball. “Lucky thing we both changed into shorts earlier, huh?” He grabbed two small bottles of water from the fridge, slid his keys into his shorts pocket and scribbled a brief note to Jim to explain their absence. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Their game of one-on-one was fairly one-sided. Blair was no slouch at basketball, and his skills had been honed by playing against Jim – and a couple of times, practicing with the Jags! – for the last several years, but Joe was currently like a man possessed on the court. He was pouring all his energies – all his anger, frustration, fears – into the game, and Blair was merely there to give him someone to dart around or shoot over. They stopped to catch their breath and drink some water after the magic score of 21 was reached, Joe began shooting again – but now his movements were more relaxed, almost lazy. Blair moved beneath the basket to rebound for him. “You’re very good,” Sandburg commented. “I’m not surprised; you and Frank are both athletic, but – you’re VERY good.” “Thanks. We both played in high school And we’ve been playing driveway or park basketball since I was a little kid. Dad taught us to play,” Joe replied. “When we first started, we’d play one on one-and-a-half.” He laughed softly, glancing at Blair, who returned his smile. “I was the half.” Sandburg chuckled appreciatively. “I was maybe five or so...never figured out the point of the game then, but I sure enjoyed running around the court. Frank was probably close to seven then, and he was tall for his age. He actually knew what he was doing. Looking back now, I imagine I was in Dad’s and his way more than anything else. But they never complained.” He backed up and put up a three-point shot that swished sweetly through the net. Blair clicked his tongue admiringly and tossed up a lay-in before passing back to Joe. “I remember...when Frank would start to get that funny little frown on his face that means he’s getting annoyed,” Joe continued, “I remember Dad would put the ball in my hands, pick me up, and run to the basket so we could score.” He laughed, and so did Blair. “That’d keep me happy long enough that I’d go off to the side and do...whatever five year olds do, and then Frank and Dad could actually play for awhile. Sometimes I just ran around and around the edge of the court...I remember that.” “Sounds like your dad’s a smart man.” Blair retrieved a missed shot, pivoted and banked one off the glass. “He is. Frank’s just like him.” There was no envy in Joe’s voice, only pride. He stopped abruptly, clutching the basketball. “This is all wrong, Blair! This wasn’t supposed to happen! This was a routine missing persons case. And damn it, he’d FOUND her! There wasn’t even the slightest hint of any danger!” “I know.” “It’s all wrong,” Joe repeated miserably. “Dad’s disappearance means that he’s stumbled onto something – and it’s probably something pretty big. Or...or, I suppose one of his enemies could have tracked him here, but....I mean, he’s disappeared before, but then, we usually knew he might be heading into danger. This time it came out of nowhere! We don’t have any idea what it is he’s discovered, or how to find him. All we have is partial case notes that he left at home – and you guys!” Sandburg grinned; he couldn’t help it. “Don’t be too quick to discount our help, Joe,” he teased gently. “No, no, I didn’t mean that!” Joe replied, chagrined. “You guys are the best; you’re awesome; I know that. We’re lucky we’ve got you. I just meant—” “I know what you meant. But don’t give up on your dad just yet, and don’t give up on us – especially on Jim. He’s a very talented investigator; there’s none better. And he’s learned some...um...rather unconventional...uh...methods, both from his time in the service and when he was in Peru with the Chopec tribe. Or did you know about that?” Joe nodded. “Daryl told Frank, and Frank told me. And I saw it in action when we were looking for you guys in Bayport.” He sighed. “I agree, he’s amazing. If anyone can follow a trail that doesn’t seem to exist, it’s Jim. And you’re not so bad yourself,” he added, smiling, and tossed Blair the basketball again.
Jim Ellison had brought a basket of clean laundry upstairs to his apartment and found Blair’s note. After checking quietly to make sure Frank was still sound asleep, he donned shorts and a tank top and made his way to the park. While still some distance from the basketball court he jacked up his hearing carefully, sorting out Blair’s and Joe’s voices from the cacophony of other sounds impinging on his senses. He wanted to get an idea of the tenor of their conversation. “...he’s amazing. If anyone can follow a trail that doesn’t seem to exist, it’s Jim. And you’re not so bad yourself.” The Sentinel smiled a little; sometimes the old saying about not eavesdropping because you’ll hear bad things about yourself didn’t hold true. He appreciated and was touched by Joe’s implicit faith in him, although it was a bit daunting to realize he had to live up to the boy’s expectations! And he was glad that Joe also was aware of Blair’s talents and abilities. He’d been half afraid that Blair might ‘talk’ Joe to death, given half the chance, but his best friend’s instincts had apparently served him well – as they almost always did. Blair had the innate ability to offer comfort and advice and cheer people up with his off-the-wall tales of ‘far-away places with strange-sounding names,’ and if he hadn’t had to resort to tribal tales to make Joe feel better...well that was okay, too! Jim moved closer, catching the attention of the two on the court. “Looks like you’ve run Sandburg ragged,” he noted. “Want to try it against someone closer to your size?” He grinned as he issued the challenge. “Hey!” Blair protested automatically. “Quit picking on the short guy!” He whapped Jim lightly and ducked the return gentle swat aimed at his head. “Actually, I need to get back to working on dinner.” He patted Joe’s shoulder. “Thanks for the game, Joe.” “Thank you,” Joe replied with a grateful look. “Sure, Detective Ellison, why not?”“It’s Jim,” Ellison reminded him, and swatted the ball out of his hands with the swiftness of a striking snake. Blair watched for a few moments and then returned to the loft and his chili preparations, knowing that for all his encouraging words about Jim’s abilities, they were still faced with a very large problem. ***** Jim and Joe returned from the park flushed and sweaty and exhilarated by their game, which Jim had apparently squeaked out by a last-ditch long shot. Joe looked much more relaxed, and headed for the shower while Jim went down to the basement to collect another load of clean laundry. When he returned, he took his own turn in the bathroom, and then joined Sandburg in the kitchen to make a lettuce salad. Joe, still feeling slightly unsure about his presence in that crowded space, offered to set the table if Jim would hand him the things. Smiling quietly, Ellison complied. Frank emerged from Blair’s room about the time the chili was being dished up, looking much refreshed, and the four men settled around the supper table. To the Hardys’ surprise, the ostrich chili was delicious, and accompanied by buttered French bread and Jim’s salad, filled them comfortably. They didn’t talk of the case during dinner, but kept the conversation on other things. “Is Daryl in town?” Frank asked. “It’s been awhile since we’ve heard from him.” Blair was shaking his head. “No, he’s not here right now. After he finished the year at Duke, Joan – that’s his mom – offered to take him to the Caribbean for a vacation. So he’s currently on the island of St. Croix – lucky kid!” Joe whistled. “Sweet! Why didn’t anyone offer to take YOU to St. Croix?” he demanded of Frank, who grinned and shrugged. “For that matter, why didn’t anyone offer to take ME there for a graduation present? I’ll have to e-mail him and ask how he wangled it.” Jim rubbed his jaw reflectively. “He wangled it by having competitive divorced parents,” he pointed out. “True.” Joe took another slice of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. Maybe he didn’t want a vacation in St. Croix, if that’s what it took.
After dinner they settled in the living room, finally ready for serious work. Frank and Joe got out the meager file they had brought, and the Cascade police officers offered what few clues they had garnered. “So that’s who he was looking for.” Ellison gazed thoughtfully at the photo of Bobbi Van Lansing. “Actually, he’d found her – found her hotel, anyway, only she wasn’t there when he was.” Frank picked up a piece of paper. “The Silver Reef,” he read. “That’s where she is staying. At least that’s what Dad told me on the phone. He said it was nicer than his motel!” “Hey, we didn’t know that; that’s a great place to start!” Blair said approvingly. He reached for the telephone book to look up the address. Jim consulted the file folder he’d brought home from work. “I’m pretty sure ‘L. Twrs’ is the Lincolnshire Towers,” he said. “There were only a couple of possibilities as far as building names go, and we didn’t find any matches with personal names.” “What’s Lincolnshire Towers?” Joe asked. “Office high-rise,” Blair told him. “And...ta-da!” He waved another piece of paper in the air in triumph. “After Jim pinned down Lincolnshire Towers, I found a match for the telephone number...or rather, I located a number that matched after I tried altering the number we found.” Ellison shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I thought we had it right,” he said defensively. “Jim, man, those numbers were seriously scribbled,” his partner reassured him. “Anyone could have missed it.” “What was it?” Frank asked curiously. “I mean, how did...?”“Whoever wrote it makes their fours and their nines almost the same way,” Blair explained. “When I tried using four instead of nine, I got a number of someone who actually has an office in Lincolnshire Towers.” Both boys perked up at this encouraging news. “Who is it?”“Businessman by the name of John Sartellis. Nothing popped up on him, but I figure we might have a little chat with him, just in case.” “We tried him at the office number but he wasn’t in,” Jim added. “His home phone’s in the book, but when I called there, all I got was an answering machine. So evidently Mr. Sartellis has gone out for the evening.” “We’ll try him again tomorrow,” Blair said. Now it was Joe’s turn to yawn. He flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry...jet lag, I guess.” “I think that your body just realized it’s been up almost 24 hours straight,” Sandburg commented. “What time did you have to get up to catch your plane? It’s after midnight by your internal clock, and you didn’t have a nap like Frank did.” “There isn’t anything more we can do...?” Frank fretted. “I feel so useless. We flew out here to find Dad, and all we’ve done is sit around and let you feed us and entertain us, and—” “Hey.” Jim held up a hand to stem the flow of words. “We’ve got more than we did before. We’ve got a name, a picture, a hotel, another name, a location...we’re getting there. We’ll find him.” Frank nodded reluctantly. Joe stifled another yawn. “C’mon, let’s get you two situated for sleeping.” Blair got to his feet. “If one of you takes my bed and the other the couch—” “Where’ll you sleep?” Joe cut in. Blair grinned. “There’s a lot of room on the floor of Jim’s bedroom, and I’ve got a sleeping bag and two foam camping pads up there already. We’re all set.” “Jeez, Blair, we ought to be the ones sleeping on the floor, not you!” Frank protested. “As H would say, don’t sweat it, my man. I don’t mind at all – so long as Jim doesn’t step on me when he gets up in the morning.”
Fifteen minutes later, as the two detectives mounted the stairs to the loft bedroom, only Jim heard his Guide’s whisper: “It’s been too long since you practiced that reading with your fingertips, O Sentinel mine. You ought to have caught that phone number, ya know.” “Don’t push it, Chief, unless you want to find yourself sleeping on the balcony instead of the floor.” Blair chuckled very softly, unalarmed by this threat. “I’ve got some tests in mind that we probably ought to run....”
(Go to Part 2 - see the right arrow below)
|
|
Disclaimer: The Sentinel is the property of Pet Fly
Production and UPN. We've only borrowed the characters for a few
frolics in the sun. |
