Blood Relations (2 page)

"Did you talk to her about it?" asked Frank.

"It was hard because we didn't know what was going on with her and Dad—but we did," said Greg.

"And she said?" Frank asked.

"That we were imagining things. That there was nothing wrong," said Mike. "But the way she looked and sounded when she said it convinced us we were right. Something really was wrong."

Greg picked up the story. "We both felt as if she was protecting us from something. And a day later we found out what it was."

"I went to her room to tell her we were going out. She was sitting there reading a little red book and crying," Mike said. "She tried to hide it and stop crying as soon as she saw me, but she realized that it was too late."

"By that time I had come upstairs," Greg said. "She made both of us promise that we would never mention that book to anyone. Especially Dad."

"What was in the book?" asked Frank. "You must have asked her that."

"We did," Mike retorted. "But she wouldn't tell us. She just said that if we wanted her marriage to survive we had to keep her secret."

"She said it was better that we didn't know," said Greg. "But what really scared us was when she said that it was safer if we didn't know what was in the book."

"Do you know what she did with the book?" asked Joe. "Is there any way you can get your hands on it?"

"That's why we came to you," said Greg. "We know where the book is, but we can't get it, not without your help."

"What kind of help?" asked Frank, even though he could guess what was coming.

"Callie and some of the other kids told us about your detective work," said Greg. "They didn't give us a whole lot of details, but from what they said we felt pretty sure you two know how to get at things that are locked up. I hope we're right."

Frank and Joe exchanged glances. The Rawley brothers were right. The boys had picked up a number of skills that most people would think were more appropriate for criminals than detectives. Among those skills were lock-picking and safecracking. The question Frank and Joe were asking themselves was whether or not to use them now?

"Are you sure you don't want to try talking to your mother again?" Frank asked.

"You don't understand how scared she was, Frank," Greg replied. "I think something in that book has convinced her that her life is in danger — in danger from my stepfather. And I think it has something to do with the way his first wife died."

"And don't tell us to go to the police," Mike said heatedly. "We know we don't have any evidence, and anyway, they'd have to talk to our stepfather and that's just what Mom's most afraid of."

"You're right about the police," Frank acknowledged. "They do prefer hard evidence, rather than simple suspicion."

"You've got to help us, guys," Greg said. "Think if it were your own mother. What would you do?"

Again Frank and Joe glanced at each other. Joe coughed uneasily.

"I have to say that as much as I respect Mr. Rawley, this situation is strange enough to interest me," Frank said carefully.

"Don't let him kid you, guys." Joe grinned. "We haven't had any action in a while and Frank's scared of getting rusty. But seriously," he continued, "where is this lock you need us to open and when can we get at it?"

"Then you'll do it?" Greg asked eagerly.

"The way you put it, I don't see how we can say no," said Frank, and Joe nodded in agreement. "Only thing is, you'll have to check the inside of the safe. We can't do that."

"Great," said Greg.

"We don't know how to thank you," said Mike.

"You don't have to thank us," said Frank. "Just get us into the house and point us in the right direction."

At eleven-thirty that night, when the Hardys knocked on the back door of the Rawley house, everything seemed as if it would go perfectly. Mr. and Mrs. Rawley had gone into New York City to have dinner and see a play. They weren't expected back until after midnight.

Frank and Joe had told their parents they were going to bed early, then had slipped down the back stairs and out of the house. They had ridden their bikes to the Rawleys' rather than wake anyone by starting up their van.

The Rawley house was one of the largest in its neighborhood — one of the most exclusive sections of town. Although the streets were deserted, the boys coasted silently down the driveway to the Rawley house. Then they quickly dismounted and walked their bikes around to the back of the house.

The back door was opened quickly after they knocked. The brothers slipped in, and Greg reached for the light switch. But Frank shook his head, snapping on a flashlight instead and keeping the beam on the floor.

"You really are cautious," said Greg as he led the way out of the large kitchen they had entered. "Better safe than sorry," answered Frank. The Hardys followed Greg across the living room to a set of wide stairs. "It's been redecorated since we were here last," Joe said with a hint of fondness in his voice.

"You've been here before?" Mike asked. "Yeah. Before Mr. Rawley's first wife died. He kind of changed after that, and we hardly saw him," Joe answered.

"We've only met your mother once," Frank said as they climbed the stairs and entered a luxurious blue and white bedroom. "We bumped into her with Mr. Rawley at the mall."

"I'll show you what you have to open," said Greg.

He led them to a large walk-in closet and slid the clothes out of the way, revealing a small wall safe at the back.

"How did you find the hiding place?" Frank asked.

"I really hate to admit this — we searched everywhere, and this is the only place it could be," said Greg sheepishly.

"It felt lousy to do it," Mike added, "but we had to. Do you think you can get into this?"

"Sure," Frank said confidently as he unloaded what looked like a stethoscope tipped with a suction cup, a tiny but very complicated calculator, and an assortment of lock picks from his pockets. While he was eyeing the door of the safe, Joe flicked on another flashlight and began searching the rest of the closet.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Greg asked.

Frank cut him off. "Almost everybody who has a safe figures that sooner or later he's going to forget the combination. So he writes it down somewhere. Sometimes you can get lucky and find it."

"I'm coming up empty," Joe said.

"So then it's probably a number they'll always remember. We just have to outthink your mom," said Frank. "When did your mom and stepfather get married?"

"October twenty-third of last year," said Greg. "Why?"

Frank held up a hand to cut him off. "Right, twenty-three, left and — "

The click of the safe's tumblers was audible to all four boys. Frank reached for the handle to open the safe door and at that moment a beam from another flashlight froze the boys in place.

"Don't move. Or you're dead!"

FRANK TURNED TO look but he was blinded by the white glare.

"Pull down the shades," the voice commanded.

After Greg pulled them down, the overhead light came on in the room.

Facing them was a hard-faced man in a trench coat, holding a nickel-plated .45 automatic that looked as big as a cannon.

"Stay close together and put your hands on your heads," said the man. "Don't even think of trying any funny business. This forty-five holds seven rounds, and I'd need only four for you punks.

"Now, we can have a little conversation. Tell me sweet and simple, who told you to break in here? And what do you know about the other plans?"

"Look, man, I don't know who you think you are, but you've got us wrong," Greg said.

"Yeah, we didn't break in," said Mike. "We live here. I'm Mike Rawley; this is my brother Greg; and these are our friends Frank and Joe Hardy. You're making a big mistake."

"You're the ones making a mistake if you expect me to swallow that story." The man sneered. "I'm supposed to believe you're breaking into your parents' safe? Let's try again."

"Look, my brother and I have identification," said Greg, desperate. "At least take a look at it."

The man considered for a moment. Then he said grudgingly, "Okay, I'll take a look. But I want you to move real slow. One at a time, very slowly take out your wallets and toss them so they land at my feet. Remember you make one quick move, and it'll be your last."

Greg, then Mike, did as told. Keeping his gun leveled on his prisoners, the man bent down and picked up the wallets, pulling out the IDs.

"These look okay," he said. "But you still have some explaining to do. What were you kids doing here tonight?"

"We were worried about our mom," Greg said. "She's been scared of something lately, and she won't say what. But we know it has something to do with a little book she locked in the safe with her jewelry. We wanted to get a look at it and find out what's bothering her."

Before the man could speak, Joe interrupted him. "Hey, don't you want to see my ID?" Joe asked.

"And mine?" said Frank.

The Hardys slowly lowered their hands to their pockets. Then they moved fast.

Both pulled out rings of keys and simultaneously fired them at the man.

As he ducked, Joe hit him with a diving tackle around the knees.

By the time the stranger shook the cobwebs from his head and staggered to his feet, his gun was in Frank's hand.

"We had to do it," Joe explained to Greg and Mike. "We didn't want you to tell this guy anything more."

"And you'd already told him too much," Frank said, elaborating. "All we know is that he's not a policeman. And he was sneaking around your mother's bedroom with a gun."

Both Greg and Mike turned pale.

"Now it's our turn to ask some questions," Joe said.

Frank held the gun steady on the man. "Your turn to produce some ID, pal. And as you said to us, no tricks."

"Hey, don't get crazy," the man said nervously. "Those things have a tendency to go off when you don't want them to. And that one has a sensitive trigger."

"Uh, I don't know much about these things," said Frank, fumbling with the .45 as if he had never held a gun before.

Both Frank and Joe were expert marksmen, but they had promised their father they'd never carry firearms.

"Look, kid, just be careful with that thing and I'll tell you whatever you want to know," the man said. "I'll just sit here. You ask and I'll answer."

Frank nodded. "Let's see that ID, slowly, and no tricks. Toss it to my brother."

The man moved cautiously, never taking his eyes off the gun in Frank's hand. With elaborate slowness he pulled out his wallet and tossed it to Joe.

Joe opened it, pulled out a business card, and read, " 'John Dunn. Licensed private investigator. Security is my specialty.' "

"My license is in there too," Dunn insisted.

Joe pulled it out, looked it over, and said, "It looks authentic enough, though you never can tell."

"Okay, we've seen your ID," said Frank. "Now let's hear your explanation of what you were doing here. Who hired you? And why?"

"Mrs. Rawley hired me to make sure nobody took that book. She said if the wrong person found out what was in there, it could cost her her life."

There was a chilling silence.

Finally Greg broke it. "Tell us more."

"Yeah," said Mike. "Who was she afraid of?"

"She made me swear not to reveal that," Dunn said. "She said she wasn't sure what she thought was true, and she couldn't do anything until she got real proof."

"Come on, she's our mother, you have to tell us," Greg pleaded.

"No," Dunn said. "I gave her my word."

"That may be true," said Frank. "But right now I think we can answer a lot more questions by taking a look at this book for ourselves."

He passed the gun to his brother, clicking the safety on as he did so. It took only a moment for him to step back into the closet and open the safe.

Greg stepped in and looked. "It's empty," he managed to choke out.

"It means that your mother's worst fears have come true," said Dunn, interrupting. "Somebody has gotten into the safe and found her book."

"Maybe Mom took it with her," Mike said. "She could have done that, couldn't she?"

"She wanted me here tonight," Dunn replied, "because the book was here."

"Somebody must have gotten into the safe before we did," Frank said.

"And I think I know who that person was," Dunn said.

"Who?" said Greg urgently. "You have to tell us."

Dunn had opened his mouth to answer when a voice shouting from downstairs made him stop.

"Greg! Mike! You home? Come here right away!"

"Dad," Greg said.

"They must have come home right after the show," Mike said.

"Greg! Mike!" the voice shouted again, this time even louder. It was closer too. Mr. Rawley was heading toward the stairs.

"Quick, into my room," Greg said in a whisper.

With Greg and Mike leading the way, Frank, Joe, and Dunn dashed out of the room down the hall and into Greg's closet. Greg and Mike flipped on the stereo and sat down at a large desk piled high with books.

In the dark, the Hardys and Dunn concentrated on listening.

"Come in!" Greg shouted in response to a knock.

"Didn't you hear me? I was shouting for you," said Mr. Rawley.

"Sorry, Dad," said Mike. "Greg and I were cramming for a test tomorrow, and besides, we had the stereo on."

"What's up?" asked Greg. "You look like something's wrong."

"Something is wrong, very wrong," said Mr. Rawley. "You'd better brace yourselves for a shock."

"A shock?" asked Mike, his voice higher pitched than usual.

"What kind of shock?" Greg asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"Your mom," Mr. Rawley said. "She's been taken!"

"WHAT HAPPENED?" GREG asked.

"Let's all sit down, and I'll tell you about it."

There was a short silence as Frank, Joe, and Dunn shifted uncomfortably in the closet, waiting to hear what would come next.

"It was going to be a special night," Mr. Raw-ley began. "Your mom had found a new French restaurant she wanted to try, and we had tickets to a Broadway show. She wore my favorite dress — the red one — " He paused to gather himself together before continuing.