Blood Relations Read online

  Hardy Boys Casefiles - 15

  Blood Relations

  By

  Franklin W. Dixon

  Chapter 1

  "YOU'RE WRONG — DEAD wrong," Callie Shaw snapped at Frank Hardy as they crossed the Bayport Mall parking lot after school. They were heading toward Mr. Pizza. "I happen to think Greg Rawley is a nice guy. That's no reason for you to get jealous."

  "Jealous?" Frank answered indignantly, starting to walk in front of a moving car and being snatched back just in time by Callie. "All I'm saying is we really don't know much about Greg—or his brother Mike, for that matter. They seem okay, but everybody knows they spent a year on their own and nobody knows what they did then. That's all I meant."

  He held the door of the pizza parlor open for Callie. She suppressed a smile as she brushed her long blond mane back and breezed coolly past him.

  "Come on, Frank," she said as they sat at a corner table. "You look like somebody just rained on your parade. When they showed up in school this year, you said that the only thing wrong with them was they were too straight. And now, just because I happen to admit that I think Greg's nice, not to mention cute, you decide he's a so-called suspicious character."

  Frank narrowed his dark eyes and opened his mouth as if to argue further, but decided he couldn't. Callie was being logical, and logic was one thing that Frank Hardy never argued with. "I'll get the pizza," he said.

  "I have to admit," Frank continued when he returned to the table with sodas and a medium pie loaded with pepperoni and mushrooms — Callie's favorite, "I do tend to see suspicious characters everywhere. It kind of comes with the territory."

  Callie, who now and then helped the Hardy brothers out with their detective work, nodded in agreement. "You show definite signs of burnout," she said. "Good thing you and Joe don't have any cases right now."

  "Yeah, it's good to have time off," said Frank. "I'm going to work out some new programs for my computer. Phil Cohen's going to help. He's the only guy I know who's a bigger hacker than I am."

  "What about Joe?" Callie asked.

  "He doesn't mind taking a break from work either. He figures this is going to be his year as Bayport's star running back, and he's training extra hard."

  "Speak of the devil, here he comes now," Callie said. Frank followed her gaze to see his younger brother enter the restaurant. With Joe was his teammate and pal, Biff Hooper. Although Joe was six feet tall and solidly built, he seemed almost fragile next to Biff, a fullback who looked like a human bulldozer and played like one, too.

  "How did practice go?" Frank asked when they joined Callie and him at the table.

  "Great," said Biff. "This is going to be a championship year." He grinned at Joe. "Especially with the big surprise we got today. Right, Joe?"

  "Yeah, a great big surprise," said Joe, brushing a hand through his short blond hair. He didn't sound happy.

  "What happened?" asked Callie.

  "What happened was that Mike Rawley tried out for the team," said Biff. "And he's good. Really good. Right, Joe?"

  "He's okay," said Joe grudgingly, helping himself to a slice of the pizza. "Kind of flashy, but, yeah, he's okay. I mean, it's hard to know how he'd stand up to any punishment, but on the surface he's not bad."

  "What position's he trying out for?" asked Callie, her eyes lighting up. "Wait. Don't tell me. Let me guess. It wouldn't be running back, would it? He wouldn't be competition for you, would he, Joe?"

  Callie sat back and grinned while Joe squirmed. Callie liked Joe, of course, but she didn't mind needling him once in a while. As far as she was concerned, it kept his cockiness from getting out of control.

  "Competition? For me? No way," Joe said, grinning. "Maybe the coach can use him to give me a rest after one of my touchdown runs."

  "You might get to have a rest and sit out the whole game if Mike keeps showing the speed he showed today," said Biff, winking at Callie.

  "I'm not so sure about that," said Joe defensively. "I watched him pretty closely, and I noticed he was really puffing toward the end of the session."

  "Honestly, you're even worse than Frank," said Callie. "Why won't you two give the Rawley brothers a chance?"

  "Callie's right, Joe," Frank chimed in. "We have to be fair to them. I mean, they just moved to Bayport and started a new school, and they've handled it really well. They've been friendly but not too pushy, and it only took them a couple of weeks to start being part of the crowd. You have to agree, basically they're okay."

  Joe nodded. "Yeah, you're right." Then he grinned. "But I'm not going to roll over and play dead for Mike. No way is he beating me out."

  Biff glanced at his watch. "Let's split another pizza before I go home and hit the books. If I blow my test, the coach'll bench me."

  "Right," said Joe. A speculative look came into his eyes. "I wonder how Mike's doing in his classes."

  "Ask him," Callie suggested. "Here he comes now—with Greg."

  It was easy to spot Greg and Mike Rawley the moment they walked into the pizza parlor. Both of them had short flame-red hair. Other than their hair, they blended in well with the preppie crowd, even though their jeans were a little less faded and more sharply pressed than most, their shirts less wrinkled, their windbreakers better fitting, and their loafers less scuffed. Both of them were a little over six feet tall, practically the same height as Frank and Joe. Their ages were the same as the Hardys, too: Greg, eighteen, Mike a year younger.

  Callie started to wave to get their attention, then saw she didn't have to. They had already spotted their table and were making a beeline for it.

  Frank, perhaps a little guiltily, gave them an extra-warm greeting. "Hey, guys, come on and sit down. Plenty of room."

  "Yeah, we can order a super-pizza special," Joe said. "I figure you can use a couple of slices, Mike. You really put it out on the field today."

  But Greg and Mike didn't respond to the friendly welcome, nor to the big smile that Callie flashed them. Their faces were serious, almost grim. So were their voices.

  Although Greg did say hello to everyone at the table, his attention was only on the Hardys. "Frank, Joe, we were hoping to find you here. We called your house and your aunt Gertrude said you weren't home yet," said Mike. "So we figured we'd check here."

  "Good thinking," said Frank, flicking his dark brown hair back in place. "Mr. Pizza is our home away from home."

  "What did you want to see us about?" asked Joe.

  Greg cleared his throat and glanced at the others at the table. "It's, uh, kind of private." "I know when I'm not wanted," said Callie. "It's not that, Callie," Greg said hastily. Frank had to suppress a twinge of anger as Greg looked deep into Callie's eyes. Frank noticed that she didn't look away. "It's just that, well, you know ..." Greg said to her, letting his voice trail off apologetically.

  "I was only teasing," Callie said. "I have to be going anyway."

  "I'll head out with you," Biff said.

  "Look, no hard feelings," Mike said quickly.

  "No problem," Biff said good-naturedly. "People are always coming to Frank and Joe with their troubles. I'll just say good luck and get out of here."

  After Callie and Biff left, Greg and Mike took their places. Both sat on the edge of their seats.

  "I hope you're not too busy to help us," Greg said.

  "We don't want to impose," said Mike.

  "Don't worry. Whatever it is, we'll do everything we can to help," said Frank in a relaxed voice, trying to put them at ease.

  Joe said with a grin, "Sure. You can count on us. No trouble too big or too small."

  But his grin faded when he heard Greg say, "This trouble is big."

  "Come on, Greg," said Joe. "You make it sound like a matter of life or death."


  "It is a matter of life or death," Greg said grimly.

  Chapter 2

  GREG AND MIKE Rawley had arrived in Bayport a week before school started. Except that their last name hadn't been Rawley then. It was Jones, the same name their mother had before she married Walter P. Rawley. But they had taken the last name of their stepfather as soon as they moved into his house with their mother, now Linda Rawley. As soon as Greg and Mike settled in, Walter Rawley legally changed their last name to his.

  Walter had been happy to do it. He and his first wife had had no children. After her death in a car accident, he had lived alone for three years. Then he had met the boys' mother on a business trip to California and brought her to Bayport as his bride.

  Greg and Mike hadn't come to Bayport with the Rawleys. In fact, they hadn't even known their mother remarried.

  As Greg once explained it to Frank, Joe, and Callie, sitting outside in the warm September sun during a school lunch break, "My dad died in an airplane crash a year and a half ago. That was a really bad time—our family was totally ripped apart. My mom took it hard and she pretty much lost interest in everything. As for Mike and me, all we wanted to do was get away from our house and all the memories of how happy our lives had been. So we stuffed what we could in our backpacks, laced up our hiking boots, and started thumbing around the country. We used to drop our mom postcards every now and then, but for almost a year, we were off on our own."

  "We saw a lot of America," Mike had said. "Parts of Canada and Mexico too. In fact, we were thinking of getting jobs on a boat going to Europe and then to the Middle East. But when we called home to tell Mom about it, we got her Bayport phone number. She told us she had married again. And you know, we suddenly decided we didn't want to see any more of the world. What we wanted to see was Mom again, stay at home, and get our lives back on track."

  "Mr. Rawley's been great to us, he's given us a lot of help," Greg had said warmly. "He really went to bat for us with the school to let us make up courses rather than being dropped back a grade."

  "And when he gave us his name, it was like we were a real family again," Mike had said. "He didn't have to do that. We weren't part of the deal when he married Mom. As far as she was concerned, we were gone for good. That's what she told Mr. Raw — I mean, Dad, he wants us to call him that—when they first got to know each other."

  "So it must have been kind of a surprise to him when you suddenly showed up," Frank said.

  "It had to be," Greg agreed. "But he didn't let it bother him. He accepted us from the day we walked in the door."

  "It sure was a relief to us," Mike had said. "Not to mention how good it made Mom feel."

  Greg nodded. "Practically the first thing she told us, after she saw how great Mr. Raw — I mean, Dad—was being about it, was that the one big worry she had was gone. Now she was free to be perfectly happy."

  That was the story Greg and Mike had told the Hardys a little more than a week before. But now, sitting at the table with Frank and Joe at Mr. Pizza, their story was different.

  "Mom is scared," Greg said, his voice wire-tight, his knuckles showing white as his hands clenched on the tabletop. "She's scared to death," Mike echoed.

  "Of what?" asked Frank.

  "We're not sure," said Greg.

  "But we have an idea," said Mike. He stopped, clearly reluctant to go further.

  "What do you know?" asked Frank.

  "Who's your mom afraid of?" asked Joe.

  Greg opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened it again, and managed to get one word out: "Dad."

  "Dad?" repeated Frank, shaking his head in shock.

  "You mean, your real dad, don't you?" said Joe, trying to make sense of their statement. "You don't mean Mr. Rawley. You can't mean him."

  "Our real dad is dead," said Greg. "Mom isn't afraid of ghosts."

  "But Mr. Rawley?" Frank asked, still incredulous.

  "I know it sounds crazy," said Greg. "In fact, I hope it is crazy. Except that would make Mom crazy, and I don't want that either."

  "Maybe you should start from the beginning and tell us what you're talking about," said Frank.

  "And it had better be good, if you expect us to believe you," Joe added.

  Joe meant what he said, and he was talking for Frank as well. Walter Rawley was one of the wealthiest men in Bayport, the founder, president, and chief stockholder of Laser, Inc., an electronics company that had become a spectacular success because of its bold research and advance technology. Walter Rawley didn't just contribute money to local charities, he gave his time too.

  But the key fact was that Walter Rawley was an old friend of their father, Fenton Hardy, and Joe and Frank had known him since they were little kids. As far as Joe and Frank were concerned, Walter Rawley was a good guy. And it would take a lot to make them think of him any other way.

  "A couple of days ago, Mom started acting nervous. I know that that doesn't sound like much, but you had to see the way she looked to understand," Mike said. "It was like she was terrified every time Dad walked into the room. She tried to hide it, but couldn't."

  Greg took over, glancing worriedly at his brother. "I don't know if Dad noticed, but Greg and I did because — well, she's our mom and we know her so well."

  "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.