I wonder what tomorrow has in mind for me, or if I'm even in it's mind at all. Perhaps I'll get the chance to look ahead and see.

-----Styx

It was a beautiful, sunny day in the coastal town of Bayport. Seventeen-year-old, blond, blue-eyed Joe Hardy whistled cheerfully as he strolled down the sidewalk, pizza box held carefully in his hands. When his older brother had asked him to go get pizza, Joe had agreed and, not feeling like driving, had headed out on foot. It felt too good outside to drive, the breeze coming in from the nearby Atlantic Ocean keeping the mid-July day from becoming too hot.

He had left Frank working at home, and had quickly walked the few miles that lay between his home on the corner of High and Elm Streets and the Bayport Mall. Once there, he had gone strait to Mr. Pizza---Bayport's most popular pizza joint---and had ordered a large supreme pizza. He almost orders anchovies, which Frank hated, but decided not to. While waiting, he chatted with his wiry Italian friend, Tony Printo, who was the assistant manager of the place. After a thirty-minute wait, the pizza was ready and Joe was on his way back home.

I am absolutely loving this, he thought happily to himself, finishing the song he had been whistling and switching to a haunting Celtic tune. Dad's away on a case, Mom and Aunt Gertrude are in California, and there's not a mystery in sight. What more could I ask for?

Fenton Hardy, the crack New York Police Department officer turned internationally famous private detective had been called away a few days ago on some confidential government work and wasn't expected back for at least another week. His wife Laura and unmarried sister Gertrude had gone with a local disaster relief group to California to help with the cleanup from the earthquake that had devastated San Francisco only a week before. Joe and his eighteen-year-old brother, whose reputations as detectives was almost as widely known as their father's, were mystery free at the moment.

Joe couldn't wait to get home. He would grab a couple of cokes from the fridge, drag Frank away from whatever it was he was working on, and beat him soundly as they munched on pizza. Yes, today was shaping up to be a---

Suddenly, he came to dead halt and looked around him, a puzzled frown on his face.

Joe was standing by a huge empty lot, one of the very few uninhabited places that lay between the Hardy home and the Bayport Mall. It was owned by a large chain of local grocery stores that used the lot to dump old cardboard boxes. Neighborhood kids would use it as a playground, pretending that the large boxes were rockets to the moon or time machines that took them back to unheard of places. Frank and Joe had often played there themselves when they were kids.

But this wasn't what had the young detective puzzled.

I could have sworn I heard someone cry out. Joe stood there for a moment, listening hard. When he heard nothing but the sound of his own heart beating, he shook his head and continued on. It must have been my imagin---

Joe's thoughts were suddenly shattered by a piercing scream that came from behind a stack of boxes that lined the sidewalk. Without even thinking, he dashed around behind them, ready to take on who or whatever it was that was causing the trouble.

Just as he was about to shout out a warning, Joe's eyes went wide at the sight that greeted him. The pizza box fell from his numbed fingers and hit the ground with a thud, just as he let out a piercing scream of his own.

I really, really despise paperwork.

Eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy glared at the papers he had scattered around the table, as if he could scare them away. Unfortunately, they didn't even stir.

Frank sighed and raked a weary hand through his dark hair. Why do collages require you to fill out all this paperwork? Why not make the guidance councilors do it all? I mean, they handle everything else that involves college, like sending in your transcripts and such. They should be the ones having to spend a perfect summer day doing this instead of me. I could be outside doing something productive instead of sitting in here filling out all these stupid forms.

A low growl came from his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since early that morning, and that had only been a cereal bar. He glanced up at the clock over the kitchen sink.

A quarter after twelve.

Frank frowned. Joe had been gone for over an hour. He couldn't help but feel and pang of anxiety in his chest. He should've been home by now.

Then Frank shook his head. I've been a detective too long, he thought dryly. Joe's probably run into some of the guys, or is chatting with Tony. Just because he's a few minutes late doesn't mean something's happened. I'll give him a little more time before I start freaking out.

Frank had more than enough reason to be worried about his younger brother. He and Joe had taken on some deadly criminals while solving mysteries, criminals who had vowed that they would stop at nothing to get back at the boys. There was also the fact that they were the sons of a famous detective. More than once they had been kidnapped or hurt in some way by criminals trying to get to their father. So Frank's worry over his brother was not without reason.

Frank sat back with a tired sigh, staring once again at the mounds of paper scattered about on the kitchen table. Just a few more forms. Then I'll call Mr. Pizza and see what's holding Squirt up.

He pulled another stack towards him and stared dejectedly down at the top one. "'All freshmen are required to live on campus,' " he read aloud. "' Please fill out the following form regarding your interests and hobbies, as well as your planned major, so that we can attempt to put you with an agreeable roommate.' Agreeable, ha! They never are."

He uncapped his pen, set it down on the paper, and quickly got to work.

He worked studiously, plowing through form after form, keeping one ear trained on the door for the sound of Joe returning. It wasn't until his stomach gave another loud growl of protest did he bother looking back up at the clock.

He gave a start. It was twelve forty-five. His brother had now been gone for nearly two hours.

The little pang of anxiety he had felt earlier had now turned into a huge knot in the pit of his stomach. Something's wrong, he thought. Joe should've been back from the mall by now. If he was going to be longer, he would've called me.

Frank jumped up from the table, the all-important college forms forgotten, and hurried to the phone in the front hallway. he had dialed Mr. Pizza enough times over the years to know the phone number by heart, so that was three less anxiety-filled minutes he would have wasted trying to find the number in the phone book. Now all he had to do was hope that Tony knew where his brother had wondered off to.

The phone rang once, twice. Without even realizing what he was doing, Frank had wrapped the cord around his hand and was clutching it tightly.

After the third ring, a click indicated that someone on the other end had picked the phone up. "Mr. Pizza," came a cheerful male voice, which had the faintest trace of an Italian accent. "How can I help you?"

Frank let out a silent sigh of relief at the sound of his friend's voice. "Tony, it's Frank."

"Hey, there!" he said brightly. "Hey, man. Did that little brother of yours tell you what he was going to do to your pizza? He is one sick, twisted individual. I'm telling ya!"

"No," Frank said quietly. "That's actually why I'm calling. You see, Joe's not back home yet."

"He's not?"

"No. I was wondering if he was still there."

Tony's voice was now as quiet as Frank's, and the older Hardy had to strain to hear him over the shouting and other noises coming from the background of Mr. Pizza. "He left about an hour and a half ago."

Did he mention anything about stopping off anywhere on his way home?" Frank's voice was beginning to take on a desperate note.

"He said he was going home and dragging you away from work." Tony paused. "Frank, you don't think anything's happened to him, do you?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "But I'm going to go and look for him. If he shows back up there, give me a call on the cell, will you?"

"Sure. And, if I can do anything else at all, call me. Okay?"

"I will. Thanks, Tony." Frank hung up the phone with a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "Where are you, Joe?"

When Joe had told him he was walking to the mall instead of driving, Frank had thought he was only kidding. That is, until he had peeked outside minutes after he had left and saw the van still parked in the driveway.

But now, as he snatched up the keys to the police van the brothers shared, Frank was glad that his brother had decided to take advantage of the perfect summer day. Now, if only he could find his brother...

Frank just knew that something bad had happened. If Joe was going to be late for any reason at all, he would have called to let Frank know. He could be impulsive, yes. Even reckless. But he was responsible. He would've called Frank. That is, if he had been able to.

It took Frank a couple of tries to get the van started, and then it wasn't until after he had took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down did it roar to life. From there, all he had to do was back it out of the driveway. Then he was on his way.

He started up High Street, driving slowly along the shortest and most obvious route to the mall, hoping to see his brother walking down the sidewalk. Even if he didn't see Joe, Frank was still hoping to at least find some sort of clue as to his brother's whereabouts.

As he drove, Frank couldn't help but shoot an apprehensive look at the large, deserted lot where the Food Mart chain dumped it's cardboard boxes. He had never liked the place, though he had played there for hours when he was younger. Someone could dump a body back there, it wouldn't be found for weeks...

Frank quickly shook his head to clear his mind. Don't even think things like that, he reprimanded himself sharply. Joe just probably started talking with some of his friends and lost track of time.

By the time he reached Bayport Mall, there was still no sign of Joe. Frank quickly pulled into the nearest parking space he could find, not even caring if he was parked strait or not, and started running towards the mall. He burst into Mr. Pizza, not even slightly winded, and quickly hurried up to the counter.

Tony was standing just behind it, talking on the phone. When he saw Frank, he held up one finger telling him to wait while he finished up the phone order. Luckily, Tony was able to end it quickly and was soon standing just across the counter from Frank, looking perplexed. "Any sign of him?" he asked softly.

Frank shook his head. "Not yet. But I haven't checked the rest of the mall yet." He paused. "When do you get off?"

Tony checked his watch. "In about an hour."

"Good. Be ready to go. If I can't find Joe here, then there's a few spots between here and the house that I want to check out. I'll need your help."

"No problem. I'll be waiting for you."

"See you later," Frank called as he walked off, heading for the double doors that led to the rest of the mall.

As he stepped out of Mr. Pizza, Frank let out a deep, soul-wary sigh. Please be here!

Forty-five minutes later found a very dejected Frank Hardy sitting on a bench outside of Mr. Pizza, head in his hands.

Joe was nowhere to be found.

Frank had first checked the mall's large video arcade, the most logical place to look for his younger brother. A bunch of their friends from school were there, but no Joe. One of them remembered seeing a guy who looked like Joe walking away from the mall with a pizza box just as he was pulling in.

Next, Frank went to Hewgley's, the music store where Joe worked. Rachel Livaudais and Josh Henson--two of Joe's coworkers and close friends--said that Joe had stopped by for a moment two hours ago. He had a pizza box in his hand that smelled strongly of garlic and had told them how he was going to go home and pull Frank away from his work so that Joe could beat him at video games. They had talked about a new shipment of guitars they had just received, one being a specially ordered Jimi Hendrix model that had cost a pretty penny. They hadn't seen or heard from him since.

"Do you think he's okay?" Rachel asked in a concerned voice, laced with just a hint of a French Cajun accent. Frank knew that his younger brother deeply cared for the New Orleans punk rock girl, and that she obviously felt the same about him.

"I'm sure he is," Frank said with a forced smile.

Then he had gone to Sam Goody's, the bigger CD store of the two in the mall. None of the workers, who all knew the Hardys well, could remember seeing Joe at all that morning.

By then, Frank was beginning to lose hope of finding his brother at the mall, but he was determined not to give up.

Onward he pressed. To the bookstore, where Joe would go and check out the newest Anne Rice books that Rachel had got him hooked on. The electronic store, where they purchased all their computer equipment and cell phone accessories. Into Hot Topic, the gothic store that Joe had drug Frank into more times than he could count. Even to the food court to see if any of their friends were there. No Joe.

Now, as he sat outside of Mr. Pizza waiting for Tony's shift to end, Frank finally began to let all the horrible thoughts and images he'd been holding back creep into his mind. Joe could have been kidnapped and was going to be held for ransom. Maybe someone hadn't seen him walking along the side of the road and hit them with their car, leaving him lying in a ditch somewhere where Frank hadn't been able to see him from the road, seriously injured. Maybe he had been killed by an enemy of theirs of their father.

As much as Frank loathed the idea, he was going to have to check out that deserted lot. He only hoped that he would find his brother's lifeless body there.

Oh, how he wished his parents and aunt weren't gone! He didn't want to share this anxiety, this worry, all alone. He hated more than anything in the world to be alone. Especially when he was scared or worried. Oh, sure. Tony and Rachel were worried, too. But it just wasn' t the same. After all, it wasn't their brother that had gone missing!

As Frank sat there, feeling an overwhelming sense of being lost and lonely threatening, a hand fell on his shoulder, causing him to jump. He whirled around and, for a moment, hope ran through him. He just knew that it was Joe, looking sheepish, with some explanation of how he'd lost track of time and was so sorry that he'd worried Frank so much.

But it was only Tony, looking concerned. "Hey, you okay?" he asked softly.

Frank graced his friend with a faint smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just...worried."

The Italian looked sympathetic. "Joe's fine. I'm sure of it." He paused. "You ready to get out there and find him?"

Frank frowned and checked his watch. "I thought you still a couple of minutes left?"

Tony shrugged and grinned. "When you're the assistant manager, you get the right to bend the rules a little. Besides, I came into work thirty-minutes early this morning."

Frank had to grin, his first real smile in the three hours that Joe had been gone. "You amaze me sometimes, Prito. Let's head out."

Tony didn't comment of Frank's haphazard parking job. He knew that it was due to the older Hardy's present state.

During all the long years that he had known the Hardy brothers, Tony had yet to meet any two people who were closer. Oh, sure. They had their squabbles, their fights. But what siblings didn't? Besides, they always apologized afterward. And they never got into fistfights. Well, almost never. But he knew that if something happened to one brother, then the other would be constantly worried until he knew the other was safe. Tony had no brothers or sisters of his own, so he could only imagine what Frank was going through.

"Any idea where to start looking?" Tony asked, buckling himself in tightly. He knew that Frank was usually a careful driver, unlike Joe, who treated each stretch of road as a racetrack. But, at that moment, his judgment was somewhat impaired.

"There is one particular spot," Frank said slowly, not able to force the image of the deserted lot filled with piles of cardboard boxes out of his mind. "But we're going there only as a last resort."

"I'm at your expense," Tony said as Frank pulled away from the parking lot. "Whatever you say, I shall do."

"I'm glad you see it that way." Frank turned onto Main Street, which would take them to High Street and right past the lot. "Cause there's no way I'm going to be able to do this on my own."

"Have you contacted the police yet?"

Frank shook his head. "You know, it hasn't even crossed my mind to call them. I wasn't to wait until I've found out what happened. If Joe's been kidnapped, then contacting the police could further endanger his life."

"Hmm." Tony frowned thoughtfully. "I see what you mean." He paused. "Does anyone else know that he's missing?"

"I asked Rachel Livaudais and Josh Henson about him earlier and told them I hadn't seen him."

"Livaudias? That New Orleans chick that Joe is so smitten with?"

"That's the one." Frank turned on his blinker and checked oncoming traffic before turning onto High Street. "Joe really likes her. Says she's pretty much a female Jimi Hendrix."

Tony whistled. "Now that's talent." He smiled. "Then you got to realize that that's Joe's way of saying that someone---especially a girl---is better at something than he is."

Frank laughed. "How right you are."

Tony's grin stretched across his face. The fact that he had made Frank laugh had uplifted his spirits. "So, where we going first?"

"I want to check with a couple of the people who live along the street. Some of them are Joe's pals, and he may have stopped by to see them. If not, then maybe someone saw him walking this way."

"And that last resort you mentioned earlier? Where's that?"

"That old lot that the grocery stores uses to dump boxes." Frank's voice was grim. "I could help but think that it would be an ideal place to--to hide someone. They would never be found, unless someone thought to look there."

"Well, I'm sure we won't have to worry about going there," Tony said. "We'll have found him by then, and I will laugh while I watch you ream him out."

"That will definitely be the fun part," Frank growled, feeling his optimism return. "Hopefully, I'll leave enough of him left for us to find out what happened."

"No, I won't let you kill him," Tony promised. "I'll stop you before that happens."

"And how, pray tell, are you going to do that?" Frank asked, knowing full well that, at six-three, he was a head taller and at least sixty pounds heavier than his friend.

Tony just grinned and shrugged. "I dunno. I'll think of something."

The first house they stopped at was only about seven miles from the Hardy home, five from the lot. The family that lived there had seen Joe walking down the street with the pizza. He had waved to them, but hadn't stopped. One of them noted that nothing seemed to have been troubling him. In fact, he had been whistling when they had seen him.

Frank thanked them, then he and Tony moved on.

Frank was feeling much better by this time. Joe had been spotted, and he had been okay. Now all they had to do was find him.

At the next house, it was the same. They had seen Joe, carrying the pizza, whistling cheerfully. The third, the fourth. They had all seen him, and he had seemed happy.

At the fifth stop, however, it was different. The family said that they had been home all day, and had spent most of their time outside. But they hadn't seen any sign of Joe.

Frank tired not to think too much on how they lived in the first house past the lot. Everyone who lived before the lot had seen him. These people hadn't.

After the people in the next two houses had been asked about seeing the blond Hardy brother with negative results, Frank found his heart sinking even deeper. It looks like that lot is the key point in all of this, he thought grimly.

"Where to now?" Tony asked as they climbed back into the van.

"Our last resort," Frank said, backing the van up so that he could turn around. "People who live before that lot saw Joe, people who live after it didn't. I was hoping to avoid that place, but..." He shrugged. "I guess we don't have a choice any more."

Tony said nothing. By this time, he was as heart-sick as Frank, and was afraid of saying something that would further upset his friend.

They arrived quickly, and Frank pulled the van over onto the shoulder of the road. As they climbed out of the van, Tony couldn't help but shudder as he stared up at those towering boxes, silhouetted by the afternoon sunlight.

He glanced over at Frank, who looked as if he were about to be sick. "Do you want me to go look?" he asked gently.

Frank shook his head slowly, as if in a daze. "No, no. I'll go. I--I wanna see for myself. But, stay here. I'll call if I---if I need any help."

Tony nodded. "Sure thing."

Frank took a deep breath, then disappeared behind a stack of boxes.

He'd only taken a step or two when he saw the hand lying on the ground.

His breath caught in his throat, and his body suddenly began to tremble all over.

He took another step forward. More of the arm came into view, and he could now see the unmistakable corner of a pizza box.

Oh, no, he thought. Please, God. No.

Without any more hesitation, Frank dashed around the stack of boxes separating him from the body.

A gasp escaped from his lips as he sank to his knees in the dirt, his legs suddenly unable to support him. Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead. The mantra repeated over and over in his mind.

His brother was sprawled out on the ground in front of him, the pizza box lying a few feet away. Joe' s blue eyes, wide open, were staring blankly up into the late summer sky.

I'll Never Tell