Despite the sunlight, the kitchen seemed dim, almost as if it were night rather than late afternoon. The chill in the room made them shiver. The faint scent of something burning filled the room.

Joe looked around, trying to see if there was some sort of trigger or set-up but he couldn’t see anything. Along with the strengthening odor of burning wood and something else, there was smoke.

Frank thought he heard someone tugging on the back door as the smoke continued to thicken. He felt the acrid smoke clogging his nose and throat and knew they had to get out of the kitchen. He thought he heard crying but wasn’t sure.

A door banged open somewhere in the house and in an instant, the smoke and acrid smell were gone. The chill vanished just as quickly, leaving the six of them looking bewildered.

Trinity wiped her tearing eyes. “Th-that’s never happened before.”

“I sent them packing,” stated a male voice as someone marched into the kitchen. “They have no legal right to—What’s going on?”

Darcy walked over to the man. “James, there was the most horrible smell and smoke everywhere.”

James looked around the kitchen, and noticed the shattered cup and saucer. “It’s getting more intense, Darcy. It always does the closer we get to the end of August.”

“Not like this,” Trey said, sounding hoarse. “There’s been a faint scent of smoke up in the nursery but not thick blinding smoke down here in the kitchen, Da.”

James looked over at Frank and Joe. “And you two are?”

“Joe Hardy and this is my brother Frank.”

“And you’re here why?” James MacBannon asked gruffly.

Before Frank could say something else that might make things worse, Joe cleared his throat. “We came to Ireland with our parents. Dad’s at the annual private investigators’ convention and we’re here to see the sights. Yesterday at Trinity College, we were exploring the Long Room, when I felt someone touch my shoulder. When I turned around no one was there.”

MacBannon tilted an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. “Go on.”

“Later, we were wandering around St. Stephen’s Green and heard an elderly man tell a ghost story about the Shelbourne Hotel, so I suggested we check it out.”

“We met Trinity there and overheard her uncle telling her he had a plan to help,” Frank said.

Joe resisted the temptation to kick his brother’s ankle. “Anyway, we went to eat and later got lost. Mom was excited when we found ourselves at a pub called Mulligan’s.”

“We ended up sharing a table with John MacNair who’s running a booth at the private investigators’ convention,” Frank added in a rush because the elder MacBannon looked rather angry.

“And your father is?”

“Fenton Hardy,” Joe answered. “He’s a private investigator. He used to be a cop before he retired—”

MacBannon held up a hand and shifted his gaze to his wife. “Tell me again what just happened with the smoke and the smell.”

Darcy did and MacBannon looked back at Frank and Joe. “Seems to me that their being here has riled up someone, and possibly upset the order of things. Ye think you can stop the haunting? Go right ahead, then, boys.”

“Da, no,” Trey said. “They’re in league with those fools out there, I’d bet my last coin on it.”

“Since ye don’t have any, wouldn’t be much of a bet on it, now would it,” Trevor muttered.

Trey spun around. “All right then, I’ll bet your last coin.”

“Not on your life. Not if you want to see the light of day come morning, brother.”

“You two stop it,” Trinity said. “Just stop it,” she said again, sounding near tears.

Everyone looked over at her and since Trevor was closest to her, he reached out but she dodged him. “Trin?”

“I saw Aishling,” she said and ran up the back stairs, leaving everyone staring after her, stunned.

*****

It was dark by the time the boys left Driscol Manor House. Joe spared the house one last look and sighed. “Mom’s not going to be happy.”

“What? That we’ve been gone all day?”

Joe shook his head. “No, that we didn’t buy her any souvenirs from the Dublin Writers’ Museum.”

They had stayed to talk to the MacBannons, trying to find out as much history as they could. Frank kept an eye out for street signs as they walked. “I can’t help but wonder just who this Erin Gallagher was. Why was she the only mourner at Connelly’s funeral?”

“Too bad, Callum’s journal couldn’t tell us.” Joe shrugged. “Too bad someone ripped out all the pages out of the other one.”

“There’s got to be a way to find out. I mean it was 1861 not the Dark Ages.”

Joe stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly getting run over by a couple of pedestrians. When Frank realized his brother wasn’t beside him, he turned around. “Joe?”

“The TV show. They have this guy on there that knows all the history of the place beforehand.” Joe hurried to catch up to Frank. “What if we say we’re looking into the background of how a reality show works for school. Well, you can say that. I’m just here because we’re related but anyway...”

Frank grunted. “Another one of your hare-brained schemes?”

“My schemes are not hare-brained. Yours are. Mine make sense and do work...on occasion...usually. Whatever,” Joe added, sounding frustrated. “We’d get a scoop on the info.”

“You’re babbling again. No show is going to let a couple of strangers just waltz in and...” Frank’s voice trailed off as he stared at his brother. “Oh no.”

“It’d be perfect, Frank.”

“No. You said yourself we’d be laughed out of Bayport.”

“C’mon, we could be really bad actors and they’ll have to edit us out. Or maybe even solve the mystery, end the haunting and they’ll have to look elsewhere for apparitions and clanking chains.” Joe grinned at his brother. “C’mon, Frank, it’ll be fun. We could really ham it up.”

“I thought hamming it up was your forte.” Frank shook his head. “Dad won’t like the idea, for sure.”

“Hmm, you never know...” Joe started walking quickly.

Frank caught up with him. “Dad and Mom are never going to go for it. I promise you, they’ll both say no.”

Joe skidded to a halt and turned around. Frank did a little jig to keep from running smack into him. “Joe!”

“Are you placing your bet?”

“I didn’t say ‘wager’, I said ‘promise’. That’s not a bet.”

Joe thought about it for a moment. “Okay. You’re on.” He started walking again.

Frank took a deep breath. “Once you get an idea in that head of yours, not even heavy explosives can jar it loose. I give up.”

The brothers headed back to the hotel and Frank wondered if it was coincidence or fate that their parents were in the lobby, about to go eat supper. Laura eyed her sons for a moment. “Dublin must really be fun. You’ve been gone all day.”

Fenton cocked his head to one side. “Boys, what’s up?”

Joe didn’t even spare one glance for the oversized sofas. “Um, Dad...” He glanced at Frank and sighed. “I’m absolutely starved. Where are we eating supper?”

Fenton studied his sons a moment. “At the Patrick Guilbaud. It’s next to the Merrion Hotel.”

It wasn’t too far to walk and it was a pleasant night. Laura moved closer to Joe and sniffed. “So...what have you two been up to?”

Joe looked at Frank. “Um, just traipsing around town.”

Frank knew Joe wanted him to explain the idea. “Dad, remember we told you about meeting someone from that ghost-hunting show?”

Fenton slid his oldest son a glance. “As I recall, you told that person ‘no’.”

“Well, I’ve gotten to thinking,” Joe said. “It might be fun. In a corny kind of way.”

Fenton didn’t say anything until they reached the restaurant. It was in a red brick townhouse furnished in the 18^th century style. It wasn’t until they were seated in a secluded corner, that Fenton looked over at his sons. “What’s going on?”

Frank explained what had happened since yesterday. “We think that’s why the place is haunted.”

Fenton fiddled with his water goblet. “I can’t say I really believe ghosts exist but...truth is stranger than fiction. And if that wasn’t rigged, then you did experience something.”

“So why the change of heart?” Laura asked.

“I think the show has background information that we can’t access. Or at least not access it quickly enough,” Joe answered her. “That’s why we want to join the group after all, maybe get the crucial background information we need to figure it all out.”

Fenton waited until they ordered their supper and the waiter had left again. “Boys, this is a really cold case. All the eye-witnesses – if there were any – are long dead. And you have only a few discordant letters that might make up words...”

Joe shifted in his seat. “Dad...”

“And you have a hunch.” Fenton sighed. “I’m not one to dismiss hunches, but it seems like you’re reaching on this one.”

“Fenton,” Laura said quietly. “I’d like to check into this, meet Mrs. MacBannon, see the house.”

“It’s really close to the Dublin Writers’ Museum,” Joe said, hopefully.

Fenton looked over at his wife. “All right,” he said thoughtfully. “Boys, you’ll show your mother where Driscol Manor House is tomorrow.”

Laura nodded. “Then let’s eat. I’ve heard this place has delicious food.”

Frank caught a smug expression on his brother’s face and nudged him hard. Joe just grinned at him, like the proverbial cat who swallowed a canary. Frank sighed, wondering if his brother’s idea wasn’t going to really get them in trouble...

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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.