I don't own Nancy Drew or her family, or the lyrics to the Jim Croce song "Time in A Bottle." It's a good song, though. If you haven't heard it, check it out sometime.

"I can't help but think that it all means something, Nancy," said Celia Laramie helplessly, clutching at her friend's arm. "If anyone can help me, it's you. Please, say you'll come to Selkirk End with me."

Nancy glanced down at her gloved hands, stung by the desperation in Celia's grey eyes. "You know I'd like to, Celie," she said slowly, "but Dad needs me right now, and I can't leave him alone. Maybe Bess or George—"

"I don't need Bess and George!" Celia cried with a sudden ferocity, crumpling her tear-dampened handkerchief into her palm. "I need someone who can solve this mystery once and for all. My brother is dead, Nancy. And I'm utterly alone."

Nancy Drew was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Her plain but elegant grey wool suit set off her classically lovely features and red-gold hair. Her former classmate Celia Laramie was dressed in a conservative black dress and her chestnut locks were pulled up into a severe bun, but nothing could disguise the delicacy of her aristocratic features and slender figure. Had the two girls not been at a burial, they would have drawn many admiring glances.

Finally, Nancy looked up into her friend's eyes, which glittered with unshed tears. "Come home with me," she said impulsively. "I'm afraid it won't be very cheerful, with Dad still recovering, but at least you won't be alone."

Celia burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Nancy put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, drawing the sobbing girl close. "It'll be all right," she whispered. Over Celia's shoulder, Nancy watched the minister climb into his black car and drive away. The cemetery workmen were preparing to fill in the grave. She had to get Celia away from this place before the earth swallowed her brother forever.

"Come on," she said, gently nudging her friend upright. "Let's get out of this cold." As if on Nancy's bidding, a chill wind arose, sending the dead leaves skittering around them and tugging at a few strands of hair that had escaped from Celia's chignon. Celia sniffed once and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Of course I'll come home with you. I don't—I don't want to go back to Selkirk End tonight."

Ten minutes later, the girls were being bundled into the house by a severe-looking Hannah Gruen. Hannah had cared for Nancy since her mother had died fifteen years before, and Nancy silently wished that Celia had someone to care for her.

"Come in, come in," Hannah urged, shutting the door behind them. "Only the end of October, and it's like winter already. It's a wonder you girls aren't froze solid."

She took the girls' coats and bustled them into the kitchen, where they were instantly enveloped in the warm smell of cinnamon.

"The pie'll be done in a few minutes," Hannah said. "Until then, here's some hot chocolate." She shoved two steaming mugs in front of them and then paused, hands on her ample hips.

"I wanted to go, dear," she said to Celia, who was blowing on her hot chocolate. "But with Carson the way he is, I just couldn't get away. But I remember Ethan coming to pick you up after playdates with Nancy. Very polite. A very nice boy."

"It's all right, Mrs. Gruen," Celia said. "I know you and Mr. Drew would have liked to be there."

"How's he doing th'safternoon, Hannah?" Nancy asked quietly.

"He's in the living room," the matronly housekeeper replied. "You two can go talk to him yourself."

They left the table and their half-finished mugs of cocoa and slipped into the darkened living room. The only light came from the sickly blue glow of the television set. Onscreen, Lawrence Welk sang a duet with a blonde woman dressed in a frilly pink blouse and skirt. The orchestra played a short interlude, and Lawrence twirled the woman around in a cloud of pink lace.

In a recliner on the opposite end of the room hunched a man, ghastly pale in the flickering light. He was covered with an orange afghan, and his almost-skeletal hand rested on the arm of the chair. Even in the dark, there was an evident pallor to his once-handsome face and his dark hair was flecked with grey.

"Hello, Dad," Nancy said gently.

Carson Drew smiled, and in his smile one could detect traces of the man he once had been: respected criminal lawyer, pillar of River Heights society, dashing and laughing and vibrant.

"Hello, Nancy," Carson said, "and hello, Celia. I'm sorry I couldn't make it th'safternoon—"

"That's all right," Celia said again. "I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for Ethan and me."

"That's my job," Carson said brightly, "or, it once was."

"And it will be again," Nancy added, twisting her gloves in her hands. "You look much better today."

"I feel better," Carson admitted. There was an awkward pause, broken only by the reedy baritone of Lawrence Welk.

"I hope you don't mind my staying here tonight," Celia said quietly. The leaping, flame-like glow from the television set caught in the hollows under her cheekbones, making her eyes seem large and childlike.

"Not at all," said Carson warmly. "In fact, I was thinking of having Nancy go home with you for a while, just until you get settled in."

"Dad," Nancy interrupted, "I can't leave you here—"

"What, you think Hannah is an axe murderer?" Carson quipped. "Celia, would you like for Nancy to stay at Selkirk End for a little while?"

"Oh, please, Mr. Drew, could she?" Celia gasped. She turned pleadingly to her friend. "Nancy, would you?"

Nancy sighed, looking from the wasted face of her father to the desperate eyes of her grieving friend. "All right," she said finally. "We'll go tomorrow, Celie, if you'd like."

"I would," Celia said fervently.

Hannah poked her head into the living room. "Pie's done," she announced cheerfully. "Get it while it's hot."

"Better get in there," Carson said. "It smells wonderful."

"Want me to bring you some, Dad?" Nancy asked.

"No, dear, that's fine," her father said. Nancy saw him glance toward Celia, an odd, rapt expression on his face.

Around Celia's neck hung an oval-shaped silver locket, and the reflection of the television was like turquoise fire on its shimmering surface. Celia, noticing his gaze, stepped forward and opened it to reveal two tiny photographs inside.

"It's my brother and me," she said simply, showing them to Nancy and her father. On the left was a photo of Celia, taken when she had been slightly younger, Nancy thought. She was smiling at the camera, but she had blinked at the instant the photo had been taken; her downcast gaze made her seem demure and sad. On the right was her brother, Ethan. The photo was slightly blurred, and a heavy shadow was on the subject's face, but his dark hair and sheepish smile were still evident. He seemed far away from the viewer, as if he were already receding into a great distance.

"I can't believe he's gone," Celia murmured.

"It's a beautiful thing to remember him with," Carson said softly.

"It was a Christmas present from my parents when I was nine," Celia replied, closing the locket with a decisive snap. "Not six months later, they went sailing on the lake and never came back. From then on, it was only Ethan and me."

"What does the symbol on the front mean?" Nancy asked, anxious to distract her friend from her gloomy memories.

"The hourglass in the flames? I don't know exactly. My mom told me once that it was an heirloom from her family, the Selkirks. Now I'll never find out, I guess."

"Pie," said Hannah again, and the girls jumped.

"Go on, get your pie!" Carson said, smiling. "Pie waits for no man. Or girl."

"Oh Dad," Nancy said, glad that he was joking again, even if the jokes were bad ones. "Come on then, Celie. Dad, are you sure you don't want—Dad! Dad!"

She rushed to his side in alarm. Carson Drew was staring at the television set, but his eyes were glassy and unfocused.

"Beware the shattered mirror," he whispered hoarsely.