A/N: First, thanks to all you folks who reviewed chapter 1. Second, I've put my creative foot down. 'Who's That Girl' is indeed going to be an A/U. You'll see why when this chapter gets underway.

Standard disclaimers regarding ownership of characters apply to the entirety of this fic.

Chapter 2.

In the privacy of their hotel, Frank and Joe reviewed the encounter with the waitress who had identified herself as 'Molly'. After their meal of baked ravioli, they had spoken with the restaurant manager, Greta Forzani. She was initially reluctant to reveal details, but the Hardys had pressed Greta for information about the woman they were convinced was Nancy Drew. Luck was on their side, as Greta had heard of their exploits as amateur detectives, and now as internationally acclaimed private investigators. She willingly revealed to them that she had hired 'Molly' without the benefit of references.

"Normally, I don't do nothing like that. I don't hire nobody if they can't prove no past work experience. All she told me was that her name was Molly Jenkins and that she had just had a bad break-up with her boyfriend. Said she was lookin' for a place to start over."

At these words, Frank's heart had inexplicably leapt (she broke up with Nickerson?) - and then quickly sank. Something about that story 'Molly' had told Greta just did not ring true. Nancy Drew, running off to New York because she broke off her relationship with Ned Nickerson? To be a waitress, of all things? Changing her name and pretending not to know them? No. Something was clearly wrong with that picture.

"Molly struck me a deal: she'd work here for a week or so with no pay as a kind of trial run. If I liked how she handled herself, I'd take her on for real. If not, she'd look for employment elsewhere," Greta had continued.

"And you liked how she handled herself, I gather," Frank had said.

"You got that right, honey," the manager had given Frank a flirty smile. "Don't know what her problem was tonight, though. Tore outta here like a bat outta hell. Something about not feeling well. I'll be docking her pay for that stunt. Can't get no one to cover her on such short notice. But Yolanda and the others will handle the load just fine."

"Ms. Forzani, when Molly recovers from her little illness, would you please ask her if she would contact us at this cell number?" Frank pulled out his business card.

"Sure, honey," she said with a solicitous smile, as she took the slip of high-quality paper that contained the Hardy's private investigative business information.

"Well, thank you for your time, Ms. Forzani," Joe had said, extending his hand. "We really appreciate it."

"Oh, you're welcome, honey," she then said, sending him a wink as she held on to his hand a little longer than was necessary. "You fellas come back again sometime, you hear?"

"We both know that 'Molly' recognized us tonight," Frank said as he sat on the edge of his hotel room bed. "I saw it in her face. That story that Molly told Greta doesn't hold water."

Joe nodded. "So we both agree then: we think 'Molly' is none other than Nancy Drew. Right?"

"And Nancy's in trouble," Frank concurred. "That's the only logical explanation to what happened tonight."

"Yeah, but why would she run when she saw us?" Joe questioned. "And run out she did, because she quite clearly was not sick. I know it's been a few years since we've been in touch, but she's got to know we're on her side. She knows we can help her if something's wrong."

"Five years." Frank said, somewhat absently.

"What?" Joe asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"It's been five years since we last heard anything from Nancy."

"Wow," Joe said, mulling this over, eyebrows raised. "It doesn't seem that long."

"Remember, she'd joined up with the Chicago Police Department. She said she finally wanted to go the route of detective in an official law enforcement capacity."

Joe nodded. "Of course I remember."

"I've never been comfortable with the fact that we have not kept in touch..."

"Frank-" Joe tried to cut in.

"It's just that if we'd maintained an open channel with her, we might know what's been going on in her life."

"Fine," Joe agreed. "But we all have our own lives to live. When we're not out there on a case, which is seldom, we're in Bayport. Up until tonight, we assumed Nancy was in Chicago. While it's not as if she's on the moon, it's still far away from home. Good friends lose contact. It's a fact of life."

Frank glowered.

"Okay, what do you suggest we do, then?" Joe asked.

"Cut short our vacation and get to the bottom of this," Frank said with authority in his voice.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Joe said. He also sensed Frank's intentions went a little bit beyond concern that would be reserved simply for friends. You always did have a thing for Miss Drew, didn't you?

While the brothers were fully confident that Nancy Drew had been posing as a waitress named 'Molly Jenkins' in a non-descript bistro in New York, they wanted to be absolutely certain before they launched an investigation. While it didn't seem likely, there might still be a logical explanation for everything that had happened. They decided to make a discreet inquiry with the Chicago Police Department as to Nancy's current whereabouts. If they were denied information on that front, Frank decided he would next attempt to contact Nancy's father, Carson Drew, as a last resort.

"I still don't know what Nancy, as a member of the CPD would be doing in New York, even if it was an undercover assignment," Joe muttered, as Frank attempted to access the precinct he knew to be Nancy's. "She'd have no jurisdiction."

Frank waved his brother into silence, as he had reached a sleepy-sounding desk sergeant in the North Chicago Department. He identified himself as per the required procedure for a licensed private investigator.

"I'd like confirmation as to the whereabouts of one of your officers, please," Frank said to the sergeant, named Garrison.

"Who'd you wanna know about?" Garrison lazily asked, stifling a yawn.

"One Nancy Drew."

"Detective Nancy Drew?"

Frank thought he heard a note of incredulity in the sergeant's voice. "Uh, yes, I suppose I should have guessed she'd have made the ranks of detective speedily...yes, I'm looking for detective Drew's current location."

"Well, your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Hardy," came sergeant Garrison's reply. "But if you want to look, our experts here figure the bottom of Lake Michigan's the most likely spot. That's where they found her car 10 months ago."