I now interrupt this cliffhanger for a word from the author. No, I don't own Nancy Drew and company, and again, I don't own the lyrics to "Time in A Bottle." In case you wondered. Thanks for reading, and be sure to review—your input is appreciated!

Frozen, the telephone receiver dangling in her hand, she stared at the amateurish watercolor roses hanging over the hall table. Wasn't there a song—"The Last Rose of Summer"? Something like that?

Resolutely she turned to face him. Another criminal. There had been so many over the years, most of them cartoonishly sinister and laughably hapless. She had long since ceased to fear them, her apprehension replaced by the adrenaline-fueled thrill of capture and triumph.

This was different, somehow. It was as if a haze had fallen over her, as if she were lost in a heavy fog, feeling gingerly for her way. So many criminals. So many times she had heard the door of a River Heights police car slam shut, and so many times she had stood unflinching under their vitriolic gaze as they were driven off to judgment.

"Drop the phone, Sister Nancy," he whispered, and she felt his cold hand at the small of her back, guiding her away. She did as she was told, and the receiver hit the table with a dull thud.

"Good girl," he breathed, his hands on her shoulders. "Now the three of you are going to sit tight here until I'm gone, you understand?"

Nancy stared blankly at the gaping empty frame of the mirror hanging on the wall. Behind her, she saw Celia and Isabel exchange glances. Brother Michael smiled, but the smile did not touch his fathomless dark eyes.

"God bless you, children." He turned toward the door, his hand on the knob. Why am I letting him go? Nancy wondered. What has happened to me? For a moment, she saw a glimpse of her father standing before her; her father as he had once been, before the accident.

And then two forms rushed past her, leaving her standing forlorn in the hallway. Shrieking, Celia seized the man's right hand and clawed at the shoulders of his black suit. With a cry of surprise, he turned in time to see Isabel, wielding the brass elephant Ethan had used to break the mirror, strike him on the forehead. He staggered a moment, then slid down the length of the door, clutching his brow. Blood seeped from between his fingers as he crumpled senseless to the floor.

"Well, that's that," Isabel said calmly. "Should we call the police now?"

Celia was staring at the man's prone form, her face white.

Nancy stumbled blindly to the phone. The receiver, lying on its side on the table, purred gently. Hands shaking, she dialed the familiar number.

"Chief McGinnis? This is Nancy Drew."

A Week Later

"So," Celia said, rummaging through the box of records, "what do you think? Jim Croce or The Bee Gees?"

"No Bee Gees," Isabel moaned. She was draped over the chaise longue in the study, her left hand over her eyes.

"Jim it is, then," Celia said, blowing the dust from the record's surface and gently placing it on the turntable. As the music began, she turned to smile at Nancy. "Well, your last night here. Anything special you want to do?"

"Nope," Nancy said. She was sitting in the desk chair, absently turning the pages of Ethan's manuscript. The tiny hourglass-vial sat on the blotter in front of her. She picked it up, letting the white powder sift from side to side. Strange, she thought; I was so sure for a while that Ethan had been poisoned. I was caught up in the story, Jonas' story, just as Ethan was. Just as Brother Michael was. In a way Jonas did win. He did defeat death, though not by medicine or magic. He's still got a hold on us all.

Brother Michael—Michael Selkirk—was awaiting trial in the Augusta County Jail. If convicted, Nancy doubted he would get more than a few weekends behind bars and perhaps a year or two of probation. Breaking and entering was not a serious charge, and Nancy was certain he would soon be free to harass Celia again.

Luckily, she thought, Celia wouldn't be around to harass.

"Have you two finalized your plans yet?" Nancy asked.

"Almost," Celia said. She looked calm, almost at peace, for the first time since Ethan's death. The two girls' attack on Michael Selkirk appeared to have done them much good. Isabel had even allowed Celia to put Ethan's tan shirt in the laundry—although she had put it on again immediately when it was dry.

"I can't wait to see Europe," Isabel said dreamily from the chaise longue. "We're so lucky. When I called my mom to tell her, she couldn't believe it. Kept saying 'You makin' this up, girl?'"

It was lucky, Nancy thought, that Mrs. Hartford, the rich lady whom Celia had stayed with in River Heights, had decided she needed a companion on her winter tour of Europe. It was even luckier that Celia was available, and almost unbelievably lucky that Mrs. Hartford, after hearing Isabel's story, wanted to take her along as well. Ethan's looking out for them, Nancy thought, then immediately dismissed the notion as ridiculous and sentimental.

"Mrs. Hartford doesn't have any children, and she didn't want to go alone," Celia said. "She'll need us to look after her. It won't be entirely a pleasure trip."

"Are you crazy?" Isabel yelped, sitting upright. "That lady's not even sixty yet and she's got more energy than us! She'll be draggin' us around!"

Celia looked abashed, but soon recovered. "I mean that she's taking us out of pity," she said determinedly. "We can't be causing trouble for her."

Nancy lowered her gaze to the manuscript to hide her smile. Over the past week, Isabel and Celia had turned from suspicious adversaries to teasing friends. She was almost jealous of the adventure lying before them.

Celia sighed a little. "This is what me and Ethan always talked about doing. Traveling. We were poor, though, and we couldn't leave the house shut up…"

"Don't worry about the house," Nancy said. "I'll look in on it while you're gone, and the sheriff said he'd have someone drive by every night. And now that we've fixed that conservatory window, you won't have animals getting in." She cast a playful look at Isabel, who merely laughed.

"Thanks, Nancy, for everything," Isabel said. "We couldn't—well, I guess we wouldn't—have done it without you. We wouldn't even have met. We'd still be crying by ourselves."

Pausing, Isabel smiled wistfully, and for a moment Nancy caught a glimpse of the angel Ethan Laramie had referred to in the manuscript.

"Ethan," Isabel said. They fell silent, and for a moment the only sound was Jim Croce's voice and the hissing pop of static on the record player.

"I was angry," Celia said quietly. "It seemed so unfair. But now—now it hurts, but it's different. It feels like a part of me's been carved away but it's scabbing over. It'll never entirely heal, but I think I can go on." She laughed hollowly, sliding her locket back and forth on its silver chain. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

No one answered her. Nancy carefully placed the manuscript back on the desk and lowered the rolltop. Soon, although she couldn't have known, she would be embroiled in The Crystal Palace Intrigue.

"I've been thinking about what you said, Nancy," Celia went on, glancing nervously at the young detective. "About the people you love not being able to protect you. About having to be strong for yourself. You're right. I've got to learn that. But," she added, examining the backs of her hands with studied deliberation. "you can't survive on your own. You can't just push everyone away."

Nancy didn't answer. She looked over the top of the desk into the hall beyond. The empty mirror frame had been removed, and a photograph of Ethan and Celia in happier days hung opposite the study door.

"Oh, I just love this song," Isabel said quietly.

If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save every day

'til eternity passes away

Just to spend them with you…

"Excuse me," Nancy said suddenly, and brushed past the two girls into the hall. Frosty moonlight streamed through the front door, and the October wind dashed at the windows. She hesitated a moment, her hand resting on the receiver, before dialing the number.

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them.

I've looked around enough to know

You're the one I want to go

Through time with.

It rang twice before she heard a click and his gravelly voice rasp, "Hello?"

"Dad?" Nancy said, tears welling in her eyes. "I just wanted you to know how much I love you."

The End