Chapter Two: The Beginning
I can't believe I'm already on my fourth story in this series! It's been so much fun writing these. Many thanks to Drumboy100, BMSH, PJandLGequalsLove, sm2003495, Jilsen, Cherylann Rivers, max2013, and Evergreen Dreamweaver for the reviews on the first chapter- as always, it's a big encouragement to hear that people are enjoying the story.
One last note, before we get into the story: the rating is quite likely going to go up from a T to an M after the first few chapters. Joe and Nancy don't like to behave. :) I'll try to give you a heads up a chapter or two before that happens. - TinDog
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"Over here, Nancy!"
Nancy Drew stepped up onto the awning-shaded patio of the local coffee shop. She was slightly surprised to see that her father's wife had already arrived. Camille Bradley had made a point of meeting up with Nancy at least once a month since her engagement to Carson Drew the previous November; and while Nancy appreciated Camille's gracious and sincere effort to get to know her, she had also learned to be realistic about the fact that Camille's demanding work schedule often led to delays and rainchecks.
"Good morning, Camille," she called, . "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."
Camille glanced down at the surface of her table, taking in the two paper-sleeved coffee cups and the array of paperwork there as though seeing them for the first time. "Not at all," she said, rising politely. "I arrived earlier than I'd planned to, since I didn't have to stay long at the office today."
Her kiss landed near Nancy's cheek rather than on it, but her brief hug felt sincere. Stepping away, Nancy glanced again at the documents spread across the table, then at Camille's sleek hairstyle and tailored outfit. The older woman looked polished and professional, as always.
"That's right!" Nancy said, smiling. "You're supposed to be on vacation!"
"I am. Starting...now." Camille gathered her papers together and pushed the folder into her bag as she spoke. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with a conspiratorial twinkle. "Don't tell your dad. He already thinks I work too hard. But I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy my time off with that last bit of work hanging over my head."
"Yes, I would feel the same way. And so would Dad, so he has no room to complain."
"As you know, Carson's motto might as well be 'do as I say, not as I do,' " Camille said dryly. She reached for the cup nearest her and took a sip, gesturing toward the second cup with her free hand.
"That one is for you, Nance. I thought I'd save you the trouble of waiting in line, since I was there already."
"How thoughtful! Thank you," Nancy exclaimed, quelling her slight annoyance. Though she really would have preferred to order her own drink, the gesture had been a kind one; and anyway, every vestige of her irritation washed away in the bliss of that first sip of strong coffee.
"You look as though you needed that," Camille observed.
"Our coffeemaker at the apartment has been broken since Wednesday," Nancy said, hoping the short explanation did not sound curt. As much as she liked Camille, she did not feel comfortable enough yet to give her the long explanation, which involved a summer-long struggle with intense dreams and broken sleep cycles.
"I thought your man could fix anything," Camille remarked.
Nancy shook her head, laughing. "This one was a dinosaur. It was a hand-me-down from the 80s that Laura passed on to Frank years ago, when he got his first college apartment. We decided that it deserves to rest in peace and we deserve a newer model." She took another grateful sip and leaned forward, changing conversational gears.
"Tell me more about this vacation. Dad said you're heading up to Vermont for the week?"
"Ten days, actually. We're driving up to Massachusetts tomorrow to hear the Boston Symphony Orchestra perform at Tanglewood, and then on Sunday we'll finish the drive up to Steph and Connor's in Vermont."
Camille extracted her phone from her purse as she spoke, swiped at the screen, and pushed it across the table toward Nancy. "Here's the latest picture of Jacob. Can you believe he's already six weeks old?"
"He looks just like Stephanie!" Nancy said, studying the picture. She had met Camille's daughter only once, at her father and Camille's private wedding ceremony in April; but the baby's resemblance to his mother was unmistakable.
"He's the spitting image of Steph's old baby pictures. I think he has Connor's wavy hair, though," Camille said.
"You must be so excited to meet him."
"I can't wait. I must confess, though, that part of me still can't believe I'm a grandmother," Camille said, laughing ruefully. "And can you picture your dad as a grandpa?"
Nancy looked steadily down at the photo, hoping to conceal the emotion in her eyes. The trouble was that she could picture her father as a doting grandparent. The reserved and often formal lawyer had a playful side which children always coaxed out of hiding. His adoration of children was one of the things that had made Nancy's motherless childhood so pleasant. And now he was about to spend his whole vacation bonding with a child who was not even a blood relative.
Be fair, Nancy chastised herself. Of course his life is expanding from what it was, and expanding away from mine. I'm an adult, and he's remarried, and it's normal. You're not five anymore. You can't expect to be his whole world.
"Dad always has been good with babies," she said finally, sliding the phone back to Camille. "I'm so glad you were able to get the time off work. You're going to love every minute with Jacob."
"Maybe not every minute," Camille mused. "It's been a few decades since I had my own babies, but I do remember a lot of crying." She reached for her coffee cup. "It's going to be good, though. And I'm really looking forward to spending some uninterrupted time with Carson. He's been out of town so much lately, we've been like ships in the night."
"I know the feeling," Nancy said sympathetically.
"Of course. You and Joe must experience the same thing. Has it changed, though, since you began working together?"
"We still have to split up frequently to investigate different angles. But on the whole, since our schedules are synced up to the same case now, we have been able to spend more time together."
Camille nodded thoughtfully. Nancy sipped her coffee. She was never sure yet, with Camille, whether lulls in the conversation were awkward or peaceful. But it was a beautiful day, and she took advantage of the quiet moment to sit back and observe the meditative pulse of a small town waking and beginning the simple routines of daily life, a pulse which was enlivened today by a bright undercurrent of anticipation for the coming weekend. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the street. Nancy quickly became engrossed in watching the faces of the people passing by, analyzing faces and clothing and body language, and was almost startled when Camille spoke again.
"I've lived out here for four years and I still can't get over how peaceful it is here."
"Peaceful?" Nancy echoed, raising an eyebrow as if to remind her companion that she was a lawyer, and that Nancy was a detective, and that they were both more than familiar with the less peaceful elements of life in River Heights and the surrounding towns.
"Comparatively, yes. I was born and raised in Brooklyn," Camille explained.
Nancy looked around again, trying to see the town through Camille's eyes. The rhythm of River Heights was slow, compared to that of a big city, but Nancy had done enough traveling and been in enough danger to appreciate being able to come home to a place like this. One of her favorite things about the neighboring town of Bayport, where she now lived, was that it offered the same sense of calm security.
Something she had read about recently pricked at her memory. "What about the Langley case?" she said. "You can't call that peaceful." When Camille looked blank, Nancy added "The remains those hikers found over at Stoney Point last week. They've been identified as belonging to Elizabeth Langley, one of- "
"Yes, I remember now! She was one of those poor girls who went missing from Camp Sunshine back in the 70s." Camille shook her head. "I remember when it actually happened, you know. It made the national news. My sister and I used to sneak downstairs to watch the news reports about it. My mother tried to shield us from hearing but we were, like most children, ravenous for all the forbidden details."
"I wouldn't have imagined you as a rebellious child," Nancy remarked.
Camille chuckled. "My sister was the rebellious one. I simply followed her lead. I have to say I'm shocked that any of the victims have resurfaced after all this time. Do you think this means that all the girls were killed?"
"My hunch is that they were," Nancy said somberly. "The logistics of keeping multiple captives alive and hidden for decades would be overwhelming. Someone would have seen something."
"A serial killer, then," Camille said. "Or...I hate to say it, but a sex trafficker?"
Though Nancy had seen more than her fair share of horrible crimes, she shuddered. "I hope not. Those poor girls."
"Do you have any mysteries of your own on the horizon?" Camille asked.
"No, not a single one."
"What will you do with yourself? Do you even remember how to have a normal weekend?" Camille teased.
"It's going to be tough," Nancy teased back. "Buying a new coffeemaker is on the list. And we're going over to Frank and Callie's for dinner tonight."
"I'm guessing Callie hasn't had the baby yet?" Camille said, waiting for Nancy's confirming head shake before adding "How is she feeling? I remember that stage. You're tired, you're enormous, you're impatient..."
"Oh, Callie makes it look easy."
"You and Joe aren't thinking of starting a family soon, are you?"
The question was inevitable. Nancy forced herself to let the tension drain from her muscles. "We're not even engaged!" she demurred. "Dad would have a coronary!"
Camille laughed. "Don't worry about Carson. He thinks you walk on water."
"I'm not inclined to put that to the test," Nancy said dryly. "He was uncomfortable enough when Joe and I started living together."
"Nancy, you know I don't believe in giving unsolicited advice- but I'm going to break my own rule for a minute, so please forgive me. When I was young, I wanted to please my parents. I very obediently did the things which were expected of me, in the right order. I got good grades, I went to college and law school, I got married, and I started having babies. But it was a mistake, and when it all fell apart it was very ugly. I love Steph and David with all my heart, but they are the only good that ever came of that marriage. What I'm trying to say is that you should follow your own timing on these matters, and to hell with what other people expect." Before Nancy could make any kind of response Camille uncrossed her legs and reached for her purse. "I've just had an idea," she said briskly. "I tried on last year's bathing suit last night, and it was not pretty. I was planning to head over to Tuttle's. Why don't you ride over with me and pick up your coffeemaker while I choose a bathing suit, and then I can drop you off back here at your car?"
"That sounds good to me," Nancy said, collecting their empty cups for disposal.
The local department store, Tuttle's, was located in a shopping plaza a few minutes' drive away, flanked by a pet supply shop, Vixen Lingerie, and a newly-opened Dunkin Donuts. Despite being a small business rather than a chain store, Tuttle's had an excellent selection of clothing and home goods. Nancy selected and purchased a new coffeemaker and even had time to slip next door to take advantage of a tempting sale at the lingerie store before Camille had finished browsing her way through the swimwear department.
"I see you had a productive time," Camille said, glancing at Nancy's shopping bags as they walked back to the car.
"That sale was too good to pass up. Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yes, they had exactly the style I was hoping to find."
The return trip passed quickly. A few minutes later Nancy stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop.
"Thanks again for the coffee," she called. "Tell Dad I said hi, and have a safe trip!"
"You're very welcome. We'll get together again soon!" Camille called back, pulling away from the curb.
Nancy paused to fish her car keys out of her purse before stepping out into the parking lot. The sun was almost directly overhead now, and she had forgotten her sunglasses; but when she squinted she could see someone tall, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered leaning against her little blue roadster.
What's Frank doing here? she wondered, quickening her pace. Is Callie in labor? No, he would have called. He must have just been passing by and stopped to say hi.
Several yards away from her car, Nancy stopped. A jolt of adrenaline flooded her body. The waiting man was not Frank. Moving on autopilot, Nancy curled her hand into a fist, tucking her car key securely between her fingers, and continued her approach: stealthily, now, moving lightly and clenching her toes to keep her sandals from slapping against the pavement.
The man turned around.
"Ned!" Nancy exclaimed in mingled alarm and relief. What is he doing here? Though Ned was still on good terms with Frank and civil terms with Joe, he certainly never went out of his way to approach Nancy.
"Nancy." Ned straightened up, took a step forward, and paused, his gaze turning wary.
"Oh," Nancy said softly. She opened her fist and loosened her grip on her keys. "You startled me. What are you doing here?"
He made no answer. Nancy shuffled the lingerie store's distinctive silver bag behind the more innocuous Tuttle's bag, adjusted the strap of her purse, and waited. People always talked, if you gave them enough time; and Ned was no exception. After a few moments, during which he appeared to be struggling with his conscience, he blurted out what was on his mind.
"I proposed to Emily last night."
"Congratulations," Nancy said carefully. She knew this man, knew the boy he had been, and something was clearly wrong. His words might suggest a joyful occasion, but his face and body radiated shame and tension.
"Thanks," he said dully. "She said yes. We're going to get married."
"That's wonderful news," Nancy said gently. "I know how happy she makes you."
Ned looked up and made eye contact with her for the first time. His face was haggard. "I do love her," he said helplessly. "But after she said yes...god. I couldn't sleep last night. I just kept thinking about you."
"Don't do this," Nancy pleaded.
"I have to. I know this is probably the shittiest thing I've ever done, and she deserves better, but I have to tell you this before it's too late."
The shittiest thing I've ever done. The phrase echoed, discordant and ugly, in Nancy's ears. Ned had always prided himself on not resorting to four-letter words to express his feelings. That lapse, more than anything else, drove home how miserable he was feeling.
"Maybe we just got our timing wrong," he said, his voice low. "There was always something wild about you, Nancy. You made me feel like I could be a more exciting version of Ned Nickerson. I miss that. I know I blew it, last time, but now I think I could be the kind of man you need, if you'd give me another chance."
"No, Ned. I can't do that." Nancy put as much kindness as she could into her tone, but her words were decisive, surgical. She felt the scalpel-edge of them drag along her own old and healed wounds and felt a pang for the pain Ned was feeling, too.
"Just like that? No?"
"You know it's the right answer," she said, wishing her voice would not shake. "I'm sorry." And she was. She was sorry to hurt him, and she was sorry for herself too, because their tenuously-budding friendship was lost to her now. Ned was good and kind, sweet and funny and brave; their relationship may have ended, but she had always respected him as a person.
Poor Ned. Poor Emily. Poor Nancy.
Nancy softened her voice again. "Go home to Emily. Remember all the reasons you fell in love with her, and be happy."
Still he hesitated, looking at her. He swallowed hard, seemingly about to speak; but in the end he simply turned and walked away.
When he was gone Nancy got into her car, locked the doors, and bent her head over the steering wheel to hide her tears.