Chapter Eleven: A Beginning

. . .

In the golden light of early morning, Nancy climbed lightly up into the cab of Joe's truck. He followed, but only after a respectable attempt at an exuberant hood slide à la Luke Duke. Nancy laughed. She could not blame him for giving vent to his excitement. She herself felt almost incandescent with anticipation.

"We're ahead of schedule," she remarked, as Joe buckled his seatbelt.

He glanced at his watch before putting the truck into gear. "Good. I still need to stop by home and grab those camera lenses before we meet up with Frank."

"Are you sure it's not too early?" Nancy asked. Her own father's Sunday ritual was one of leisure- or had been, until his remarriage. Now Nancy realized she no longer knew what his routine might be.

"They'll be up," Joe assured her.

And sure enough, Fenton Hardy was sitting on the front porch when they pulled into the driveway of Joe's childhood home. His sister, Gertrude, was already working busily in the garden down by the barn.

"I'll run up and say hello to your dad while you grab your camera equipment," Nancy said.

"You're not going to come with me and show Aunt Gert your ink?" Joe asked mischievously.

"No, thank you," Nancy said with a delicate shudder. "I'm already on thin ice with her, morals-wise. I'll keep my distance."

The statement was not made entirely in jest. Nancy had no desire to antagonize Gertrude Hardy, who, though she had always had a soft spot for her youngest nephew, held most people in her acquaintance to a rigorous and slightly outdated standard of behavior. So, while Joe loped across the lawn toward Gertrude and the barn, Nancy simply waved a distant greeting to the peppery older woman before turning toward the house.

At Nancy's approach, Fenton Hardy laid his newspaper aside and patted the empty place beside him in the porch swing.

"Shenanigans!" he called warmly. "How are you, kid?"

Nancy accepted both the seat and a paternal embrace. "Kid?" she echoed, teasing him. "Since when are you old enough to call everyone 'kid'?"

"I think it happened around the time my firstborn decided to have a baby," Fenton said. "No news on that front, by the way."

Nancy nodded. "I assumed Frank would have called if there were," she said.

"That's right. You three are headed out of town today," Fenton said. "What are you doing here, then? Not that I object to your company."

"Joe needed to pick up some camera equipment," Nancy explained.

"And to raise my sister's blood pressure, apparently," Fenton quipped.

"You know he never misses an opportunity to do that," Nancy agreed. She followed Fenton's line of sight out across the lawn. The conversation was inaudible at this distance, but the body language was unmistakeable: Joe and Gertrude were verbally sparring, and loving every minute of it.

Fenton yawned. "Excuse me," he apologized, reaching for his mug of coffee. "Can I get you a cup?"

"No, thank you," she said, watching Joe finally duck into the barn.

"Laura will be sorry she missed you. She went out for breakfast with some friends."

"Oh, that's too bad," Nancy said, with genuine disappointment. She was fond of Joe's kind and perceptive mother, and would have enjoyed a quick visit with her.

"Are you sure I can't get you a cup of coffee? Maybe a slice of coffee cake?" Fenton offered again.

"No, thank you," Nancy repeated.

"Don't let him rush you," Fenton said, nodding toward Joe, who had reappeared and was fast approaching the house. "There's always time for a cuppa."

"Maybe that's true when you're retired, Gramps," Joe teased, vaulting the railing and landing lightly on the porch.

"Got what you needed?" Fenton asked.

Joe nodded. "All set. But if you want that coffee, Nan- "

"No, thank you," she said, for the third time. As much as she appreciated the courtesy, all she really wanted at the moment was to be on the road.

"I understand," Fenton said. "You want to get your teeth into your case." He rose, shook his son's hand, and rested a hand on Nancy's shoulder. "Be safe, all right? And catch the bastard for me."

Joe saluted playfully before opening the truck's passenger-side door for Nancy. "Yes, sir. One bastard, coming right up."

...

Frank and Callie's home was only a few minutes' drive down the road from the Hardys' parents. It was, therefore, still a little on the early side when Joe and Nancy arrived; but the ever-punctual Frank was already hauling his things out neatly onto the steps to await loading, and Callie was sitting on the porch with a nimbus of early-morning sunlight in her honey-blonde hair.

"Good morning!" Nancy called out.

Callie set her paintbrush down carefully beside her watercolors as Nancy approached. "Good morning," she said. "You picked a beautiful day for a drive."

"Isn't it idyllic?" Nancy agreed. "Especially here," she added, surveying Callie's little retreat. Morning glories were blooming along the railings, bees were buzzing, and the occasional hummingbird darted past.

Her moment of serenity was interrupted by Callie, who grabbed at her arm and turned it to examine the temporary tattoo.

"Nancy!" she exclaimed. "Look at you! Oh, and your hair, too!"

"It's supposed to wear off after a week or two," Nancy said, smoothing her hair self-consciously. Her formerly titian-blonde tresses were now a smooth chestnut brown, thanks to some time spent the previous evening with a home dye kit.

"Which, the tattoo or the hair dye?"

"Both, actually."

Callie was eyeing her critically. She tilted her head and stared at Nancy's hair for a long moment before offering a verdict. "It's pretty. It's not you, exactly, but it looks nice. What does Joe think?"

"Joe had no idea how much work it is to change your hair color," said the man in question, who had just come up the steps.

"You really need to stop lapsing into the third person," Nancy told him with exasperated fondness.

"Sorry," he said, looking completely unrepentant. "Morning, Cal. How's my- jumpin' jehosaphat, doesn't that hurt?"

Nancy's gaze dropped to Callie's stomach, and she immediately understood Joe's reaction. The thin material of Callie's tank top did nothing to conceal the way her belly rippled, bumped, lurched, and stretched to accommodate the baby's vigorous movements.

Callie just laughed and pressed her hands against the sides of her bump. "I know. It looks so weird."

"But also very cool," Joe said. "May I?" he added, reaching over to rest his palm between his sister-in-law's hands.

"I think he's starting to feel cramped in there," Callie said. "Here, move your hand a little left and tell me what you think that is. A knee?"

"An elbow, maybe?" Joe guessed. "God, he's strong."

Nancy had glanced away for a moment, overwhelmed by the awe in Joe's eyes. Now, suddenly, she shaded her eyes and peered at the distinctive vehicle which had just turned into the drive.

"What's Chet doing here? Is he going with you guys?" Callie asked from behind her.

"He said he might come by to see us off," Joe said. "Excuse me, ladies."

"I should probably go help them finish loading the truck," Nancy said, watching him hurtle back down the steps.

"Don't," Callie said impulsively. "Stay and hang out with me for a minute. I don't know when I'll see you again, and it doesn't look like there's much to load up, anyway."

Nancy hesitated, and then decided that Callie was right. Even if there had been more luggage and equipment to load, between Joe's boundless energy and Frank's quiet efficiency, the job would have been done before she even reached the driveway.

"I have a confession," Callie said, toying with her paintbrush.

"What is it?" Nancy asked. Is she having second thoughts? Does she want Frank to back out of this case? She studied the other woman's face carefully, but found no trace of fear.

"It's nothing terrible," Callie assured her. "It's a little silly, actually. But..." She trailed off, shrugged, and said, a little sheepishly, "None of you look like yourselves, and it's starting to freak me out."

Nancy blinked. She had taken for granted the tweaks to appearance and posture which she and the two Hardys had adopted: small details, just enough to ensure that it would not be obvious that a well-known local trio of detectives had descended upon Caldwell House Resort & Campground. Now she looked again, seeing the three of them through Callie's eyes.

Nancy herself, using her tattoos for inspiration, had replaced her usual classic style with a more bohemian look. That morning she had woven her darkened hair into a braid and dressed in an off-the-shoulder lace blouse and distressed denim shorts, to which she had added heavier-than-normal eye makeup, several sterling silver rings, and a multi-stranded necklace with a crescent moon pendant.

Then there was Joe, who had leaned heavily into the biker side of his wardrobe. Both Hardys had a dangerous edge which, under normal circumstances, they refrained from flaunting. Today Joe's "don't fuck with me" vibe was dialed up to let her gaze linger on him, taking in everything from his well-worn leather boots to his tousled hair. Along with a pair of fitted, torn, and faded jeans he wore a leather belt with a heavy buckle, a silver skull ring, and a tight black t-shirt, sleeves rolled and straining over his biceps. Two days' worth of stubble darkened his jawline. And though none of his weapons were visible, Nancy was very aware that he had at least two knives and probably his grandfather's old Colt somewhere on his person.

Frank's look was similar, though he carried it with a touch more subtlety than his brother did. His leather boots were polished and his jeans neither faded nor torn. He wore a dark grey shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to display an understated leather wrist cuff. Something glinted at his throat, just barely visible in the v-neck of his undershirt.

I can see why she's unsettled, Nancy thought.

Hoping to set Callie more at ease, she turned and playfully extended a hand.

"I'm sorry," she said, slipping into the voice she had in mind for her cover persona- the vowels a little flatter, the pitch a little breathier. "I should've introduced myself. Hi, my name is Nadia Wheeler."

Callie looked startled for a moment. Then she grinned and shook Nancy's hand, playing along. "It's nice to meet you, Nadia. Are these your brothers?"

"No, Jesse and Finn are my cousins," Nancy said. "I'm visiting them from Minnesota. They're taking me camping."

"That sounds like fun," Callie said.

Nancy lapsed back into her own voice. " 'Finn' and 'Jesse' are photographers," she explained. "It's a good excuse to carry a camera around. "

"What about Nadia?"

" 'Nadia' is between jobs right now. She's a little aimless," Nancy said, laughing. "I've found that people let down their guard to an astonishing degree if they think you're a little stupid. So I'm just going to be outgoing and naive and a little spoiled and see what I can see."

She looked out across the driveway to where the men were busy re-checking the ratchet straps which secured Joe's motorcycle in the bed of his truck. From the looks of it, everything was ready to go.

"Is Frank wearing a necklace?" she asked idly, curiosity roused once more by the gleam of gold in the sunlight.

"It's one of those saint medallions," Callie said. "St. Michael, I think?"

"Appropriate choice," Nancy murmured. " 'Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.' "

"Nancy Drew, you are full of surprises today. I never knew you were Catholic," Callie said, with a teasing note in her voice.

Nancy shook her head. "I'm not," she said, "but my mother was, and I was fascinated with her prayer book as a child." The little book- promising, as it did, that the right series of words, spoken at the right time and with the right intent, could hold power- had seemed magical to Nancy. "The illustrations are lovely," she added after a moment. "I'll have to show it to you, sometime. I think you would enjoy them."

"Yes, please. There's so much scope for artistic expression in the Church," Callie remarked. Her eyes twinkled. "Maybe I wouldn't have strayed from the fold had I been raised Catholic, rather than Protestant."

"I think your fall from grace was inevitable," Nancy joked back.

"Speaking of falls from grace," Callie said, growing serious. "Bess told me about Tom."

"Oh, finally," Nancy said, with evident relief. "I've felt so guilty not saying anything to you- "

"Nan," Callie interrupted. "It's okay. I get it. It wasn't your news to tell."

"I'm glad she told you. She needs all the support she can get."

Callie nodded. "I can't solve the Tom thing, but I can offer to babysit, or spend time with her...I have a feeling she's going to need a lot of distractions."

"George will be very glad to have backup," Nancy said, with a twinge of guilt. "She's taken the brunt of it so far."

"Are you talking about Tom?" Frank said, as the three men joined them on the porch. He looked disgusted.

Callie nodded. "I was just telling Nancy she doesn't need to worry about Bess while she's away. We'll take care of her."

"And yourself, too," Frank said, his tone growing gentler.

"Of course," Callie said.

There was a moment of silence. Then Nancy rose tactfully, patted Callie's arm, and moved toward the stairs, giving Chet's sleeve a tug in passing.

"Let's give them a moment," she murmured.

"Ten-four, Chief," Joe said. He planted a kiss on Callie's cheek and retreated, calling back "All right, Smokey, this convoy is bundled out and ready to move on" over his shoulder.

"Don't call me Smokey," Frank protested.

"Convoy?" Chet echoed scornfully. "One truck with a bike lashed in the back does not a convoy make, Little Hardy."

Joe only grinned. "All right, negatory on the trucker lingo. Ready when you are, boss."

"Don't call me boss," Frank yelled back.

"We await your earliest convenience, my lord," Joe intoned.

Nancy swatted lightly at his shoulder. He sidestepped the blow, grinned, and hiked one booted foot up onto the truck's bumper to re-tie the laces.

"I'm not going if you're going to be in younger brother mode the whole time," she threatened.

Joe winked. "I'll behave," he promised.

Chet cleared his throat. He was standing nearby, fidgeting with his sling, looking decidedly awkward.

"Call me," he blurted out. "If you need anything, I mean. I can always leave the garage to Jay and come out there if you need backup."

"If we get in a bind, you're the first one we'll call," Joe said, reaching over to clasp Chet's hand in a moment of rare sincerity.

A part of Nancy had worried that with the brothers teaming up again she would feel superfluous, intrusive; but as soon as Frank tore himself away from Callie and joined them, that worry evaporated. She felt nothing but camaraderie, trust, and excitement, and sensed much the same feelings in each of the men by her side.

Joe turned the key, and the engine roared into life. Chet raised his good arm in a salute, Callie waved from the porch- and they were off.