Chapter Twelve: The Briefing

...

"It's nice of Chet to keep Callie company," Nancy remarked, as they merged into the light traffic on the highway. It was a beautiful morning, her heart felt light with anticipation, and she was experiencing a pleasant sort of déjà vu. The three of them had ridden this way fairly often, once upon a time: one brother driving, the other riding shotgun, and Nancy in the middle, doing her best to keep her legs from tangling with the gearshift.

Frank had been scrolling along their route on his phone, presumably checking for traffic warnings or shortcuts. He looked up now and said, rather unexpectedly, "Her parents always hoped she'd marry him."

This was news to Nancy. "What? I never knew that."

"The Shaws and the Mortons go to the same church," Frank said, shrugging. "According to Callie's father, if I hadn't distracted her, she might have ended up with 'that nice, god-fearing Morton boy.' "

"Of course, Charles is making a lot of assumptions," Joe quipped. "That Frank was the one distracting Callie when it was clearly the other way around, for one."

"It was my impression that most adults considered you a 'nice boy,' " Nancy said, thinking back. Athletic, clean-cut, hard-working, unfailingly polite to his elders- Frank Hardy had been the very model of a "nice boy" as long as Nancy had known him.

Frank shrugged again. "Most," he said. "But- "

"But we got Iola killed," said Joe from behind the wheel, in that deliberately casual tone which he used to conceal any and all real feeling. "Among other offenses."

"Surely the Mortons don't think of it that way," Nancy said, somewhat alarmed.

"No," said Frank. "They don't. But the Shaws do."

There was silence, for a moment. Then Frank broke it by saying "Anyway. It's very possible that Chet had ulterior motives for showing up this morning."

The idea of sweet, earnest Chet scheming to steal away Frank's very pregnant, very loyal wife in his absence made them all laugh; and from then on the journey continued in the same lighthearted vein.

. . . . . . . .

The scenery changed as they drew nearer the camp, but Nancy found herself unable to appreciate its wild, mountainous beauty. Though she hated to acknowledge it, she was becoming nervous about their impending meeting with Vanessa.

She sighed, and Joe- who had just shifted gears and bumped her knee in the process- patted her leg apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Nan," he said, evidently mistaking her apprehension for annoyance. "Next time you can drive and I'll take the middle."

"You're not allowed to ride in the middle," Frank protested. "Remember our old rules?"

Joe laughed, and Nancy glanced curiously from one brother to the other. "Rules?" she inquired.

"Our partnership went through a few rough patches," Frank admitted, laughing. "We had this list of rules- "

"Which kept us from killing each other," Joe concluded. "I'll show it to you later."

"You still have that?" Frank sounded delighted, if incredulous.

"Yep. It's in my wallet," Joe said.

Frank laughed again. "It's going to be an education for you, Nance."

"I look forward to reading it," Nancy told him. She reached for Joe's hand, which still lay on her thigh, and laced her fingers through his. As if sensing her underlying tension, Joe gave her hand a brief squeeze.

Is he nervous, too? Nancy wondered.

"Hey, I think this is it," Frank said suddenly, leaning forward to get a better look at a lane up ahead. "Yeah. Up there on the left."

"I see it," Joe said, signalling for the turn.

The side road was flanked by two gracious stone pillars and a sign, crisp and new: Caldwell House Resort & Campground. Though the trio would be staying in the campground area, Vanessa had requested that they meet her at the main office for privacy during the initial briefing. Accordingly, Joe's truck crunched its way up a neat gravel drive and finally came to a halt in front of a stately old mansion bearing a discreet placard beside its gleaming front door: Caldwell House.

"This looks nothing like the pictures we found online," Joe remarked, and Nancy nodded agreement. This gracious building seemed worlds removed from the few photographs they had unearthed during their initial round of research- photographs which, depending on their age, showed a facility either kitschy, ramshackle, or both at once.

"This house wasn't part of the camp back then," Frank reminded them.

Still, Nancy could not help but be impressed by the well-groomed, hospitable-looking grounds. Lush, green lawns and tasteful flowerbeds flanked the house and driveway. Picnic tables clustered beneath a row of graceful shade trees. In the distance she could see a fenced tennis court.

The front door swung open at their approach; and suddenly, framed in the open doorway, there she was: Vanessa Bender.

Nancy had had ample time, over the past few days, to dredge up all her memories of the woman in question. The Vanessa in Nancy's memory was a jaded sylph of a girl, runway-thin, all long legs and blonde hair and sharp cheekbones. The Vanessa standing before them now looked the same, and yet different. Softer, somehow. It took Nancy a moment to realize that the difference was in her eyes, which no longer held their old expression of ennui.

For a moment the group seemed to hold its collective breath. Then Vanessa stepped forward, holding out her hands. Nancy thought that she was about to embrace Joe. Then Vanessa checked herself, let her hands fall, and simply said "Please come in."

The door closed behind them with a click.

Vanessa led them swiftly through an airy foyer, where reproduction-antique furniture sat in conversational groupings around an attractive stone fireplace.

"That area was once a drawing room," she said, gesturing jerkily toward the hearth. Her voice sounded strained. "We had a few walls removed to open up the space for guests. On this floor we have offices, the kitchen, and the breakfast room," she added. "Upstairs we have guest rooms on the second floor and staff housing on the third. And this is my office," she concluded, opening a polished oak door and ushering them inside.

As soon as her office door had closed, Vanessa's restraint melted away.

"You're really here," she cried in a tone of unmistakable relief. She reached out again, and this time grasped Joe's hands. "I feel better already. If anyone can make this whole mess go away, it's you." She had been drawing him further into the room as she spoke. For a moment, Nancy thought she was going to throw herself into his arms. Then Vanessa seemed to hesitate, to evaluate first Joe's appearance, then Frank's, and finally Nancy's.

Her gaze swept back toward Joe. She was still standing closer than necessary, Nancy noted. She had to look up to look him in the eye. "You're...different than I'd imagined," she said.

"We're undercover," Joe said gently, disentangling himself from her hold.

"We're all looking forward to solving your case," Frank said. Nancy held back a smile. She had heard and appreciated Frank's slight emphasis on the word "all."

For a moment Vanessa looked annoyed at Frank's interjection. Then she blinked, painted on a smile, and turned to shake Frank's hand.

"Of course you are," she purred. "Forgive me. Frank, it's so good to see you again. And Nancy Drew- have we ever formally met?"

She extended a hand for Nancy to shake. Her hand was cool and slim, her handshake feminine but firm.

"I believe we were in the same Advanced Junior Ballet class in River Heights," Nancy said pleasantly, hoping that a little nostalgia might smooth their way to an amiable working relationship.

Vanessa arched an eyebrow in languid amusement. "With Madame Leonie," she said. "Oh my god, that was a long time ago. I remember, now. And I remember that you always did have a knack for sleuthing. I had no idea you were so serious about it, though."

"And I had no idea you were so serious about dancing," Nancy replied smoothly, hiding her irritation at the other woman's condescension, "but you seem to have made quite a name for yourself over the years."

"Oh," Vanessa said airily, "You know how it is. Ten percent talent, 90 percent hard work. It's honestly a relief to get away from the stage. No more insane rehearsal hours, no more stage makeup, no more sore muscles. All I have to do now is help Mom and Vince run this place and get fat on Mom's cooking." She patted her slender midsection in a self-deprecating way.

Frank cleared his throat. "Should we get down to business? I assume you already know our cover story."

Vanessa's eyes widened. "Oh, god, I'm sorry. I didn't think. Should I not have used your real names? Do you think- " here her voice dropped to a whisper- "Do you think my office is bugged?"

"No," said Joe. He had been prowling, in his usual way, since extracting himself from Vanessa's grip; peering at the desk and the bookshelf, interacting with his surroundings, while Nancy and Frank were content to be still and observe. Nancy knew that none of the three detectives had missed a detail of the room, though their individual approaches varied.

"It's probably fine," he added, returning now to stand beside Nancy.

"I would make a terrible detective. Now I understand why you never took me on any of your little adventures, Joe," Vanessa said. She walked over to her desk, ponytail bouncing, hips swaying, and retrieved a stack of folders.

"Here you are. One for Jesse," she said, winking broadly as she handed one to Joe, "one for Finn, and one for Nadia. Your cabin keys are in there, and the standard information packet we give our guests at check-in, but I've added a few extra things for you. There's a map of where each incident occurred, and a complete staff list, and- well, maybe it's easier if you just look at it."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather ask you a few questions first," Joe said.

"Oh!" Vanessa looked surprised; looked, Nancy thought, as though she had not expected to be part of the investigation. "Um. Yes. All right."

They had discussed, en route, what questions needed answers first. Now Joe hesitated, glancing first at Nancy, then at Frank. Nancy nodded to him, urging him to go ahead, and saw Frank mirror her gesture.

"Vincent Luttrell," Joe said flatly, turning back to Vanessa. "What do you know about him? Where and when did your mother meet him?"

Vanessa was already shaking her head before Joe had finished talking. "No. Don't even go there. Vince is a good guy, Joe."

"We have to ask, Vanessa."

She sighed. Relented. "Okay. Fine. It's fair. But...look, don't ask my mother anything like that, okay? Don't insinuate anything when she's around."

"We're not insinuating- "

"She's really happy with Vince," Vanessa went on stubbornly, cutting him off. "And she deserves to be happy. She's been through so much. This isn't about the money, for me, or the job, or any of it, even though Vince has worked his ass off for this place, and so has Mom, and they're both, just- they need a break, okay? I just want things to work out for them. That's why I called you. They need this to go away. No publicity, no sirens, no journalists, no suspicion. There's too much at stake."

The emotion in Vanessa's voice was raw and real. Nancy, who could relate to feeling protective of a sole remaining parent, felt a sudden pang of sympathy.

"We understand," she said softly.

There was a slight pause. Then Vanessa went on. "Mom and Vince met two years ago. They were introduced by a mutual friend. He's lived in this area for most of his life," she added, almost defiantly. "People know him. He has a good reputation. He's not some random creep. Okay?"

Joe nodded, accepting her answer.

"Anything else?" Vanessa asked.

"Why don't you go over recent events with us one more time?" Frank suggested.

Vanessa looked irritated. "I've already told you- "

"Please," Frank said. "It's helpful."

Nancy had all but forgotten how dogged Frank could be, his focus on repetition. She felt Joe shift beside her and knew that he, like herself, would rather get moving.

Focus, she told herself. He's right. Repetition is helpful. She might remember a detail that was overlooked before, or phrase something a different way, or reveal a discrepancy in the facts.

Vanessa leaned against the edge of her desk as though growing weary. "All right," she said, thinking. "Well, Vince bought this place, the Camp Sunshine property and the Caldwell property, so he could renovate it and re-open as, like, a summer getaway for couples or families instead of a kids' camp. We basically have something for everyone. You can rent a campsite, that's the cheapest option, or rent a cabin in the campgrounds, which is a little more depending on how many bedrooms and stuff. Or you can book a cabin plus resort access, which means you can use the dining hall, stable, pool, and stuff, and those are the nicest cabins. And we also have limited rooms available here in the house, for, like, honeymoons or anniversaries, that seems to be mostly who goes for that. Eventually we're hoping to have a suite of rooms for bridal parties and a gazebo or something for ceremonies."

"He really packed a lot into one property," Frank commented.

"Ambitious," Joe remarked.

"He's worked really hard." Vanessa looked proud.

"And the problems began when...?" Nancy prompted.

"The problems began," Vanessa said, "a few weeks ago. Right after we started renovations on the last group of cabins, the farthest ones, way out by the campgrounds. We weren't sure we were going to bother with them, at first, but the other ones started booking up and Vince decided it would be worth the investment."

"What happened?" Joe asked.

"What didn't happen, is more like it!" Vanessa said. "It's like those cabins are jinxed. We've had workers quit and tools go missing. A little bit of graffiti. Look, there's a full list of incidents in your folders. Do I really have to go over it again?"

Nancy flipped her folder open, found the list, and scanned it rapidly, hoping some kind of pattern would emerge. Theft of staff belongings- small amounts of money, a few pieces of jewelry. That's not unusual. Theft of tools during cabin renovation. Two cabins spray-painted with vulgar images. Kitchen window broken and kitchen ransacked. Attempted break-in at main office. Three rowboats damaged. Fire set near the stable.

"It's escalating," Joe remarked in a low tone. He had been reading over Nancy's shoulder. Now he leaned in and tapped the final item on the list. "This one worries me."

Nancy nodded her agreement. "I was thinking the same thing," she said.

Beside her, Frank snapped his folder closed. "Are these listed in chronological order?" he asked.

"Yes, Vince thought that was important- " Vanessa broke off suddenly as the door opened and a man strode in. He was tall, and would have been handsome had he been slightly less gaunt. His posture, his expression, and his stride revealed confidence, competence, and haste.

A busy man, who enjoys being busy. The kind of man who is always thinking ten steps ahead, Nancy thought.

"Vince!" Vanessa said, smiling up at the newcomer. Her smile, Nancy noticed, was girlish, genuine; the difference from her usual calculated expressions was astonishing.

"I apologize for my tardiness," the man said.

Vanessa pushed off the edge of the desk and stood up straight, with seemingly renewed energy. "Meet our rescue team," she said eagerly. "This is Joe Hardy, Frank Hardy, and Nancy Drew."

"Vince Luttrell," the man said, shaking hands with each in turn. His voice was a deep bass, his handshake firm and hearty. "Thank you for coming. From what I've read, Vanessa's faith in your ability to handle our situation is not misplaced."

"You couldn't take my word for it?" Vanessa said, pouting slightly.

"Nothing personal, hon. I learned long ago that when it comes to business, I should always do my own due diligence."

I'd say it goes farther than that, Nancy thought. Here was a man who clearly had trouble delegating- a hands-on boss in every sense of the word.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Frank said politely. "We've been admiring what you've accomplished here."

Vince nodded impassively. "Thank you. I like to think we've made a good start. Of course, it's going to be a work in progress for some time. Those hippies left the place an absolute dump," he said. He glanced at his watch. "I assume Vanessa has brought you up to speed? What's your take on the situation?"

There was a brief pause. Then Frank spoke again, at his most adult, his most diplomatic.

"I hate to bring this up, but we have to consider the possibility that these incidents could be connected to what happened here in the 70s."

Vince looked pained. "How could that be relevant? That was some nutjob with a taste for minors. This is small-time stuff."

The man's reaction was understandable. Rumors and panic could destroy his fledgling business, could mean personal and financial ruin.

But on the other hand, Nancy thought, that was quite the vehement reaction. Is he simply unwilling to consider that it could be true, or is he covering for someone?

Vince checked his watch again and shifted toward the door, obviously impatient to get back to work. "I'm counting on you to figure this out before it becomes more serious. I have a lot at stake, here."

The same phrase Vanessa used, Nancy noted.

"Vanessa will give you my cell number. It's always on, day and night. Don't hesitate to contact me. Please do, in fact, the moment you learn anything."

He strode out, exiting with the same unceremonious rapidity with which he had arrived.

After Vince had gone, Vanessa drew in a deep breath.

"Any questions?" she asked.

The three detectives exchanged glances. Then Frank shook his head. "No, not at the moment. I think we'd like to get settled in and get started."

"All right. I wish I had time to show you around," Vanessa said apologetically. "I marked your cabin on the map, and the number is on the key fob, and- oh, god, I have to warn you. We had to put you in one that hasn't been renovated yet. I'm really sorry, but the nicer ones all booked up. But," she added quickly, "it's clean, and it has a working kitchen and bathroom, so don't worry. And I made sure it was fully stocked with firewood. I know it's August, but it can get a little nippy up here at night. If you run out, just let me or Vince know and we'll have more delivered. Or you can always put those muscles to work and chop your own," she concluded, winking at Joe.

"Not a bad idea," Joe said good-naturedly. "Nothing clears the mind like physical exertion."

Was it Nancy's imagination, or did Vanessa's gaze flicker from Joe's face to Nancy's?

Frank had fished his cabin key out of his folder and was turning it thoughtfully between his fingers. Now he tucked it away in his pocket.

"We'll be in touch," he said.

As Nancy turned to follow the brothers out of the office, she felt a soft hand touch her arm. She turned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

Vanessa looked her over, her expression cool and shrewd. "You're sleeping with him. "

"Yes," Nancy said evenly. There was no point denying it, after all.

The calm on Vanessa's face never faltered. Nancy knew that her own face, likewise, betrayed nothing but polite patience. Nevertheless, she instinctively felt that she and Vanessa were circling one another, sizing each other up. She could feel herself being observed and evaluated and wished desperately, for a moment, that she had been able to meet Vanessa as herself rather than as Nadia Wheeler. Nadia's persona was ill-fitting armor against this intelligent opponent.

"And it's not just a casual arrangement," Vanessa said. Half asking, half stating the fact.

"No," Nancy agreed.

Vanessa released her arm and shrugged. "That's disappointing. I have to admit I was looking forward to riding that particular roller coaster, for old times' sake. The boy might be emotionally unavailable, but he is crazy good in bed. But I don't need to tell you that, do I?" She laughed, a breezy, confidential giggle, and the unwelcome familiarity made Nancy's hackles rise.

I was right, she thought. She did have ulterior motives for calling him.

She stepped toward the open door. "Excuse me, but I'd better catch up with my team," she said, keeping her tone pleasant. "Thank you for meeting with us. We will keep you posted on our progress."

A sense of foreboding accompanied her back through the foyer and out the front door.

I can do this. I can be professional. But can she?

Nancy frowned. The ease or difficulty of the next few days was completely in Vanessa Bender's manicured hands.