Chapter Sixteen: The Trio Investigates
By the time Nancy rejoined Frank and Joe in the kitchen, they had either finished or abandoned their card game and were in the midst of preparing dinner. Frank was at the stove, flipping hamburgers, while Joe sliced vegetables for a salad. He looked up when Nancy entered and, before she could say anything, asked "How's Bess?"
"Angry, I think," she said, helping herself to a slice of cucumber from the bowl.
"Rightfully so," Frank commented.
"Hey," Joe objected playfully. "Thieves don't get dinner."
Nancy pointedly took another slice and then turned away to retrieve a jar of pickles from the refrigerator- noticing, as she did so, that Vanessa had been more than generous when she stocked their food supplies.
"She's having dinner with Callie tonight," she said, setting the pickles on the table and adding a stack of paper plates. Vanessa's generosity had not extended to real dishes. "George is completely caught up in figuring out who Tom's been seeing, and now she's roped Burt into her surveillance project. They just might crack it before he confesses."
"You think he's going to?" Frank asked.
"It's Tom," Nancy said simply. "He's never had the strongest willpower."
"Especially when it comes to Bess," Joe put in.
Nancy nodded. "I think the emotional pressure is going to make him blurt out the truth before long."
Frank flipped a burger. Shrugged. "Shame is a pretty powerful silencer," he said.
"I know."
There was a pause. Nancy watched Joe reach for a tomato and slice it with almost mesmerizing precision. She sighed.
"Whether we hand her a name or not, Bess has to find her way forward from this."
"She shouldn't have to. What he did was reprehensible," Frank said.
Nancy looked at him, surprised by the degree of loathing in his voice.
He's a parent, too, she remembered. He must hate to imagine a person cheating on the mother of his children.
"Bess has a good support system. She'll get through this," Joe said.
"She will," Nancy agreed. Then, more briskly, she went on. "Now, for a complete change of subject. What did you learn this afternoon?"
The brothers exchanged a look.
"You first," Frank said.
Nancy bit back the impulse to argue- as eager as she was to hear what the others had discovered, bickering over the order would only waste time- and summed up her afternoon in a few concise sentences. She filled them in on her encounter with Wellesley Withers; her profitable gossip session with Lidia; her introduction to Daria's ghost-hunting ambitions; and her conversation with Melanie, former camp counselor and current stable-fire suspect.
"Wellesley is probably harmless," she concluded. "Lidia is definitely worth cultivating a friendship with. She's astute and observant. We're going to have to keep an eye on Daria and on Melanie. Now tell me about your day."
"Hold on," Joe protested, setting the finished salad on the table. "I have questions. Was Melanie there the night of the fire?"
"And what makes you say Withers is probably harmless? We can't dismiss him right out of the gate," Frank added.
Nancy sat, nodding her thanks to Joe, who had pulled out her chair for her. "I didn't get the sense that he is focused enough to commit the kind of vandalism Vanessa reported. He's more the confrontational type. Whatever's going on here feels like a reaction, not an action."
She glanced around the table. Frank and Joe both nodded thoughtfully, processing her evaluation.
"If we understood why the particular sites that were vandalized were chosen, we might understand the motivation," Frank said.
"Did you get a good look at them this afternoon?" Nancy asked.
Joe passed her the salad. "Pretty good," he said. "Between the two of us, we looked at every site except the other cabin."
"We split up almost as soon as we left our cabin," Frank explained.
Joe nodded. "I ran into Vanessa early on and took the chance to get that list we needed. She wasn't thrilled, but I got her to agree to look the other way while I got into the office computer for a few minutes." Though his words were casual, Nancy could imagine what it had taken to get access- the flirting, the cajoling, the persuasion.
"Exhibit A," he added, pulling a folded printout from his pocket and slapping it down on the table. "Caldwell House Resort and Campgrounds guests, current and former, dating back to its opening day this past April."
Nancy unfolded it and scanned the list, hoping to spot anything significant. Frank leaned in, too, squinted at the page, and abruptly stood.
"Grabbing my glasses," he said, heading for his bag in the other room.
He must be more tired than he's letting on, Nancy thought, catching Joe's eye. She raised an eyebrow, and Joe shrugged.
"He didn't say anything earlier," he said in a low tone.
Nancy continued reading names and dates. When Frank sat back down she pushed the page his way.
"Anything jump out at either of you?" he asked, smoothing the creases.
Joe tapped a name. "This family has the same surname as one of the preservation group members quoted in the local paper. They were pretty vehemently anti-resort. I already called the newspaper office and left a message for the reporter, asking if she could get me in touch with the organization."
"Good work," Frank said approvingly. "I'm afraid I didn't turn up anything useful. I went to the kitchen, first, just to scope out the area. Entrances, sightlines, access…" He shrugged. Nancy and Joe were both nodding. They all knew that the odds of finding a tangible clue at any of the sites were slim, thanks to the passage of time and Vince's clean-up efforts.
"What's your assessment?" Joe asked.
"It wouldn't be hard to get to that window unnoticed," Frank said. "There's plenty of cover and it's at the back of the building, nothing else back there but trees. You'd just have to know your window of opportunity- "
"Ha!" Joe interjected.
"Pun not intended," Frank went on, shaking his head at his own choice of words. "And you'd really have to take the time to familiarize yourself with the schedule. Staff arrive early for the breakfast shift, stay late to clean up after dinner, and hang out back there at all hours on their breaks to smoke and eat and talk. There's a little patio area with a low stone wall they like to sit on. I tried to hang out for a bit and listen in, because in a place like this there has to be some kind of theory going around, or at least gossip. There's got to be someone the other staff members don't like or trust." He paused and took a sip of water. "No dice, though. They noticed me and clammed up. I even bummed a cigarette as an excuse for lurking around and smoked it as slowly as humanly possible, but they wouldn't open up around me. Finally I gave up on that angle and walked out to the lake to check out the rowboats- "
"Which is where I caught up with him," Joe finished, grinning. "Coughing, disentangling himself from a blackberry bush on the shoreline, and cussing a blue streak."
"Not my finest moment," Frank acknowledged.
"Do you miss your desk job yet?" Nancy teased.
Frank laughed. "I wouldn't miss this. Thorns and all."
"The rowboats are basically just sitting out in the open," Joe said. "Anyone could have accessed them. Like Frank said before, it's just a matter of knowing when no one will be around."
"It would be the same with the attempted break-in at the main office," Nancy said thoughtfully. "The only thing on the list that we could use to narrow our suspect pool is the petty theft of staff belongings."
"Which suggests a staff member is our perp," Joe said, nodding.
"Unless," Frank began.
Joe groaned. "He's about to complicate things."
"Unless," Frank said again, "we're dealing with two different cases here. One small-time thief and one vandal."
Nancy rose from the table to grab her folder. Shuffled through the papers and pulled out the staff directory. "That might make the most sense," she said. "What would a staff member have to gain by damaging or closing the camp? They'd be out of a job. But any guest could easily observe the camp's schedules, learn their times of opportunity, and act."
"Which leads us right back to the historical preservation society," Joe said, absently eating the last bite of his burger.
"Or," Nancy said, "it could go back farther than that. Think about it. None of this began until Vince started renovating this row of cabins. These buildings must be significant, somehow. And significant enough to make the perp really scared, really determined. Look at the way the damage escalated."
"In which case the person is going to act again soon, and in a big way," Frank said.
Joe started clearing the table. "So, to sum up," he said. "Option A: our guy is a member of the preservation society who is targeting the business to reclaim Caldwell House. Option B: the camp is the target of a disturbed individual, either a local or someone vacationing here. And Option C, because Nancy thinks it's possible: the bodies of the missing girls are hidden in one of these cabins and someone does not want construction crews to uncover the evidence."
Frank looked even more skeptical than Joe had sounded. "You're suggesting that the bodies have been hidden in one of these tiny cabins for this long and no one thought to look there?"
Nancy had collected the pan and the knife and cutting board. Since the Hardys had cooked, she intended to do the washing up- what little there was, anyway.
"Maybe they didn't bother looking because the cabins are tiny," she countered. "Maybe the investigation was botched. Maybe the officers working the case weren't very smart. We have to check it out."
"Fair enough," Frank agreed. "Are we ready to go take a look at the vandalized cabin?"
"Lets start with this one," Joe said unexpectedly. "We might as well be thorough," he added, grabbing the big flashlight which stood on the kitchen counter in case of power outages. Nancy could not help smiling at him. He was always ready to trade speculation for action, and she loved him for that.
Searching their cabin was the work of a few minutes. The building, small as it was, offered few realistic hiding places. The three detectives peered into every cabinet, tapped walls and floorboards, and investigated the attic, a cramped space where even a child could not have stood upright. For the sake of thoroughness Nancy, as the smallest member of the team, valiantly wriggled into the crawl space beneath the cabin; but all she found there was a broken bong, two used condoms, and a multitude of empty bottles.
"Ugh," she said, retreating backwards into the open air. "That wasn't worth it."
"Nothing?" Joe asked.
"Just garbage," she said in disgust.
"Short of tearing up walls and floors, there's not much else we can do," Frank said.
"I know." Nancy sighed. She brushed dirt off her elbows and knees, feeling frustration set in.
Her mood brightened again, however, as they made their way down the path toward the cabin which had been vandalized. It was possible, after all, that the renovations in progress could have uncovered some feature of the cabin which was previously unnoticed. And even if that proved not to be the case, simply being at work with her team was enough to lift her spirits. Part of her had been worried that she might feel superfluous, or even intrusive, alongside the reunited brothers; but those fears had proved ungrounded. The trio felt natural, seamless.
And why not? Nancy scolded herself. This is hardly your first collaboration. How many times have we worked together in the past?
"You know what?" Frank said suddenly. "This feels good."
"You read my mind!" Nancy said.
Beside her, Joe grinned. "It's good to have you back," he said.
Nancy could feel joy radiating from him like warmth from a furnace. She wanted, badly, to reach for his hand, and had to content herself with a look and a smile.
. . . .
The cabin was surrounded by a temporary chain-link fence bearing several official-looking placards: DI SANTO CONSTRUCTION, in the middle, flanked by several large DANGER and DO NOT ENTER signs. Joe raised an eyebrow at these, looking vaguely amused. He examined the lock on the gate and patted it condescendingly.
"Cute," he remarked.
"Less posturing, more lock-picking," Frank said impatiently.
"I could pick this in my sleep," Joe muttered, working on it. "So much for security. They might as well have tied the gate shut with a piece of spaghetti."
"Joe!" Frank said.
"Relax. It's open."
Nancy led the way inside.
"Don't put your picks away," she called back softly. "The front door is locked, too."
"My turn?" Frank asked hopefully.
"Think you can handle it?" Joe asked, handing over his tools.
Frank scoffed. "What kind of amateur do you take me for?"
All banter ceased the moment the lock turned. With only a quick exchange of looks for guidance, all three fell into tactical positions. Joe reached over to turn the knob and push the door open, smoothly and silently. For a heartbeat, they waited. And when the interior remained dark and still they stepped forward- Joe in the lead, training his flashlight forward; Nancy and Frank falling smoothly into place behind him and then fanning out to check the other rooms.
"Clear," Frank announced.
"Clear," Joe agreed, tucking his gun back into his waistband.
"I didn't see that," Frank muttered.
"It's identical to our cabin," Nancy remarked, looking around. "The layout, anyway."
She moved around the room, picking her way around construction debris and keeping her light low and dim so as not to advertise their presence. All of her senses were keyed up, every fiber of her body on high alert.
No sign of shag carpeting here, she noted. They seem to have finished work on this room and the kitchen.
The bedroom and bathroom were still very much in progress. Nancy peered into both rooms, picking her way around construction debris- old pink tile fragments, piles of sawdust and grit, stray buckets and pallets of materials.
"What's our objective here?" Frank said from the other room.
Nancy turned to speak to him. "Look for anything unusual," she said, ignoring the prickly feeling she got from the dark bathroom behind her.
"That's not vague enough," Frank grumbled.
"The landscape here, so to speak, doesn't help us," Joe commented. "There are too many potential entry points. Our vandal could have picked the lock or vaulted the fence or already had a key."
Nancy had turned back to the bathroom, now, and was examining it minutely in the beam of her flashlight.
"The bathroom in this one is bigger than ours," she called.
Joe joined her. "Looks like they knocked out a closet or something to enlarge it."
"Do we have a closet?"
"Not that I saw." He shivered, suddenly.
"Cold?" Nancy asked.
"No, random chill," he said, shrugging. "There's nothing here. Let's check out the attic."
The bathroom size was the only anomaly their search of the interior unearthed.
"I hate to ask you to do this twice in one day," Frank said, re-locking the cabin door.
Nancy was already nodding. "On it," she said, circling the cabin and looking for an entry point into the crawl space.
"Anything interesting?" Joe asked, poking his head in behind her.
"Cobwebs," Nancy said, waving clinging strands away from her face. "Ugh. I'm coming out. There's nothing down he- "
She broke off, mid-word, and reached for the small object glinting in her flashlight's beam.
"What've you got, Nan?" Joe asked.
Nancy wriggled free and sat up, rubbing dirt from the small object between her thumb and forefinger.
"I thought it was the tab from a soda can, at first," she said, holding it out.
Frank leaned in, squinting. "A broken bracelet?"
"No," Nancy said, excitedly manipulating the links.
"It's a puzzle ring!" Joe said, catching on.
"Ta-da!" Nancy proudly dropped the re-assembled ring into Joe's palm. She rose, brushing loose earth from her knees and elbows. "I'm afraid it's not a good lead, though. They were trendy in the 70s. Any number of campers could have dropped it."
"This whole property must be covered in lost jewelry," Joe said. "You could have a field day here with a metal detector."
"So it's not proof that any specific person was ever in this cabin," Frank said.
"Unfortunately, no." Nancy took the ring back and slipped it onto her finger for safekeeping.
I wonder if it would be worth wearing this around the stable, she thought, following Frank and Joe back toward their own cabin. It might elicit a reaction from Melanie, or jog her memory somehow.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Frank was yawning by the time they reached their cabin.
"Excuse me," he said politely. "I didn't get much sleep last night."
Nancy elbowed Joe, curtailing whatever ribald remark was on the tip of his tongue, at the same moment that Frank blushed.
"Not like that!" he added quickly. "Callie tosses and turns a lot, lately."
Nancy nodded sympathetically. Thanks to years of detective work, all three were light sleepers. But while Nancy had retained the ability to switch herself into and out of work mode, the Hardys seemed to live permanently in a state of high alert.
"Can't you sleep on the couch or something?" Joe asked.
Frank shot him an older-brotherly look of disdain. "Right," he said. "I should definitely abandon my very pregnant wife and make myself comfortable elsewhere." He shook his head. "It's my fault she's uncomfortable. The least I can do is keep her company."
He was, Nancy noted with interest, still unable to help letting pride suffuse his tone when he referred to Callie as his wife.
"Good point," Joe said, a bit sheepishly. "I didn't think that through."
"Let's get the sofa bed made up," Nancy suggested, partly to smooth over the awkward moment and partly because she, herself, was suddenly very ready to get to bed.
While Frank retrieved the extra set of blankets from the bedroom, Joe and Nancy unfolded the orange sofa into an uncomfortable-looking bed.
"Do you want help with the sheet?" Nancy asked, lingering a moment.
Frank waved her off. "I've got it. Thanks."
She left him wrestling a sheet onto the thin mattress and went to make her own preparations for bed. Joe had thoughtfully laid out her toiletries on the shelf above the rose-colored sink. Nancy washed up, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair vigorously to remove any lingering cobwebs.
It's not worth fighting with that shower again, she thought, glaring at the offending bit of plumbing.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Joe was already lying on the bed. He yawned and patted the spot beside him.
"It doesn't bite," he said sleepily.
"I can't believe we have to sleep on this thing," Nancy said, approaching it with reluctance. She was not, in general, a squeamish person. She had stayed at her share of dingy motels, had spent days holed up in abandoned buildings, had slept on whatever semi-horizontal surface was available many times over the years. But this bed, it appeared, was where she drew the line. She eased herself gingerly down beside Joe and cringed at the rippling sensation.
"At least the sheets smell clean," she muttered. "Don't move, Joe. You'll make it worse."
"Can I at least turn off the lamp?" he asked, laughing.
"I'll get it, if you want," Frank said from the doorway. He held up his toiletries bag half-apologetically. "Sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping. Just passing through to get a shower."
"Thanks," Nancy said, watching him switch off the lamp. Was it her imagination, or did the room feel slightly cooler already?
"No problem. I'll try to be quick in here so I don't keep you up."
"Take your time. I've always wondered what sex on a waterbed is like," Joe said, teasing him.
Frank did not rise to the bait. "Probably a lot like sex on a trampoline," he said, and closed the bathroom door with an air of finality.
"They had sex on a trampoline?" Joe wondered out loud. "Whose trampoline?"
Moving cautiously, so as not to disturb the mattress, Nancy reached for Joe's hand. She meant it as a companionable gesture, a bit of friendly contact, and was surprised when the sensation of their fingers sliding together sent a shiver down her spine. Joe caressed her palm with his thumb, gently and purposefully.
"You don't actually want to have sex, do you?" Nancy asked, closing her eyes in appreciation. It was good to touch him again, to set aside the masks they had worn all day and be themselves.
"He won't be in there long enough," Joe said- which was not, Nancy thought, a real answer to her question.
In the wall beside them, the old pipes groaned and creaked. She heard water rushing and then a muffled yelp.
"I forgot to warn him about that damn shower," Joe said drowsily.
"It's the worst," Nancy agreed, yawning. She had not realized how tired she was until now. It was nice just to lie there in the cocooning darkness, her fingers tangled loosely with Joe's; to rest, and to think, and to talk about nothing in particular.
Somehow, they were both still awake when Frank came out of the bathroom.
"Good night," he said quietly, and closed the bedroom door behind him.
In the privacy of the closed room Joe carefully rolled onto his side, rested a hand on the curve of Nancy's waist, and kissed her. The kiss was soft and sweet; a question, not a demand, and one Nancy found herself answering with escalating intensity. Heat prickled between them, blossoming against her skin at every point of contact.
Oh, she thought, surprised, and then There's my answer, I suppose.
She pulled away, slightly. Rested her forehead against his, catching her breath. Listened to the rumble of Frank's voice from the other room, pausing and then speaking, the words indistinct.
He must be on the phone, she thought.
Joe's lips brushed hers again, asking their voiceless question. Do you want to?
The truth was that Nancy did not know what she wanted. Her body was on board with the idea, but her brain was not ready to participate.
You're not being fair, it was telling her. You can't keep doing this, like nothing is wrong, nothing is changing. You have to tell him.
He noticed her hesitation, of course. He pulled back and looked at her and said "Nan?" very softly.
She leaned into him, breaking eye contact. Let her hand flutter to rest on his bicep, anchoring herself to his strength, and considered, briefly, how best to phrase her thoughts.
"What's up?" he asked. "Are you still upset about Vanessa?"
"No!" she said quickly. "God, no. It's just- "
There it was: an opening, an opportunity, a responsibility. Nancy's throat constricted and she swallowed hard. Swallowed again. And lost her nerve.
"It's just, Frank is right out there," she concluded, rather lamely.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dim room enough to see that Joe was looking at her strangely, now. And well he might. They had shared a small apartment with Frank and Callie for some time. Both couples had quickly accepted that proximity meant, inevitably, familiarity with every aspect of one anothers' routines. They all had learned to treat the subject of intimacy like adults, neither flaunting nor hiding their activities.
He knows I'm not being honest, Nancy thought miserably.
Joe was kind, though. He made no attempt to pressure her, either for the whole truth or for sex.
"Okay," he said gently. "I get it, Nan. Let's get some sleep."
"No," she blurted out.
"No?" he echoed, arching an eyebrow.
Nancy blushed. "I do want you," she said softly. "Just go slow. Give me time to get my head in the right place."
"Don't take this the wrong way," Joe said, smiling and kissing her again, "but if we go too slow I might fall asleep."
Nancy laughed. "I'll try not to be too offended," she told him. She traced a finger along his chest, skirting the new tattoo and remembering the appreciative noise he had made at the first stinging contact of needle to skin.
"I was really hoping to find something conclusive at that cabin," she said slowly, drawing her fingertip in idle circles against his skin.
"I know," Joe said. "It's frustrating not to have a concrete motive." He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. His breath was warm against her palm. He nuzzled against the sensitive skin and Nancy sighed, feeling her heartbeat accelerate and her body soften.
I don't want to fight this, she thought.
His lips parted, his tongue flicked lightly against her inner wrist, and Nancy knew she was lost.
"Why does that feel so good?" she gasped, working her free hand into his hair.
"If I didn't know the right spots by now," Joe began. He trailed off in favor of pressing his lips to her wrist again, following the line of her veins up her arm and into the crease of her elbow with lewd open-mouthed kisses which made every nerve flare to life.
Neither of them showed any sign of sleepiness now. Joe rose up to plant one knee between hers and leaned in to kiss her again, slow and deep this time; but he kept his body away from hers, leaving it up to Nancy to loop her arms around his back and pull him close.
The mattress swayed under their shifted weight. Nancy grimaced.
"I really don't want to get naked on this thing," she said against Joe's lips, half laughing and half apologetic.
"What do you want to do?" Joe asked, catching her earlobe between his teeth to make her squirm.
"Maybe just this?" she said, reaching down to cup him over his shorts. She watched his eyes flutter closed, felt him inhale sharply.
"Yeah," he said shakily. "Yeah, that feels good." And then his composure returned and he flashed her a mischievous grin. "A handjob in a staff cabin? How fitting."
"Oh, hush," Nancy told him. "Keep your inappropriate summer camp fantasies to yourself." She flattened her hand against his abs and slid it past his waistband.
"Nothing inappropriate about two con- oh, god, yes- consenting camp counselors hooking up."
Nancy silenced him by the most expedient method, a calculated combination of lips and tongue and friction which reduced him to temporary incoherence. After a few minutes of this she let up, slightly. Slowed down and let him catch his breath.
"Do you really think I'm being stupid, looking for connections between this case and the missing girls?" she asked, feeling braver in the dark.
"First of all, I never think you're stupid," Joe said.
"Good answer."
"I wasn't done!" he complained. He had been bracing some of his weight on his forearms, partly to give her hand room to move between them and partly out of courtesy. Now he sank down onto her, pushing their bodies together, trapping her hand, and crashing his lips into hers. When he finally pulled away enough to speak his voice was rough and breathless.
"I know how much you want it all to be connected," he said. "And yeah, maybe I think it's a longshot, but I trust your instincts, and I'll try to be less skeptical in front of Frank."
"Thank you," Nancy said, pressing her face into the side of his neck. She brushed her lips against his skin, feeling the swift, reassuring rhythm of his pulse.
"Don't leave a mark," Joe whispered.
"I didn't even bite you," Nancy scolded, biting him. Gratifyingly, he moaned.
"Quiet," she admonished in a stern whisper. "Frank will hear you."
"Frank is on the phone. He's not paying attention."
She was trembling, now. She slid a hand down Joe's back and rested it on his sacrum, pressing him closer, arching up to ground herself against the solidity of his body.
"I wanted to touch you all day," she murmured, and then said "Oh!" in surprise and pleasure, because Joe had rolled them easily back onto their sides and stroked a hand up her thigh.
"Bend your knee," he said, encouraging her into a position where he could stroke her more easily. "Like that. Yes. God, Nan."
They were both quiet, for a few minutes, adrift in a dreamy fog of lust and exhaustion. The only sounds in the room were the drip of water from the bathtub faucet, the slick slip of skin against skin, the occasional gasping inhale. Then Joe made an unexpected motion with his fingers which made Nancy cry out without remembering to stifle herself, and they both dissolved into laughter.
"Quiet," Joe panted.
"Sorry," Nancy murmured, not feeling sorry at all. "Do it again."
"Are you close?" he asked. His voice had gone dark and rough; if Nancy had not been close to orgasm already, that tone would have pushed her to the edge.
"Yes," she gasped. "Please."
. . . . . .
In the afterglow, Joe reached for her hand again and squeezed it. "We are damn good at that," he said sleepily.
"Even half-clothed and half-asleep," Nancy agreed, petting him lazily. She leaned over to kiss his shoulder, which was faintly salty with perspiration.
"I love you," he said.
She kissed him again. "I love you," she said, softly. "Get some sleep."
. . . . . . . .
For a long time, Nancy lay awake, staring into the darkness and listening to Joe's slow, even breathing beside her. As tired as she was, her brain would not shut off. She found herself cycling through the facts of the case and the events of the day until she landed on the one topic she had been trying to avoid contemplating: Vanessa Bender.
She was worried about something, earlier, Nancy thought, remembering the glimpse of Vanessa's unguarded face she had caught on her way to the stable. But her personal concerns probably aren't relevant to the case.
Still, the way Vanessa's social facade had dropped into place so quickly bothered Nancy.
What do I really know about her?, she wondered.
Most of what she knew, she thought, sifting through facts and impressions, was old information, stored up during their adolescence. She really new nothing about Vanessa as an adult, other than what she had gleaned today.
She reminds me of Bess, a little bit, Nancy realized. Intelligent, gorgeous, prone to using her body to manipulate people's attention and their actions. And a flirt, obviously.
She ached to turn over, but did not want to wake Joe with her restlessness. She frowned into the darkness and thought And she likes to get her own way. I'll be surprised if she doesn't still make a play for Joe, regardless of that little chat we had about our relationship.
The thought made her feel angry, first at Vanessa for acting as though she had a prior claim to Joe, and then at herself for being territorial.
To be fair, she went on, to appease her prickling conscience, she seems to genuinely care about this place and about her mother and Vince. She's loyal and hard-working, and level-headed enough to know when she's in over her head.
She sighed. It would be easier if people were all good or all bad. If I could just dislike her outright, this would be much less exhausting!
The urge to move had become too compelling to ignore. Nancy turned over carefully, seeking a cooler spot, a more comfortable position. She glanced at Joe and found him still sleeping peacefully. Nancy smiled and smoothed his tousled hair, feeling a swell of affection and of gratitude.
Sleep was coming, finally; it was lapping at the edges of her mind like a rising tide. She managed one last coherent thought before the waves dragged her under: I wonder if Daria has seen a ghost yet.