Chapter Twenty: Cake and Conversation

Now, Nancy thought, as Frank began to drive, we can speak freely. She was more eager than ever to hear about the Hardys' meeting with the reporter, and to tell them, in turn, about her conversation with Ed White.

But it was not to be. Just as she opened her mouth to say "Tell me everything," she spotted a woman struggling with an armload of grocery bags in the parking lot of Caldwell House.

"Isn't that Vanessa's mother?" she said, instead.

"Yeah," Joe said. "Is there any chance we could pretend we didn't see her?"

Frank was already pulling over. "Don't be petty," he said.

"She's not my biggest fan," Joe said. But he opened the door anyway and jumped out, offering Nancy his hand.

"Ms. Bender?" Nancy called out.

The woman paused and turned, the wariness on her face melting rapidly into recognition.

"Nancy Drew? Oh my god, how are you? The last time I saw you, you were a cygnet!"

Nancy smiled. "That's right! The 'danse des petits cygnes.' Vanessa made a lovely Odette that year," she said politely.

"You girls were all so talented," the woman said. "Those were simpler days, weren't they?"

She seemed to have the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia clamped firmly in place. Nancy, whose own life had not been simple since she took on her first case as a teen, simply nodded and said "Yes, they were. I miss doing ballet."

Joe interrupted the moment of reminiscence by stepping forward, one hand outstretched toward the shopping bags.

"Let us help with those, ma'am."

"Andrea, please," the woman said automatically, and then added "Oh! It's you," in a startled tone when she became aware that she was suddenly face-to-face with Joe Hardy.

"It's nice to see you," Joe said smoothly. "I'm sure you remember my brother?"

Frank nodded courteously. "Finn Wheeler, ma'am," he said.

Nancy smiled, feeling grateful to Frank for his tactful reminder of why they were there. Andrea Bender, on the other hand, appeared distressed by his introduction.

"Oh, no," she said, eyes widening. "I totally forgot. I hope I didn't spoil anything by saying your name, Na- I mean- oh, god, what do I call you?"

Nancy interrupted the flow of words. "It's all right," she said, gently. "There's no one around to hear."

"Forgive me, anyway. I should have thought."

"No harm done," Joe said.

"Please let us carry some of those bags," Frank said.

"Are you sure? Aren't you busy?" Andrea said, though it was a token protest. She was already surrendering her groceries into the Hardy brothers' hands.

"It's no trouble," Frank assured her.

"Just point us to where you want these," Joe added cheerfully.

Andrea locked her car and tucked her key fob into her purse. "You're angels," she said gratefully, leading the way to a side entrance. "Vince usually comes along when I do a bigger shopping trip, but he had meetings this morning. It's always something with this place, you know?" Her tone, proudly proprietary, belied her complaining words.

"It was an ambitious project, taking on a property like this," Nancy remarked.

Andrea nodded. "Keep going down this corridor," she directed. "And remind me again what your names are. I don't know if I'll ever be able to keep them straight."

"Even I almost slipped up, earlier," Nancy admitted. "But for what it's worth, while we're here I am Nadia Wheeler, and these are my cousins, Finn and Jesse."

"Oh, you've kept your first initials. Smart move!" Andrea remarked.

The side entrance she had chosen, which Nancy guessed had once been a servant's entrance, allowed them to bypass the public lobby and head directly for the behind-the-scenes portions of the old mansion. Nancy caught a glimpse, through one door, of the commercial kitchen where meals were produced for bed and breakfast guests. She would have liked to examine it more closely, and to see what was behind the few other doors opening off this passage, but Andrea steered them quickly toward the narrow stairs.

"This is the guest floor," Andrea said, rather breathlessly, when they had reached the first landing. She was not a tall woman, and was nearly trotting to keep pace with the Hardys' long strides. "We live on the third floor."

"I'm glad we happened to be passing," Nancy said. "Isn't there a service elevator or a dumbwaiter to help bring up your supplies?"

"There is, but it's out of order," Andrea said.

Nancy looked at Joe.

"Has it been tampered with?" he asked, voicing their mutual question.

Andrea giggled. It sounded only slightly forced. "You're still as suspicious as ever. No, it hasn't been tampered with. It's just old," she said. "And here we are!"

There was a bit of a wait on the final landing while Andrea rummaged her keys back up from the depths of her large purse. But finally she got the door unlocked and ushered them inside. Nancy followed Frank and Joe into a kitchen which was cozy and a bit kitsch, a homely foil to both the polished, historically-accurate style of the public areas of the mansion and the stark sterility of the commercial kitchen.

"Home sweet home," said Andrea cheerfully, tossing her purse onto the counter. Her posture, Nancy noticed, had relaxed significantly.

"Thank you again, boys. You can set those down anywhere," she added. And then, before any of the three could say anything, she clapped her hands as though with sudden inspiration.

"While I have you here, maybe you can do me another favor!" she said, flashing them a dimpled smile. "I'm testing a new coffee cake recipe for my bed-and-breakfast guests, and I would love to get some feedback on it. It should be cool enough to slice by now."

Nancy exchanged a swift look with Joe, who nodded slightly. It couldn't hurt to spend some time with her, he seemed to be saying- and Nancy agreed.

She could be a valuable resource.

"I think we're up to the task," Nancy said, smiling back.

"Wonderful. Just make yourselves at home for a minute while I get these things put away," Andrea said.

"At home" was the last way Nancy had expected to feel around any member of Vanessa's family; but here, in this homely kitchen, redolent of coffee and cinnamon and vanilla, she found herself completely at ease.

It reminds me of Hannah's kitchen, she thought. And I'd be willing to bet that she keeps a virtual autobiography on her refrigerator, just like Hannah.

While Andrea busied herself in the pantry, Nancy crossed over to get a better look at the magnets and photographs covering that appliance. Just as she had suspected, the refrigerator held Andrea's life story in pictures. Among the arcana of relatives' wedding announcements and tourist-memento magnets, Nancy could pick out a more personal thread: here was Vanessa as a baby, as a little girl, as an adolescent; Vanessa in costume for various ballet productions; Andrea as a young mother, as a doting dance parent; Andrea and Vince at a ball game, at a cabin, as guests at a black-tie affair. Front and center was a photo of Andrea and Vanessa standing outside a beachside cafe, deep tans offsetting their blonde hair and blue eyes and the jewel tones of their sundresses. They were smiling at the camera and holding tall glasses adorned with wedges of fresh fruit.

"You're probably wondering how someone like me produced someone like her," Andrea remarked, stepping onto a stool to put something away in a nearby cabinet. "I'm a dumpling, and she's a celery stick. She certainly didn't get those legs from me!"

"I was actually thinking that she looks just like you," Nancy said. Indeed, there was a strong resemblance between the two women. Andrea was shorter than Vanessa, with generous curves instead of her daughter's brittle thinness and laugh lines beginning to bracket her eyes and her mouth; but the facial resemblance was unmistakable.

Nancy herself shared her mother's distinctive hair color, her mother's delicate bone structure. She knew that much from photographs and from comments from people who had known Katherine Drew. What would it have been like, she wondered, to vacation with her mother? To shop, to swim, to share cocktails on the beach...

Andrea's voice cut through her musings.

"You flatter me," the woman said, stacking another can in the cabinet. "There," she added, getting off her step stool. "That's finished. Now, who's ready for cake?"

She lifted a tea towel embroidered with the slogan "Where there's smoke, there's dinner" off a cake pan, remarked "Vince thinks he's funny," in an explanatory way, and began to cut generous slices of cake.

"Nancy," she said, lifting the first slice onto a plate, "there's a fresh pitcher of lavender lemonade in the fridge. Do you mind grabbing it?"

"Not at all," Nancy said; wondering, as she returned to the refrigerator, about the identical fleeting looks of dismay which had crossed Frank's and Joe's faces.

"Thank you," Andrea said, "and here you go. It's a blueberry streusel coffee cake." She wagged a finger playfully as the three seated themselves on tall stools at the kitchen island. "Don't be polite, now. I need your honest opinions."

"My honest opinion is that it's delicious," Joe said.

"It's not too sweet?" Andrea asked.

"Maybe a little, for my taste," Frank admitted. "But I don't have a big sweet tooth."

"I like it," Nancy chimed in. "Coffee cake is one of my favorite desserts."

"Mine, too," Andrea admitted, with a dimpled smile. She poured a glass of the lemonade and set it in front of Joe. "I try not to sample too much of my own baking, but coffee cake is almost always worth the calories. Please do eat all you want," she added. "Heaven knows I don't need to eat the rest on my own. Vince isn't really a dessert guy, and Nessa...well, you know how dancers can be, and anyway- well. I can't blame her for being finicky, I suppose."

What does that mean? Nancy wondered. 'You know how dancers can be.' Does Vanessa have issues with food, or even an eating disorder? She glanced over at Joe, but his eyes were fixed firmly on his plate.

There were rumors, back in our dance class days, Nancy thought. Recovering from an eating disorder could certainly explain being perceived as 'finicky.'

Andrea was watching them eat, wearing the satisfied expression of a person who enjoys making and sharing good food. Nancy felt a pang of sympathy.

What must it be like for a woman who expresses herself in the kitchen, who probably expresses her love through food, to have a daughter who is not interested in eating?

"This really is very good," she said aloud. "If you don't mind, I'd love a copy of the recipe."

"Are you a baker?" Andrea asked. Despite her self-deprecating comments earlier, she now cut herself a slice of the cake and took a seat across from Nancy.

"No, I'm afraid it's not my forte," Nancy confessed.

"She's being modest. She bakes very well," Joe contradicted.

Nancy watched Andrea's gaze move from her to Joe and back again. The woman's expression was unreadable.

"I can follow a recipe," Nancy conceded. "But I have some very talented friends and family whom I could probably talk into making it for me, instead!"

"That's the way to go," a deep voice agreed. It was Vince, who had just arrived home. "Everything tastes better when someone else does the cooking."

He joined them at the kitchen island. "How's everything going?" he asked.

"And how is the cabin?" Andrea put in. "Are you comfortable? Do you have everything you need?"

Judging by the look on Vince's face, it was not their comfort that he had been inquiring about. But he patiently kept quiet and allowed them to answer Andrea first.

In truth, Nancy found the cabin to be both inconveniently distant and not entirely sanitary, and she knew that Joe and Frank felt much the same. But they had all been raised to be polite, so they all murmured things about the charming location and the well-stocked kitchen and left it at that.

"We were," Nancy could not help adding, "a little surprised by the waterbed. It's not something you find at many campgrounds."

"Oh, babe, I told you to get rid of that old thing," Andrea clucked.

Vince shrugged. "I'll get to it. Is it leaking?" he asked, addressing Joe.

Joe shook his head. "No, it's fine."

"Okay," Vince said.

"It belonged to the former caretaker," Andrea informed them. "I don't know why he wanted to stay all the way out there in that cabin. He could've picked somewhere more central. I guess some people enjoy the solitude, you know? God, I would hate it. It makes me so jumpy to think about it. Can you imagine living there without any other people on the property?"

"Who was the caretaker?" Frank asked.

"I think his name was Ronnie," Andrea began.

"No, that's not it," Vince said, kindly enough. "The caretaker's name was Chris. Nice guy. Hard worker. Kept a few of the old buildings from falling down over the years. I couldn't keep him on in that capacity when I bought the place, but he took a job in the stable and seemed happy enough to do it."

"We met him!" Nancy said, surprised. First Melanie, then Ed, now Chris...the list of people who have history with this property keeps on growing.

"He has a brother on staff, too," Vince said casually, since Nancy had evinced interest. "Does all the baking for the resort dining room. The man's a machine. Goes to show you really don't have to look far for talent. Always go local, I say. That's where the rewards are."

He had begun speaking to Nancy; but by his second sentence his focus had drifted back to the Hardys.

"It was my impression that not all the locals have been so accommodating," Frank said mildly.

Vince helped himself to a bite of cake from Andrea's plate. "Unfortunately," he said. "You met with John Cargill this morning?"

Joe nodded. "You know him?"

"We've met."

Andrea interrupted. "What do you think?" she asked, taking her fork back from Vince's hand.

"Pretty good. A little sweet," he said. He leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter. "I agreed to an interview with him a few months ago. I was hoping for some good coverage of the resort, the new amenities, all of that. Free publicity, right? But Cargill decided he wanted to play up the local conflict angle instead. He got people ten times more riled up about historical preservation than they ever would've been- I mean, look, what does your average guy on the street really care about old, falling-down houses? I've done nothing but good for this property, the camp property, and the local economy."

"Why were you talking to him?" Andrea wanted to know.

"We wanted to know if the historical preservation society could be behind the vandalism," Frank said. "We figured he'd be able to tell us more about its members."

"As it turns out, he didn't have much to tell us," Joe said. "He seemed to think that the society as a whole doesn't have that kind of teeth. But he did give us the name of one man he thought could be capable of going rogue and doing some damage, unsanctioned by the rest of the members. We still have to follow up on that, but I will keep you informed as the investigation proceeds." As he spoke, he rested his fingers lightly on Nancy's hand, as though telling her not to worry and that he would give her more information as soon as they had a moment of privacy.

"There is one way," Vince said heavily. "One thing that could broker a truce between me and them. I'm just not thrilled with the idea of compromising in an attempt to avoid future damage. I'm not the kind of guy who likes to be a doormat, you know?"

"What's the compromise?" Joe asked.

"Hold on." Vince rose and went into the other room. He came back, shortly, with a long roll of paper, which he spread out on the island. Everyone hurriedly pushed their cake plates aside to make room.

"There's an abandoned building located near one of our riding trails," he said, weighting down one curling corner of the paper with Andrea's plate.

Nancy's pulse quickened. "We've seen it," she said. "Do you know its history? Was it a medical facility of some kind?"

"It was a hospital, wasn't it?" Andrea said.

"Tuberculosis sanatorium," Vince corrected.

Frank nodded. "That's what I suspected," he said.

"It predates Camp Sunshine," Vince said, tapping the building on the property map he had spread out in front of them. "I believe it was in operation between about 1890 and 1947. The building's no use to me. It'd cost more than it's worth to restore it, and I have no need of it at the moment."

The door had opened again during his explanation. Now Vanessa sauntered over and sat down beside her mother, across from Joe.

"Are you talking about that creepy place in the woods?" she asked, twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger. "I've always wanted to get a better look in there. You have to take me with you if you're going."

"I don't like the idea of you poking around in that filthy place. What if there's mold?" Andrea objected. "I say leave it to the professionals. Can I get you some cake?"

Vanessa shook her head. "No thanks, Mom. I'll take some lemonade, though."

"Sure. Anyone for a refill?" Andrea offered, pouring a glass for her daughter.

Both Joe and Frank declined. Nancy accepted and passed her glass, all the while watching Vanessa as the blonde took a small sip, swallowed carefully, and set her glass aside. For a moment, she wore the look Nancy had seen earlier: weary and concerned. Then Vanessa rallied. She leaned in, lowering her eyelashes and looking directly at Joe.

"I haven't heard a thing since you began investigating," she said, in a playfully-scolding tone. "Why don't you bring me up to speed, since we're all here?"

"I'm sure Vince can fill you in," Frank said.

"Vince is a busy man," Vanessa said.

"Which is exactly why I don't want to waste his time going over the same ground we just covered," Joe said, gently enough. "We'll brief you soon."

"Thanks," Vince said. "Sorry, V. I've got another meeting in 30." He turned back to the detectives. "Like I was saying, I think I could work out a deal with these guys. I don't have any use for the sanatorium, but it'd be a valuable resource for them. If I gave them access to the site, I imagine they'd be a little more lenient about whatever else I choose to do on my own property. But I'm not sure I'm willing to play that card yet. You guys say you've seen the place?"

"We passed by this afternoon," Joe said.

"Maybe you could keep an eye on it," Vince suggested. He was frowning slightly, now. "If anyone affiliated with the preservation society is behind my problems, they'd know there was a building there."

Nancy thought about this. Could the sleeping bag in the sanatorium belong to the rogue historical society member?

They could be using the abandoned building as a base of operations while they try to drive Vince off the property, she thought.

"We were planning to check it out more thoroughly," Frank told Vince.

"I'm in," Vanessa said promptly. "Why don't we meet at your cabin at four o'clock and go over?"

"Why not meet at the stable and ride out? Saves you a hike," Vince said. "I'll text Melanie and have her reserve some horses."

"I really don't think it's a good idea," Andrea murmured.

"Mom," Vanessa said, impatient now.

"I'm not sure riding out as a group fits our cover," Nancy said.

"That's true. Why would a high-level employee go for a trail ride with some random guests?" Joe said.

Vanessa caught a bead of condensation rolling down her glass and licked it delicately off her fingertip, eying the Hardys. "A summer fling, maybe?" she suggested. "Nice girl meets bad boy. It's classic."

"Finn is gay, apparently," Frank said, glancing at Nancy.

Vanessa winked at Joe. "Then I guess you're up, Jesse."

"Can you make it sooner than four?" Frank asked. He was tapping his fingers against the side of his mostly-full cup of lemonade, Nancy realized. The gesture was oddly silent without his wedding ring clinking against the glass.

"No," Vanessa said. "I have a prior commitment. But I'm sure there are other leads you could follow up for a few hours."

"You're good to go. She'll tell you which horses to take," Vince said, looking up from his phone.

"Then it's all settled!" Vanessa said brightly.

There was an uncomfortable pause. Nancy knew that Frank and Joe, like herself, were likely feeling frustrated by Vince's backing up Vanessa as well as by Vanessa's intrusion into their investigation. They had been unable to work freely earlier due to Daria's presence; and now it seemed likely that their next visit would be similarly hampered by Vanessa's presence.

Nancy took in a deep breath and let it out, deliberately releasing her tension. She turned to Vince.

"Speaking of Melanie," she said.

Vince held up a hand. "I know. I've spoken to her about smoking near the stable," he said immediately. "For what it's worth, she claims not to have been there the night of the fire. I'd hate to have to let her go. She's efficient and good with the horses."

Efficient? Nancy thought dubiously, remembering the casually-waived paperwork. But since she was there to investigate the vandalism, not to conduct employee reviews, she did not press the issue.

"Were you aware that she had been a camp counselor here?" she asked instead.

"I don't see how that is relevant."

"In light of the cold case- "

Vince cut her off. "She was a kid, too, then. Not a suspect. I don't see any reason to go down that route."

Why is he so uncomfortable with any reference to the Camp Sunshine case?

Before she could probe the subject any further, Vince checked his watch ostentatiously.

"Before I go, I'd like to hear about your plans going forward," he said. "Aside from monitoring the sanatorium, of course."

"Well," Frank said, looking thoughtfully at the map of the property. "The targeted sites have mostly been public areas. Guest attractions."

"With the exception of the office," Joe said.

"And the cabin," Nancy chimed in.

"Still," Frank concluded, "the overall pattern suggests that this is the work of an individual or individuals who would like to see your business fail. I think our best course of action is to set up shifts to keep an eye on certain public-use locations around the property, while following up on the name Cargill gave us and continuing to gain the confidence of the staff. Somebody has to have seen something, even if they didn't know it was significant at the time."

He paused and looked at Joe, then at Nancy. They both nodded. It was, in typical Frank fashion, both a concise and reasonable plan.

"Good," Vince said. "I am looking into stepping up resort security. Meeting with the security company in a few minutes, actually. They've been dragging their feet on getting my cameras installed."

He checked his watch again, stood, and reached for the edge of the paper.

"What's this?" Joe asked, putting his finger down near the outskirts of the resort property.

Vince paused and took a closer look.

"There's nothing there anymore," he said. "It used to be an old farmhouse, but it burned down about five years ago. There might still be a foundation, maybe a root cellar. Like the sanatorium, it's not something that's of any use to me."

He began rolling the map in preparation for leaving.

"I apologize for running out like this," he said.

"No problem," Joe assured him.

Vince pushed back his stool and stood, resting a hand lightly on Andrea's shoulder. "As far as the renovation plans you asked about," he said, addressing Frank, "for the immediate future my main focus is getting the last few cabins redone. Then I'll probably focus on a swimming pool upgrade. We're also, as I think we've mentioned, looking into provisions for offering complete wedding packages. That will mean an on-site chapel at some point, as well as an indoor reception space."

"Thanks," Frank said. "That could help us narrow our focus."

The three detectives rose, following Vince's lead.

"Thank you for the cake," Nancy said to Andrea. "It really was delicious."

"Come back any time," Andrea said.

"I'll see you at four," Vanessa reminded them.

. . . . . .

Back in the truck, Joe grabbed a half-finished bottle of water from the center console, took a quick swig, and handed it over to Frank.

Bewildered, Nancy looked from one brother to the other. Frank was swishing a mouthful of water around in his mouth, and a laughing Joe was reaching for the bottle again.

"Yardley's Old English Lavender," he said, seeing that Nancy was watching him.

"The soap?" Nancy said.

Frank swallowed with a grimace. "God. That brought back some memories."

"Yardley's was Aunt Gert's weapon of choice for washing out the mouths of small nephews who were caught swearing," Joe explained.

Nancy had caught on, at this point. "I thought you both looked a little appalled by the lemonade," she said, laughing. "You poor things."

Joe put the truck into reverse. "To this day, the smell of lavender makes me want to curse like a sailor," he confessed.

"Does Aunt Gertrude know her methods backfired so spectacularly?" Nancy inquired.

"No," Joe said firmly. "And she never will."