Chapter Three: Stakeout
Conveniently for the young sleuths' purposes, Kate's house was the last one on a cul-de-sac, with nothing behind it but a long backyard and the tall fence which marked the edge of the development. Nancy and George parked under the cover of some out-of-control blackberry bushes and sat in the dark, binoculars trained on Kate's yard, steadily growing colder and more restless. A raw, wet wind whistled around the car and blew one branch against the side in a maddening thwack, thwack, thwack.
George shifted in her seat, flexing her hands to crack her knuckles. "When's the last time we did this, Nan?"
"Oh," Nancy said, racking her brain. "Years, maybe. A long time. Probably before you enlisted. Not as much fun as you remembered?"
"Who's not having fun?" George retorted. She reached into her hoodie pocket and tossed a bright yellow bag into the center console. "Peanut M&Ms. I know they're a far cry from Bess's macadamia nut cookies, but they're a good distraction."
"Awesome." Nancy, in her turn, extracted a four-pack of energy drinks from her bag. "I brought the jet fuel."
"That stuff is so bad for you."
"And M&Ms aren't?"
"Fair enough," George conceded. Nancy popped the tab on one of the cans.
"I am exhausted," she told her friend. "Beyond exhausted. I waved bye-bye to exhaustion three hours ago. I think at this point I qualify as a zombie. And I am freezing and bored and for once in my life I would rather be in bed than sitting in a car,waiting for a mystery to show up."
"What happened? I thought you were off for a nice peaceful family dinner," George said, digging into the candy.
"Nice, peaceful- " Nancy broke off. "George. Over the course of one dinner Joe and I had our first real fight, Callie and I got verbally abused by Aunt Gertrude, and Callie got manipulated into telling the whole family some news she wasn't ready to tell. It was awful."
"I'm not even sure where to start with all that. You and Joe are okay?"
"We're okay. We never really dealt with Iola, if you know what I mean, and sort of Chernobyl-ed this afternoon." Nancy knew that George, unlike Bess, didn't want the he-said, she-said play-by-play. "Gertrude called me a slut, basically, and made nasty references to my engagement to Ned. And Callie...shit, George, I should have led with this. She's the third."
George's jaw dropped. "No way. Callie's knocked up?" She laughed. "Perfect Callie? No freaking way. Is Frank shellshocked?"
"Actually, Frank was incredibly sweet about it. He's really happy."
"That's insane." George absentmindedly cracked open an energy drink and took a swig, grimacing as the taste hit her. Nancy was already three-quarters done with her first. She tipped up the can and downed the remaining contents in one gulp, shuddering gratefully as she felt the caffeine tingle through her bloodstream. That was better. Now, if only it were a little warmer.
Next time you go into business as a private investigator, do it in a warmer climate. Like Hawaii, she thought. With a sigh, she reached for her binoculars and did a quick scan of Kate's yard. Nothing.
"Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse," she said. "Heard from Bess yet?"
"She's been sending me pics of the beach ever since they landed. It's obnoxious." George evidently shared Nancy's distaste for the bleak weather they'd been having.
"And you're watching Myra all week?"
"Mostly. Trading off with Bess's parents. Between Myra and work, I'm not going to be able to help out too much on this thing." George pulled a wry face. Nancy just laughed at her. She knew Myra was George's moon and stars.
"That's okay, George. I've brought in a consultant."
"Tall blond guy? Really smart, but talks too much?"
"That's the one." Nancy reached for the candy and popped a handful into her mouth.
"You can really work together, your personal relationship being what it is?"
"You and I are working together, aren't we?"
"We're not sleeping together, though. There's a difference."
"You think a dating relationship is automatically too weak to hold up to the pressure of mutual crime-solving?"
"Well. Yeah."
"George, you cynic." Nancy ran her fingers through her hair, gathering it up mindlessly into a ponytail.
George wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Really though. Sitting together in a car in the dark and you think you could keep your mind on your work?"
Nancy laughed. "Fair enough. Car sex isn't my favorite, though."
"Really? I had you pegged as the adventurous type."
"Oh, definitely. But it's so cramped and awkward in here. The hood of the car, that's a different story."
George shook her head. "You know I'm usually first in line for anything risky, but that's something I don't get. There's no thrill in maybe getting caught. It just distracts me."
"Oh, the stories I could tell you!" Nancy said mischievously, popping the tab of her second energy drink.
"I'm good!" George said hastily. "Save it for our next girls' night. That way I'll be too buzzed to care, and Bess won't feel left out."
"I'm sorry, George. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"No worries. We can do girl talk if you want." George took a sip of her drink. "So, okay, here's a confession. I really had my doubts about you guys hooking up. But it looks like I was wrong. You're good together."
Nancy smiled. "Thanks," she said. That was a ringing endorsement by George's standards. "I need a skeptic around to keep me grounded. But I think we have something good going on."
"Has he said the 'L word' yet?" George asked idly, glancing over at her friend. She read her answer in Nancy's eyes before the detective could even speak. "He did! Oh, Bess is going to flip. You know we're not allowed to have major relationship developments while she's on vacation."
"She should have taken us with her, then." Nancy peered through the binoculars again, focusing herself on their current task. "What about you? How are things with your handsome hero?" she teased. George had been dating Regan Sutton, a Bayport fireman, for a few months.
"Regan's great," George said. "We're keeping it casual. We both work crazy hours, so it almost feels like a long-distance thing. But we're having a good time. He has some horses I might get to meet soon."
"Meeting the family! Must be getting serious, then," Nancy said, almost succeeding in keeping a straight face. George sniped her with an M&M.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Nancy yelped, shielding herself with her good hand.
The night wore on, slowly and steadily. The girls took turns scanning Kate's yard and scrolling through the music on their phones, searching for anything lively enough to keep them alert.
"Still a 1940s kind of girl, then," George commented, skimming Nancy's playlists.
"Did I criticize your music?"
"No judgment," George said. "Well, okay, some judgment. Don't you have any music that isn't going to put me to sleep?"
Nancy took her phone back. "I have some modern stuff on here."
"If Bess were here, she'd have us playing Truth or Dare," George said.
"Or confessing our weirdest celebrity crushes."
"That, I have to hear. 'Fess up, Drew," George said, laughing.
"Hell no."
"All right then. Let's play the Truth part and skip the dares. Worst hangover...go!"
"Absinthe. Paris last year."
George let out a low whistle of admiration. "Mine is lame. Rum, homecoming, junior year of high school. Your turn."
"Um...ok. Favorite city."
"Macchu Picchu."
"That's a mountain, George!"
"Damn. Portland, then."
"River Heights for me. No place like home."
"Seriously? Okay... Best pickle you ever ate."
"What?" Nancy laughed, lowering the binoculars.
"It's a valid question!"
The game went on in that vein, each trying to outdo the other with oddities: Highest bowling score? Worst stomach bug? Greasiest pizza? Sweatiest day ever? Worst hair day? Favorite NASCAR driver? Until finally George paused mid-question and smacked a hand down on Nancy's shoulder.
"Nan!"
"I see him." They sobered immediately and became very still, completely focused on the dark figure which had just dropped over the fence behind Kate's house. Nancy raised Joe's night vision goggles. A young man, tall and skinny, slipped across the lawn. He bent down and seemed to be searching for something. Then he unfolded a small shovel and began to dig.
"Let's move," Nancy said quietly. With the synchronicity borne of many years' collaboration, the friends eased out of the car, leaving the doors ajar to avoid making a sound. Before the digger even knew he had company, he was surrounded.
"Freeze!" Nancy barked, switching her flashlight on full in his face. "Put your hands up!" The sudden glare revealed a boy's face, frightened and pale. He dropped his shovel and shot his hands up over his head immediately.
"Don't shoot! I'm not armed!" he cried, squinting into her light. "I'm not here to hurt anything. I swear."
"You're trespassing," Nancy pointed out. "And you're digging. Honest citizens don't generally dig holes on other people's property at 3 AM."
"I'm not stealing. I'm looking for my own property," the boy blurted. "Please don't arrest me."
Nancy lowered her light a bit, allowing the boy to blink some vision back into his eyes. "You're not the police," he said uncertainly.
"I'm Nancy Drew, Private Investigator. This is my associate."
"George Fayne, black belt," George said smoothly. "Don't try anything. You'll only humiliate yourself."
"We certainly can call the police if you're more comfortable talking to them," Nancy said.
"No! I mean, please don't. I'm not a criminal."
"I hate to belabor the point, but again: digging up someone else's yard in the wee hours..." Nancy said contemplatively.
"I can explain."
Nancy grinned. It was a very feline, satisfied grin. "I certainly hope you can. What's your name?"
"Brendan. C-connolly. Brendan Connolly, ma'am."
"Come with us, Brendan."
Kate's kitchen was warm and bright, a welcome reprieve from their long nocturnal vigil. Nancy wrapped her cold fingers around a hot mug of cocoa and gazed across the table at the worried face of Brendan Connolly. George stood impassively at the head of the table, arms folded. An amused Kate, wrapped in a fuzzy robe, watched from the doorway.
"Let's hear that explanation, Mr. Connolly," Nancy suggested.
"Brendan," he said awkwardly.
"Brendan, then. How old are you?"
"Nineteen. I'm a student at RHCC."
"I'm not your biographer, Brendan. I'm a private eye. What were you doing out there tonight?"
"And several previous nights," Kate chimed in. "My yard looks like mutant moles have colonized it."
Brendan's head swiveled toward the doorway. "I'm really sorry." He swiveled back toward Nancy, adam's apple bobbing. "I was telling the truth. I'm looking for my own property. Family property," he added, as if that clarified anything. He started to reach for his pocket.
"Hands on the table!" George snapped. The boy's hands shot into the air.
"I'm just- I have a photograph-" he stammered. Nancy nodded.
"Show me." He eased it out of his wallet and slid it across the table for her inspection: a faded old black-and-white snapshot of a young man, tall and thin and solemn in his Army uniform, standing beside a pretty brunette.
"My great-grandparents."
"And they lived here, in this house?"
"No, the house is new. But this was their land." Brendan touched the photo. "Diarmid Sterling Connolly and his wife, Mary. This was taken before the war. He died a few months later at Pearl Harbor."
"How tragic," Nancy said softly.
"He was just starting to build their new house here when he got orders. He buried something in the foundation before he shipped out. He told Mary it was an insurance policy for her and the children. But she never could find it. All we know is that it was inside a metal box about this big," he said, hands fluttering in the air, outlining the dimensions of a small box.
"So you're tearing up my lawn on the basis of family hearsay," Kate said.
"It's here. I know it is."
"Why is it so important that you find it, after all these years?" Nancy asked. "You don't even know what it is."
Brendan looked at her. "You're a detective," he said. "Don't you understand? I just need to know. I need to solve it." He shrugged, self-deprecating. "Plus, I'm the closest thing to a family historian we've got. It's part of our past. I've got everything else. Birth certificates, census reports, death certificates, property deeds, newspaper clippings...this would be like the crown jewel of the collection."
George leaned in, placing her palms flat on the table. "Kid's a nerd, Nancy."
"I can see that," Nancy said, her lips tugging into a smile much warmer than the one she had worn earlier. Despite herself, she was warming to this boy. Her instincts told her he was telling the truth. And he was right. She did understand the passion, the need to solve the puzzle.
"What do you think, Kate?" she said, looking over. Kate shrugged.
"I say rent a metal detector and do the job properly. No sense tearing up my whole lawn and giving yourself blisters. Maybe you'll even find it before the ground freezes."
Brendan's face lit up. "Really? Are you serious?"
"Serious as a funeral. Just one favor, kid."
"Anything."
"Do your digging in daylight from now on."
************************************************************************
As promised, Joe was in bed. His bedroom light was on and so was his laptop, with an assignment for his college English class pulled up on the screen. Joe himself was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and his motorcycle jacket; his face was by the computer, his feet were under his pillow, and he was sound asleep. Nancy closed the door silently and turned out the light, leaving the small desk lamp on to illuminate her preparations for bed. She moved his laptop to the desk, made sure his work was saved, and powered it down for the night. On the bed, Joe's eyes flew open.
"It's me," Nancy said quickly, crossing over to sit next to him. He relaxed, redirecting the hand that had been going for his knife to take Nancy's hand instead.
"What time is it?"
"4:50."
"You just got in?"
"Uh-huh."
"Damn. Long night." He eased himself upright, scooting back to lean against the headboard and patting the spot next to him in invitation. Nancy crawled up to sit beside him, leaning into his warmth. "I like your pajamas," she said, stroking the leather of his jacket sleeve.
"I meant it as a kind of re-do," Joe said. "I'm sorry about this afternoon."
Nancy leaned into him, burying her head in his shoulder, breathing in leather and laundry detergent and Joe. "I'm sorry too. Next time you get scared will you tell me?"
"Let's hope there isn't a next time."
"There's going to be lots of next times. Every case has its risks."
"So we'll be careful."
"Acceptable risks. Got it," Nancy murmured.
"I figured out who gets to determine that," Joe said. His eyes were closed.
"Oh?"
"Love does." His eyes popped open. "Cheesy. Yeah. Hear me out. Because I love you, I'll be a little more cautious on my own cases. You love me, you'll be a little more cautious. And we both get to keep doing what we were born to do."
"That sounds fair to me," Nancy said. Joe cupped her face in one hand, brushing her hair back behind her ear.
"Tell me about your stakeout."
"Case closed!" Quickly Nancy filled him in on the case and the night's events.
"So, no collaboration then," he said, disappointed.
"George is babysitting Myra all week, so my offer still stands if another case comes along. Especially while this hand is healing."
"Good. I was looking forward to working with you again." Joe pulled her closer, rolling onto his side and cupping her hips toward his. Nancy bit lightly at his neck above the collar of his jacket, caffeine and adrenaline still whirling through her system.
"Do you really want to sleep in this?"
"Sleep? No," he said mischievously. "I have something else in mind. It involves this jacket, your pink silk teddy, and the timer function on my camera."
Nancy paused, her mind immediately flooded with images: Joe, powerful and dangerous in black leather; herself, innocent and feminine in pink silk and lace. It was a delicious, tantalizing juxtaposition and it would make for some compelling photographs.
"It's a good idea, right?" Joe said, watching her face.
"Fantastic," Nancy agreed.
"Another night, then," Joe said. "Sometime when we are both alert enough to operate the camera."
"How about a dress rehearsal?" Nancy murmured, trailing kisses along his neck. She knew, on a clinical level, that her body was exhausted. But she was still riding the high of a successful mission; and on top of that, after the events of the day, she needed his touch, needed the intimacy and the comfort and the catharsis of sex. This, too, came with the lifestyle, and Joe understood.
"Come here," he said, rolling her onto her back. One knee nudged her legs apart so he could settle himself between her thighs, using the weight of his body on hers to help her ground her swirling energy. Lips sought lips and met in a bruising, needy kiss. Nancy moaned into his mouth and arched up against him, seeking more.
"I've got you, Nan. Let your mind go."
Joe was the same in bed as he was out of it: joyful, generous, playful, and energetic. That night, there was a new dimension to their coupling, a deep, almost solemn sense of gravity. The act was deliberate, slow, sweet, and powerful. Joe never took his eyes off her face; his hands, strong and gentle and skillful, anchored her through the tumult of desire and the overwhelming wave-break of pleasure that followed. Nancy trembled, afterward, and clung to him. I love you. I love you. I love you.