Chapter Four: Hannah's Mystery
"Nancy! You're awake!" Callie exclaimed, pausing in the kitchen doorway. "Frank said he thought he heard you come in around 5 this morning."
"I forgot to cancel my phone alarm," Nancy said, yawning. "After it went off I just couldn't get back to sleep." She cracked a second egg into her pan and tossed the shells into the little bin destined for the compost pile.
"You poor thing. How much sleep did you get?"
"I think we fell asleep around 6. So almost two hours."
"That's awful," Callie said sympathetically.
"Nothing a pot or two of coffee won't fix. I'm making veggie omelets. Want one?"
Callie pinched her lips tight, trying to cover her distaste. "No, thanks, sweetie." She crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a box of crackers, pulling one out for a tentative taste. For a few moments the only sounds in the kitchen were the peaceful domestic sounds of breakfast in the works: veggies sizzling, eggs hissing, the gurgle and drip of the old coffeemaker. The silence spun out, neither girl quite sure how to navigate life's new balance after the previous evening's revelations. Nancy flipped her eggs and began slicing bread for toast.
"So," she said. "Weird night, huh?"
"So weird," Callie said fervently.
"Are you okay, Cal? Mentally and physically."
"I threw up this morning," Callie confessed. She took her crackers and sat down at the table, pulling her feet up onto the chair so she could hug her knees to her chest. "How cliche is that? But I feel fine now. My mind won't stop spinning, though. I wish my brain could throw up so it could move on to the feeling better part."
"There's a pleasant image."
"Sorry!"
"How is Frank doing?"
Callie shook her head. "Frank is happy. Ridiculously happy. Not faking it at all. He's starting to talk about names, and I'm still trying to make myself believe it's not a bad dream."
"Oh, Callie." Nancy set down her spatula and went to hug her friend. "Frank loves you. We all love you. Take all the time you need to process this."
"Thanks, Nancy." Callie melted unashamedly into Nancy's embrace. "I'm scared," she confessed into Nancy's shoulder. "And I'm a little bit angry. And...Nancy, I thought mothers automatically loved their children. But I don't feel any connection. I'm afraid I'm some kind of monster." Hot tears wet Nancy's shoulder. Nancy rubbed Callie's back soothingly until her sobs quieted.
"Love is never automatic, sweetie. That's infatuation. You don't have to be infatuated with the idea of a baby to love that baby when you meet it."
"Frank said that too." Callie tried to smile. "I just- Nan, it's too much. It's like the world should have stopped turning. Everything around me is normal and I'm sitting in the middle of it all, completely bewildered."
Nancy pulled her friend close again. "We've got you, Cal. You're going to be all right." And Callie leaned on her shoulder, seeming to draw courage from the embrace.
Joe's voice startled them back to reality. "Morning, girls. Who ordered eggs flambe?" He was bare-chested and clad in a pair of garish green running shorts.
"My eggs!" Nancy gasped, leaping up to rescue them.
"They're all right. Just a little scorched," Joe said. "So, Mom's already texted me three times, apologizing for Aunt Gertrude. I wouldn't be surprised if she has a fruit basket and a singing telegram sent over before lunch."
"Oh, that poor woman," Callie said, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "I'm going to call her. She has nothing to apologize for. And, anyway, Gertrude wasn't entirely wrong about me."
"She was unnecessarily cruel," Joe said heatedly. "And she damn sure was wrong about Nancy."
"By her standards, no," Nancy said.
"I don't care. Family or no, nobody gets to call my girlfriend a whore."
"Joe, it's all right. Let it go," Nancy said, handing him a plate of eggs and toast. "Here. You can have the one with less char."
"She cooks, she cleans, she fights crime," Joe intoned, holding his plate aloft. "I'm a lucky man, boys."
Rolling her eyes at him, Nancy sat down with her own plate. "Are you sure you can't eat something, Callie?"
"I'll make some toast," Callie said reluctantly.
"How's the little guy doing?" Joe asked, getting up to pour coffee for himself and Nancy.
"I have no idea. I can't feel it in there yet."
"Seriously?" Joe looked from one girl to the other. "You can have a whole other person inside your body and not feel a thing?"
"It's incredibly small at this stage, Joe," Nancy said.
"Just a few cells, really. I mean, I feel differences in my own body, but there's no way I can feel the baby yet." Callie dropped a slice of bread into the toaster. "You guys have no idea how surreal it is to say that."
"Now, just for the sake of reference, how did this come about?" Joe asked. Nancy smacked his arm.
"Joseph! Not funny."
"No, no, I don't mean the sex part. I mean, where did things go wrong? Did you forget a pill, or break a condom, or what? Because I'd like not to duplicate the process."
"Rude," Nancy scolded.
"Honestly, I don't know," Callie told him. "We did everything right."
Joe was quiet a moment. Then he looked up, grinning. "So I guess you could say Frank's sperm is...hardy." Nancy smacked him again.
"That's it. Get out," Callie ordered, laughing despite herself.
"You can't order me out of my own kitchen!"
"Then I'll go. I need to finish getting ready for work anyway." Callie plopped her toast on a plate and swept off toward Frank's bedroom.
Left alone, Nancy rolled her eyes at Joe again. "You're a mess."
Joe gave her his best innocent face. "It was a perfectly valid question. Don't tell me you weren't wondering too."
"Well. Maybe a little."
"I knew it." Joe collected their empty plates and took them to the sink to rinse them. "I'm sorry again about yesterday, Nan."
"You're as bad as your mother. Aunt Gertrude's behavior isn't anyone's fault."
"No, I mean the other thing."
"Oh." Nancy sipped her coffee. "I'm sorry. I'm a little slow this morning."
"It's okay," he said, placing the dishes into the dishwasher. "I just don't want to move on and act like nothing happened."
Nancy considered this for a moment. "I think we talked it out pretty well. We'll just have to remember to keep talking about it."
"That's what I think too." Joe settled back into his chair. "So what's on the agenda for today, Captain Drew?"
"You're off the hook, Private Hardy. Remember? We caught our guy last night."
"If I were you, I'd stay home all day," Callie said, re-emerging swathed in a long coat, with a woolly crimson hat pulled down over her hair. She carried her purse and an umbrella.
"What are you up to today?" Nancy asked.
"I am going over to River Heights to supervise the crew hanging paintings at a new gallery," Callie said with satisfaction. "If the weather were a little better, I'd be really excited about this."
"Frank says it's going to be like this all week. He watches the weather channel every morning like he's 80," Joe said, peering out the window. Cold, relentless rain was falling from a leaden sky into icy mud. "Be careful driving, Callie. Do you want me to take you over there in the truck?"
Callie leaned in to kiss the top of his head in an affectionate, older-sisterly way. "You're sweet, but my car can handle it." She blew a kiss to Nancy too and headed out.
"You should go back to bed," Joe told Nancy, watching her top off her half-drunk coffee.
"I'll be fine. I wanted to get over and see Hannah this morning. What are your plans for the day?" she called, heading for the bedroom with her mug. Joe tagged along and began rummaging in his closet for something to wear.
"Nothing much. Class work online, go to the gym, swing by the grocery store. Maybe hang out with Chet. Are you getting a shower?"
"No, I just felt like walking around holding a towel." Nancy danced past him into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door only halfway so she could still see him in the bathroom mirror. She hung her towel on a hook and turned the water on to warm up.
"What if it had been me?" Nancy asked suddenly, carefully slipping her earrings out of her ears. Startled, Joe stopped in the act of pulling off his shorts.
"What do you mean?"
"You know. What if I was the one dealing with a surprise pregnancy?"
"Well." He carefully freed himself from the shorts and spent a few moments fussing over them, folding them carefully before draping them over his desk chair.
"It's not a test, Joe. Not really. I'm not going to spring anything on you."
"I'm thinking," he said, half-sitting on the edge of his desk.
"You'd be freaking out," Nancy said softly. She turned away from the mirror and slipped out of her pajamas, a pair of leggings paired with one of Joe's raglan softball t-shirts. The bathroom was beginning to fill with steam. She adjusted the water temperature and stepped in, letting the pelting water soothe her tired muscles.
"Yeah, probably. Just another of the many ways I fall short of Frank's shining example. But you would be too," Joe replied from outside the bathroom.
"Is it a horrible thought, me pregnant with your child?" she said, reaching for her shampoo.
"Nancy. No. Of course not."
"Then why were you making such a big deal out of it with Callie?"
He stepped into the bathroom then, closing the door behind him, and poked his head past the shower curtain. "You and me having a baby? It's a big deal, Nan, and if we ever get to that stage I want it to be the kind of big deal that we talk about and plan and anticipate together. I just want the happiness, not the shame or the worry."
Nancy stepped over and kissed him, cupping her sudsy hands around his face. "If that had been a test, you would have passed," she murmured.
"If all my tests finished with a gorgeous girl kissing me in the shower I might put a little more time into studying," Joe joked.
****************************************************************************************************
Despite all her dawdling over breakfast, it was still only a little past 10 when Nancy arrived at her father's house. Nancy paused in the doorway to sniff appreciatively and strip off her ice-dappled coat. The Drew home, always a hospitable place, was especially welcoming on this gloomy autumn day, bright and warm and filled with delicious scents.
"Hi, Hannah!" she called, toeing off her boots as well.
"In the kitchen, dear," Hannah called back.
"I thought as much," Nancy said, smiling as she made her way down the hall. "Something smells wonderful."
"Nancy," Hannah said, greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "It's so nice to see you."
"I'm sorry, Hannah. I know I haven't been home as much as I used to be."
The housekeeper stepped back to the kitchen island to resume her work. "No need to apologize, dear. Every chick hops out of the nest sooner or later."
"Well, this chick does not intend to ever hop too far away," Nancy said affectionately. Extracting one of the housekeeper's voluminous aprons from a drawer, she tied it on over her fleece-lined leggings and tunic. "How can I help? Bearing in mind I still have an injured wing." She held up her bandaged hand.
"Well," Hannah said, casting her gaze about the kitchen. "Can you fold those napkins for me?" She pointed toward a basket heaped with freshly-laundered cloth napkins on the sideboard.
"Busy work," Nancy complained good-naturedly. "Let the record show that I attempted to be helpful."
"Oh, hush, girlie," Hannah scolded. "You're keeping me company. That's help enough."
"What are you making?" Nancy asked, settling herself on a stool at the other end of the island, with the napkin basket in front of her.
"It's just our supper for tonight. I've been craving chicken soup and homemade bread, the way the weather has been lately. But today is my day to help out with the children's program at the library, so I'm getting an early start."
"Good idea," Nancy said, folding napkins on autopilot as she watched Hannah sprinkle flour onto the counter and begin kneading her dough.
"What's on your mind, Nan?" Hannah asked, startling the younger woman back from her woolgathering. Nancy gave a rueful laugh.
"There's no hiding anything from you," she said.
"I know you much too well for that," Hannah agreed. "You look like you're carrying a bit of a burden this morning. Let Hannah help you carry it."
"I had," Nancy said thoughtfully, "a difficult day yesterday. That's all. And a long night." She folded another napkin, tugging the corners into meticulous alignment. Hannah just waited, face compassionate and hands deftly working the bread dough. And somehow Nancy found the whole sordid story coming out- Gertrude's filthy accusations, Nancy's lingering upset, Callie's surprising news, her fight with Joe, and George's short-lived case. Hannah listened patiently to the entire recital, but her expression grew darker and darker.
"Nobody has any right to talk to my girls like that. Not even Gertrude Hardy," she said tersely.
"Hannah, aren't you going to say that she was wrong?"
Hannah sighed. "You know I don't exactly condone all your goings-on." She drew a tea towel over the dough and went to the sink to rinse her hands. "I love you. Nothing can change that. And I love Bess and George and Callie and Helen, too. You're all good girls, even if your morals are a bit modern. The way you girls do things...I just wouldn't do it, and that's a fact. But I also wouldn't go haring off after criminals at risk to my own life and limb. I reckon we're all called to be true to our own convictions and leave other people to theirs."
"Are you disappointed in me, Hannah?" Nancy asked anxiously.
"I'd tell you if I were, dear," the housekeeper said frankly.
"I believe you would," Nancy said.
"Someone has to keep your reckless little head on straight," Hannah said, smiling to soften her words. "I worry about you, Nancy. You take risks I wish you wouldn't. But your father and I both see that you are happy, that you have a good life. I have no reason to be disappointed. And what's more, my conscience is at rest. I believe I could stand up in front of your dear mother today and account for every day of her little girl's life with perfect satisfaction."
Nancy ducked her head to wipe her eyes on her sleeve, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. Hannah, never at rest for long, moved to the stove to pull the lid off the big soup pot and give its contents a stir.
"Tell me more about your case," she said briskly, giving the young detective something unsentimental to think about. Nancy wiped her eyes again.
"Hannah, do you know a family called Connolly?" she asked gratefully. "Their secret inheritance seems to be missing."
"Connolly," Hannah repeated, mulling it over.
"The boy I met was named Brendan Connolly," Nancy told her. "He said his great-grandparents were named Sterling and Mary."
"Hardly contemporaries of mine," Hannah said drily.
"You know I didn't mean that!" Nancy laughed.
Hannah was looking thoughtful. "I do recognize the name. Connolly," she mused. "I knew a Lana Connolly in school. I think she had a few brothers."
"Should we go dig up your old yearbook?" Nancy asked.
"I wouldn't know where to begin looking for that!" Hannah said. "Michael. That was one of them. And the other was...oh, his name was Sterling! But he went by his middle name. David? Douglas? Diarmid. Diarmid Connolly." She glanced at Nancy. "I wasn't close friends with any of them, dear, and we haven't kept in touch. I know Lana married Heath Rodanski soon after graduation, and that's the last I've heard of any of that clan. Do you think Brendan will find his treasure?"
"I hope he does," Nancy said.
"I have a small case for you myself, Nancy," Hannah said suddenly. "I'd almost forgotten."
"What is it?"
The housekeeper leaned in conspiratorially. "Mr Kipling's Cherry Bakewells," she said. "I can't find them in any of our local stores this year."
Nancy's eyes widened. "Not even at Fiona's Tea Shoppe?"
"Not even there. Fiona herself said they've been back-ordered for a month." Hannah looked solemn. "Thanksgiving is next week, you know, and I would hate to disappoint your father."
"It's not Thanksgiving without a Cherry Bakewell," Nancy agreed.
"If anyone can locate them, it's you," Hannah declared with confidence.
"I'll do my best," Nancy promised.
After Hannah departed for the library, Nancy braved the weather to visit all the stores within reasonable driving distance in search of their holiday treat. It was a longshot, since Hannah had been checking around for a few weeks now, but Nancy knew she had to eliminate the simple solution before moving forward with the investigation. And eliminate it she did. There was not a Cherry Bakewell to be had in the county. Returning home, she changed into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweater, made herself a quick lunch, and called Joe.
"Hey, Hardy. I've got a case for you," she said without preamble.
"Great," Joe said. "Name a time and place for the briefing and I'll be there."
Nancy smiled. "I can discuss this one over the phone, Joe." Quickly she explained about Hannah's fruitless search for imported British cakes.
"All right," Joe said, sounding confused but game. "Cherry what-nows?"
"Bakewells," Nancy repeated. "And they have to be Mr Kiplings brand. They were," she explained, "my mother's favorite. It was a tradition she and my father had, buying a box of these for Thanksgiving, and we've always kept it going for him."
"Ah," Joe said, his confusion evaporating. "I'm on it. But can't we just hop a flight to the U.K. and get them from the source?"
Nancy laughed. "I suppose, if it comes to that. But let's try to keep expenses to a minimum."
"Yes ma'am, Captain Drew."
They hung up and Nancy returned to her own work, taking the just-in-case angle of the investigation: browsing recipes online. She had already checked online sources for purchasing the cakes, but every site stipulated that due to the holiday rush shipping would take four to six weeks. Pinterest yielded up several recipes. Nancy pinned them with some misgivings. She knew there was no substitute for Mr Kipling's best. Maybe if Bess had been available to help, they could have had a go at it...
Nancy's phone buzzed suddenly: Bess, wanting to Facetime. Nancy accepted the call happily.
"Bess! I was just thinking about you."
Her friend's face flashed onto the screen, haloed with sunlight. "Aww. Good things, I hope," she said.
"Of course. But if I'd known how gorgeous that place was I'm sure I would have been thinking spiteful things." Nancy panned her camera, giving Bess a view of her sweater and of the rain dripping down the window.
"Sugar, you're going to hate me," Bess announced, moving her own phone to show Nancy that she was dressed in a bikini and lounging on a beach chair on white sand. Tom ducked into the frame, holding a tall drink and grinning.
"Aloha, Nancy!"
Nancy couldn't help returning his grin. "Hi, Tom. Enjoying yourself?"
"Nan, this place is amazing," Bess gushed, pushing her face back in front of the lens. "And it's the weirdest coincidence. The owner of our B&B told us her grandfather came from River Heights!"
"What are the odds of that?" Nancy exclaimed.
"I'm not even surprised," Bess declared. "Ever since I've known you, stuff like this has been happening. But at least there's no mystery attached this time."
"You look so happy. And so rested," Nancy told her friend. "You needed this. I can't even be mad at you for being on the beach while I'm shivering."
"We did need this. But seriously, Nan, we should get the girls together and come out here sometime. Do you think we can talk Callie into having a destination wedding?"
"I'm not sure it's Callie you have to convince. Frank isn't really a Hawaii kind of guy," Nancy said.
"Oh, I can handle Frank," Bess said. "He's such a white knight. All I'd have to do is convince him that it would make all Callie's dreams come true and-"
"Bess, you devious girl!"
Bess winked. "You're not the only chick with brains in this group, babe."
They chatted a little longer, until Nancy realized it was about time for her father and his date to arrive home.
"I'd better go dress for dinner," she said.
Bess, familiar with the customs of the Drew home, was unsurprised by the old-fashioned statement. But she did grin and wink at Nancy. "And I," she said, "am going to flag down that hottie I married and see if I can keep us undressed until dinner."
"You kids behave," Nancy told her friend.
"You know it. Talk soon, ma cherie." Bess blew a kiss and signed off.
Nancy's timing was impeccable. As she descended the stairs from her room, clad now in a more presentable sweater and slacks, she heard voices in the foyer. "Hi, Dad!" she called down, her steps quickening.
"Can those be the dulcet tones of River Heights' famous girl detective?" Carson called back, holding out a hand to assist his daughter down the last few steps. Nancy laughed.
"Ah, my adoring public," she said, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Camille. So nice to see you."
"Nancy," the petite brunette said, offering a hug in turn. "Always a pleasure. How is your hand?"
"Much better, thanks."
Carson helped Camille slip off her coat. "After you, ladies. Something smells divine in here."
"Hannah's chicken soup," Nancy said happily.
"That sounds perfect," Camille said with a shiver.
"I was just about to give Hannah a hand with the table," Nancy told them. "It should only be a few more minutes." She left the couple browsing through Carson's DVD collection and went back to the kitchen, where Hannah was ladling soup into a tureen. Nancy grabbed a tray and began stacking it with dishes and utensils.
"Don't overdo it," Hannah warned.
"You're as bad as Joe," Nancy grumbled.
"That Joe is a good man," Hannah said. "Hand me that bread basket, please."
Dinner was pleasant, if quiet. Conversation with Nancy's lawyer father and his lady friend tended toward the intellectual rather than easy banter. Several times during the meal Nancy caught herself reaching for her phone to try yet another search parameter for Hannah's cookies.
You need a real mystery, Drew, she thought ruefully after curbing her impulse to research for the fifth time.
After the meal was over, Nancy helped Hannah clean up and then joined Carson and Camille in the living room, where they were watching a French film. Carson paused the DVD and looked up at his daughter.
"Are you leaving us tonight, Nan?" Carson asked.
"Not tonight," Nancy told him. "I'm too tired to make the drive."
"We'd love for you to join us," Camille invited.
"I'll grab you a glass of wine," Carson said, starting to rise. Nancy gestured for him to stay where he was.
"I appreciate it, and I'd love a chance to brush up on my French, but I think I'd better call it a night," she said. She crossed the room to give her father a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Dad. Camille, it was nice seeing you. Can I bring you anything before I head upstairs?"
"No thanks, sweetie. Get some rest."
Nancy's phone chimed about an hour later, just as she was dozing off. She forced one eye open to look at the screen: Joe, of course, reporting on his investigation into British confections.
Update: have discovered Jaffa Cakes. Delicious. Did you know these existed?
I did!
Are you holding back information about other desserts? Not sure our relationship can survive a breach of trust like that.
Joe. Darling. A woman has to have some secrets.
A woman of mystery. How intriguing! A pause, then a second message came through. But no Cherry Bakewells yet.
There's still time. Thanks. Talk tomorrow?
Sure thing. Get some rest.