Chapter 5: A Body in the Library
Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to review! Your feedback means a lot to me. I apologize for keeping you waiting for this chapter. I do have the whole story written out, but it's a really, really rough draft and sometimes polishing it up is slow going.
"Nancy! Merciful heavens!" Hannah Gruen exclaimed, dodging out of the young detective's path. Tea sloshed over the side of her mug, spattering the floor. Nancy stopped and turned back, face contrite.
"Oh, Hannah, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"
"No harm done. I didn't burn my hand."
Nancy ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to wipe up the puddle. "I didn't see you coming. Let me make you a new cup of tea."
"Where were you off to so fast?" the housekeeper asked.
"I got a call about my case."
"Your case?" Hannah looked bewildered.
"The one I thought was closed," Nancy said. "It's not. There's been a murder."
"Heavens," Hannah said again, automatically. "Go on, honey. Don't worry about the tea."
"Thanks, Hannah. I'm really sorry," Nancy said. She planted a kiss on the housekeeper's cheek and jogged to her car, turning the key and buckling her seatbelt with her cell phone cradled between her ear and shoulder. George picked up on the fifth ring.
"What," she huffed into the phone. Nancy could hear shrill wails in the background.
"Brendan Connolly's sister just called me. Brendan was just found dead at the college library."
"Fuck," George said forcefully. Nancy found herself nodding. They had really liked the boy.
"I know."
"How?"
"Not sure yet. I'm on my way to the scene."
"I can't come out," George said. She sounded weary and frustrated. "I have Myra all morning."
"I know, George. It's okay. Sounds like you need backup more than I do."
"It's almost naptime," George said grimly. "Okay, Sherlock. Go do your thing. Keep me posted."
"Will do." Nancy clicked off the call and set her phone in her lap. After a moment, she stopped at an intersection and used the time to pull up Joe's number. His phone only rang twice before he answered.
"Acme Electronics. Joe speaking."
Nancy laughed despite herself. "Think the boss man will let you go early? I have work for you."
"Really?"
"Really. I'm five minutes from your place. I'll fill you in on the way to the scene."
Joe was waiting in his driveway. He folded himself into the passenger seat of the roadster and leaned over to kiss her hello. "You're driving!" he said.
"Well spotted, detective."
"Your hand is feeling better?"
Nancy paused and looked at it. "Yes. No. Sort of. I didn't stop to think about it."
"Switch places, Drew." Joe was already halfway out of the car. Nancy hesitated, realized that her hand did ache and she didn't feel like arguing, and vacated the driver's seat.
"Be careful with her," she said.
"Oh, this old girl and I are on great terms," Joe said, patting the dashboard. "I know how to handle her."
"I know." Nancy sighed and settled back into her seat as Joe expertly backed the convertible out of his driveway.
"Where to, ma'am?" he said, tipping an invisible cap.
"River Heights Community College."
Joe glanced at her, dropping the chauffeur persona. "Does this have anything to do with the student you met at Kate's?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Brendan Connolly was found murdered this morning. His sister, Faith, called and asked me to take the case."
Joe gave a low whistle. "A murder? The police are going to be all over this already. Why does she want you?"
Nancy shrugged. "Faith said she knows Brendan told me a little about their family mystery the other night and she wants me to work on it." She hesitated. "I really liked Brendan, Joe. He was a nice kid. I'd like to help get whoever is responsible for this."
"We'll get him," Joe said confidently, taking a corner at a speed which would have made Bess squeal.
"He must have found that family artifact," he mused aloud.
"And it must have been valuable," Nancy added. "The question is, who else knew he was searching for it? And who knew he had found it?"
"The game is afoot, eh, Drew? Too bad this isn't in Frank's jurisdiction. We could use a police connection."
"We'll manage," she said.
"We'll manage," Joe echoed.
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As Joe had predicted, the library building on campus was surrounded by police cars. The young detectives parked as close as they could and approached on foot, scanning the faces of local law enforcement in search of someone they knew well enough to impose upon.
"There's Chief McGinnis," Nancy said, picking up her pace.
"Good eye," Joe said, jogging alongside her.
"Chief!" Nancy called out. McGinnis, who had been reaching for the door of his patrol car, turned around.
"Nancy Drew," he called in his booming voice. "There's my bad penny, right on time. And she's brought backup. Hello, Joe." He shook hands with Joe, then turned back to Nancy. "What's your angle, girlie?"
"The vic was involved in an incident I consulted on a few days ago," Nancy said, explaining about her open-and-shut case.
"I don't think it was open-and-shut after all," the chief said. "Come on in. You too, Hardy." As Joe followed Nancy into the lobby, the Chief rested a big hand on his shoulder.
"When are you coming to work for me, boy?" he said. "I think it's only fair that the River Heights PD should get the other half of Bayport's famous amateur detective team."
"I'm flattered, Chief," Joe said, "but police work isn't for me."
"You're smart enough for the Academy," Chief McGinnis said.
"Yes, sir," Joe agreed. "But I'm like Nancy. I like the flexibility of private investigating."
"Well, son, I can't promise I won't keep badgering you about it. We could always use more good men. Give it some thought." The Chief gave Joe's shoulder a friendly pat and moved forward to speak to the officer guarding the door to one of the library's study rooms.
"Go on in," he called over his shoulder. "You know the protocol. Let one of my officers know when you're on your way out."
"Thanks, Chief," Nancy said gratefully, and she ducked under the crime scene tape Joe was holding up for her. The crime scene techs inside looked up briefly and returned to their jobs, well accustomed to seeing Nancy or Joe around their job sites. And there, at the table in the middle of the room, was the body.
Nancy could handle this- had handled it before, more times than she liked to think about, and would doubtless handle it again many times in the future. But she still felt a pang of sorrow, standing there in the bright fluorescent lights of the campus library, looking at what remained of Brendan Connolly. He was slumped forward over the table, a open book under his head. His left hand still held a mechanical pencil. His eyes were open, staring at the blank beige wall.
"Who found the body?" Joe asked. He was prowling along the edges of the room, looking at everything; filing it all away, Nancy knew, with his uncanny ability to memorize room layouts and details.
"His sister," one of the techs told him.
"The librarian," another contradicted.
"The librarian was the guy's sister," the first man said, sounding bored. He went on dusting for fingerprints.
"Anything useful?" Joe asked, looking over his shoulder.
"This is a college library. Do you know how many prints we're going to get? And don't even get me started on the bodily fluids," the man grumbled.
"What about the weapon?" Nancy asked.
"It's not here. Doc says it looks like a bayonet wound."
"That's certainly not your everyday murder weapon," Joe said.
Nancy was looking at Brendan's notebook. "Joe. Come here."
"What is it?"
She pointed. "Take a look at his notebook. He was making a list of names. Students? Family members?"
Joe scanned the list. "Artists, I think. Take a look at those books. He's been reading up on art history."
"The heirloom," Nancy murmured. "It must have been a piece of artwork."
Joe was still scrutinizing Brendan's notebook. "Look at that, under his hand. Can you make out what it says?"
Nancy leaned in and squinted at the page. The boy had not had very good penmanship. " 'Talk to gargoylegrinning.' " What is that supposed to mean?"
"I think that means you misread something."
"You take a look, then."
Joe squinted in his turn. "Huh. That is what it says."
"Sounds like a username," one of the techs offered.
"Of course!" Nancy said, feeling stupid.
"We'll have to talk to his sister. Maybe she knows what site that could belong to," Joe said.
Nancy nodded. "I told her we'd stop by after we saw the crime scene. We might as well head over there."
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Faith Connolly lived on the fourth floor of a block of apartments just off campus. She answered her door almost before Nancy finished knocking. Brendan's older sister turned out to be a slim blonde with a face that Nancy guessed would normally have resembled that of a cathedral-ceiling cherub. Today, under the weight of her fresh grief, she looked older, more sword-bearing Michael than cavorting baby angel. Her eyes were red and dark-ringed, but she was clearly making an effort to be calm and collected for her guests.
"Nancy Drew?" she said, reaching out.
"Yes." Nancy dodged the handshake, apologetically raising her hand to show the bandage. "And this is my associate, Joe Hardy."
Joe shook her hand. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Faith didn't let go of his hand. She turned it palm-down, peering at his wrist. "Nice watch. Brendan has one like that." Nancy peered over too. She had been too distracted to notice before. Joe was wearing his grandfather's watch, a 1942 Rolex- solid, with a thick strap and radioactive luminescent numbers on the dial.
If Joe was surprised by her non sequitor, he hid it well. "Thanks," he said. "I take it you share your brother's interest in antiques?"
"I do," she said. "Though that decade was really Bren's specialty. I'm more interested in the Edwardian period."
"It sounds as though you were very close," Nancy said gently.
"Yes," Faith said simply. Then, seeming to realize suddenly that they were all still standing on her threshold, she opened the door wider and beckoned. "Please come in."
"Thanks," Nancy said, walking into a surprisingly elegant hallway. Behind her, Faith closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment as though gathering her strength.
" 'It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone,' " she said. Nancy and Joe exchanged glances.
"Fitzgerald?" Joe guessed.
"Steinbeck," Faith told him, leading the way into the small living room. She sat down on the sofa. The detectives followed suit, settling into a pair of very pretty chairs. The whole room was furnished with tasteful, old-fashioned accoutrements; it was not what Nancy had been expecting from a student apartment.
"Your apartment is lovely," Nancy said, giving the girl time to get her emotions back under control. Faith almost smiled.
"Thank you. Maggie and Jenny are really good at decorating."
"Maggie and Jenny?"
"My roommates. They're my cousins, actually. Margaret and Genevieve Rodanski. They're both out on their internships this morning."
"Did they know anything about Brendan's search for the missing heirloom?" Joe asked.
Faith looked horrified. "They're my cousins!"
"I'm sorry, Faith. We have to ask," Nancy said gently.
"Of course," Faith said, absorbing this fresh shock. "I'm sorry. I know."
"Please tell us about this morning," Nancy said, keeping her voice gentle but professional. As much as she hated seeing people in pain, she had long since learned that it wasn't her job to console or counsel witnesses. Her job was to get them justice; and if she kept things moving along, kept things businesslike, that justice would come much sooner. "You went to work as usual?"
"I went in at 7:15," Faith said, closing her eyes. Her recital was quiet, almost mechanical. "I let myself into the building. Mr. Hanley gave me my own key last semester. I started a pot of coffee in the employee break room, shelved a few books they didn't get to last night, and set up a display of philosophy books in the nonfiction room. Around eight o'clock I started checking the private study rooms. Sometimes people will leave books there, or cell phones, or jackets." She stopped. She was clenching her hands in her lap, slender fingers white with the pressure. After a moment she opened her eyes and looked at Nancy.
"Brendan was in the third one," Faith said. "I tiptoed in and grabbed his arm and it felt wrong-" She broke off, her face twisting with horror and grief.
"Take your time," Nancy said gently. The girl put her face in her hands and sobbed. Joe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Nancy leaned over to pat her on the shoulder.
"Joe, will you hand me that box of tissues?" she murmured. He looked relieved to have something tangible to do.
Faith accepted a tissue gratefully. "Thank you." She dried her eyes. "I ran, and I called the police. And that's all I can tell you."
Joe leaned forward in his chair. "Do you have any idea who would want Brendan dead?"
Faith looked bewildered. "He was just a kid. He was a good student. He wasn't rich, he wasn't involved in anything bad."
"What about this treasure hunt he was on?" Nancy asked.
"He was looking for our long-lost millions," Faith said, shaking her head.
"Millions?" Joe interjected.
"I'm exaggerating. Whatever it was, it was supposed to be valuable, but not, like, retire to a private island valuable." Faith dabbed at her eyes with the tissue again. "I never believed it existed. But I think he actually did find something."
"Did he tell you what he'd found?" Nancy asked eagerly.
"No," Faith said. "He just texted me something...here, let me find it." She was scrolling through her phone as she spoke, and her shoulders tensed visibly. "Oh. This is the last text he ever sent me."
Nancy peered at the screen. FAAAAAAAIIIITHHHH! The boy had typed, exuberantly. I win. I found it. Come over after work tomorrow.
"We'll need to take a look at Brendan's apartment," she said, tilting the screen so Joe could read the message too. Faith nodded.
"Of course," she said. "He lives on the third floor. I can take you down there."
"Is now a good time?" Nancy asked, rising.
"Sure. Just let me grab my keys," Faith said. Still dabbing at her eyes with her crumpled tissue, she headed down the hall, presumably toward her bedroom.
Left alone, Nancy and Joe held a quick, half-telepathic meeting. Joe turned toward Nancy, the brightness of his blue eyes telegraphing Lost treasure! This is going to be good!
Nancy raised an eyebrow in return, nodding in the direction Faith had gone. Do you think she's involved?
Joe shook his head. "My gut says no," he added aloud.
"I'm ready," Faith called, her voice preceding her back down the hallway. "I'm sorry. I couldn't find my keys."
" 'Nothing is ever lost nor can be lost,' " Joe said unexpectedly, and the girl stopped, startled, in the doorway.
"Walt Whitman," she said, her voice thick with tears again. She brushed them away from her eyes with an impatient hand. "Come on. I'll take you to his apartment."