Chapter 6: Family Time
"Come on. I'll take you to his apartment."
Nancy followed Faith toward the door, eager to be moving things along. "Faith," she said, "I almost forgot. Do you know what kinds of websites your brother was active on?"
"What kinds of websites?" Faith repeated, sounding wary. "Um. No. We were close, but not that close."
"I don't mean entertainment websites," Nancy said delicately. "I mean more like social sites or forums."
"He'd written a username on his notebook at the library," Joe added.
"I think," Faith started, opening her door; and then she broke off in confusion as a young man walked right into her. She stumbled back, bumping into Nancy, who swayed back against Joe. He steadied her and stepped forward, facing the newcomer. The stranger, meanwhile, stepped coolly around Faith and walked into the apartment. The man was tall and muscular, but the softness around his midsection betrayed that his laziness was equal to his desire to intimidate. He was wearing expensive-looking jeans and a thick jacket, unzipped to display a t-shirt bearing the phrase "It's not going to lick itself" above a picture of an ice cream cone. A tall, slender young woman followed him in, closing the door behind her as if she had every right to be there.
"Diarmid!" Faith snapped, turning to follow him down the hall.
"Faith, baby," he replied. "Got any beer?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Faith said angrily. "Don't you have any common decency?"
"Faith?" Nancy said quietly, hurrying after her. Joe was already disappearing into the living room with the intruders.
"This is my other brother," Faith said with distaste. "Diarmid, what are you doing here?"
Nancy blinked, absorbing this information. This young man, with his imposing stature and cold, hard eyes, could not have been more different from the gentle, sensitive, and slightly-built Brendan and Faith.
"Can't a guy visit his sister without getting yelled at? And during our time of mourning, no less," Diarmid said, swaggering over to the sofa. He sat, thumping his big feet down on her coffee table, and gestured for his girlfriend to sit too as though she were a well-trained dog. Everything about him made Nancy angry; her dislike was immediate, bone-deep, instinctive. She could tell Joe felt the same. Though his body language was was controlled and casual, there was a look in his eyes that gave Nancy goosebumps. He gave off the same feel as the electricity in the air before a storm. She would not have liked to be in Diarmid's place right now.
"Faith," Joe drawled, "would you like these people removed from your apartment?" He took a few steps toward the sofa, and for the first time Diarmid's self-assured expression flickered. But Faith shook her head.
"I can handle him. Diarmid, we were on our way out."
"Don't let us stop you," Diarmid said, reaching for the tv remote.
"Actually, I'm glad you stopped by," Joe said.
"Why's that?" Diarmid said warily. Next to him, his girlfriend had stopped picking at her nail polish and was looking at Joe- really looking at him, really seeing him, not just noticing that he was in the room.
"Saves me the trouble of tracking you down," Joe said. He moved even closer to the sofa, so that Diarmid was forced to look up to talk to him.
"Don't tell me these are cops, Faithie," Diarmid scoffed, trying to keep his bravado in place.
"We're private investigators," Nancy said. "I'm Nancy Drew, and this is my partner, Joe Hardy."
"So?" Diarmid said, sitting back and folding his arms. "The hell do you want?"
The girl next to him peeled off her coat and stood up suddenly, revealing a perfect hourglass figure clothed in a soft crimson sweater. She offered her hand to Joe.
"My name's Allie," she said. "You're really a private detective?"
"We are," Joe said, tugging his hand out of her grasp.
"That's so sexy," Allie said, her eyes still only on him.
Diarmid reached up and tugged on one of the belt loops on her jeans, trying to unbalance her so she would sit down again. "Down, girl," he said, laughing as if it were a joke.
"What's your last name, Allie?" Nancy asked.
"Aholoka," Diarmid answered for her. "For now. We're engaged." Nancy could have sworn that for a moment the girl's vacant brown eyes sharpened, even sparked with annoyance. But a split second later she was empty again. She brushed her long, dark hair back over one shoulder, smiling at Joe, and walked around the coffee table toward him.
"I like your ink," she said, reaching for his arm. He was wearing a knit pullover with the sleeves pushed up, exposing part of the tattoo on his right forearm. Without asking permission, Allie pushed the sleeve up a little higher to admire the design.
"What is it?" she asked, catching her lower lip between her teeth in a practised expression of charming bewilderment.
"It's an engine schematic for the 1920 Excelsior 'X' motorcycle," Joe said patiently. He gently but firmly pushed his sleeves down, covering the mark before she could explore any further. Nancy was relieved. His third tattoo was higher up, on his bicep, and Nancy was half afraid that if this girl caught a glimpse of it she might just try to take off the whole sweater.
"Please have a seat, Allie," she said, keeping her tone calm.
Pouting, Allie flounced back to the sofa and sat, folding her arms to exaggerate her cleavage. Nancy caught Joe rolling his eyes. She bit her tongue, trying not to laugh.
"Diarmid, can you tell me where you and Allie were last night?" Nancy said quickly.
"Banging," Diarmid said with a leer.
Joe raised an eyebrow. "All night?"
Allie actually winked at him. "Work hard, play hard, handsome."
I can't remember the last time I wanted to slap someone this badly, Nancy thought tensely.
"We went to the diner and got milkshakes first," Diarmid said, wrapping an arm around Allie's waist. "I remember it was a little after 5:00 because they were still doing their freakin' 50s at 5 thing."
"We hate Elvis," Allie explained, as though anyone had asked for this information.
"That's right, baby." Diarmid looked back up at the detectives. "That's it. Then we went back home. I didn't talk to Brendan or anything. I haven't talked to him since, oh, shit, I dunno. Last Christmas, maybe."
"Do you know of any person who might have wanted to hurt your brother?" Joe asked.
"He was a geek," Diarmid said dismissively. "Guys like that get involved with weird shit."
Joe let that remark slide. "Did you know about the family inheritance he was looking for?" he asked.
"Did I- Look, bro, he never talked about anything else. One of the many reasons I didn't keep in touch with him."
"Okay," Nancy interjected. She had had all she could take of this couple. "Thanks for your help. We'll be in contact with you if we have further questions. Faith, would you like us to come back another time to see his apartment?"
"No," Faith said. "Let's go. Come on, Diarmid. I'm not leaving you guys alone up here again."
So they all trouped downstairs, Diarmid whining about having to get up and Allie squeezing up next to Joe so she could continue talking to him. Maybe it was just jealousy talking, but the couple gave Nancy a crawly sensation, as though she'd flipped over a rotting log and found something unpleasant squirming there. She was glad they only had a short way to walk.
Brendan's place was the typical student apartment Nancy had been expecting earlier: cluttery, furnished with mismatched odds and ends, and a bit unkempt. Unwashed dishes were stacked in the sink, and the floor had a gritty, too-long-unswept feeling under the soles of her shoes.
"Bedroom or common areas?" Joe said.
"I'll take the bedroom."
"Wilco, Captain." Joe gave her a quick salute and headed for the living room, Allie trailing in his wake. Nancy hesitated, looking back at Faith. The girl was leaning forlornly against the door, watching Diarmid rummage through the refrigerator.
"Would you like to come with me, Faith?"
"Yes, please." The girl peeled herself off the door and followed Nancy toward the bedrooms. "It's the one on the right."
"Who has the other one?"
"His roommate, Keith Tallis."
"Where is Keith now?"
"He's in class," Faith said. "But he wasn't here this weekend. He went home early Friday to meet his newborn nephew."
She obviously doesn't want Keith to be implicated in this, Nancy noticed. "How far away is his home?" she asked, pushing the subject anyway.
"A little under two hours."
"That's not far," Nancy said, leaving the rest unspoken. He could easily have driven back and killed his roommate.
"I don't- I mean, Keith wouldn't," Faith said. She was blushing.
"Are you and Keith together?"
"No," Faith interrupted. "I mean, sort of. Maybe. I don't know. It's complicated."
By which, Nancy guessed, she means she slept with him once and has feelings for him but is not sure whether he reciprocates.
Brendan's bedroom door swung open at a touch. "He always locks-" Faith started, and stopped midsentence. The room had clearly been searched. A bookshelf was turned over, the books spilling haphazardly across the floor and mingling with laundry from the upturned clothes hamper and dresser drawers. The mattress had been flipped off the bed, the pillows were slashed open, and a heating vent had even been yanked out of the wall.
"Wow," Nancy said, moving gingerly into the mess.
"What happened?" Faith's voice was small and worried.
"We're not the first ones here," Nancy said, stooping to look under the bed frame. "They must have been looking for the heirloom. Does it look like anything else is missing?"
"I can't tell," Faith said, looking around. "But why follow him to the library if the thing was here?"
"Maybe it wasn't here," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Maybe he'd brought it with him for reference."
"Oh," Faith said, and she sat down on a pile of shirts, looking pale and overwhelmed and very, very young.
"I'm sorry," Nancy said, though the words were desperately inadequate.
"What were you asking me earlier?" Faith said suddenly. "About a username."
"Right. Thanks for the reminder," Nancy said, snapping her attention back from the mess around them to her client. "Does the name 'gargoylegrinning' mean anything to you?"
To her credit, Faith gave it some thought before she shook her head. "Sorry, no."
"Do you know what site it might be active on?"
"I think he belonged to a few online forums for World War II enthusiasts. And he had a Facebook and a Tumblr. But like I said, the 1940s isn't my main period of interest, so I'm not on the same sites as him. Is that Brendan's username, or someone else's?"
"It looks as though it belongs to someone he wanted to discuss the heirloom with," Nancy told her. She sighed. "I don't think we'll get anything useful here. Thanks for letting me take a look."
They rejoined the group in the living room. Joe was leaning against a chair, glaring at Diarmid, who was eating a slice of pizza and flipping through tv channels. Allie was twirling a strand of hair and trying to make conversation with Joe, with little success. When Nancy entered the room he practically leapt toward her in relief.
"There you are!" he said, grabbing her good hand. He pulled her off to the side, speaking in a low tone. "Nan, I've got nothing. The only thing remotely interesting is that book over there." He pointed toward the coffee table. "It's an art book, same as what he had at the library."
"Any bookmarks or notes in it?"
"It's a textbook. Practically the whole thing is marked up with highlighter," Joe said in disgust. "It does have the name Jenny Rodanski written inside the cover."
"That's his cousin," Nancy said.
"Right. So we definitely need to talk to her."
Nancy nodded. "I didn't come up with much either," she said. "The bedroom was searched. It's a wreck, and Faith isn't sure if anything is missing. So all I'm coming away with is a deduction-"
"That the killer looked here for the heirloom before following Brendan to the library," Joe finished, nodding.
"Did you solve it?" Allie cooed, sashaying closer to them. Nancy's patience was running out. She opened her mouth to say something unprofessional; but just as she began speaking a boy stomped into the room, tousle-haired and angry.
"I don't know why the hell you people are in my house and I don't care. I'm trying to sleep! Get out!"
Faith turned bright red. "Keith! I thought you had class."
"I do," the boy said, scratching his head sleepily and further rumpling up his hair in the process. "But I drove back really late last night, so I decided to catch up on some sleep."
"What time did you get back to campus?" Nancy asked.
"About four," Keith said grumpily, yawning. "The drive sucked. Construction almost the whole way. And then I got home and found out your damn brother drank all my Mountain Dew. I'm not in the mood to go to class. If you see him, tell him he owes me."
"Keith," Faith said, tearing up again. The boy stopped and turned back, his eyes focusing on her for the first time.
"Hey," he said, moving across the room to pull her into an awkward hug. "I'm sorry. It's okay. You didn't know. Just take your friends up to your place."
"Keith, no. Brendan is dead," Faith said, pushing away from him.
"What?"
Nancy stepped in. "Hi, Keith. My name is Nancy Drew, and this is Joe Hardy. We're investigating your roommate's murder."
Keith was staring, either completely stunned or a great actor. "What," he said again, blankly. "Why? How?"
Faith filled him in, doggedly, clearly hating the words more every time she said them. As soon as she got to the part about Brendan's room being ransacked Keith broke away from the group and ran to look. Nancy and Joe followed him immediately, not wanting to give him a chance to compromise the crime scene.
"The police are on their way over," Joe said, grabbing the boy's shoulder before he could enter the room.
Keith shrugged Joe's hand off absently, staring into the room. "You said he was killed with a bayonet?" he said quietly.
"That's what the police think," Nancy agreed.
"That's bad," Keith muttered. "Brendan had a bayonet in his collection and I don't see it in there now."
Nancy and Joe exchanged a glance. "The killer must have grabbed it," Nancy murmured.
"So this was unpremeditated?" Joe murmured back.
"I'd say the theft was premeditated. The murder might have been more than our guy was bargaining for."
"His first mistake," Joe said grimly.
Back in the living room, Faith was shifting her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other and playing with her keyring. "Are we done here?" she asked plaintively.
"We're done," Nancy assured her. "Thank you so much, Faith. I know this was difficult for you, but we've picked up a few leads." She hesitated. "Do you need help dealing with Diarmid?"
But Joe was already on it, switching off the television and sort of looming while staring the insolent young man down. Diarmid caved.
"You'd better watch your back, Hardy," he sneered; but his brave words were belied by his clamping a hand on Allie's arm and practically dragging her out of the apartment.
Nancy turned to Faith. "You'd better go get a little rest," she said compassionately.
The girl smiled wryly. "No rest for me. The police are going to be over soon to talk to me. I'm afraid it's a case of 'miles to go before I sleep.' "
"Robert Frost," Nancy said, pleased to be able to identify one of Faith's references.
"Right," Faith said. She turned to head back up to her own apartment. "Thanks again for taking the case, Nancy."
"We're going to solve this," Nancy assured her. "For Brendan."