Chapter 7: Baby Steps

As soon as Nancy settled into the passenger seat of her roadster she reached over to slip a hand behind Joe's neck, pulling him in for a none-too-gentle kiss.

"Mm. What's this for?" Joe asked, slightly confused but not at all put out by this development.

"Just staking my claim," Nancy said, and she was only half joking.

"You let Allie get to you?" Joe said. "Come on. She didn't hold a candle to you."

"Are you kidding? She's gorgeous. Way out of Diarmid's league," Nancy said incredulously.

"Nah, I think they deserve each other. They're both as dumb as they are horny," Joe said dismissively. Nancy relaxed.

"Her flirting was pretty painful to watch," she said. "She reminded me of Bess, circa seventh grade."

Joe laughed. "You mean you don't think it's so sexy that I'm a detective?" he asked, pretending to pout.

"Of course I think you're sexy," Nancy said. "You were incredible in there."

"Thanks for noticing. I've been practicing my menacing look," he said, giving her a comically exaggerated scowl.

"So have I," Nancy growled, doing her best imitation of his face. The couple held the expression for a few heartbeats before Nancy broke into laughter.

"You wiggled your ears at me, you cheater!" she giggled.

"Seriously, Nan, it's okay to admit you can't play in the big leagues. You don't have to resort to mudslinging," Joe said loftily, starting the engine.

"Oh, I can play," Nancy said. "I demand a rematch. I can take you any time, any place, mister."

Joe winked at her. "You're on, babe. But I vote we have lunch first."

"Lunch sounds good," Nancy agreed. "Oh, wait. I should probably call Kate first. And I promised I'd keep George updated."

"So, call Kate now while I drive to George's. She lives right in town. We can talk to her and then walk down to the shopping center and get some food."

"Good plan," Nancy said, reaching for her phone. "Remind me again why you're still a private?"

"Beats me. My captain is really tough."

Kate had already picked up on her end. Nancy just rolled her eyes at Joe and focused on hearing George's friend over the noise of Levi singing the alphabet. Their conversation was brief.

"Nothing useful," she said, sliding her phone back into her pocket. "She says all she saw was a metal box, about this big." She gestured. "She says Brendan was ecstatic. He knocked on her door, said he'd found it, and ran off. That was Monday night."

"A metal box that size could have been an old ammo box," Joe said thoughtfully.

"Or a lunch box. Or a tackle box. Or a tool box. Or a cookie tin," Nancy added.

"Okay, okay. This is not going to be easy."

"Baby steps," Nancy told him. "We'll get there."

********************************************************

George was home, wolfing down reheated leftovers for her lunch. She waved a fork at Nancy and Joe as they walked in.

"Yo," she said, swallowing a large bite. She thrust the Tupperware toward them. "Quinoa and grilled chicken?"

"No, thanks. The Marvins must have just picked up Myra?" Nancy guessed. George nodded vigorously.

"Hallelujah, amen," she said, with her mouth full.

Nancy giggled. "I'm sorry, George."

"It's fine. Well, it's mostly fine. Honestly, Nance, I'm exhausted." George forked in a few bites of her quinoa. "I'm sorry to run out on you guys, but I have to get to the studio and teach a class in a few minutes. You're welcome to hang out here and raid my kitchen if you're hungry."

"No thanks. Joe promised me we'd get Dragon Wok takeout."

"He did, did he?" Joe said, looking amused.

"What a nice guy you are, Hardy," George said, rinsing her empty container in the sink. She turned back toward her friends, her face growing serious. "Tell me about Brendan," she said heavily, and Nancy filled her in on the morning's events.

"Any hunches yet?" George asked, when the whole story was out.

"Nothing yet," Nancy said. "We think we can rule out Faith. She seemed genuinely upset."

"What about the brother? He sounds like a massive douchebag."

Joe snorted. "True, but I'm not sure he's smart enough to pull off something like that."

"Keep me in the loop, okay?" George said. "I really wish I could help out on this one. Brendan was a nice kid."

"We will," Nancy said. "I know how you feel. I'm pretty angry about his death, too."

They all walked out together before parting ways on the sidewalk. George headed toward her martial arts studio one block over and the detectives turned down the street, toward the shopping center.

"I have an idea," Joe said, taking Nancy's hand.

"About the case?"

"No, about lunch. Don't look so disappointed!"

"Sorry. Let's hear it."

"I'll call in our food order from here, and then we can run into Target while we wait and see if they have those cookies Hannah wants," Joe suggested.

"Again with the good ideas!" Nancy said. "You really are due for a promotion."

"Wait and see if they have the cookies before you make me any promises," he said. He was already pulling up Dragon Wok's number on his phone. "What are you having? The usual?"

"Yes, please."

By the time their order had been placed they were walking into the department store. Nancy hesitated at the front of the cookie aisle. "Here, do you think? Or do they have a special aisle for imported foods?"

"We'll start here."

For a few moments the young detectives scanned the shelves in a silence broken only by a series of beeps from Joe's phone.

"You're popular today," Nancy said finally. The alerts were beginning to get on her nerves.

"It's Chet. He's trying to ask a girl out and he keeps bugging me for advice," Joe grumbled.

"Want me to set it on silent?" Nancy offered, pilfering the device from his back pocket. "Hey, Joe, these aren't from Chet. It's your mom. Here."

"Thanks."

"Is she okay? That seemed like a lot of messages."

"Yeah," Joe said absently, still reading. "She's still on a guilt trip about Sunday night. She wants to know if she can bring dinner over to our place tonight to make it up to us."

Our place. The words hung on the air between them for a moment before Nancy nodded and said, "Dinner sounds nice. But I wish she would let it drop. Callie and I keep telling her it wasn't anyone's fault."

"I told her if she wants to make it up to me, what she really needs to do is get Aunt Gert to see a doctor," Joe said somberly.

"I'm sorry, Joe. It's hard to watch a family member slip like that."

"Yeah. It is." He looked at her. "Your aunt has Alzheimer's, doesn't she?"

"Great-Aunt Ruth," Nancy said, nodding. "I still go to see her regularly. But it's awful." Joe sighed. Nancy reached over and twined her fingers through his, squeezing gently.

"You can handle it. All of you. You're a strong family."

"Yeah." Joe typed one last message and tucked the phone back into his pocket. "Dad's at a convention all week, so it's possible that she's more lonely than guilty."

"I wish I'd known that. We should have invited her over sooner," Nancy said.

"Yeah, you're right," Joe said from several yards away, having returned to scouring the shelves for Cherry Bakewells.

"Hey, Joe? Let's make dessert," Nancy proposed.

Joe paused and looked over at her. "Got anything in mind?"

"How about apple crisp? Callie was just complaining the other day that we needed to use up those apples from her cousin's tree."

"Ugh," Joe said. "I hate peeling apples."

"Apple crisp, with ice cream on top," Nancy said, playing her trump card. She knew full well that ice cream was Joe's weakness.

"Oh. Well, if there's ice cream involved, I'll peel as many apples as you want," Joe said gamely. They had reached the end of their aisle.

"Nothing here," Nancy said, sounding discouraged.

"Next aisle," Joe proclaimed, leading the way.

But, having examined the entire snack food section of the store, they came up empty.

"No luck," Nancy said, looking frustrated. "And we still have ten minutes to kill."

"We need ingredients, right?" Joe pointed out. "I'm pretty sure Frank used up the butter this morning."

"Yeah, I think so," Nancy said, pulling up an apple crisp recipe on her phone. "We have flour, right? It looks like we just need brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter."

"And ice cream," Joe reminded her.

Supplies gathered, Nancy headed toward the checkout- only to realize that Joe had veered off in another direction.

"Where are you going? Our food should be ready by now." Nancy caught up with him just as he disappeared between racks of onesies and footed pajamas. She smiled.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Drew," Joe said, turning around in a complete circle and looking a bit bewildered. "Where do I start? Everything is so fuzzy in here."

Stifling a laugh, Nancy stepped closer to him. "What are you looking for?"

"Something small and fuzzy, I guess. For Callie. Well, for the baby." Joe was still scanning the area, though he had stopped spinning. "Why is it all pink or blue? We don't know which one we're getting."

"It looks like there are a few racks of gender-neutral things over there," Nancy suggested.

"Okay." Joe backed away, pointing at her. "I said lose the smirk."

Nancy didn't even try to stop smiling. She browsed a little and ended up down the toy aisle before Joe found her, looking satisfied.

"Let's see it!" Nancy said, reaching for the hanger in his hand. It was a romper in soft grey stripes, with a happy-looking dinosaur riding a motorcycle on the front.

"I figured I'd get it in the 6-month size so it would fit longer," Joe said, looking a little anxious. "Does that sound right?"

Nancy stepped forward, lifting onto her tiptoes to give him a gentle kiss. "Joe," she said, "it's perfect."

*****************************************************************

It was after two o'clock by the time they got back to the Hardys' apartment and crashed on the couch with their takeout cartons.

"Nancy, if you love me, look away," Joe announced. "I'm about to eat an obscene amount of lo mein and I don't want you to witness this. It may damage our budding relationship."

"I just spent the entire drive home listening to your stomach growl," Nancy told him. "I know exactly how much lo mein you're about to eat. Just don't put your face directly in the carton like you did at Tony's that one time."

Joe paused, a forkful of noodles halfway to his lips. He laughed. "Damn. I'd forgotten about that. I was a little drunk and I wanted to show Tony how a dinosaur would have- would you quit laughing!"

"I'm sorry," Nancy said, straight-faced. "It's perfectly rational to demonstrate dinosaur feeding techniques during meals."

"Thank you."

For some time there was a contented silence while they ate their meal. Then, hunger assuaged, Nancy curled into Joe's side and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I can't stop thinking about that username," she said.

"There can't be that many forums out there for World War II stuff, can there?"

"I bet there are hundreds," Nancy said glumly. "That's such a popular era."

"Sites specifically geared toward antiques, though, or treasure hunting," Joe said, thinking out loud. "We'll just have to keep sifting through until we find it."

"Do you think whoever gargoylegrinning is could be our murderer?"

"His note said 'Talk to gargoylegrinning.' That sounds like it was someone he considered an expert."

"So, the expert could have recognized the heirloom's worth and killed him for it," Nancy said.

"But he wrote that note the night he died. He never got to talk to this person," Joe pointed out. Nancy's face fell.

"Damn. You're right." Feeling fidgety, she got up and retrieved a laundry basket full of their freshly-washed clothes, setting it on the couch between them.

Joe groaned. "I was hoping that would disappear if we ignored it."

"Fold while you talk, Hardy. Movement gets the brain going." Nancy reached for a pair of his running shorts and shook the wrinkles out energetically.

"I bet a nap would get my brain going," Joe said with a sigh. But despite his grumbling he sat up and grabbed a garment from the pile cheerfully enough.

The basket was filled with the clothes Joe had washed Sunday night, as promised: mostly his t-shirts and running shorts, mingled with a few of Nancy's dresses and underthings. Nancy untangled a pair of her panties from the drawstring of Joe's favorite sweatpants and felt herself blushing, suddenly, at the easy, domestic intimacy of the act. She ducked her head, hoping Joe wouldn't notice.

You're seriously going to get weak in the knees over a pile of laundry? Nancy berated herself silently.

"So, Nan, the computer angle aside, got any theories so far?" Joe asked lazily, rummaging through the pile for a sock to match the one in his hand. He did not seem to notice her befuddlement. Nancy took a deep breath and grabbed a t-shirt to fold.

"I don't know yet. My gut is saying Keith is holding something back from us."

"I got that feeling too. He doesn't seem like the strong-minded type, though. I'll bet you five bucks he'll be coming to us to confess within the week."

"To the murder?"

Joe considered. "No, probably not. But he knows something about who did it or why." His phone beeped again, and he reached for it, first setting a neatly-folded blouse on Nancy's pile.

"Chet again?" Nancy asked. Her willpower was eroding. She set down one of her sports bras and leaned over the basket to press her lips lightly to the place where Joe's neck and shoulder met.

"Good old Chester and his girl problems," Joe said, leaning into her ministrations. Nancy moved up a half inch and pressed another kiss there, scraping lightly with her teeth.

"Still?" she murmured, lips moving against his warm skin.

"He's overthinking," Joe said vaguely, tossing his phone into the laundry basket. He turned and captured her lips with his own, kissing her thoroughly before deciding to scoop her into his lap. The laundry basket bumped down onto the floor and Nancy uttered a surprised squeak and then she didn't care anymore because Joe's tongue was doing fantastic things in her mouth and his hand was sliding up under her shirt to cup her breast, his thumb stroking along the lace trim of her bra.

"I'm not sure," he growled into her ear, "but the evidence suggests you just got turned on by a basket of laundry."

Nancy blushed again. "Never date a detective. Never," she said fiercely to the world at large.

"That's as good as a confession!"

"Well, look at it," Nancy said, waving a hand in the general direction of the overturned basket. "Your clothes, my clothes, all tangled up. It's almost indecent." Joe had one hand very low on her back, now, and the other was in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her squirm against him; and since she was having trouble formulating coherent thoughts she gave up talking and worked on undoing the buttons at the neck of his pullover instead. She'd gotten him halfway out of the sweater and he had just unhooked her bra when the front door banged open and Frank walked in, red-cheeked and windblown, in a swirl of cold and frost-scented air.

"All right, kids, hands where I can see them," he said good-naturedly, hanging his keys on the hook by the door.

"Yes, Dad," Joe said. "Catch any bad guys today?"

"All of 'em," Frank told his brother. He tended to get a little sarcastic when he was tired. "We can all retire now." He lined up his shoes neatly beside the door and headed for his room, unbuttoning his uniform shirt en route.

"Whatever the opposite of 'talk dirty to me' is, I need you to do that," Joe whispered, laughing at himself as he finished stripping off his sweater and dropped it in his lap for camouflage.

"Hmm...oh, this should work: it's time for us to go peel about a dozen apples," Nancy said obligingly, sliding off his lap. "Re-hook me, please."

"Or you could just take it off."

"Joseph. Your mother will be here soon."

Joe groaned. "Fine. There. You're presentable."

"I'll make it up to you later," Nancy promised.

"Hey now. Not helpful," Joe said, but he got up anyway and headed for the kitchen. Nancy scooped their laundry back into the basket and deposited it in Joe's room; and by the time she got to the kitchen Joe was already set up with an apple peeler and a cutting board and the radio tuned to the local classic rock station.

"Joe, did you steal the radio from my emergency kit again?" Frank said, wandering in to pour himself a glass of juice.

"I'll put it back," Joe told him, dropping a long spiral of apple peel onto the counter. "Dammit. I almost had the whole peel off in one piece that time."

"If we end up trapped in a blizzard with a dead radio because you can't chop fruit without background noise, I'm going to inflict severe pain on you," Frank groused.

"Background noise?" Joe repeated indignantly. "This happens to be The Who."

"Background noise," Frank shot back. They weren't really fighting; in fact, their give and take was almost running on autopilot. The brothers had long ago learned to coexist on friendly terms despite the differences in their personalities.

"The grapevine tells me you two showed up at a River Heights Community College murder scene," Frank said, changing the subject. He peered at the recipe pulled up on Nancy's phone and got down a bowl to mix the topping without being asked. "Got any leads?"

Joe outlined the facts of the case, with Nancy chiming in every now and then.

"What kind of books were at the scene?" Frank wanted to know.

"Art books," Joe said, shrugging. "Nothing too specific. One was about early American art, I think, and another was about American painters."

"My guess is that the heirloom was a painting," Nancy said. "And we can assume it dates from anywhere between the mid-1700s to the 1930s."

"As you can see, we've just about got the whole thing wrapped up," Joe told his brother.

"Clearly," Frank said, reaching for the brown sugar. "What you guys need to do is talk to Callie about it. She's a walking art encyclopedia."

"Oh, sure," Joe said. "She'll love that. 'Hey, Callie, tell us about an American artist who lived sometime between the 18th and early 20th centuries.' She'll know exactly who I'm talking about."

"Okay, so it wasn't my best idea!" Frank shot back. "But it can't hurt, right? She might have ideas."

"I think our next step is to interview the Rodanski sisters," Nancy said. "Faith mentioned they have a free hour between classes tomorrow morning."

"I wanted to have another talk with the roommate," Joe told her.

"Okay. We'll split up. You take Keith and I'll take the girls. And I'll go straight from there to my doctor's appointment."

"Are you finally getting those stitches out?" Frank asked.

Nancy flexed her hand experimentally and unwound her bandage to take a look. "They look pretty good. I think Dr. Hammond will go ahead and take them out."

"I had to talk her out of pulling them out by herself the other day," Joe said, shaking his head.

"They itch," Nancy explained. "Anyway, Joe, I don't know how long my appointment will take. But let's plan to meet for dinner at the Moonlight Diner. They make great burgers, and we can try to interview the staff about Diarmid and Allie."

"They were there much earlier than the time the murder was committed," Joe said. "Their milkshakes aren't really an alibi."

"No, but a waiter's opinion of someone's character is always interesting. Plus, I'm really craving one of their mocha caramel shakes now."

"You don't have to twist my arm," Joe said, grinning. "Make mine a double fudge, though."

"Is that the last apple?"

"Indeed it is. Frankie, slide that bowl on down."

"All yours," Frank said. He was beginning to look less stressed, as though the work and the companionship were erasing the strain of his workday. "Do either of you know what Mom is bringing?"

"Not a clue," Joe said, rinsing his hands and the cutting board in the sink. "But when has Mom's cooking ever let us down?"