Author's Note: Happy Holidays to all my readers!
Chapter Twenty: Waiting
Just as Nancy and Chet were just re-entering the gallery, loaded down with a takeout bags, Nancy's phone rang.
"Of course," she muttered, starting to shuffle both bags into one hand so she could unzip her purse.
"Nan. Give it here," Chet interrupted. He had just opened the door. He stuck his foot in front of it now to prop it open and reached back to take her bags.
"Thanks." Nancy grabbed the door, gesturing for him to go on ahead while she answered the phone.
"Hi, Hannah. What's up?" she asked, pausing to scrape the snow off her shoes before following Chet into the delightful warmth of the gallery.
"I just wanted to check in with you, sweetheart."
"I'm fine," Nancy assured her. "How was your trip? Was the drive as bad as you were afraid it would be?"
"No, the roads were not slippery at all. I'm glad I went. It's always nice to see Elaine," Hannah said. "Oh, and Nancy, you'll never guess what I found at the grocery store across from her church!"
"Cherry Bakewells?" Nancy guessed.
"Yes!" Hannah said.
Nancy grinned. "Hannah, that's great! Thanksgiving is saved."
"Don't be flip with me, young lady. This is a triumph."
"Oh, I agree," Nancy said quickly. "I'm really glad you found them. I'll let Joe know we're off that case."
"And your other case?" Hannah asked. "How is that progressing?"
Nancy summed up the current state of affairs, trying to put more emphasis on the positive things and less on the "waiting for a criminal to show up" aspect of their preparations. But the housekeeper was not fooled.
"I should have just recorded myself saying this years ago, but I'll waste my breath and say it again: be careful," Hannah admonished.
"We are being careful. Most of us are armed," Nancy told her, doing a mental inventory of the weapons in the room. While Nancy herself relied on the pepper spray on her keychain and the self-defense skills she had learned from George, her friends did not share her minimalist habits. Joe had his gun, she knew, and she would have been willing to bet that Frank was carrying too. Callie had her concealed carry license- Frank had made sure of that- so it was entirely possible that she had her little revolver with her today. And Chet...well, Chet being Chet, if he had decided to come prepared he might be carrying anything from a homemade smoke bomb to a blowdart gun. His taste in weapons had always ranged more toward the peculiar than the practical.
Maybe I should get a gun. Or at least a taser, Nancy thought, absently rubbing a sore place on her shoulder. That might have saved me a few of these bruises. Frank and Joe had given her a few shooting lessons while they were teenagers, but she had never made the time to practice the skill.
"That doesn't sound reassuring. Are you expecting some kind of showdown?" Hannah's voice held a note of genuine anxiety.
"Not at all," Nancy said quickly. "If anything, we expect the thief to try to sneak in undetected. But we're ready in case anything goes wrong."
Hannah sighed. "All right," she said. "Now, here's the other thing I wanted to mention to you: if you should happen to have a free moment this evening, it would be nice if you stopped by. Your father and Camille are home, and I know it would make them happy to see you and talk about the engagement."
Nancy winced. "My conscience tells me I should have thought of that on my own."
"You would have thought of it before too much longer. We all know you're right in the thick of it right now," Hannah said kindly.
"We'll try to stop by this evening," Nancy promised.
"Okay, sweetie. And if you can't, please at least text one of us and let us know you're all right."
"I will, Hannah."
"All right. I'll let you get back to work now."
"Thanks. I'll see you later, I hope."
Everyone else had already gathered around the reception desk, where Chet had unpacked the food. Nancy's stomach growled loudly as she joined the throng to pick up her soda and the cup of soup she had ordered. She had not realized how hungry she was until she and Chet had stepped into the deli.
Callie had already retrieved her food and was sitting a little way down the room. "I reserved a table for you, Nan," she called, patting the floor beside her.
Nancy eased herself gently down to sit cross-legged beside her friend. "And this is such an exclusive restaurant, too. I don't know how you did it."
"Baby, I have connections. I could get you a seat on the floor of an art gallery any night of the week."
Nancy laughed. "I never realized our friendship came with perks like that." She ate a few spoonfuls of soup and looked around at the long room lined with artwork. "This place looks good," she said. "Especially your Watson replica. I can't believe you pulled that off so quickly."
"I'm still considering that art forgery career," Callie joked. "How long do you think I could hide that from Frank?"
"I think the challenge is too good to pass up," Joe said, taking a seat on the other side of Callie. He leaned against the wall and let his long legs sprawl out ahead of him. "Cameras are up and running, guys."
"I texted you all the link to the live feed. What are we hiding from Frank?" Frank asked, joining the group.
"Your fiancee is considering a life of crime," Joe said, taking a sip of Nancy's soda.
"Hey!" she protested half-heartedly.
"I know, I know. I just wanted a little caffeine."
Frank refused to be sidetracked by their brief exchange. His eyebrows were lifted in a very Fenton-like expression of mild concern. "Cal?"
"Don't worry, sweetie. I'm not going dark side just yet."
"That makes me feel so much better," Frank grumbled.
"George still drives that blue Jeep, right?" Chet asked suddenly. He was still standing at the reception area, adding a layer of potato chips to his sandwich.
"Yes," Nancy said. "Why?"
"She just pulled in. Someone in a blue Jeep did, anyway."
Nancy met Joe's inquisitive expression and answered it with a shake of her head. "No, she didn't tell me she was going to stop by, but I'm not surprised. It's been killing her to stay on the sidelines of this one."
"I hope she didn't bring Myra here," Callie said, reaching for her ginger ale. She had only taken a few bites of her food. "Are Bess and Tom back yet?"
"Not yet," Nancy said. "I think they fly out Wednesday."
George breezed in, then, shaking snow from her hat and wiping her shoes carefully on the mat. "Hey, gang. Don't tell me I missed the fun!"
"You missed hanging paintings, if you call that fun," Chet said, carrying his food over to join the group.
"Where's Myra?" Nancy asked.
"I handed her over to Tom's parents this morning. They're keeping her for the last day or so." George grinned. "I'm kid-free and ready for action. What can I do, Nance? Set-up? Surveillance? Put me to work."
"We're all on surveillance," Nancy told her. "We can add you to the roster if you'd like."
"Any shift, any time," George said immediately.
"That's not exactly how we're handling it," Frank chimed in. "We're not really doing a physical stakeout. Joe and I set up a live feed we can all monitor from our phones."
"And a motion sensor which will trigger text alerts, just to be safe," Joe added.
"Well, send me the link to the feed," George demanded. "I need to feel useful."
"Relax," Nancy told her friend. "Sit down. I'll even share my soup if you ask nicely."
George sat, but she shook her head at the soup Nancy was holding out. "Broccoli cheddar? No thanks."
"Your loss," Nancy said. "It's delicious."
"It's full of butter and cheese. You might as well just have an ice cream sundae for lunch." George was looking around as she spoke, taking in the paintings lining the walls. "The place looks good. Callie, I think your art deserves a real exhibition one of these days. You know, one that doesn't involve luring a murderer to justice."
"One of these days, maybe," Callie said, shrugging. She got to her feet, using Joe's shoulder for leverage. "Nan, did I give you guys the keys to this place?"
"You gave them to me," Joe answered.
"Are you heading out?" Frank asked, taking her re-wrapped sandwich from her and stowing it in the bag with his own leftovers. Callie nodded.
"I have an appointment with a client."
"The roads are really not great," George warned.
"Can you reschedule?" Frank asked quietly.
"I'd rather not," Callie said. "It's not very professional."
"I don't mind playing chauffeur. My Jeep handles much better than your car in this weather." George jumped up, fishing her keys out of her pocket.
"You really are desperate for action!" Nancy said.
"You have no idea. Next time Bess goes on vacation I'll nominate you to watch the kid. Then you'll understand."
"Kids, plural," Nancy reminded her friend. "Next time Bess gets a hankering for tropical beaches she's going to have to find a sitter for two little people."
"I'm not ready to think about that," George said, shuddering theatrically. "Ready, Cal?"
"Ready. If you're sure you don't mind."
"Not at all." George sketched a wave toward the group. "See ya, guys. Be careful out there. I'll have an eye on that video feed."
"Thanks, George!" Nancy called.
Callie gave her a hug before following George out into the cold. "See you later?"
"I'll probably stay at home tonight," Nancy said. "But you know I'll be around before too long."
"Okay. See you soon, then. And good luck."
Chet and Joe were deep in conversation when Nancy turned back to the group. She caught enough phrases to figure out that they were discussing a problem Joe had run into with the electrical system of his Indian Scout.
Frank stood and stepped toward her. "I think we're all set here," he said.
"I think so. Thanks again for giving us half your day off."
"I'm glad I could help." He fixed Nancy with a gaze half-somber, half-reassuring. "You're going to get the guy. You and Joe are a combination I would not dare go up against."
"Thanks, Frank. You know we couldn't do it without all of you." Impulsively, Nancy stepped forward and gave Frank a quick hug. He looked surprised.
"What's this for?"
"Because you're you," Nancy said, releasing him. "Chet, are you leaving?"
Chet had pulled his coat on and was digging through the pockets to find his hat and gloves. "I've got to get back to the shop. Jay's been covering for me all morning," he said, referring to his business partner. Jay Swift was the co-owner of Swift & Morton Automotive.
"Tell him we appreciate his sacrifice," Joe said.
"Sacrifice?" Chet snorted. "You know Jay. He's probably gone on two coffee runs and taken a nap in the back office." He had located his hat, finally, and pulled it firmly down over his ears. "We'll keep an eye on your camera feed," he promised.
"Thanks, man. We really appreciate this." Joe walked Chet to the door. Frank followed.
"I'm going to take off, too. See you in a bit?"
"Yeah, we're just going to lock up here," Joe told his brother. "Drive safe."
When they had gone the gallery seemed terribly empty. Nancy stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly, taking it all in. In contrast to her stillness and contemplation, Joe seemed bursting with energy. He prowled around, checking the perimeter, checking the lock on the side door, making faces into the cameras for their friends' benefit, and finally returned to Nancy's side.
"All set," he said. "I wish he'd walk in right now. I'm ready for him."
"What, right now?"
"Why not?" Joe danced his way into a fighting stance and aimed a few playful punches at an imaginary intruder. "Come on, Drew. Get out of your head and enjoy this a little."
"I'm trying," Nancy told him, trying to shake off her nervousness.
Joe sobered a little. "I do trust your instincts. Do you have a bad feeling about this setup?"
"Not exactly. It's probably nothing, Joe. I'm just nervous because last time I met up with Diarmid, things didn't go so well."
"This time, he's going to get what's coming to him," Joe said, cracking his knuckles in a gesture which managed to be absentminded and menacing all at once. His confidence was contagious. Nancy felt herself begin to relax.
"All right, Hardy. I know you're not going to hang around here throwing fake punches for the next..." she checked her watch, and groaned. "Five hours. What are we supposed to do for five hours?"
"I have an idea," Joe said, winking.
"Joe! Live camera feed."
"The cameras don't cover the janitor's closet, or the restroom, or-"
Nancy batted her eyelashes at him. "Oh, darling, you take me to the nicest places."
He laughed. "Okay, so that wasn't my most romantic moment." He leaned in and kissed her lightly. "That's your cue to tell me any place is romantic as long as we're together."
"You know I can never lie to you with a straight face." Nancy decided to change the subject. "Hannah called before lunch."
"Checking up on you?"
"And letting me know she found some Cherry Bakewells," Nancy said happily. "And she reminded me that Dad would appreciate it if I stopped by later to hear about the engagement."
A vaguely guilty expression passed across Joe's face. "Yes. That's a good idea. We should have thought of that."
"I told her we would stop by if we could. It really depends on how long our meeting goes, and what happens here at the gallery."
Joe looked thoughtful, now, rather than guilty. "Actually, Nan, your house would be a great place to wait out our virtual stakeout. It's right in River Heights. We can go straight there from the diner."
"And stay there until something happens. Perfect," Nancy said. She checked her watch again. "So now we just need to kill four hours and 50 minutes. Preferably in a way that doesn't involve the janitor's closet."
"Frank wants me to meet him at our parents' place and work on organizing our stuff in the barn," Joe said. "Although to be honest, I think my idea sounds more fun," he concluded.
"That's not really an idea so much as a predilection," Nancy told him, taking his hand. He used it to gently tug her closer to him.
"Can you blame me? Look at you," he said softly, kissing her.
"I'm trying not to. I'm dressed like a college kid who ran out of quarters for the laundry machines," Nancy joked self-deprecatingly.
"That's not what I see," Joe told her.
"I know." Nancy rested her head against his chest. She felt a little shy with him after their conversation that morning. The enormity of Joe having asked her to move in with him would have weighed heavily on her mind had she not been so distracted with the case. As it was, the idea buzzed at the back of her mind, both tantalizing and confusing her.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, stroking her hair.
"I'm thinking it's been a hell of a day, and it's a long way from over," she said, lifting her head. She kissed him again, suddenly, feeling a spark in her chest: a bubble of nervous energy, of tension and adrenaline and desire. He responded to it immediately, cupping her body flush against his and sliding one hand under her shirt to press against the bare skin of her back. Nancy moaned softly.
"Maybe the closet doesn't sound so bad," she murmured.
"Are you serious?" Joe said, capturing her lips for another long kiss.
"I will be if you keep that up," Nancy told him. She was just reaching up for a third kiss when a phone chimed loudly. They sprang apart, immediately ready for a very different sort of action.
"What's going on?" Nancy asked. She could detect no motion at the door or window.
"Nobody's here. I got a text," Joe said ruefully. He turned his phone to show her the message, which was from Chet.
Does "live camera feed" mean anything to you, Little Hardy?
Nancy could feel herself blushing. "Tell him we're really sorry."
"Don't worry about it, Nan. It was just a kiss."
"Several kisses," she corrected, throwing away her soup cup and retrieving their coats. Joe was typing a reply message. He finished up and shoved his phone into his pocket so he could help Nancy into her coat.
"Thanks," she murmured.
He reached for his own coat. "I let Chet know he's the closest one of us to the gallery for the time being. And I reminded him that he wouldn't need to feel so jealous if he would just ask that girl out already."
"Joseph, it's not good form to antagonize a friend while they are in the process of doing you a favor."
Joe just shrugged. He had stopped to lock the gallery door behind them. When he spoke his words came out on a plume of frosty breath. "I know Chet. You've got to dig the spurs in or he'll never take action. Jumping Jehosaphat, it's cold out here! Come on."
"I'm coming!" Nancy said good-naturedly. "No need to use your spurs on me."
Enough snow had come down while they worked to blanket the parking lot in a thick layer of white. Nancy stepped gingerly through it, getting a shoe-full of the cold stuff despite her best efforts. She waited for Joe to back the truck out of the half-frozen puddle before climbing in. Snow in the shoes was bad enough; she was not going to add icy slush to the mix.
"I should've come out earlier and warmed the truck up," Joe said, fiddling with the controls as though he could make the old truck's heater work any faster.
"No worries," Nancy said, dumping snow out of her shoe before pulling her door closed. As he pulled the truck out of the parking lot, she took a deep breath.
"Joe?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll let you know. About moving, I mean. If you meant it."
"I did."
"I need to think."
He nodded. "Take all the time you need. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
"Am I still getting my sonnet?"
"Oh yeah. And it's going to be a masterpiece." His expression had shifted to that cocky grin she loved so much. Nancy couldn't help smiling back even as she rolled her eyes at him.
"Watch the road, Shakespeare."
Though it was still snowing lightly, the roads looked better than they had that morning. Plow trucks and sanders had clearly been out in force, at least along the main roads they could follow from the gallery to the Hardys'.
Fenton was shoveling the front steps when Joe pulled in, bumping over the ruts left behind by a snowplow to park next to Frank's car.
"Why isn't Frank doing that?" Joe yelled, opening Nancy's door for her. "You're clear, Nan. No puddles this time."
Fenton straightened up and leaned on his shovel. "He's digging himself a path to the barn. Hello, Nantucket!"
"Hi, Mr. Hardy!" Nancy's eyes sparkled with laughter. "I'm a little disappointed. You've used that one already."
"Oh, geez, I must be getting old. I'll come up with something better next time," he promised. "What's the occasion, son? It's not every day both my boys drop in."
"It's Barn Day," Joe said. Fenton nodded. Nancy raised an eyebrow.
"Barn Day," Fenton explained, "is what we call it when Frank gets a bee in his bonnet about all the junk the boys have stored in the barn. Once a year or so he'll rope Joe into going in there and helping him clear it out."
"That's the idea, anyway. But I swear all we ever do is move stuff around." Joe shrugged. He looked more philosophical than annoyed about the whole thing.
"Frank keeps things to organized at home," Nancy said, puzzled.
"He'd like the barn to be organized, too, but I'm not sure it's possible. We've got our junk in there, Dad's junk, Grandpa's old farming junk..." Joe waved a hand expressively. "You get the picture. Anyway, we should probably get to it."
"Nancy doesn't want to shift crap around in that cold barn," Fenton said authoritatively. "I'm sure Laura would love some company. Why don't you head inside?"
"I came to help," Nancy said politely. "I really don't mind."
Joe put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you really want to be around Frank in one of his organizing moods?" he joked. He lifted his hand and lightly brushed her cheek. "At least go in and say hi to Mom first. You can always come out in a little while," he suggested.
His gesture had been subtle, but Nancy understood his message. He had touched one of the fading bruises on her face, reminding her that she was still injured and that they had promised one another to go easy on themselves. Nancy hesitated for a second, battling her innate stubbornness, before she realized that she did not really want to fight him for a chance to move dusty machinery around in a cold, dark barn.
"Good point," she answered, catching his hand as it lowered and giving it a squeeze. "You boys have fun."
Joe gave her a quick salute and then loped across the yard toward the barn, ignoring Frank's neatly-shoveled path. Fenton courteously took Nancy's arm.
"Come on inside before you freeze. I can't remember the last time we had weather like this before Thanksgiving."
"Me neither," Nancy said. "It's beautiful, but it's not exactly the best timing."
"At least they got the roads cleared quickly." Fenton took Nancy's coat. "More company, Laura!" he called.
Mrs. Hardy's voice drifted to them from somewhere within the house. "Wonderful! I could use an extra pair of hands in the dining room."
Fenton stopped in his tracks. "I just remembered some paperwork I need to finish. Tell her I'm in my study, please."
"What is she going to make me do?" Nancy whispered. Clearly, Fenton was dodging some chore his wife wanted him to help with. But he just shook his head at her.
"Sorry, Nan."
Shaking her head, Nancy moved down the hall toward the dining room. The sound of a door closing in her wake confirmed that Fenton had made good on his flight attempt.
"Hi, Mrs. Hardy," Nancy called, fighting back a laugh.
Laura Hardy straightened up and set a tray of silverware on the dining room table. "Nancy!" she said, beaming. "How are you, sweetie?"
"A little wary," Nancy confessed.
"Did Fenton run off on you?"
"He scampered like a frightened rabbit. What horrible thing are you going to ask me to do?" Nancy asked, smiling.
"I've just started polishing up the good silver to use on Thanksgiving," Mrs. Hardy said. "I don't think it's the worst job around. You're certainly not obliged to help, but I think it might do you some good."
Nancy sat down at the table and helped herself to a cloth and some polish. "I'd be glad to help. How did you know I needed a job to do?"
"I've been married to a detective for over 30 years, and I've raised two more of them. You're an open book to me, dear. Are you at a critical point in the case?"
"Very critical, and very suspenseful," Nancy told her.
"Well, this will help settle those nerves," Mrs. Hardy promised.
Polishing silver had never been Nancy's favorite household task, but it was better than whatever Frank and Joe were doing out in the barn, so she set to it with good will. After a few minutes of work and conversation she realized that the tension headache behind her eyes was ebbing away. The work was simple, rhythmic; almost zen, really. While the work itself anchored her body, its simplicity allowed her mind to relax.
"What's that?" Mrs. Hardy asked after some time, pointing to Nancy's phone. She had laid it on the table beside her, with the live camera feed pulled up.
"That is our stakeout," Nancy said, and she explained about the security cameras. Mrs. Hardy looked impressed.
"I never cease to be amazed at the tricks they come up with. This is much better than the old-fashioned kind of stakeout. But what if someone does show up while you're all the way over here in Bayport?"
"Then we call the River Heights police and notify them of an intruder, take screenshots for ID purposes, call Chet because he's just down the road, and get over there as fast as we can," Nancy said. "My hunch is that our guy will come later, though. Maybe even overnight."
Laura shivered. "No matter how many times I watch this play out, it's still terribly thrilling."
"You mean you're really not bored with the whole thing?"
"How could it get boring? I'm just as invested in these cases as you detectives are, I think." Mrs. Hardy set down a teaspoon. "You, Fenton, my boys- you're doing very good work. Essential work. I admit to growing weary of the constant peril to those I love. But I couldn't walk away from this life if I tried."
Her speech echoed Callie's confidences from the day after Nancy's attack. I left Frank, once...I thought it would be easier, being away from him, but it wasn't. Nancy thought about Laura Hardy and Callie, about Chet and Bess: none of them loved the danger, but they had always been staunch in their support. Even adventurous George had been caught up in some things beyond her comfort level.
"I don't believe we could do the work we do if it weren't for people like you," Nancy said slowly.
"No," Mrs. Hardy agreed. "But that holds true no matter what your career looks like. We all need each other for balance and support." She rose, looking apologetic. "Excuse me, honey. I'll be right back. I need to switch some laundry from the washer to the dryer."
Nancy worked in peace for a few minutes before she began to feel the unmistakeable, skin-crawling sensation of being watched. In a controlled movement that did not betray her discomfort she looked around- and found Aunt Gertrude standing in the doorway, frowning at her.
"Hi, Aunt Gertrude. How are you?" Nancy said politely, wondering why one scrawny old woman had the power to unnerve her in a way that hardened criminals would have envied.
"About as well as can be expected, thank you," Gertrude said dryly.
Nancy set down a silver teaspoon and picked up the next one from the pile. "Are you looking forward to Thanksgiving?"
"I don't care to make small talk."
Okay, then. Nancy returned her attention to her work.
"I've written Frank out of my will, you know. If Miss Shaw was expecting her little game to end in a pot of gold, she's going to be sadly disappointed. You can tell her that."
Nancy just about jumped out of her chair. "Her little game?" she repeated incredulously.
"I agree. The stakes were ludicrously high."
"I assure you, Callie would never play games with Frank. She loves him."
Gertrude had been picking at one of the buttons on her cardigan for the last several minutes. It gave way suddenly, slipping out of her grasp and bouncing away under the antique shelving unit which held Laura Hardy's heirloom china. Gertrude looked at Nancy, and her eyes were curiously blank.
"Go find it, Min. Your arms are longer. Mother will scold if I've lost another one."
Was she having a flashback? Was she a child again? Nancy half-rose to go after the button, thinking that the best policy would be to appease the old woman.
"Where are you going?" Gertrude barked. She was herself again, a peppery old woman, and her eyes were shrewd and suspicious. "Are you leaving already? Those spoon handles are tricky. Did you make sure to get right into the niche there at the end?"
"Y-yes." Nancy was completely off-balance at this point, and unsure which persona she was addressing. To her everlasting gratitude Laura returned from the laundry room just then.
"Gertrude, I didn't hear you get up," she said cheerily. "Can I get you a drink or a snack?"
"I'm not a child," Gertrude snapped. "I'm going to make a cup of tea. Would anyone else care for some?"
"Tea sounds lovely," Laura said calmly. As soon as Gertrude was out of the room she looked at Nancy.
"Was she harassing you?"
Nancy shook her head. "She seemed very muddled."
Laura sighed. "She knows something is wrong. I believe it's beginning to frighten her."
"I understand. I'd be frightened, too." Nancy paused. "She was complaining about Callie, and then suddenly it was as though she were a child again. She called me 'Min.' "
"That was their sister's name. Minerva. She and Gertrude were born just a year apart and they were very close growing up. She passed away in her teens, I believe. Fenton was a small child at the time."
"How sad," Nancy said softly.
Gertrude re-joined them shortly with a pot of tea and a small plate of cookies. Between the three of them they made short work of the remaining silver. Gertrude was pleasant enough, and made no more slips into either cruelty or childhood, but Nancy still felt on edge around her. She was relieved when Frank and Joe came trooping in, red-cheeked with cold and exertion.
Joe leaned over the back of his mother's chair to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Aunt Gert."
"Hello yourself," Laura said. "Why are you perspiring? Could it be that you two actually did some serious work out there?"
"We found an old set of weights," Joe explained happily.
"And you've been working out instead of cleaning," Mrs. Hardy guessed.
"That's not true. We did work out, but we also organized the whole loft," Frank said.
"May we borrow Nancy?" Joe asked, grabbing a cookie.
"You may have her outright. I release her from her servitude," Mrs. Hardy said benevolently. "Thank you, Nancy. You've been a big help."
"No, thank you," Nancy said honestly. "I enjoyed it. Why do you need me, Joe?"
"We still have an hour before we need to head out. Come upstairs and play Mario Kart with me and Frank."
"Deja vu!" Nancy joked. "How long has it been?"
"A couple years," Frank said. "Don't tell me you forget how. We spent half our adolescence playing that game."
"And the other half giving me grey hairs," Mrs. Hardy scolded affectionately. "Go on up, children. The system is all hooked up in Joe's old room."
Nancy stood up. "All right. Are you guys sure you want to challenge the reigning queen of the console?"
"That is not how I remember it!" Joe scoffed. He led the way upstairs to his childhood bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. Frank and Nancy followed at a more sedate pace.
"Do you feel twelve again?" Frank joked.
"I don't think I ever felt this tired when I was twelve," Nancy told him.
Joe poked his head out into the hall. "Come on, guys. Pick up the pace a little."
Nancy always felt a pleasant sense of nostalgia when she stepped into Joe's old bedroom. Unlike Frank's room, which had been transformed into a guest suite, Joe's room still looked much the way it had while they were growing up. The walls were bare, and a stack of cardboard boxes marked "Ski Stuff" and "Christmas Decorations" filled the space between the bed and the closet, but the twin bed was neatly made with Joe's old comforter. Nancy went straight to the bed and sat cross-legged on it to watch the boys set up the video game.
"Why is that thing still hooked up?" she asked idly.
"Callie and I play sometimes after family dinner," Frank said, handing her a controller.
"I suspect Mom and Dad play it," Joe said. "They won't admit it, though."
Frank laughed. "Shall we dust for fingerprints?"
"Another time. I want to remind the queen of the console, here, who the real reigning champion is."
By the end of the hour, Nancy felt more light-hearted than she remembered feeling in a while. Frank was winning, Nancy was a close second, and Joe's excuses were becoming more outrageous by the minute.
"Face it, little brother. You've lost your touch," Frank said finally, setting aside his controller.
"I don't think so," Joe retorted, his eyes on Nancy's smiling face. She felt one twinge of suspicion- Was he losing on purpose?- and then the feeling got shuffled aside as Joe offered her a hand up.
"Time to go?" Frank asked.
"Time to go," Joe confirmed. "Ready, Nan?"
"Ready." And she really was. Her nerves had settled. She was beginning to feel the familiar sense of exhilaration that came with making progress. Joe was quiet, now, but she could sense the same confidence and power in him. They said their goodbyes quickly and headed out to the truck.
"I'll text Nova and make sure she's ready for this," Nancy said as they pulled out onto the road. It was nearly dark already. The snow had stopped, the roads were clear, and above them the first stars were beginning to shine, their serenity an unsettling counterpoint to Nancy's surging pulse.
"Times like this, I wish I had a helicopter," Joe said. "Or a jetpack."
"Or wings!" Nancy said, nodding. "Who do you think we're meeting?"
Joe groaned. "We've been around and around this. I still say it's Faith."
"Why would she go anon?"
"Why did she lie to you in the first place? She's a secretive person."
Nancy shook her head. "I think it's someone new. Someone we haven't really dealt with. And I can't wait to find out what they have to say."
"That, we agree on," Joe said fervently. He gave the truck a little more gas. Only a few more miles and a few more minutes separated them from the Moonlight Diner and another piece of their puzzle.