Author's Note: Apologies for the time between updates...I have a toddler and dogs and dishes and all that mundane adult stuff that gets in the way of writing. Thanks to reviewer max2013 for the idea of Joe helping Nancy with the breaking & entering.
Nancy's phone was ringing. Blearily, she pulled her head up off her desktop and staggered to her feet, grabbing the phone from her discarded jeans pocket just before it went to voicemail.
"Nancy speaking," she croaked into it.
"I woke you up, didn't I." It was Joe's voice, sounding less penitent than it should have under the circumstances. Nancy sat down hard on the edge of her bed, rubbing her eyes.
"Please don't tell me it's morning, Joe. The last thing I remember is sitting down at my desk to update my case notes."
"Ouch," Joe said sympathetically. "I've had a few nights like that."
"Occupational hazard, I suppose. So, what's up?"
"I just wanted to hear your voice."
Nancy smiled broadly but said "Butter me up all you want. It doesn't change the fact that you woke me up."
"Ah, Nan. Next time I wake you up, I promise it will be in a more enjoyable way."
"That sounds promising," Nancy said. Joe said "Mm-hmm!" happily and with emphasis, and then changed gears completely.
"How's your case going?"
"It's nowhere near as straightforward as I thought it was going to be." Quickly, Nancy told him about her conversation with the peculiar clerk at the Bay View. "So it looks like I'm going to be doing a little breaking and entering tonight," she concluded.
"Want some backup on that?" Joe offered. Nancy hesitated. "I'm not implying you need a big strong man to help you," he said mildly. "I'm just offering, one detective to another. These jobs always go smoother with a partner."
"I'd appreciate it," Nancy said. "Let's meet in the Wal-Mart parking lot around 11."
"Roger that. What's the plan for the rest of the day?"
"I'm going to pay a visit to my client's daughter. She might know something. You?"
"Checking out some vandalism at Doc Crabtree's lakefront cottage this morning. Taking the Sleuth out on the bay with Frank this afternoon."
"Oh," said Nancy wistfully. "That sounds wonderful."
"I'll take you for a ride sometime, Nan," he promised.
"I'll hold you to that."
Joe laughed. "Meanwhile, you'd better get yourself a big black coffee and get on the warpath. Good luck today, Drew."
"Back at ya, Hardy. I'll see you tonight."
Downstairs, the sunny kitchen was alive with early-morning activity. Carson Drew was hovering over the toaster, knife in one hand and cream cheese in the other; Hannah was busily rolling out pie crust; Dora, Hannah's calico cat, was watching birds from the windowsill; and the teakettle was shrieking. Nancy moved the kettle off the burner as she passed by on her way to the coffee pot.
"Hannah? Pie crust for breakfast?"
"I'm bringing apple pie to our church potluck today. Will you be joining us, dear?"
Mug in hand, Nancy perched on a stool at the kitchen island to watch Hannah's deft hands assemble her pastry. "I wish I could. That pie looks tempting."
The toaster released Carson's bagel with a loud pop! that made everyone jump. "Bagel, Nance?" he asked, pulling his out onto a plate. "I picked up some fresh rye bagels from Sal's on my bike ride this morning."
"Mmm. Yes, please." Nancy took a sip of her coffee.
"What do you have planned that's more important than my apple pie?" Hannah asked good-naturedly. She left her pie crusts for a moment to choose a tea bag and pour hot water into her favorite mug. Nancy took advantage of her distraction to pilfer a cinnamon-sugar-coated apple slice from the large bowl of pie filling.
"I have to pay a visit to my client's daughter," she said, biting into the stolen treat.
"Glenna Davis?" Carson asked, sliding her toasted bagel and the tub of cream cheese over to her.
"Do you know her?"
Her father grinned. "I lost the regional spelling bee to her in middle school."
"Small town," Nancy commented.
"Since you're working for her father, you might want to know that Glenna has a police record," Carson said. "Nothing serious. Some shoplifting, underage drinking, things of that nature."
"Thrill-seeking rich girl antics," Hannah said, scooping apples into her pie crusts. "I remember her. She was real sweet when she was younger."
Nancy snagged another apple slice, dodging a smack on the wrist from Hannah's wooden spoon. "Thanks, Dad," she said. Standing, she drained the last of her coffee and wrapped her bagel in a napkin. "I'd better get going. Save me some pie, Hannah!"
"Little girls who steal pie filling don't get favors from me," Hannah yelled after her, shaking her spoon aloft in mock ire. Giggling, Nancy grabbed her car keys off the hall table and headed out.
Two police cars and an ambulance were parked in Glenna's driveway. Another police car was parallel parked along the side of the road opposite the house. Nancy parked her loaner car (which had developed an annoying squeak in the brake lines overnight, in addition to its existing faults) a little way down the road and walked briskly toward the epicenter of activity. Yellow caution tape festooned the property. A young officer standing by one of the parked police cars spotted her and called out "Ma'am, please keep back."
"Sorry," Nancy called back, halting at the end of the driveway to survey the scene. She was just beginning to give up hope of getting a closer look when she spotted a familiar tall, dark-haired figure striding past.
"Frank!"
He swiveled toward the sound of her voice, unsurprised. "I was just thinking it was about time for either you or my brother to show up."
"I'd like a look at the crime scene."
"You know I can't do that, Nancy."
"Can you tell me what's going on?"
Frank checked his watch. "I go off duty in three hours. Meet me at the diner."
"Over here!" Nancy called, waving Frank over to her booth.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, sliding in opposite her.
"I just got here myself," Nancy assured him. "I was over in the library basement, digging through the newspaper archives, and I almost lost track of time."
"Find anything useful?"
"Background information on the Davis family. Arrest records, philanthropic works, Sir Morgan's father's obituary. I doubt it's useful, but context is never a bad thing."
"Very true," Frank said. Nancy craned her neck, trying to catch the waitress's eye, and Frank smacked her hand with his menu. "Not that one!" he hissed, but it was too late. The young woman lit up with a brilliant smile and hurried over to their table. She leaned in toward Frank, displaying ample decolletage, and batted her eyelashes.
"Hi, Frank!"
"Hello, Vidalia."
"It's nice to see you, handsome. The usual?"
"Um," Frank said, blushing. "I'd like a cheeseburger, please. Extra pickles. And a Coke."
"Anything for you, sugar," she said, bestowing another lingering glance on the suffering young man. Nancy cleared her throat.
"I'll have a grilled chicken sandwich, please, and a Dr. Pepper."
"Sure thing," Vidalia murmured, still angled toward Frank. "Anything else I can do for you?" Emphasis on the anything, Nancy noted incredulously. The girl had no shame.
"No. No, thank you," Frank said uncomfortably. Vidalia finally walked away, putting some extra sway in her hips for his benefit, and Frank visibly relaxed. Nancy looked at him in amusement.
"I'm bringing you along every time I go out to eat. You get good service."
"It's just this girl," Frank said, looking embarrassed. "She won't leave me alone. I think she has a deal with the other waitresses, because no matter where I sit, she takes my table."
"You have to admit it's a little bit funny."
"No. No, I don't. It's so awkward!"
"I'm sorry, Frank."
"Callie doesn't like it, either."
"Callie is talented, genuine, and gorgeous. She has nothing to worry about."
"That's what I always tell her." Frank hesitated, then pulled a little box out of his pocket. He kept it cupped in his hand. "Not a word to anyone," he said seriously, and waited for Nancy to nod before pushing the box across the table to her. She peeked inside.
"Frank! That is beautiful." She slid the little box back to him, eyes sparkling. "When are you going to ask her?"
"I meant to do it while we were away last weekend," Frank said ruefully. "Soon, though." He stowed the box carefully away again in his pocket.
"So," Nancy said, sensing he was ready for a change of subject. "Tell me what was going on at Glenna Davis's place this morning."
"A neighbor, a Mrs. Bowyer-Britton, called in early this morning. She went over to return a jacket Ms. Davis had left at her house and found the place empty, with blood on the floor. What's your connection?"
"I'm working for her father," Nancy told him. "I'd hoped to interview her, maybe get a new angle on my case."
"That's too bad," Frank said.
"No leads on what might have happened?"
"Well," Frank said.
"Here you go, darlin'," the waitress interrupted, setting down their plates with her smile again aimed at Frank.
"Thank you," Frank said. Vidalia lingered, wiping a nonexistent spot on the next table and fussing with the little rack of sugar packets, before finally sauntering away toward the kitchen. Nancy raised her eyebrows at her friend.
"Handsome? Sugar? Darlin'?"
"Drop it," Frank said through clenched teeth. "I am never eating here again."
"That jealous bitch only gave me three and a half french fries."
"I'm sorry, Nancy. Let me call her back."
"Don't!" Nancy said hastily. "It's not worth it. What were you going to tell me about the Davis case?"
"Oh, right," Frank said, looking glumly at his plate. "Here. Take some of mine. Well, all I can really tell you is that the blood at the scene is a confirmed match for Glenna Davis's blood type. Her neighbor claims to have seen a dark car pull up outside Ms. Davis's house around 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon, but that could be imagination. She was really enjoying all the attention."
"I know the type," Nancy said. "It's a lead, at least."
"It's a rabbit trail, that's what it is. But if you want to waste your time hopping down it, that's your prerogative."
Nancy shrugged. "At this point, I'll latch on to any slim chance I can find." They ate in silence for a few minutes.
"I'm going out in the boat with Joe this afternoon," Frank said finally, reaching for his water glass.
"So I heard," Nancy said. "I'm a little jealous. It's a perfect day to be out on the water."
"You could come along," Frank offered. "I'm sure Joe would be happy to see you."
"Thanks, but Joe and I are meeting up later this evening. He's playing Watson to my Sherlock down at the Bay View Motel."
Frank groaned. "I'm not sure what kind of illicit activity you're implying. Either way, I don't want to hear about it."
"Don't older-brother me, Frank. You're off-duty. Relax," Nancy told him, reaching for her drink.
Frank and Nancy parted ways outside the diner. Frank headed home to change into civilian clothes, and Nancy took a walk downtown to visit the local jewelers and pawnshops on the off chance that someone might have tried to unload Rowena's ring. Having had no luck at the Bayport shops, she circled back to her car to check out the shops in adjacent towns, Benton and River Heights.
"Okay, Drew," she said aloud, pulling out onto the county road. "Facts: Item 1, Rowena and Sebastian Walker are dead. Was it really an accident? Remember to call Frank later and see if he can get a copy of the accident report." She took advantage of a stop at a red light to roll down her window.
"I miss my car," she grumbled. "Item 2, results of search at Sebastian's house. Namely, nothing. I'm not sure Sebastian knew about his mother's little foray into blackmail, especially if his death was an accident. Item 3, Jimmy-or-Timmy. He very well might have searched the room for valuables after I left, in which case he may have the letters and the ring. Item 4, the disappearance of Glenna Davis- was it faked to cover her guilt? Or real, and she is in danger?" So many questions, so few answers, she thought with a sigh. With any luck, she would start uncovering the facts soon.
Nancy was a strong believer in making her own luck. There was not much she had been unable to accomplish after setting her mind to it. So she was pleased but not surprised when her confidence was rewarded by the discovery of a ring matching Sir Morgan's sketch in the pawnshop in River Heights.
"Can I help you, Miss?" the skinny girl behind the counter said, snapping her gum. She sounded bored. Nancy looked up from the glass jewelery case, pushing her hair back behind her ears.
"Yes," she said. "May I have a closer look at that ring?" She indicated the one she was interested in, a gaudy-looking gold band holding a heart-shaped ruby.
"Holy shit. You're Nancy Drew." All traces of boredom had vanished from the girl's voice. She was staring at Nancy, eyes wide.
"Yes," Nancy said, feeling a pang of empathy for Frank. This situation was not as embarrassing as his, but it was awkward enough that she felt bad for having laughed at his discomfort.
"I can't believe it. I'm, like, a really big fan. I'm serious. I have a scrapbook with all the newspaper articles about your cases. I'm even taking criminal justice classes at the community college because of you." The girl was practically squealing. Nancy reached across the counter and touched her arm lightly, trying to calm her.
"I'm really proud to have inspired you," she said gently. "What's your name?"
"Andrea. Andrea Farley."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Andrea. Now, may I have a closer look at the ring? And please don't touch it if you can help it. Pick it up with these tweezers."
"S-sure." Andrea fumbled with the keys, dropped them, tried the wrong one in the lock, and finally retrieved the ring from the case. She set it reverently on the counter.
"It's real pretty," she said. "Is it a mystery?"
"It's part of one," Nancy said, retrieving a small fingerprint kit from her purse. She dusted the ring carefully, but there were no clear prints. Nancy set aside the tweezers and lifted the ring between her thumb and forefinger, turning it to reveal the inner portion of the band. To R.W. "Eternity was in our lips and eyes." M.D. Her enraptured audience chewed her gum furiously throughout this performance and sighed audibly when it was concluded.
"Antony and Cleopatra," Nancy murmured. "This is the right ring. No prints, though."
"Too bad," Andrea said, looking crestfallen.
"It was a long shot," Nancy said, tucking her little kit away. "Now, here's another long shot: can you describe for me the person who brought this ring in?"
"Two blonde women," Andrea said promptly. She closed her eyes as though visualizing. "Only one of them did any talking. The other one waited outside. The one who came in was taller than you. Long nose, dark eyes. Expensive clothes."
She had an excellent memory for faces. Nancy was impressed. That didn't fit the description of any of Nancy's first-choice suspects- not Rowena, not Jimmy-or-Timmy, not Sir Morgan. On a hunch she pulled out her photograph of Glenna Davis and showed it to Andrea.
"That's her," the girl said, surprised.
"Did the woman who waited outside look as though she could have been this woman's daughter?" Nancy asked. Colette Davis was supposed to be doing a semester abroad in London, but that could have been a lie to throw her grandfather off her trail.
"I dunno," Andrea said. "I didn't think so. She looked bossy and impatient. This one," gesturing at the photograph, "was real out of it. Like her eyes were real unfocused."
"Drugs?"
Andrea shrugged. "I don't get paid to ask questions. I just take the stuff and give out whatever money Chuck says it's worth."
Nancy nodded. "One last thing. How much to buy the ring?"
Andrea named the amount and Nancy paid it, carefully folding the ring and receipt together in a zipped pocket of her purse for safekeeping until she could deliver them to Sir Morgan.
"Thanks for your help, Andrea. You've been terrific. If you ever need anyone to write you a reference, call me!"
The girl blushed bright red. "Thanks!" she said.
Nancy drove back home slowly, pondering what she'd learned. Glenna's criminal record niggled at the corners of her mind. There seemed to be two possible explanations here: either Glenna had learned about Rowena's blackmailing efforts and decided to take matters into her own hands, or Glenna had been kidnapped and drugged and used to dispose of the ring. She was going to have to make sure Colette was really in London and find out if Glenna had any drug charges on her record.
Her phone rang just as she reached home.
"Nancy!" It was Sir Morgan. He sounded agitated and out of breath. "I'm at the airport now. I just wanted to let you know I heard about Glenna and I'm catching a flight home in half an hour."
"I was planning to call you this evening and update you on my progress," Nancy told him.
"I'll give you a call tomorrow," he said.
"All right. For now, can you just answer one thing- is your granddaughter Colette really in London?"
Sir Morgan sounded puzzled. "Yes," he said. "I spoke to her advisor just last week and she assured me Colette is doing well. And I got a postcard with a London postmark from the girl the day before I called you."
"Thanks," Nancy said. She wished him a smooth flight and disconnected the call, checking the time. It was only one o'clock; still much too early to meet up with Joe. She pushed aside her impatience and headed into the house to figure out her next step.
George tapped at Nancy's bedroom door and stepped in without waiting for a response. She perched on the edge of Nancy's desk, raising her eyebrows wordlessly.
"You talked to Bess," Nancy said.
Nod.
"You're not pleased."
Emphatic nod.
"George, you like Joe. You play on the same softball team. You do biking fundraisers together."
"That's not the point, Nan. Of course I like Joe. What I don't like is seeing you jump into a rebound relationship with a good friend. It's like watching you two hold hands and jump into the crater of a volcano."
Nancy sat back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers. "It's not a rebound. Sergei was a rebound. This is different."
"You're telling me you two have something in common besides sex?" George said frankly. "I had my money on the other Hardy, honestly. Joe isn't your type. You like Bing Crosby; he likes Led Zeppelin. You like ballet; he likes beer."
"I like beer," Nancy interjected.
"You know what I mean."
"I do. And I'm touched that you are concerned." Nancy took a deep breath. "As for the other Hardy- well, for one thing, Frank is very happy with Callie. And even if he were single, he's not for me. That dark-haired, sensible persona is too much like Ned. Joe is smart and adventurous and he suits me."
George bounced the heel of her sneaker against a desk drawer. "I just don't want to watch you get hurt and pull our friend group apart with you." She ran a hand through her dark pixie cut, further tousling the already rumpled curls. "I'm sorry. That sounded really harsh."
"No, I understand," Nancy told her. "I'm a little nervous about it, George. But it's a good nervous." She smiled a little. "I like Led Zeppelin just fine, anyway. You make me sound like such a snob."
George smiled back, her thin shoulders relaxing. "How goes the case?" she said.
"Well, somebody has her ass parked on my list of suspects, so I'm not really making much progress," Nancy teased.
"Oh great. I'll probably walk out of here with a list of names imprinted on my shorts."
"Serves you right."
"Seriously though. If you need any help with those bad guys you know who to call."
"You're number one on my crime-fighting speed-dial," Nancy promised. Her friend laughed.
"Did you eat dinner yet?"
Nancy glanced at her watch, surprised. "Is it really dinnertime?"
"Yeah. I've been at the studio all afternoon getting set up for tomorrow's lesson groups and I'm starving. Take a break and come get Chinese with me."
"That's the best idea I've heard all day." Nancy tossed her pen onto the desk and stood, stretching her tight shoulder muscles. "One condition, George. You're driving."