Chapter Nine: Engines and Enigmas
Nancy parked her car in Mrs. Bowyer-Britton's manicured driveway and took a moment to finger-comb her windblown hair and shoot off a quick text to Chet. Am going to push your stinking Escort into Barmet Bay. Will reimburse you the $20 it is worth. Between the smoke-permeated upholstery, lack of air conditioning, no radio, squeaky brakes, and a newly-developed short in its electrical system that caused the windshield wipers to activate every few minutes, she was fed up with the vehicle. Tucking her phone into her purse, she smoothed the skirt of her dress and made her way up a flight of elegant stone steps to the front door.
The door opened just a crack in response to her knock. A red-rimmed brown eye applied itself to the opening. "Mrs. Bowyer-Britton?" Nancy said.
"I don't know you," the woman said suspiciously. "I'll call the police if you take another step."
"Mrs. Bowyer-Britton, I'm a private detective. I'm here to ask you some questions about Glenna Davis."
"For all I know you're the same blonde who took Glenna."
Nancy dug in her purse for her credentials and pushed them through the slit before it could close all the way. "My name is Nancy Drew," she said quickly. "Police Chief McGinnis can vouch for me, as can Officer Frank Hardy." There was a pause. Then her documents came back through and a click and rattle told her that Mrs. Bowyer-Britton was undoing the chain. The door swung fully open, revealing a short, slender woman with perfectly-coiffed grey hair, clad in a mauve pantsuit which had been ironed to within an inch of its life.
"Come in," she said, grasping at Nancy's hand.
"Thank you," Nancy said. She followed the older woman into a fussy, over-furnished sitting room and took the seat indicated to her.
"Mrs. Bowyer-Britton," she said, "please tell me about the last time you saw Ms. Davis."
"You can call me Ursula," the woman said. She leaned back in her chair, nervously twisting one of her rings around on her finger. "It's all so dreadful, Miss Drew."
"Nancy," Nancy said gently. Ursula made no acknowledgment.
"You don't look old enough to be a detective. But then, most of those nice police officers looked too young, too. I'm afraid I'm growing old," she said with a sigh, casting a sideways glance at Nancy to see how she would react.
Frank was right. This woman is living life in her own little spotlight, Nancy thought. Aloud, she said "Yes, it is dreadful. But the more you can remember, the faster we'll be able to help Ms. Davis."
Ursula's story was a bit more colorful than the version Frank had given her- in part due to Frank's editing, but also doubtless due to the fact that Ursula had had several days to embellish her version of events. Nancy was treated to an elaborate tale of premonitions ("I had a bad feeling all day and I just couldn't shake it"), omens ("When I read my tea leaves at breakfast they warned me of impending danger"), a dark car with no license plate ("I couldn't exactly see the back of the car from my window, dear, but I should have at least been able to see the corner of it. I wouldn't be surprised if that car were stolen!"), and a blonde woman who radiated evil ("Something about her was just not right, if you know what I mean. She had a very dark aura, Miss Drew. Very dark."). Hindsight being 20/20, Ursula blamed herself for not having called the police right then and there, despite having no proof of foul play.
"Let me sum up, to make sure I've got the facts right," Nancy said tactfully. Paring down the woman's flood of information, digging beneath the hyperbole and speculation, she could see the skeleton of the story: "Sometime between 4 and 5 o'clock Saturday afternoon, a dark-colored car pulled up in front of Ms. Davis's home. A young, blonde woman got out-"
"Blonder than you, dear. And skinnier. But about your age," Ursula interjected.
"And this woman escorted Ms. Davis out to her vehicle a few moments later."
"Yes." Ursula, distressed, resumed her hand-wringing and ring-twisting. "Glenna looked a bit unsteady on her feet but I didn't think much about it. She gets headaches, migraines, you know, and sometimes they make her dizzy. I'm so stupid, really, I should have realized."
"There was no reason for you to feel suspicious-" Nancy began, but Ursula cut her off with a dramatic wave of her hand.
"No reason, after the bad feeling I'd had all morning?" she lamented. "And there was so much blood. I really feel sick about it. Do you think Glenna has been killed?"
"No, I do not," Nancy said firmly. "She is much more valuable to her kidnaper alive than dead. The blood probably came from a head wound. That explains Glenna's dazed condition. Head wounds bleed a lot, even superficial ones." Ursula gaped at her, horrified. Nancy gentled her tone, realizing that the reality she was depicting was much harsher than the one Mrs. Bowyer-Britton was used to inhabiting. "I'm sorry, ma'am. We're all doing our best to find your friend."
"You're an angel," Ursula said bravely, dabbing at her eyes with an antique-looking embroidered handkerchief. The cynic in Nancy whispered that now she was just over-acting her role. The young detective carefully kept her expression compassionate. Thanking the woman for her time and insight, she took her leave.
Back in her car, Nancy checked her phone and laughed out loud. She had five messages from Chet, expressing with increasing forcefulness exactly what he would do to her if she rolled his car into the bay. She ignored them all. It was almost lunchtime- perfect timing for a visit to Bess. Her friend tended to get a little bored at home during summer break and amused herself by experimenting with new and invariably delicious recipes.
Nancy was not disappointed. A tantalizing cloud of aroma encompassed her the second she stepped through Bess and Tom's front door. She followed it into the kitchen, where she found Bess scooping out dough and Myra parked in her high chair, coloring. The little girl lit up when she saw Nancy, who greeted her with a kiss.
"Nancy!" Bess said happily. "Come. Taste."
"What are you concocting today? It smells heavenly."
Bess handed Nancy a spoonful of cookie dough. "Almond-mocha swirl. I'm thinking of dipping them in ganache when they're done. And I just finished making grilled cheese, asiago and avocado on Tom's sourdough bread, with summer corn chowder for dipping. You'll stay for lunch, right?"
"I was counting on it," Nancy confessed, licking the spoon clean. "Holy cow, Bess. This is better than s-"
"Hey hey hey. Little ears!" Bess interrupted. She slid the tray of cookies into the oven and dusted her hands off on a towel before reaching into the cabinet for plates and ramekins for serving the soup. "I appreciate the compliment," she said, "but for your sake I hope my cookies aren't really better than that. How are things going with you two?"
Nancy bit her lip. "Explicit. Incredible. I'll tell you all about it sometime when it's not going to corrupt the three-year-old."
"You'd better!"
"Mama, cookie?" Myra piped up.
"Soup first," Bess told her daughter. "Clean up your crayons so we can eat before Ryan comes over."
"Ryan! Yay!" Myra said.
"Playdate?" Nancy asked, helping the girl slot the crayons into their box.
"I'm babysitting, actually."
"Amber seems to use babysitters a lot. Is she going on a date?"
"It's not easy being a single mother, Nan. I don't pry all the details out of her, I just help when I can." Bess set their lunch on the table and stepped over to fasten a voluminous bib over Myra's sundress. "I think sometimes she picks up extra shifts, yeah. She works at the River Heights Pharmacy. And sometimes she does mention she's meeting someone."
"Where's Ryan's father?"
"They were never married, apparently, and I get the impression he died some time ago. Why so curious?"
Nancy shrugged. "Habit, that's all. This is delicious. Why are you not a chef?"
"Too much pressure. That would take all the fun out of it." Bess focused on cutting Myra's sandwich into quarters for a moment. "Any progress on your case?" she asked finally, turning back to her own meal.
"A little," Nancy said. "I was hoping you could help me out with it, actually."
"I'm not going to go poking around in any bug-infested motel rooms," Bess said.
"No, no. Joe and I took care of that last night."
"Please tell me you didn't spend the night in that glorified Dumpster," Bess scolded over the beep-beep of her oven timer. She got up and retrieved her cookies, deftly scooping the hot confections out onto a cooling rack.
"We didn't spend the night there. The room was trashed, anyway."
"Good. So how can I help?"
Nancy's eyes sparkled. "I need some gossip, Bessie dear."
"Now that I can handle! Who do you need dirt on?" Bess asked eagerly, rejoining her friend at the table.
Nancy leaned in, propping her forearms on the table. "What do you know about Sebastian Walker?"
Bess frowned. "I hate to disappoint, sweetie, but not a whole lot. He was fairly new to town. I think he'd been here about a year and a half when he died. He was well-liked by his students, I know that much. He didn't have much of a social life. I know he and Connie Adams had a bit of a spat recently about scheduling class time in the computer lab, but it wasn't a major feud or anything."
"Did you know he had a child?"
Bess looked startled. "That is new information. Was he married? Divorced?"
"I'm not sure. Joe and I found a bunch of email from him on his mother's computer, but they don't give a whole lot of backstory. Not even the names of the child or its mother. I'd say he was either divorced or never married. He was planning to take her to court for sole custody of the child."
The doorbell rang just then and Bess got up to free Myra from her high chair. "Come in!" she called as the toddler dashed away to greet her friend. Bess turned back toward Nancy. "That honestly explains so much about him. He was really handsome, Nan. He could have had his pick of women to date, but he seemed oblivious to all of them. He must have been getting over her still, or just focused on the situation with his child. That poor man."
Amber appeared in the doorway, a strange look on her face. It passed as soon as Nancy looked at her. "Hi," she said.
"Hey," Bess said cheerfully. "Come have some lunch before you go."
"Just a little, please," Amber said. "The soup looks really good."
"Everything is really good," Nancy said. "I always eat more than I should when Bess is cooking."
"Did Ry eat already?" Bess asked, bringing Amber's soup to the table.
"Yes, he did." Amber looked over at Nancy. "Were you talking about Sebastian Walker just now?"
"Yes," Nancy said. "Such a sad situation. Did you know him?"
Amber looked away, her cheeks flushing. "Just in passing. He came in to get prescriptions filled a few times."
"We were just talking about how nobody knew him very well, and how unusual that is in a small town," Bess chimed in. "People don't usually hold out that long against the local gossips. We usually get their life stories out of them within the first few weeks."
"I've noticed that," Amber said, looking pained.
"People mean well," Bess said gently. "Anyway, Nan, I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful. If I do hear anything I'll let you know."
"Thanks, girl. I do have one other string I can pull, though it won't be fun." Bess looked at her inquiringly, and Nancy sighed. "It turns out Ned was Sebastian's lawyer. I'll have to stop by his office and see what he can tell me about the case."
Amber's spoon clattered loudly into her empty dish. "I'd better get going," she said. "Thank you so much for the soup and for watching Ryan."
"Anytime," Bess told her. "It is seriously my pleasure."
"Nice to see you again, Nancy."
"Bye, Amber," Nancy called. She rose, too, and carried her dishes to the sink to rinse them. "I might as well go too and get it over with."
"Can you stay just for a few minutes and play with the babies while I clear up the kitchen?" Bess requested.
"After a lunch like that, I can't say no." Nancy set down her dishes and went in search of the toddlers. She found them playing with blocks in Myra's room and joined in for a few minutes of tower building and tower destruction before her phone went off in her purse, which she'd left in the hall. Myra abandoned her blocks and ran for it, shrieking "Phone! Phone!"
"Thanks, Myra-bird," Nancy said, rescuing her purse from the toddler's grasp. Ignoring Myra's new chant of "I talk! I talk!" she pulled out her phone and answered it, cradling it between her ear and shoulder to leave her hands free.
"Drew's Detective Agency and Daycare, Nancy speaking," she said.
"Nan. It's Jay."
"I didn't do it, Jay. It was a joke. Your car is safe and dry."
"The hell are you talking about?"
"Sorry, I thought Chet must have gotten you riled up."
"Nah. He's out to lunch right now. What did you do?"
Nancy settled cross-legged on the floor by Myra's bed, giving Ryan a thumbs-up for his impressive block structure. "Never you mind, Jay. So what's up?"
"Your parts came in early," Jay said through a mouthful of something crunchy. "You still interested in doing some of the labor?"
"Absolutely!" Nancy said. "When can I come in?"
Jay bit into another mouthful. "Suit yourself," he said in muffled tones. "You know when we're here." Nancy struggled briefly with her conscience. She really should go straight over to Ned's office and get any information she could out of him. Anything that might help her track down Glenna Davis was terribly important. On the other hand, the police were working Glenna's case, and having her own car back would make her investigation run much smoother. Nancy caved.
"I'm on my way," she said.
Bess popped her head into Myra's room just as Nancy got to her feet. "Done," she said. "You are free to leave, sweetie."
"Perfect timing. Jay just called; I'm off to put my poor little convertible back together."
"Have fun with that. We are going to eat cookies and watch Sesame Street," Bess said complacently. She pulled Nancy in for a hug. "Good luck," she said suddenly.
"Thanks," Nancy said.
Swift & Morton Automotive was less than two miles down the road from Bess's place. It was a very happy Nancy Drew that made the short drive and parked the loaner car in front of the garage. She gave it a pat on the dashboard. "This parting is no sweet sorrow," she told the car. "The most I can do is thank you for not actually falling apart mid-trip. May you be kinder to the next unwitting motorist who finds herself behind your wheel!" Gathering her purse and the emergency bag she'd stashed in the back seat, Nancy slammed the Escort's creaky door one last time and headed eagerly into the garage.