*My Saturday is packed, so you get this on a Friday! Thank you so much for all the kind reviews!

Chapter 2 — Here comes the cavalry.

The phone buzzed insistently in his jacket pocket and Detective Frank Hardy sighed wearily. Four hours of paperwork wrapping up that robbery and he was almost home free, jacket on and keys in hand. But he pulled out the phone and answered anyway. That was the job.

"Hardy."

"This is Dispatch. We have a 10-54 at 304 10th Street. Uniforms are en route."

Great. Possible dead body at… "Repeat that address," he said sharply, snapping his fingers at his partner across the room, who had also been looking to make his getaway for the night.

"304 10th Street," the tinny voice said in his ear. "Ocean Breeze—"

"Cleaners, yeah got it," he finished, disconnecting the call. "Joe, we have a case," he called to his brother as he shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket and began rummaging around on his desk looking for his keys.

"What's up?" Joe asked, his phone in hand as he texted to cancel his date with whichever girl of the month he was supposed to meet tonight. Frank adored his younger brother and their unorthodox working partnership as detectives with the New York City Police, but in this moment he felt a frisson of irritation at Joe's normal easy-going demeanor.

"10-54," Frank snapped. "I'll drive if I can ever find the blasted keys."

"Whoa there," Joe said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "The keys are in your hand."

Frank paused and stared at the key ring clenched in his fist. He closed his eyes and breathed a slow deep breath in and then out. "Sorry," he said. "It's been a long week." He faced his brother's skeptical brown eyes. Eyes that their mother had always compared to an earnest puppy. They were paired with sun streaked blond hair that made it seem like Joe was a recent transplant from the West Coast, despite having lived in the northeast all of his life. By contrast, Frank had been gifted his father's darker brown hair and eyes. He'd never been accused of having puppy dog eyes. He was more likely to be called shrewd or stern, those eyes evaluating everything and everyone in their path.

It was true, what he'd said, it had been a long week, and his brother's puppy eyes looked as tired as his own felt. But he wasn't one to make those sorts of excuses and Joe knew it. "The call is for my dry cleaners," he said, heading for the door.

"Ok. 10th Street, right?" Joe said, following him obediently. "I don't know why you go that far when the Feldman's Laundry is right around the corner unless you have a thing for the blonde that works the counter."

"Don't be ridiculous," Frank muttered, shoving open the door to the parking garage and heading for his black Tahoe. He couldn't miss Joe's grin as his brother climbed into the passenger seat. "She's not even a blonde," he protested, and immediately knew that was the absolute wrong response.

There was a palpable silence from his brother. Frank knew without a doubt Joe was wrestling with the desire to tease him and the possibility that the body they were about to investigate was the subject of the teasing. Fortunately Joe chose tactful silence this time, and didn't make another comment until they arrived at the small store, nestled between a coffee shop and a pizza place.

There were already two cars at the scene when they pulled up, and through the front window Frank could see an officer talking with the woman from the store. So she wasn't the victim. But was she the perpetrator? There was something going on with her, Frank was certain about that. It was what had first caught his attention. Sure she was pretty, beautiful even, but there was an edge to her, something that made her eyes sad and her smile tight.

She looked up as they entered the door and frowned at him confusedly. "Your text said you'd come pick up the laundry tomorrow."

Frank's gaze swept over the room. Nothing out of place, no evidence of a struggle. He focused on the woman. Not blonde, as he'd told Joe. More of a light red. And she was more than a little shaken, given how wide her blue eyes were and how tightly she clasped her hands together. "I'm Detective Frank Hardy. This is my partner," he added, waving towards Joe.

The woman closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "Of course," she said, looking up at him and then quickly away. "That was stupid, I'm sorry. You're a cop. I knew that. You aren't here for your dry cleaning." Her voice had trailed off in a whisper of self-disgust.

"Body is out back," said one of the other officers. "Female. Mid twenties. Appears to have bled out from a neck wound. The coroner is with her now."

Frank saw the woman give a slight shudder. "Why don't you check out back," he told Joe. "I'll speak with —"

"Ms. Nickerson," offered the first officer, glancing down at his notepad.

The woman gave a frantic shake of her head, looking almost panicked. "No, it's Drew. Nancy Drew. I didn't mean to say that…before…I changed it…changed it back, I mean…I'm not…My name is Nancy Drew," she finished firmly, frowning down at the floor.

"It's not a problem Ms. Drew," Frank said, pulling out his own small notebook and flipping to a new page. "Were you the one who called this in?"

She nodded.

"And what time did you discover the body?"

"Umm, about half an hour ago. There was a crash and I went to see what it was…"

"And did you recognize the deceased?"

Nancy frowned. "I don't think so. But I didn't really look."

"Why did you call 911 and report a dead body instead of asking for an ambulance?"

"Her eyes…" Nancy's voice trailed away and she shivered again, wrapping her arms around herself tightly.

The woman looked about ready to faint. Some people reacted like that, but Frank had to admit he was a bit surprised that she seemed ready to go to pieces. She was always quick and clear headed in the busiest of moments at the store, and he'd witnessed her go toe to toe with more than one disgruntled customer, always holding her own with a cool politeness. One woman had insisted the shop had ruined a zipper on her dress, and this Ms. Drew had very calmly replied to the woman that their machines could not have pulled a zipper from its seam and the true culprit was most likely that the dress was a size six and she was very obviously not. Frank had tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile as the woman stomped out and Nancy had given him a quick wink. Suffice it to say his observations of her led him to think she would keep her head in a crisis, and she was far from that right now.

"Would you prefer to sit and have a cup of tea?" Frank said, surprising even himself with the question. Two of the uniformed officers who had been bringing some evidence through from the alleyway paused and glanced at each other, then at him. He shot them a glare and they quickly hurried out the front door. Ms. Drew sank into one of the chairs in the waiting area, and Frank stepped over to the break room. He'd seen her come and go with a mug of tea from there before. There must be — ah, there, a small electric pot to heat the water. He turned it on and surveyed the assortment of boxes on the table, grabbing one that said something about promoting calm and dropping it in a teal mug with a llama on the front proclaiming No Drama. He poured the steaming water over it and wrinkled his nose. It did not smell appealing at all, but what did he know? He was a confirmed coffee drinker. He dumped some sugar in for good measure. Sweet, strong tea. That was supposed to be good for shock, or so his Aunt Gertrude said.

Ms. Drew was holding her phone, texting someone, when he brought the mug over to her. She dropped her phone in her lap and wrapped her hands around the mug gratefully, taking a cautious sip. She made a face at it, but took another sip. Interesting. Maybe he'd made it wrong. Or maybe she didn't like the type of tea he'd chosen.

He drew up a chair beside her and pulled out this notebook again. He needed to focus. This woman was just as likely to have killed the other in the alley as she was to be a victim of circumstance. His job was to gather and evaluate facts, not be swayed by a damsel in distress. "Now then, Ms. Drew, let's go over this once more, please."