Chapter 13 — What is wrong with you two?

The mug made a harsh clank against the metal table top in the interview room as Frank set it down in front of her. Nancy stared at him blankly for a moment and then tried to hide a smile. The coffee mug was oversized and printed with a squad car and a thick typeface that read, I LIKE BIG BUSTS AND I CANNOT LIE. She wrapped her hands around the mug gratefully. The station was cold, either to be intimidating, or just because it was more comfortable for overworked cops trying to wrestle thugs into holding cells.

"I, uh, had a rookie make it," he added, almost sheepishly. "Kid said he had an Irish grandmother and knew how."

She took a tentative sip and then nodded. It was hot, strong, and close to perfect. "Please tell him thank you. This is very good."

His mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile and wasn't quite sure how or if he should. Nancy wondered if he knew what she'd really been trying to say with her statement in the car about the tea. What she'd meant was she trusted him. Oh she'd follow the rules about only talking when her lawyer was present and she wouldn't antagonize his brother on purpose, but something inside her had shifted. For the first time since Ned had died she felt ready to transition into a new season, a season where she didn't just define herself by what she'd lost. It was a curious feeling, like stepping out into the sunshine in the garden this afternoon. It wasn't really quite spring yet, but the promise of spring was there, waiting. There was a wonder to it, the reassurance that the world had kept turning and somehow, in the midst of pain, life offered hope.

"Sir, the photos are ready for you," a young officer announced from the doorway.

Frank glanced toward him and nodded and then looked back at her. "I'm sure Chet will be here soon and then we can get this over with," he said. "I…I'm glad you liked the tea," he added in a softer voice, and then left, closing the door behind him.

Nancy lifted the mug again and took a slow sip, then shook her head ruefully. "Only you would start thinking about having a new relationship when you're embroiled in an investigation," she whispered to herself. "An investigation where you're an obvious suspect, no less. Wonderful timing, girl."

The wheels in her head started to turn as she waited. The murderer had buried the knife and shirt in her flower bed. Why? To direct suspicion at her? Or because the killer thought she wouldn't be under suspicion? It was logical to dispose of evidence, but why bother to wrap the knife in a perfectly good shirt? Nancy closed her eyes and tried to picture the shift and knife laid out on her grass. The shirt hadn't had any rips or tears, so it wasn't like the killer grabbed an old rag to wrap up the knife. But those splotches of blood…they were bigger than what would have just transferred from a knife. Ok, so the murderer had been wearing that specific shirt when they committed the crime and then had to dispose of it along with the knife. That made more sense. So what could she learn about this unknown person from their shirt? She wished she'd thought to look at the brand and size. It had been a perfectly normal flannel shirt, stripes of green and cream and black criss crossing it. No way to determine instantly if it had belonged to a man or woman, though in her mind's eye it seemed on the smaller side.

A memory flashed for her and Nancy couldn't stop herself from giving a quick gasp, covering her mouth with her hands. George had a shirt like that. She'd had it on not too many days ago, commenting that soon it would be too warm to keep wearing it. But that didn't make any sense. George couldn't possibly be a murderer. And she surely couldn't have killed a dog. The girl always gave scraps of her lunch to pigeons in the park. Nancy decided right then and there that she wasn't going to say a word about the shirt. The police could do all that legwork themselves. There could easily be hundreds of people in the area with a similar shirt. Maybe she wasn't even remembering George's shirt correctly.

Her mind tumbled over ideas, trying on and discarding theories for the next half hour more before the door opened again and Mr. Morton entered the room with the Hardy brothers right behind him. They each took a seat at the table, pairs facing off like they were part of some quiz show.

"I got a brief synopsis of today's developments from Frank," Mr. Morton said, taking out a legal pad and pen. "We're ready to get started if you are, Ms. Drew."

"Yes, go right ahead," Nancy nodded.

Joe turned on a TV screen that was mounted to the wall and then opened his laptop. "Ms. Drew, we're just going to go over a few pictures from the crime scene to see if you can add any details to what we found." He clicked a few buttons on the keyboard and a photo of her yard came up with a shot of the dog, shirt, and knife laying on the ground. "Now, are these the items you found this afternoon, and would you just walk us through what happened?"

"Sure," Nancy sighed. "I was doing yard work. There was some strange lump in the soil as I was raking debris out from under the bushes. I tried to pull it out and found all those things together, wrapped up in the shirt."

"And did you recognize the dog?" Frank asked, not looking up at her. He was scribbling away in his notebook.

"Yes. He's the Reiners' dog, Jaques. He'd gone missing yesterday and several of the neighbors spent some time helping look for it last night, walking the neighborhood and calling for it."

"Did you recognize the shirt as well?" his brother asked. But he wasn't writing in a notebook. He was studying her intently.

Nancy looked him dead in the eye. "I did not. It's definitely not mine. As I'm sure you've already noticed, there's too much blood on the shirt for it just to have been transferred from wrapping the knife in it. So I presume the killer was wearing it when he killed Marisol."

"He?" Joe asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Or she," Nancy said flatly. "It seemed like a common sort of flannel shirt to me."

"And are you missing a serrated kitchen knife?" Frank asked, finally looking up at her.

Was this some sort of test? She tilted her head as she met his eyes. Honest, kind, warm brown eyes. The same way she saw them at the store. Maybe it wasn't a test as much as a way out. She slid the empty mug towards him slightly. "As far as I know, I am not missing any knives. I'm sure, if you haven't already checked, there will be photos of my kitchen drawers and knife block courtesy of Detective Sanders." Nancy turned toward Mr. Morton apologetically. "I probably shouldn't have let her in, but it seemed easiest to get it over with and let them see I wasn't hiding anything."

Mr. Morton closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "Joe?" he asked, waving towards the phone on the table.

Detective Hardy nodded and picked up the phone to pause the recording he'd started of the interview. Then he leaned in closer to the rest of them and said in a low voice, "You two are being ridiculous. We have a big problem here. Most cases don't depend solely on physical evidence to get a conviction. Circumstantial evidence is plenty to work with, and you, Ms. Drew are giving it to us by the bucket-full. You could easily have left your store, killed Marisol, brought her back and dumped her before calling us claiming to have found the body. You could have easily staged the break-in to make it look like someone was after you. And you could have easily buried the shirt, knife, and dog in your own garden!"

For the first time, Nancy felt the slight stirrings of panic and shot a worried glance at Frank. Laid out like that she did have the means and opportunity, and more importantly she had a motive.

Mr. Morton nodded. "The pair of you are making this harder than it has to be. Frank, just follow the evidence and quit trying to protect her. And Ms. Drew, stop playing a lone hand and let me do my job." He waved at Joe to start the recording again. "Detective Hardy," he began in an icy voice, "isn't it true that there was no physical evidence at the dry cleaners to connect my client to the victim's death?"

"We are still looking for the primary crime scene," Joe acknowledged.

"And do your photographs corroborate my client's claim that none of her kitchen knives are missing?"

"Yes, but it is a very common sort of knife and your client has an incredibly strong motive for wanting the victim dead."

"Detective, if this does have something to do with that tragic car accident, it is far more likely that Micah Fernandez is seeking revenge on both the victim and my client. You should be looking at her as a potential victim rather than a suspect!"

"I'm just having a hard time with the murder weapon being found on her property," Joe stated, leaning back in his seat. "And the fact that a dog has been killed now, too."

"I don't know what the dog has to do with anything," Nancy blurted out. "Why kill a dog?"

Frank scrubbed a hand over his face. "Mr. Reiner said the dog had become obsessed with your flower beds over the last week. It was probably drawn to the scent of blood and killed to keep it from messing with the evidence."

"If we're just going to sit here and discuss maybes, my client and I are leaving," Mr. Morton said flatly. "You clearly don't have enough to hold her."

"You're free to go," Joe nodded to Nancy. "But we are also officially telling you to not leave the city. Interview with Nancy Drew terminated at 5:36 p.m." he added, before stopping the recording.

"Thank you," Nancy whispered to Mr. Morton, shaken by the whole thing. "I'm sorry I didn't handle this well."

The lawyer grinned as he stood and picked up his briefcase. "Look, off the record, I'm thrilled you and Frank are interested in each other. And I'm sure Joe is too." Nancy sputtered a shocked protest, noticing Frank's brother catch her eye and shoot her a smug smile before winking. "But we need to get this wrapped up as quickly and as professionally as possible," Mr. Morton finished, emphasizing the words.

Nancy followed the rest of them meekly out of the interview room, trying to avoid looking at Frank. What a ridiculous situation! She was so wrapped up in lecturing herself on her awkward predicament, that she was only vaguely aware of a commotion over by the front doors. She looked up in time to see a kid barrel into an officer, knocking a coffee cup from his hands. "I did it!" the girl yelled, and Nancy realized with a shock that it was George.
Two uniformed officers warily approached, sidearms drawn, and George pushed her short hair back from her face and held up her hands in surrender. "Ms. Drew didn't have anything to do with it. I killed Marisol," she said, voice trembling.