The Haunting of Lockwood Estates | Nancy Drew x Supernatural Crossover 01

Chapter 4 - Nancy

Lockwood Estates

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Sunday 9 March 2008

A Half Hour Previously...

The entrance to the property is marked by an icy van, which is emblazoned with "Whitefield Ghost Hunters" in a red horror font on the side. The tires are all flat, and the body of the vehicle has sunk into a low drift of snow.

I make a mental note to check it out later.

The tires of my car bite into the gravel and dirt as I drive past the gates. The circular driveway is crammed with police cruisers, a coroner's truck, as well as a collection of other emergency vehicles. The flashing lights mix with the bright sun above, and would give me a headache if I hadn't trained my gaze over the years.

I park right at the door. I am unsure if they were saving the space for someone else, or for perhaps foot traffic, but there is still plenty of room around my car.

Before I even turn off the engine, I write my dad a text to let him know I have arrived safely and send it off, hoping it will alleviate any worries he has.

Although, he knows that I do this. I regularly keep information from him to keep him from worrying so much. I can't blame him, but at the same time, I am almost twenty-two years old.

I turn my attention to the chaos surrounding the manor. I note that all of the officers are wearing heavy winter coats and are shrugged over for warmth.

My eyes catch on yet another car that is entering the property: a shiny black 1967 Chevy Impala. A truly beautiful contemporary car to mine. Two men in dark overcoats step out. The shorter one nudges the other and points at my car excitedly. That is the usual reaction to my car. My dad always warns me to be careful with it, and to treat it nice, and it will do the same.

I smile a little at how excited the guy seems to be. I love to elicit such a happy reaction from people. I remove the keys from the ignition and get out.

A sharp, chilled breeze hits me in the face, blowing my hair into my face. I spit hair out of my mouth and quickly pull it back into a high ponytail. And, deciding it is far too chilly for my hoodie, I grab a thick Emerson College sweater from my back seat. It's the one I stole--er, borrowed--from Ned. I struggle for a moment pulling it on, hoping dearly that no one is watching me. My thick leggings are little help against the harsh temperatures, but there is nothing I can do about that now. The outfit was perfect for the upper thirties and forties of Hartford and all the gas stations I stopped at. What is the deal here?

The two men from the Impala are at the edge of the crime scene tape on the porch, irritably talking to who I assume to be the sheriff. Crossing my arms for warmth, and pulling the long sleeves over my hands, I crunch through snow as I go to investigate.

The sheriff glances at me, and then his face lights up in recognition. He must have been to my website.

"Great to finally meet you in person, Nancy," the sheriff tells me, seemingly relieved for an excuse to cut off his previous conversation. I quickly push my sleeve up to shake his hand. Short but firm. He gives a good first impression. He nods at me. "Chief Mcginnis spoke very highly of you."

"Nice to meet you as well," I say with a smile. I am dying to know who these two men in overcoats are, and why they are hovering so close to the sheriff and me, but one thing at a time.

"The Chief has told me a lot about you and your case record. Exceedingly impressive. How many years now?"

"Officially? Three. Opened the business at nineteen. Before that I spent years working on my skills and building relationships in the professional world."