Mrs. Drew

Part 9: Mother

An athletic young woman sipped a mug of Earl Grey, curled up in her husband's armchair.

She didn't know she was being watched from between the banisters of the stairs.

"Mom?" the voice came from within.

"Can't sleep either, can you?" she sounded tired and far away, "I'll heat some milk for you."

She disappeared into the kitchen. When she came back, she was still Mom, but she looked different. Her hair was blonde instead of fiery red and put up in a big braided coil like a crown.

The doorbell rang. A shot rang out from somewhere that couldn't be seen and the woman collapsed.

Nancy awoke in a cold sweat and crept downstairs to fix herself a glass of milk. It was almost four in the morning.

Detective McGinnis had said they couldn't just go hunting for a woman they couldn't connect to any crime. Her father was keeping the wig in his study for now, but it had been too late in the day just as it was too early now to call on the shop where it was made.

The girl made a noise of frustration.

"Morning sweetheart," her father rasped wearily. He looked older than his thirty years in the dim light of the fridge.

"Morning. Are you travelling today?"

"Oh, no... No, I... couldn't sleep... You neither?" he tucked into the leftover tuna sandwich.

Nancy shook her head and poured him a glass of warm milk from the kettle.

"Thank you, Nance," he held her small hands across the table.

"I think... I think this gypsy mystic... could be the missing link... She must know things that could make this all make sense, I just... don't know how..."

"You know, in Mr. Hardy's line of work, they call that a hunch."

"What does he do with it?"

"Well, he likes to see how it plays out. You do enough digging in enough spots that look right, you'll find water."

"Water," she smiled, "Not gold?"

"That's what I asked him. He said, 'Water flows, like information, like secrets. What is gold but another commodity to trade with? But water - that stuff, we live on.'"

"... You're pulling my leg; he didn't say that!" Nancy laughed, thinking of practical, minimalist Mr. Hardy getting all philosophical.

Carson chuckled, "Oh, you ply him with a few beers, he can turn into quite the poet."

"Dad!" a wide smile stretched across her freckled cheeks in contrast to her admonition.

When their laughter died down, her father said, "You should try and get some more sleep. You have a test today, don't you?"

Nancy nodded, "Can I just look at the wig one more time?"

He fished his keys out of his robe and handed them to her.

The girl unlocked the sturdy oak cabinet in his home office and brought out the head piece. Her sensitive fingers ran along the coarse interior until the unwinding end of a loose thread was felt. Nancy's blue eyes dilated as she used her nails to pry it out from the folded seam where it was wedged tightly. She pulled on the thread and a small pouch was revealed.

"Dad!"

"Well, I'll be..." he came to kneel beside her, "What are these stains?"

"I was hoping you knew. It can't be run-of-the-mill ink otherwise she wouldn't hide it this way."

"I agree. And this powder stuff is curious too. I'll ring Professor Shannon at first light."

Hannah arrived at six, just as Carson finished speaking with Fenton Hardy, who'd visited the wigmaker in New York.

"The man denied knowing anything about a secret pouch," the lawyer related to his daughter, "but Fenton will keep on him, see if he feels spooked into doing anything or reaching out to anyone."

"Don't this household know the meaning of the word, 'sleep'?" the housekeeper tutted.

"Good morning, Hannah," the Drews chorused.

The doorbell rang.

"That'll be the professor," Carson opened the door, "Hello, and who's this young lady?"

Nancy never felt a churning in her stomach at the thought of seeing anyone before.

"My daughter, Deirdre," the woman smiled warmly, "Do you want to say 'hi' to Mommy's friend, baby?"

"No!" she tried to run back into the car, but her mother stopped her.

"I'm sorry," Yolanda took the girl into her arms with some difficulty, "she's having a particularly bad day..."

"It's quite alright. Nancy, why don't you show Deirdre your mom's snowglobes?" Carson turned back to the professor, "The study is just through here."

"I don't like snowglobes," Deirdre pouted when they were alone in the living room, "They serve no purpose."

"They make excellent paper weights," Nancy deadpanned, "We have encyclopedias too."

The visitor quirked her pretty eyebrows in interest, but only shrugged, "Fine."

In the study, Yolanda chuckled and pocketed her hand lens.

"What's so funny?" asked Carson, amused.

"It's cosmetics," she laughed.

"... Oh," he chuckled and scratched the back of his neck, "but... why hide it this way?"

Yolanda touched her red lips in thought, "... You know... we use chemicals of a similar sort when we make our children's exhibits at the university museum."

"So she's an artist."

She tilted her head at him, "A forger would be the technical term, I believe."

"Of course, of course..." he nodded, "Well, thank you for your valuable insight, Professor."

"Anytime and please, call me Yolanda."

The parents stopped short at the edge of the living room.

"She doesn't usually get on with people," the woman admitted, "But even the other day, she would talk to Nancy at length. You're lucky to have such a special girl."

"She takes after her mother," said Carson, humbly.

"Say, if you ever need anything, one single parent raising a daughter to another..." she gazed up at him.

"Thank you."

"Mom, not him!" Deirdre slammed the large encyclopedia shut on Nancy's hand and didn't seem to notice, "I don't want to share you! I don't want a sister! I don't want to live in this haunted house! I -"

"Baby, please -" Yolanda's cheeks were bright red, "I'm sorry. We should go."

"It's quite alright," Carson assured her.

Mother and daughter left quickly nonetheless.

"Dad..." Nancy spoke quietly, massaging her hand, "... Do you like Professor Shannon?"

"I love your mother and I always will," he held her close.

"But... could you be happy by yourself?" she whispered into his dress shirt.

"Does good ol' Hannah have any plans to leave?"

"Not that I know..."

"And are you going anywhere?"

"Never!" his daughter vowed.

"Then how could I ever be by myself?"

They stayed like that a while, holding each other in the foyer.