While the three of them waited for the police to arrive, they adjourned to the back of the house, to a small kitchen full of white ceramic and curled linoleum, but clean. Helen served tea because Cynthia's hands were shaking too badly to do it.

Helen hadn't recognized Cynthia because Cynthia was her relative's friend, not her actual relative. Cynthia didn't know when Margaret, Helen's actual relative, had been in the doll room, because Margaret had left the evening before for a two-week trip to the mountains and had left her in charge.

"What doll was in that case?" Nancy asked.

When Cynthia began describing the doll, Helen gasped. A dark-haired doll with a china face, wearing a purple silk dress trimmed in lace, complete with a tiny parasol and gold necklace. When Helen had first been brought to the doll museum, it had been to see that doll, which had been in her mother's family for a few generations.

"It's not really all that valuable," Helen explained. "Except to us. And if Mom found out about this, she'd be really upset. It belonged to her grandmother."

Cynthia looked very close to tears. "I'll never forgive myself for this," she said.

"But maybe the police will be able to find the doll," Helen said, putting her arm around Cynthia's shoulders.

"And maybe we can help," Nancy said. "Do you have any gloves in here?"

A few minutes later Nancy climbed back up the spiral staircase, oversized yellow washing-up gloves covering her fingers. She wanted to go over the crime scene before the police arrived, and that meant making do with having her hands smell like rubber the rest of the day instead of going back to her room and finding her real gloves. The door had been closed when they approached, there had been no sign of disturbance in any of the other rooms, so as soon as Nancy entered the room she checked for the lock (none) and then crossed to the window shade.

The window had been locked and the sashes painted over a long time ago, but paint chips marked where someone had forced something under from the outside and pushed the window up. A few of them were still on the floor, fluttering in the draft from the fans. Nancy nudged the door shut with her shoulder and the paint chips settled on the floor, white specks against the faded Persian carpet.

Then she examined the sill, and the glass itself. The glass was smeared dim with age, but still intact. The sill was large enough to admit someone her size, but not much older; a teenager, a small slender man, but no one much more than that.

Nancy took a step toward the empty case and heard the floor creak under her feet. She took a few experimental steps to either side, but was pretty sure that anyone walking across the floor would have alerted Margaret downstairs. And since no one would have gone to the trouble to rig up any gear to hang from the ceiling and drop down like a spider to claim the doll, the robbery had to have been done after the house was closed up for the night. If Margaret lived here, it had to have been done after she'd left for her trip.

And if Margaret did live here, the robber had to have known about the trip and that the house would be unoccupied for the night.

Nancy thought for a minute, crossing the room to look down at the yard from the window. She couldn't see into the bed directly beneath, to check for the prints left by a ladder. Preoccupied, she reached over and lifted the sill a few inches. The wood squeaked in protest, another loud noise that would have alerted Margaret.

Nancy leaned over, her reddish-gold hair falling over her cheek. One of the paint chips, still clinging to the raised part where the sill met the sash, had a faint blue mark on it.

Careful to close the door behind her, Nancy pounded down the stairs and went out to the yard. The parallel tracks of the ladder were clearly visible in the dirt. Nancy shielded her eyes and gazed up at the window. No obvious blue stain on the sill. No blue flowers in the yard to have been somehow tracked inside.

She walked back inside. Cynthia looked a little bit better, but was still visibly upset.

"What was yesterday's color?" she asked. "On the hand stamps."

The three of them went up to the front desk, where Cynthia produced the hand stamps. The color for the day before had been blue, the stamp a sheep. Nancy nodded to herself. The burglar had been by to case the joint before.

"Okay, first things first, is there any sort of surveillance in here?"

Cynthia shook her head. "A heavy deadbolt on the door is all we've needed. No security cameras."

"And was Margaret's trip a secret?"

Cynthia shook her head about that too. "Everyone knew she was going on vacation. Mostly because some of the people don't like to bring their books by to exchange or sell when there's a stranger working up here, but they know me."

"Does Margaret stay here, in the house, at night? To live?"

"Sometimes," Cynthia confirmed. "Not all the time, though. She goes on vacation trips, sometimes she stays with me for a while."

"So the thief came here yesterday, looked around, found out Margaret was going on a trip and wouldn't be in the house tonight, came by last night, broke in through the window, and took... do you have any idea how many dolls? Are they valuable, is there anything else valuable here?"

By that time the police arrived. Cynthia was becoming nervous again, so Nancy left her to take the officers up to the room while she confirmed what she thought. No inventory, no dolls were too valuable, and the ones that were were kept downstairs in locked cases which had been undisturbed. A few of them might have been good for some quick cash if a robber had wanted to sell them, but Nancy was still intrigued as to why the doll in the purple dress had been stolen.

"Probably because she was so well-kept," Helen said, finishing the last of her tea. "No price tag on her, in a display case like that... it's logical that they'd have thought she was expensive."

Nancy nodded. "Makes sense."

While Helen went upstairs to say goodbye to Cynthia and promise to come by later, Nancy figured out how to open the cash register. None of the cash looked like it had been disturbed. She kept her gloves on, though, just in case. She found a few credit card receipts and checks, and copied down the names on those just in case the thief had made a purchase, but she wasn't optimistic about the possibility. Then she copied down the names on the register book in the hallway, where visitors commented on the shop and the museum.

"There are a lot of names dated yesterday," Nancy said as Helen rejoined her.

"Sure," Helen said. "The conference started yesterday, first day of summer... lots of people come down here."

Nancy groaned. "Great," she said.

Helen was meeting her parents for lunch. Nancy was also meeting her father for lunch, but on the way she had been studying the tire tracks they had followed through the woods. There was another way out, but a truck would have been virtually unnoticed pulling up to the house from the back, and Nancy was pretty sure a lot of dolls had been taken. The thief wouldn't have wanted to carry them very far. The back was logical.

The tracks joined a sandy path that cut through the middle of the recreation field, dividing it in two. It was wide enough to accomodate a car, and the sand was completely dry. Nancy had little hope of finding any treads, but she had to try.

A group of guys was tossing a football around at her right. She heard a whistle from the crowd, but when she didn't respond they went back to their game. Nancy saw something purple in the grass and walked over to see what it was.

"Look out!"

She registered a blur of motion, brown and blue, and then was bodily lifted off her feet and carried through the air to the other side of the path, where she and her rescuer landed heavily. A football hit the ground a few feet away from her head, then bounced and stopped.

"Are you all right?"

Nancy blinked a few times, reaching down to pat her pocket. The answering crinkle of paper told her the list was still there. She touched the crown of her head gingerly, then looked up.

And promptly lost her breath.

A pair of brown eyes were looking into hers, warm with concern. Wavy brown hair, strong jaw, blue t-shirt. Nancy's heart started pounding even harder when she realized she was partially pinned underneath him, thanks to his flying tackle.

"I'm-- I'm okay. What happened?"

"I was trying to catch the ball," he said, gesturing vaguely in its direction, but his diction was slow, his gaze locked on hers.

Nancy had never felt this way before. Definitely not with Don Cameron. Not even with Frank Hardy. Hot and cold, tongue-twisted, and realizing with a sudden blush that it was her turn to speak, instead of just staring up into his eyes.

"Um," she began, still not sure if whatever came out of her mouth would make any sense. The boy, realizing himself suddenly, pushed up to sitting and reached out to help her do the same.

"Ned," he said, once they were off the ground, and offered her his hand to shake. "Ned Nickerson."

"That's your name?" she blurted suddenly.

"No," he replied, smiling, and her heart was pounding heavily again. That smile. "It's Edmund, but everyone calls me Ned." His hand was warm in hers. She didn't want to let it go, and he didn't seem too eager to take it back.

"Edmund," she repeated. "Ned." Then she looked down at his hand. As he watched she raised it to her eyes.

A faint blue had bled into the patchwork of lines on the back of his hand.

"You sure you didn't hit your head?" he asked, as she slowly lowered it and looked back into his eyes.

"Pretty sure," she replied. "Nickerson... did you go to the antiques place at the other end of the woods yesterday?"

"My parents go antiquing all the time," he replied. He looked a bit amused. "Is that what you were staring at? They must use some strong ink, because the sheep on the back of my hand didn't wash off."

"But the stamp is for the doll museum," she said.

By then some of the guys were shouting in Ned's direction, catcalls and asking whether he was going to play anymore. He reached over and picked up the football, lobbed it gracefully in the air back to the group, and then turned back to Nancy. Nancy was still watching the path of the ball. Man, his easy grace with it...

"You play football in Mapleton?" she asked suddenly.

"Football, baseball, basketball, just about anything they let me," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

She slapped her thigh lightly. "That's where I know you!" she exclaimed. "Helen Corning--"

"Helen Corning what?" Ned asked.

"You know her?"

He shrugged. "I know the name, that's about it."

"She's a friend of mine," Nancy said. "And you, it's not your name on the register, but--" She took the list out of her pocket. "Edith and James Nickerson."

"My parents," he filled in. "And I bought a Swiss army knife there, if that's what you wanted to know. Lost my old one. Why, are you...?"

Nancy looked down at her watch and made a faint exclamation. "I am incredibly late for lunch. Do you want to meet up later, or...?" Bess would have been proud, Nancy thought.

"I can walk you back," he said, pushing himself up and climbing to his feet, then offering her a hand up. Despite the dirt and shreds of grass on their palms, Nancy was loathe to let his hand go, and she thought his release of hers was reluctant. Her skin still tingled pleasantly at the memory of his touch.

"Someone broke into the doll museum last night," Nancy explained, as they continued following her previous path. The purple she'd seen in the grass was a lost hairbow, but Nancy picked it up anyway. She still couldn't be sure that Ned wasn't the person who had done it; he was strong enough, quick enough, and about a head taller than her. But she couldn't see him breaking into a room to steal a bunch of dolls, either. She watched his reaction closely.

"That's awful," he said. "Especially with that nice old woman just gone on vacation."

"Margaret, you mean?"

"If she was the one behind the counter. She was so excited about it, I think she told everyone in there that she was going to the mountains for the first time."

Nancy clapped a hand to her forehead. "So everyone knew."

"I guess."

"Why did you go up to the museum?"

His eyebrows shot up, and then he glanced down at his stained hand. "Mom paid for a ticket for me before she asked, so I thought why not. I didn't stay in there too long, though. There was a guitar in the next room that looked pretty cool."

"Did you see a doll in a purple dress, there?"

Ned shrugged. "You'd have to ask my mom. The wo-- Margaret was telling her all about the dolls when I walked out."

Nancy stopped on the walk in front of her cabin, and Ned pulled up short, startled. "We're a few doors down from here," he explained.

"Yeah, I thought I saw you moving in the other day," Nancy said. She caught the movement as the blinds in one of the cabin's windows shifted back into place. "Do you want to come inside? I'm sure Hannah's made plenty."

"No, I really..."

The door opened. "Don't just stand there in that heat," Hannah advised them. "You two want some lemonade?"

Ned smiled. "Sure," he replied.

Nancy's father was going over a few things, a stack of papers in front of him as he reclined on the couch, but he stood and took Ned's hand when Ned walked in. "Carson Drew," he introduced himself.

"Pleased to meet you," Ned said, looking at his face closely. "I've read about you."

"And this is Hannah," Nancy said, motioning to the housekeeper, who had placed a tray with glasses of lemonade on the counter. "Hannah, this is Ned."

She shook his hand as well, then handed him a glass of lemonade. Nancy was elected to set the table, while Hannah put out the chicken salad and lettuce for sandwiches. Ned declined their offer for lunch graciously, saying that while the meal looked great, his parents were probably already looking for him.

Nancy followed him out onto the porch. He waited for her to close the door before he turned to her.

"So if that was Carson Drew, then you must be..."

"Nancy," she finally said, smiling slightly. "Nancy Drew, at your service."

He extended his blue-stained hand again, and she shook it again, hoping he couldn't see the red blush that was faintly staining her cheeks. "So will I see you again today?"

"Are you going to be up at the conference hall for dinner?" she asked. "It's supposed to be another buffet tonight."

"Oh, we're not here for the conference, just for the summer," he said, and she could have sworn his face had fallen slightly. "Dad's not in law. Your dad is, of course..."

"Yeah. But I'm sure we will see each other again. I mean, you only live..."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Four houses down. Yeah, I'd like that. I'll see you around, Nancy."

He shook her hand one final time, and walked off the porch, pausing when he reached the edge of her lawn to look back over his shoulder. Nancy, standing at the door watching him, gave him a smile and closed it.

Then she turned around, pressed her back against the door, and closed her eyes, her right fingertips still tingling slightly. When she opened her eyes again, Hannah was giving her a knowing smile.

"Toast, Nan?"

Nancy's closet in her bedroom had an old-fashioned lock on the door, and an iron key in the lock. Nancy turned and removed the iron key, placed it carefully on her desk, and then dug in her suitcase for her rain poncho. She unzipped the kangaroo pocket and brought out a roll of black cloth, which she spread on the bright cover of her bed.

Her lockpick kit.

She wasn't quite good enough to use it in the dark, or with her eyes closed. But she was getting better. She withdrew two slender metal pieces and set to work in the lock, practicing.

Ned is still a suspect, she sternly reminded herself. The blue ink on his hand, his admitting that he had been there the day before, even in the room, he was small enough to fit through the window... well, probably was small enough. His shoulders were rather broad.

She shook her head to clear it and mentally continued her checklist.

She didn't know if he could drive, if he was old enough to have a license, but for that matter his entire family could be in on it. Antiquing (and casing joints) by day, burgling and fencing by night. With Ned as their very graceful pointman.

The woman she had seen earlier in the day, at the General Store, had been the same woman she had seen moving in with Ned; so she had to be Ned's mother, and Nancy couldn't really see a woman that nice-looking plotting to steal a doll in a purple dress. But Nancy had met some of her father's clients, and some of the people he had helped the district attorney put away, and she knew that looks often were deceiving.

She could at least go meet his parents and find out if his mother had seen (or would admit seeing) the doll earlier in the day, and whether he or his parents remembered any suspicious looking people in the backyard, or anything out of the ordinary.

Nancy nodded her head, and the lock clicked open.

The second night was not nearly so formal as the first. Nancy wore a pink t-shirt, stonewashed jeans, and bright pink flip-flops, the grass stains scrubbed from her knees and elbows. Her father looked casual but elegant in khakis and a red polo shirt.

Joe Hardy, who had given Nancy and his brother approximately ten minutes alone the night before, was the first of the brothers she saw. Blond and a head shorter than his older brother, he wasn't nearly as bad as she remembered him being, but neither she nor Frank were prepared to admit that. The rest of the family was there as well; directly across the table from Nancy was Frank and Joe's mother, Laura, in front of Carson was Fenton Hardy, and Frank's Aunt Gertrude was on the other side.

Nancy put down her plate and suddenly caught Frank's eye, entirely by accident, and took in his slow smile. She dropped into her chair, grateful that she didn't need to stand any more, and just as glad that Frank wasn't directly across from her. She felt the hunger pangs in her stomach become butterflies.

Their fathers started discussing some talk that had been given at the conference, about the restriction of civil liberties, and Nancy listened. Her father and her Uncle Jonathan, who wasn't really her uncle at all but a highly respected judge, had talks like this after dinner while they played cards and smoked their terrible-smelling cigars, and Nancy had been listening at their feet for years. If not for Frank's distracting presence, she would have been entirely at ease. She even managed to interject a question about Miranda rights into their talk, and her father's pride in her showed in his face.

Nancy pushed back her chair to go back for dessert, and Frank hastily swallowed his last bite, then affected a leisurely move in the same direction. Nancy had found a styrofoam bowl and was serving herself some banana pudding when she sensed his presence at her elbow.

"After that I'm surprised you're not at the conference."

Nancy raised an eyebrow, cool demeanor even though the hand holding her bowl of pudding was shaking slightly. "You're at the conference?"

"Yeah, but I had to promise to keep my mouth shut and pay attention. It's all fascinating, but I don't think I'd want to do it the rest of my life."

"Dad told me when he was fifteen, he wanted to be a professional boxer," Nancy replied, smiling slightly. "So he thinks it's kind of funny that I want to be a professional detective."

Frank shook his head, leaning against the wall, showing no sign of wanting to return to the table and their fathers' discussion. "Spying, Nan. That's the way to go."

Nancy laughed. "Why would you want to do that? Go on assigned missions, hide who you are from everyone, turn over information that you can't be the one to analyze..."

"And in the meantime, help save the world." His eyes were dancing. "I don't see anything so wrong in that, either."

"As long as you look good in a suit, you shouldn't have any problem."

"I think I could handle that."

Nancy was still rubbing sleep from her eyes the next morning when her father parked his car in the driveway of the Faynes' house. To get back before the conference, they had had to wake up incredibly early. Nancy had even drifted off to sleep for part of the trip, but was too excited about seeing her best friends to stay that way for more than a few minutes at a time.

George emerged from the front door first, carrying a pair of duffel bags. Her real first name was Georgia, but no one called her that; she wore her dark hair bobbed to her ears, which was as short as her mother would let her. She was slightly taller than Nancy, slender, and had been a tomboy for as long as they could all remember. She was always first girl picked for teams during recess, was fiercely competitive, and wasn't afraid of anything. Her dark eyes lit up as she saw Nancy waving from inside the car.

Nancy opened her door and joined her father in the yard, though, when Bess stepped through, dragging a suitcase twice the size of George's largest duffel bag. From summer camp experience, Nancy knew that suitcase would only be the first of many. Bess was a few inches shorter than Nancy and had long straw-blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a mercifully clear complexion. She also had a tendency to overpack, go overboard about boys, and prefer an ice cream cone over any strenuous activity.

Standing side-by-side, the cousins couldn't have looked less related, but the three of them were as close as sisters.

Nancy's father opened the trunk and began loading suitcases, while George's mother came out on the porch, still in her bathrobe, and smiled at the three girls. "Did you remember sunscreen?" she asked.

"Yes," the girls replied, rolling their eyes at each other.

"If you need anything you know how to reach us." She held out her arms, and the two girls accepted a brief hug, then clattered down the porch steps, beaming broadly at Nancy.

"So how's the lake?" George asked. "Lots of room for swimming?"

"Lots of beach space for laying out and guy-watching?" Bess chimed in.

Nancy laughed. "Plenty of space and time for both," she said.

When they came back to the cabin, Nancy showed the girls to their room, which was connected to hers by the bathroom. Hannah had made up the beds, and their window also looked out onto a stretch of land just before the lake. Nancy left them to start unpacking while she changed into her tennis clothes and met her father outside.

"I heard you may have dug up a mystery," he commented.

"Not dug up so much as stumbled onto," she replied. "How did you hear about it?"

"Some of the policemen who were called out to the doll museum are at the conference," he explained. "I was pretty sure you were the teenager in the yellow rubber gloves, looking for clues."

"Didn't have time to come back for mine," she said promptly, and then noticed that her father was trying unsuccessfully not to chuckle. "Well, I had to help, after I found out one of the dolls was actually in Helen's family."

"You know what they're calling them? The Little Old Lady burglaries."

"There's been more than one?" Nancy asked. "Helen told me another girl had a doll stolen, but I thought maybe it was just her brother playing around."

Carson shook his head. "Not unless her brother is a pretty good thief. A lot of houses in the area have had dolls stolen. All ones with porcelain faces. No one's been hurt yet, but that may just be luck, and Nancy, I know Helen is your friend, but I want you to be careful."

"I am careful, Dad. And Cynthia's already heartbroken over it, I just wanted to help her out in case somehow we could find the doll before Margaret gets back."

"And how were you planning to do that?"

They had reached the tennis court. Nancy unzipped the cover of her racket and made a few experimental swipes with it. She had a learner's permit, but no car and no license. Basically she had free roam of the Fox Lake resort, but for her purposes maybe that would be enough. Especially if the thief had hidden the dolls somewhere nearby.

"By keeping my eyes open," she replied simply.

"I'll feel better about it now that Bess and George are here," Carson said. "They won't let you get in too much trouble."

"I don't get in trouble!" Nancy protested. "And... do you know if Frank has his license yet?"

"Nancy, you are not getting into a car with Frank Hardy behind the wheel."

"Okay," Nancy said, backing off when she recognized the expression on her father's face. "Got it."

A distant figure was jogging toward them around the perimeter of the lake. When it turned, Nancy followed the movement out of the corner of her eye, and her father made the first serve.

Nancy missed it completely as she recognized the boy's silhouette.

After their match Nancy headed inside for a shower. Bess had crowded the countertop space with acne medications, astringents, concealers, and all manner of makeup and hair product. The only evidence of George's unpacking was a combination shower and conditioner, a bar of soap, and a toothbrush. Nancy smiled and climbed into the shower.

She was dressed in a yellow t-shirt, olive green carpenter shorts, and fisherman sandals when she knocked on the door leading into Bess and George's room. George opened the door and Nancy walked in. Bess had obviously fallen asleep after unpacking, but she lifted her head from the pillow and greeted Nancy enthusiastically.

"So when are we going swimming?" George asked.

"And do I win my five dollars?" Bess said, arching an eyebrow.

"We can go swimming after breakfast, and I never shook on that five dollars," Nancy said.

"So you have found a mystery," George said. "Come on, sleepyhead," she said, going over to Bess's bed and jerking the covers down. Bess shrieked and scrambled for a pair of shorts.

Hannah had made cranberry muffins and scrambled eggs for breakfast. George was so ready for swimming that she was already wearing her one-piece swimsuit under her black tank top and shorts. Bess was wearing a hot pink two-piece that met in the middle. "I guess I will go swimming," she said. "After we sunbathe for a while. I need to lose another five pounds before I feel good in this suit."

"You look fine in it," Nancy and George chorused, then giggled.

"Oh don't laugh." Bess peeled the wrapper off a muffin and broke off a bite. "I know, I'll have fruit for breakfast tomorrow, I just have to tell Hannah to not make her blueberry pancakes at all while we're here."

"Good luck with that, Dad loves them," Nancy said. "And we weren't laughing at you, Bess, it's just we've been saying that for weeks now and you just won't believe us."

"Yeah, visible ribs are gross," George said.

Bess staked out a place she deemed suitable for sunbathing while Nancy and George splashed each other in the lake. They had each grabbed a bottle of water before leaving the house, and after their swim they stretched out and closed their eyes.

"So what happened with Don," Bess asked, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses.

Nancy sighed and repeated what had happened, half her mind on the narration. She had her head propped up and her eyes open, just in case Ned was taking the long way around the lake and came jogging by again.

"He was your boyfriend for a long time," George commented.

"Longer than Bess has ever had a boyfriend," Nancy teased, then shrieked as Bess started tickling her.

"Okay, okay," Bess said, once the three of them had emerged from the tangle of flailing limbs and flushed faces. "So what about the mystery?"

"I think the best way to talk about that is to go to the scene of the crime." Nancy lowered her shades. "Antiquing."

Helen Corning caught up with them on their way to the crime scene. She wanted an update on whatever Nancy had found out, so Nancy sped through the back story and told Helen what she'd heard about that morning. Helen nodded.

"That would explain why only the dolls with the ceramic faces were stolen. The cloth dolls were all left behind."

Nancy tilted her head. "I just thought of something."

Cynthia gave the girls a weak smile when they walked in, and stamps on their hands even though the doll museum was temporarily closed due to the crime scene tape on the door. Bess turned her hand around toward her to look at the red dinosaur stamped on. "Cool," she said.

Helen stayed downstairs to talk to Cynthia while Nancy, Bess, and George climbed up and took a look inside the room. The doll on the floor had been dusted for fingerprints, but its face still lay in pieces where it had fallen. Nancy looked at it hard for a minute.

"Doesn't make any sense," she said.

Bess was distracted in the movie paraphernalia room, and George by the stacks of used books in the back, as Nancy went back downstairs and waited for Cynthia to finish waiting on a customer. Helen raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"The thief took that doll for a reason," Nancy announced. "Why didn't he take the doll in pieces on the floor?"

"Maybe the doll fell while he was grabbing the others," Helen speculated. "If he was going to sell them he'd have just left that one here."

Nancy shook her head. "That one was in the middle of the floor," she said. "Away from any of the shelves. There's something more going on here. Helen, does your mom know a lot about the doll, maybe have some pictures of it? If we're going to find it, that would be useful."

Cynthia piped up. "I think the Corning doll is listed in the brochures for the store. There are a few in the back, let me see if I can find one."

Bess and George rejoined them in time to see the picture. "Wow, she's gorgeous," Bess said, her voice low. The doll didn't have the flat, lifeless look most old dolls did, and was poised as though ready to go out for a walk.

"Mom would love to talk about it," Helen said. "She always likes to find someone new to tell about her."

The foursome set off through the woods back toward the lake and their cabins, debating about what to do at lunchtime. Helen wanted to see if they could pack picnics and eat outside, but Nancy was pretty sure her father would be home and wanted to bounce ideas about the crime off him. Helen didn't think her mother would be around for Nancy to talk to until after lunch, anyway.

A twig snapped at their left and Nancy held her hands out, shushing the group. Within a moment, a figure stepped into a shaft of sunlight and Nancy clapped a hand to her chest. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Nothing," Joe Hardy replied. "Nothing, really."

Bess smiled at Joe, while George just rolled her eyes. Helen stepped forward. "And who is this?"

Nancy stepped back. "Joe Hardy, Helen Corning. You've already met his brother Frank," she put in.

Helen managed to ask with her eyebrows whether this was the annoying little brother they had discussed, and Nancy attempted to communicate that this was, indeed, the case. Meanwhile Joe was kicking around pine needles.

"Isn't there anything fun to do around here?"

"You mean you haven't found the go-kart track yet?" Helen asked with a grin.

By the time they got back to their homes they were famished. Hannah was willing to pack an extra lunch for Joe, and Bess had a soft spot for him, so the three of them went out to find Helen and a place to eat while Nancy sat on the porch and waited for her father to come back. She would meet her friends at the go-kart track later, once the sunlight had faded a little.

A familiar figure walked down the dust track of a road, wearing a dirt-streaked grey shirt and jeans. Nancy's heart sped up a little, but before she could say anything, Ned looked up and caught her eye. And smiled.

"Going home for lunch?" she managed.

"Thought I might," he said, a teasing look in his eye. "You?"

She spread her arms in an all-encompassing gesture. "Maybe."

He glanced a little further down the road, in the direction of his cabin, paused for a split second, then crossed over into her yard and up onto the porch. "It's a great day, maybe I should eat out."

Nancy's blue eyes met Ned's brown ones, and before she could lose her nerve she darted out of her seat and opened the door. Hannah looked up from the kitchen island.

"Could you maybe pack a few more sandwiches, Hannah?"

Ned stopped in to tell his parents where he was going, and Nancy overheard him promise to bring her back and introduce her after lunch. At least that way she could pump Ned's mom for information. They headed out of his yard and down around the edge of the lake, the blanket Hannah had tossed to her with a wink growing steadily heavier, hotter, and more prickly draped over her shoulder. He found a lone, partially shaded picnic table, and helped her spread the blanket over it before they opened their lunches.

Ned was obviously pleased with his sandwiches. Hannah had packed him two, piled with thick-cut meat. "Man, your mom is nice," he said, taking the first one out of its plastic.

Nancy froze for a minute. Ned, sensing her silence, looked up, still poised to take his first bite.

"Oh," he said, and put it back down. "Is she your stepmom?"

"No," Nancy said, so quietly it was inaudible, then cleared her throat. "My mom died when I was three. Hannah isn't my mom, but she practically has been."

"How did it happen?"

Nancy laid her hand on the table, palm up, and looked down at it. His fingers slipped over hers and she met his eyes again. "She was in a plane crash."

"That's terrible."

Nancy, touched by the concern on his face, gave him a smile. "It's okay, really," she said. "I don't remember it, and Dad has been great. He's away a lot, though, and Hannah-- she's our housekeeper and she's been around forever, too, she's practically raised me."

Ned's fingers moved slightly against hers. "I was wondering why you called her Hannah, it seemed weird."

"She's just Hannah," Nancy said.

"And she and your dad--"

Nancy made an amused noise. "Uh, no. No."

"Never?"

"Hannah treats Dad more like a nephew than anything," Nancy said, and laughed.

Despite herself, she felt a momentary twinge when Ned relinquished his hand and they started eating. Every few minutes, though, she would look up and catch his eyes on her, and thought she had found a perfect diet plan for the five pounds Bess thought she needed to lose: just let Ned watch her for a few days while she was eating, and her appetite would vanish. Nancy's own stomach was in knots.

Ned kept his second sandwich for later, brushed the crumbs off his side of the tablecloth, and settled his chin on his steepled fingers. "So," he began.

"What do your parents do?" she asked.

She listened to the sound of his voice intently, drinking in everything he said. He had a way about him, an ease, that came just as easily as he had tossed the football the day before. He was also older, she discovered during the course of their conversation; sixteen to her fifteen, driver's license to her permit, incoming junior to her incoming sophomore. She found herself telling him about Bess and George, about the loneliness she felt when her father was away so often, and the private investigator licensure she hoped to have one day.

"What made you decide on that?"

"My Dad, I think," she replied. "He's been telling me about his cases forever, I love to read mysteries, and whenever people are missing pets or school papers or--"

"Dolls," he interjected, smiling.

"Dolls," she repeated, smiling back at home. "I like to help people out. It makes me feel good."

"And what are your leads so far? No doubt you've already found her and don't need my help at all."

"I'd love help," she said. "I mean, if you're not doing anything else."

"I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing," he told her, his voice serious but for the glint in his eye.

She stood. "Then you can introduce me to your parents," she said.