Nancy Drew frowned at herself in the mirror, turning to look at her profile. Late August in River Heights, and the sun was already beating down outside. The mouth-watering scent of French toast drifted up the stairs and into Nancy's room, but it didn't help her mood.

From the moment Bess had told her that Tamara had told Sam who had told Nikki who had mentioned to Bess that Nancy was a shoo-in for head cheerleader, even as a sophomore, Nancy had been planning how to gracefully turn it down. Needlessly, of course, now, since Shanna Stevens had been named head cheerleader the day before.

It wasn't like she even had the time, Nancy lectured herself sternly, smoothing the fitted white top over her stomach with her palm, swiveling her hips experimentally so that her skirt flipped up, briefly revealing her upper thighs. She barely had time to go to cheerleading practice, much less to serve as head cheerleader. She didn't even think the first-string quarterback was all that cute.

Nancy sighed and rolled her eyes, digging in her jewelry box for a coordinating ribbon. She hadn't had any mysteries to investigate since a week before school started, and the boredom was weighing on her. The first-day-of-school butterflies had dispersed.

And, to top it off, instead of spending the morning going over out-of-state newspapers for possible leads, she was going to the fundraising car wash.

In her skimpy cheerleading uniform.

At least Don would enjoy it, she sighed to herself, tying the ribbon securely around her ponytail and double-knotting her sparkling-white shoes before bounding down the stairs.

"Nan! Ready for the car wash?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Nancy mumbled, curling her lip as she accepted a plate of piping-hot French toast. "Has Bess called?"

"She'll be five minutes late," Hannah called from the kitchen, appearing with a bowl of cinnamon sugar.

Twenty minutes later, Bess and Nancy were standing at the edge of the parking lot, hands on their hips, watching the other girls throw sponges and splash suds on each other. Nancy heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Because we want new uniforms?"

"No, this," Nancy groaned, sweeping her arm to indicate the entire string of cars already lined up in the high school parking lot. "Just so guys can stare at us. Which is gross."

"You've been listening to George again," Bess said disapprovingly. She bumped Nancy's shoulder. "Hey, you can ask the drivers if they need any help with any mysteries."

"Yeah, because last time that worked out so well," Nancy groused, but followed Bess across the parking lot. The last time she'd tried it, one guy had said something about a mystery in his pants that had made Bess giggle helplessly for fifteen minutes after.

"Oooh, man, I hope we get to wash that."

Nancy turned her gaze from the football field, where the coach was reaming out the practicing team, to a black Ferrari GTS, parked across the street from the high school. Nancy's heart started beating a little faster and she peered across, wondering if she'd see someone possibly stalking the team with binoculars or a high-speed camera, but as far as she could tell, the car was empty. She sighed, making a mental note to keep an eye on it, in case someone interesting retrieved it, and dragged her feet as they headed over to the rest of the squad.

Soap bubbles. Fifteen cars later, Nancy's scalp was prickling from the heat, her hairline was damp with sweat, and her fingers were wrinkled as raisins. She'd never been able to work out exactly why the adults alternately looked uncomfortable or knowing when their coach suggested car washes, arguing that they always brought a big turnout, or why so many middle-aged guys drove through, offering big tips for a good scrub. Bess ate up the attention; George would probably be trying to sneak onto the football field, if she were here.

Even over the radio station playing through the boombox, the sound of the marching band practicing carried through from the football field, and Nancy glanced over her shoulder, watching the players stream across the lot, heads bowed, in ratty sweatpants and sweat-soaked threadbare t-shirts. A few wandered over to their girlfriends, begging for a douse in the frigid stream from the water hose. Nancy noticed the quarterback, Sam Cartwright, angrily gesturing at one of his teammates as they went to their cars.

"Hey, babe!"

Nancy repressed the instinctual shiver before she turned to see Don, a patently fake smile plastered over her face, but he never noticed; he never seemed to notice, ever, that she hated being called "babe." "Hey honey," she sang back, bumping her hip against his as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "No," she shrugged away, as he tried to plant a kiss on her temple. "I'm gonna have to shower for hours to get the smell of car-wash off me."

"It's cool. Want to catch a movie later?"

The football players had vanished into their cars or their parents' cars; another car pulled up and Bess tugged at Nancy's arm, her own bubbly smile already in place. "Sure, call me later," she told Don, blowing him a kiss, before turning to the next car.

"All right, babe!"

Nancy wrinkled her nose and Bess glanced at her. "Oh, come on. I think it's cute."

"'Babe'?" Nancy repeated witheringly.

"You have to stop listening to George," Bess sighed.

Nancy bent over to pick up a sud-soaked sponge and felt a gaze on her, straightening and turning just in time to see a brown-haired guy slowly making his way across the parking lot from the field, jerking his head back forward. His classic jaw, muscular arms and powerful frame made her heart flutter unusually in her chest, but she couldn't risk a glance over to where Don had been standing.

So it was him, she thought, narrowing her eyes, angling so she could keep the mystery guy in her sights through the reflection of the car's window. He cast another gaze at her, a little more subtly, her heart traitorously skipping a beat in answer, but he headed across the street. To the Ferrari.

Nancy thoughtfully scrubbed at a brake light cover, chewing her lip, and grabbed Christy as she sprayed the water hose over the car. "Do you know who's driving that Ferrari?"

Christy shrugged. "Shanna probably does."

Of course, Nancy sighed. Of course.

Shanna gave Nancy a tight, sanctimonious smile when Nancy asked her. "You mean you don't know?" she sing-songed. "The great Nancy Drew doesn't know?"

"Who is he, Shanna," Nancy repeated patiently.

Shanna cut her eyes. "Ned Nickerson," she said flatly, and flounced away, leaving Nancy staring after her.

Ned Nickerson. Great.

Ned Nickerson, whose father was widely known to have ties to the mob. Who had been the star quarterback at Mapleton, at least until most of the team had turned against him. If his father was trying to get him far enough away to outrun the scandal, a town over wasn't going to do the trick.

Nancy wearily dunked the sponge again and headed for the next car in line, ignoring the catcalls, shaking her head as Bess giggled when the driver suggested she climb up on the hood to get a particularly troublesome spot on the windshield.

She wanted to see him again. Which wouldn't be too hard, since she was a cheerleader and he was probably on the team. Just like Don. Except she had a feeling Don warmed the bench a lot more often than Ned.

And except that Nancy's father was a lawyer and Ned's father was, as far as the entire town was concerned, tried and convicted as a mobbed-up insurance salesman for the Chicago families.

After the car wash, Bess and Nancy were sitting on the curb, waiting for Bess's parents, when Bess bumped her shoulder against Nancy's. "Hey. What's wrong? Want me to come over and do your makeup for tonight?"

"Oh... sure," Nancy said, forcing herself back to the present. She could still almost feel Ned's gaze on her. That had never happened before.

"What are you guys gonna go see?"

"Like it matters. I won't be watching it; I'll be too busy trying to keep his hands off me," Nancy sighed.

"Oh, come on, like you don't want it."

Nancy shot a mock disgusted look at Bess. "Yeah, buttery fingers are so sexy," she swooned.

Bess threw her head back and laughed, and as she turned to Nancy again, her eyes were wide. Nancy had just opened her mouth to ask why when she saw the Ferrari pull up, inches from her sneakers. The window rolled down.

For the first time, Nancy's eyes met Ned's, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. For a long moment, neither did he, and then Nancy was uncomfortably aware that Bess was sitting right next to her, probably seconds away from demanding an explanation, or at least an introduction.

"Nancy Drew?"

Nancy nodded, pushing herself to her feet and smoothing her skirt at the back. "That's right."

"I was going to offer you a ride home..." He glanced over at Bess, whose eyes were still round as saucers.

Nancy glanced over at Bess too, and to her horror found herself saying, "Dad doesn't really like me to ride with..."

"Strangers?" Ned finished, with an uncertain smile.

Bess's fingers brushed Nancy's arm. "It's just a few blocks," she said, with a smile. "I'm sure you'll be okay. Call me when you get home?"

"Bess..." Nancy half-moaned in protest.

"Dad's right there," Bess pointed out cheerfully. "Really. Just don't forget to call me." Her eyes had a wicked gleam in them as she walked over to her father's car.

Nancy bit the inside of her lip, very sure that she should give Ned a cheerful little wave and follow Bess to her father's car. But that flutter in her stomach wouldn't let her. There was something there, something more than the undeniable spark of their gaze.

And as soon as she climbed into his car, the black leather seat still warm to the touch, and closed the door, before he even put it in gear, he turned to her.

"Listen, I know you don't know me, at all, or maybe you've heard... but, I need your help."

With the tiny percentage of her brain that was still anywhere near objective, she was amazed at how hard it was to say anything coherent while his hand was on her arm.

"Tell me all about it," she said.