A Pleasant Afternoon Tea
Nancy Drew felt troubled and defeated for the first time in her career (she decided to write in third person because she wasn't sure she wanted to sign a confession), although in the books she always triumphed over evil easily. The crooks wore hats pulled down low over their eyes, and they always had shockingly poor manners, making them easy to spot. But lately it seemed that her authoress was straying from the proper plots. As Nancy read about herself engaged in this or that adventure, she felt nostalgic for some of her old mysteries.
"The Mystery of the Ivory Charm, for example," she said to herself. "Now that was a satisfactory adventure."
Nancy had watched her roadster change to a convertible, and she read about herself on improbable airplane rides. "I was so much more comfortable in the old days," she said with a sigh. "Most of my best mysteries were within driving distance of River Heights." She missed her blue roadster. She wished she had a mystery like The Password to Larkspur Lane to solve, instead of her current problem.
Nancy was sitting by a cheerful fire in the tasteful parlor. It was a rainy afternoon, and she was all alone. Hannah Gruen had been called away to care for her sister, who was ill. This often happened in the books too. Nancy was working on a petit-point design of an Arctic amphibian, but impulsively she flung it into her Jane Austen work basket. "It's useless," she thought. "I will not rest until I solve this mystery! Even though there are no murders in my stories, I will have to face the fact sooner or later -my father was murdered!"
She decided to telephone Bess Marvin, now Mrs. Ned Nickerson, plump mother of four.
"Oh, hello, Nancy!" Bess greeted her. "It's good to hear from you. River Heights isn't the cozy city it used to be. We never seem to get together."
"Bess, I need your help," Nancy said quickly and firmly.
"Oh, Nancy, you sound like your old self again. Do I suspect another mystery?"
"I have something to discuss with you. It may be the most challenging mystery of my career!"
Nancy, with her usual persuasive and friendly manner, so well documented in dozens of her sleuthing tales, soon won Bess's promise to engage a baby-sitter and drive over from the Seascape Towers subdivision of River Heights.
Nancy took her worn copy of The Clue in the Old Album from the shelf. She remembered picnicking with Ned Nickerson in that book. Ned had been so devoted to her, but as it turned out, he preferred Bess's cooking. Bess had married him when he finally graduated from Emerson College. He was now a football coach, and Nancy was still good friends with him and Bess. Nancy never held a grudge.
Nancy had been the most attractive and popular girl River Heights had ever seen, as well as the most independent and resourceful. That was because she had lost her mother at an early age and had had to manage the household by herself, as the books always reported faithfully. And Nancy was expert at anything she tried-digging fence-post holes, parsing sentences, skinning rabbits, fixing radios, making lace. She made straight A's and had the loveliest fingernails in her class. She would have been a cheerleader if she could have taken time from her sleuthing.
"But from the time I got involved in that sorority smuggling ring, nothing has been the same," Nancy remembered. She prepared a cup of tea and then began to examine a small ivory igloo on the table beside her. When she apparently pressed a concealed spring, a blank-faced figure in a tiny fur-trimmed parka popped out of the igloo-much like a cuckoo from a clock. His right hand clutched a miniature harpoon dangling on a string. Nancy was so nervous-a fact that surprised her-that she almost spilled the tea, and as she juggled the cup in its saucer, the tiny harpoon fell from the figure's grasp and pricked the back of her left hand.
"Here any regular reader would expect that I have been poisoned," laughed Nancy to herself as she reassembled harpoon and hunter. However, she fell asleep instantly and was awakened two hours later by Bess Nickerson, sounding the door chimes. "What happened, Nancy? You look as if you've been drugged." Bess was wearing a parka with a fur edge, River Heights fashion that season. "Did I awaken you?"
"Yes, I was probably drugged." Nancy was so used to that familiar trick that it hardly bothered her. "Here's the culprit." She produced the hunter in his igloo. "It reminds me of that Confederate soldier doll whose sword pricked me in old Mrs. Struthers' mansion."
"Oh, Nancy, we were so scared when you wouldn't wake up! And I thought your father would die!" squealed Bess, who still squealed habitually.
"Well, he did," said Nancy grimly. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean literally." Nancy had been Carson Drew's assistant, his confidante, his fair-haired daughter. She had looked after his ties and handkerchiefs and had arranged his appointments. He gave her his most important mystery cases. To ease her grief over his death, Nancy had thrown herself into various charitable amusements. She won the River Heights bake-off and captured a silver loving cup in a bowling tournament. During one week she had assumed a dramatic stage role when the leading lady became ill. Nancy learned her lines in an afternoon. She had similarly substituted in a trapeze act when a circus stopped in town. But none of these pastimes satisfied her. Recently she had gotten out her silver badge, resolving to return to her detective work with renewed energy.
"Shouldn't we sit down and talk?" said Bess. "I must remove this wet parka."
Nancy parked the parka on the hall tree, and they repaired to the parlor, where the souvenirs of Nancy 's cases were lined up on the mantel-the old clock, the Turnbull urn, the Paul Revere bell, the heirloom cameo, and several glossy mink pelts. The room had been the scene of many confidences between Carson Drew and his clients, and between father and daughter. Hannah Gruen had served a lot of cocoa and homemade cookies in that room.
Nancy got straight to the point. "Bess, I have reason to believe my father was murdered."
" Nancy!" Bess seemed shocked. "I thought you had given up mysteries."
"Mysteries are my destiny. And this one leads me into dangerous new territory."
" Nancy," said Bess warmly. "I feel you are much too preoccupied with the loss of your father. It's not good for you. And besides, as you say, it may be too dangerous."
"I think you understand, Bess, that my father meant everything to me. He was responsible for that premature career of mine-the glory of it, the brilliant girl detective following in his footsteps. He set standards that I had to live up to, and the resulting acclaim I received spurred me on. I cannot quit now, Bess. I cannot disappoint my fans, or myself, or my dear father's memory."
"I see what you mean," Bess murmured.
"And the most important mystery of my career is unfolding before me now. It has to do with my parentage."
"Your parentage!" exclaimed Bess, wide eyed.
"You know I never knew my mother," said Nancy.
"She died when you were three. All the books say that."
"All the same I can't remember her. Father told me very little about her. He was always evasive. What if she is still alive? What if some dread secret lurks in my past? She may have been murdered or kidnapped. Anything could have happened. And Father may have wanted to keep it from me. There may be a connection to the immediate mystery of my father's death."
"And you think he was murdered." Bess shivered. "Oh, Nancy!"
"Exactly. And here is my first clue."
Expectantly, Bess examined the ivory igloo. "Where did you get it?"
"It came in a parcel the day of Father's death. No return address. Only a label on the igloo-Nome, Alaska."
Nancy produced the packaging from her secret clue drawer. Big block print letters addressed Carson Drew. Nancy had examined the wrapping inside and out with her magnifying glass and found no clues.