by Micol Ostow
Parker: Lunch on the quad? We can talk for real.
Nancy: Assuming we’re not all called into a crisis counseling assembly, you’re totally on.
Parker: Just one more thing for you to fill me in on.
Parker: Bad news aside, looking forward.
Nancy: Me too. See you at lunch.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
If the tension had been thick in Principal Wagner’s office that afternoon, dinner with my parents was thicker than the pea-soup-style fog that rolls over the surface of the bay. After an excruciatingly silent salad course where I could hear every last crunch of kale reverberating in my ears, I had to say something.
“Okay, guys, just let me have it,” I begged. “Say whatever you need to say. This ‘polite, repressed silence stretched over a simmering rage’ thing is a little bit stressful, I’m not gonna lie.”
My father took a deep breath and gripped at his fork and his knife in either hand, clanking them loudly against the edges of his plate.
As usual, it was my mother who stepped in, swift and graceful, setting her own fork down and taking a sip of water before taking the plunge. “There’s no ‘simmering rage,’ sweetie,” she started. “Although I will give you bonus points for teenage angst set to eleven.”
“Teenage angst?” I raised an eyebrow at that. “Let me be the first to point out that you’re the ones giving me the silent treatment.”
“We’re just worried about you,” my mother said. “You know we always try to be supportive of your investigations—much more than lots of parents.”
Fair.
“But try to see it from our point of view, sweetie. Someone sent a threatening note to you at the school paper, and you didn’t think to mention it to us?”
“Someone sent a threatening note to someone at the school. We have no way of knowing that it was specifically sent to the newspaper office. And yes, it was creepy—good job on the originality and terror factor, whoever came up with the plan in the first place—but as many people on the newspaper staff pointed out, Keene High is the very same school where our soccer rivals’ underwear were found hanging from a flagpole the night before the final game of the season. Pranks are not taken lightly here. This wouldn’t have been the wildest prank we’d ever seen here.”
“This ‘prank’ was calculated,” my father said, his voice low and tight.
Point: Dad. The bird thing was not not a concern. “I’m … looking into it,” I said weakly. I didn’t dare mention my nightmare; it would definitely set them off—Mom especially—into a flurry of armchair analysis—words like “trauma” and “repressed memories” rushing across the table in a fit of concern.
“That’s just the point, Nancy,” my father finally said, his voice rising. “Are you trying to be obtuse here? Because that’s exactly what we’re upset about. You ‘looking into it.’ ”
I stared at him. “You can’t honestly expect me to leave this alone. You think someone’s targeting my friends, possibly me, and you want me to just sit around doing nothing?”
“I expect you to let Chief McGinnis do his job,” Dad said. “Which, by the way, he can’t do effectively if you and your friends that you’re so worried about are all keeping secrets and withholding information.”
“Dad, he has one lead.” I looked at them both, one after the other, begging them with my eyes to hear me, to take me seriously. “You know as well as I do that the chances that Caroline Mark had anything to do with Melanie’s disappearance are slim to none. They should be looking at Melanie’s family, old boyfriends …” My father knew these things. It was Police Work 101. Mom’s best friend, Karen, was a detective with the force, for Pete’s sake. Speaking of being deliberately obtuse.
“Nancy, we know you’re skilled at investigative reporting,” my mother started.
“Mom,” I said, “it’s more than just reporting. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
She sighed and closed her eyes, like I was a headache located right at the bridge of her nose. Or, if I wasn’t the headache, I was definitely the cause of one. “Fine. True. You’re a talented investigator, and it’s a quality we treasure in you.”
“Funny.” I laughed, short and bitter. “I’m not feeling so treasured right now.”
“Well, that’s because it’s complicated. Because, talented or not, you are still a teenager, and you’re still our child. You’ll forgive us for prioritizing your own safety above all else. Don’t you get that, Nancy?” Her voice cracked on my name, and my own resolve along with it.
Now it was my turn to sigh. “I do,” I admitted. “Of course I do.” My parents had always supported me—even after I solved my first case, which the chief hadn’t been too happy about. Catching a child molester? Good. Catching a child molester based on intel an elementary school girl had come up with when your own squad had turned up zilch? Not as good. At least, not for his ego.
But still, my parents had stuck by me.
They had to get it, though—that sometimes coming forward right away wasn’t the best course of action. That grown-ups, authorities—even the good guys, the ones we trusted to keep us safe and to protect us—could make mistakes, could be blinded to certain clues and details.
I knew, in that moment: Of course they got it. But “getting it” still paled in comparison to their worry for me.
I glanced across the table to Mom again, processing the icy spike of fear that jabbed my ribs as she rubbed at her temples, like this conversation—like I—was causing her actual, physical pain.
I got it. Just like they did. I got it too.
There were no bad guys here. Well, other than the obvious ones, like whoever was “pranking” our school, and whoever was responsible for Melanie’s disappearance. But my parents weren’t trying to give me grief. Just like I wasn’t trying to make trouble for them, or cause them concern.
We were all doing the best we could.
Unfortunately for me, in this case, that meant making things a little bit worse—maybe more than a little bit—before they could get any better.
“I hear what you’re saying,” I said slowly. I set my fork down. “And I promise to be more careful. And more honest,” I added, before my father could cut in. “But …” Here, I knew, I had to tread lightly. “I do have a question.”
My father sighed, but at last, there was a slight sparkle in his eye. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be our kid if you didn’t.”
I grinned, but it faded, as I anticipated what was coming next, what I was about to potentially unleash. “The note on the bird, Daisy’s locker, the graffiti in the newsroom …”
The message etched on my windshield, in the frost.
“They all referenced a Naming Day curse.”
My father rolled his eyes. “Horseshoe Bay does love its curses.” He gave a patient smile in Mom’s direction. “You know we don’t buy into all that.”
“No, I know. Totally.” It was my constant refrain, after all. Only what I can see with my own two eyes.
But I had seen it. That was the thing. That was the part that was gnawing away at me, boring a hole in my belly, keeping me awake at night.
“It’s just weird how all three of those things mentioned it. And yet, no one I know seems to have ever even heard of this curse.”
“It’s not that weird if it’s all driven by the same person,” my dad pointed out.
“Fair. Okay, but … so, like you said, Horseshoe Bay has so many random little quirky traditions, rituals, superstitions … Naming Day itself is just a small part. And the curse is like this little throwaway, nothing anyone ever makes a real thing about. So there are no details going around about what, exactly, the curse itself even is.”
“I’m sure there never were any details in the first place,” my father said, waving his hand dismissively. “Like you say, it was just another one of those random, quirky stories. Nobody says anything because there’s nothing to say. Nothing to tell.”
“Daisy’s mom seemed to
think otherwise,” I pointed out. “She didn’t even want Daisy to be in the reenactment.”
My mother coughed delicately into her napkin. “Daisy’s parents are …” She trailed off, uncertain. “Well, you know exactly how they are, sweetie. Eccentric. There’s a reason we didn’t let you stay at Daisy’s house when you were little.”
“The reason was that her parents didn’t want people sleeping over. Because they’re private,” I said. “Right?” Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
“You don’t remember, do you?” my mother asked suddenly. “I just assumed, since you’ve got such a steel trap of a mind when it comes to most things …”
A fist clenched in my stomach. “Don’t remember what?”
“It wasn’t a big thing,” my mother said. “You went to Daisy’s once, when you were very little. A sleepover. When we picked you up in the morning, you were terrified.”
“Something scared me?” That was a new one.
“Well, yes—we thought it was strange too. Or we never would have let you go in the first place. You were fine, and the Dewitts couldn’t tell us what had happened. Mostly, they seemed embarrassed, so since you were obviously okay, we didn’t push it. But you never did tell us what had you so worked up.
“And the Dewitts never asked you back, which was fine with us. As far as we could tell, that was the beginning and the end of Daisy’s slumber parties.”
My mind reeled. I couldn’t believe I had somehow blanked out on that entire experience. And more to the point: What could possibly have terrified me so badly at Daisy’s?
And whatever it was, was it somehow still relevant today?
Suddenly, the calm of the dinner table was broken with the sound of my phone chiming in my pocket. My mother shot me a look.
I nodded—I know—but pulled my phone out and peeked at it under the table anyway. I looked at my mom. “I mean, there’s a student missing,” I said apologetically.
“Be quick,” she said, but there was no real scold to her voice.
“It’s Daisy,” I said, rising from the table. “Excuse me for a minute?”
I stepped into the living room for a little privacy, without waiting for a reply.
Daisy: How’s it going with the parentals?
Nancy: Touchy, in a word. No one’s exactly thrilled with the new developments at school … or the fact that I kept clues to myself all this time.
Daisy: Yeah, still sorry about that.
Nancy: Forget it. I knew what I was doing. I can own my own choices.
Daisy: Well, thanks for that. But here’s the thing: My parents are being weird. Like, weirder than usual.
Nancy: ?
Daisy: Remember when I told you they weren’t so thrilled about me being in the reenactment?
Nancy: Yeah, that totally was weird.
Daisy: IKR? But it gets better. At dinner we were talking about Caroline, my mom having to come into school to talk to the chief and Principal Wagner.
Nancy: Yeah, that was pretty rough.
Daisy: Rough would have been a welcome improvement. But the thing was, they were so upset to hear that McGinnis is questioning Caroline, but that he still hasn’t shut down all the Naming Day stuff. Like given all those threats and mentions of this mysterious curse. Apparently, they think it really should be stopped.
Nancy: I don’t like it. Something doesn’t add up.
Daisy: Nancy Drew, on the case.
Daisy: I’m not worried. I know we’re in good hands.
Daisy: McGinnis is going to crack Caroline like a walnut, and this nightmare will be behind us.
Nancy: …
Daisy: That was a joke. Your hands are the good ones, of course. But I am happy that McGinnis is looking into Caroline. That he seems to have a plan, I mean. One that doesn’t involve putting a stop to Naming Day.
Nancy: Yet, anyway.
Daisy: Always so optimistic! I am choosing to be hopeful. I’m crossing my fingers that the Caroline lead pans out, and that we can all start to move forward and put this drama behind us. That Melanie’s returned home safe, and Naming Day goes off without a hitch.
Nancy: …
Without another hitch, I’d been beginning to type. But I didn’t have a chance to finish my message, because just then, the doorbell rang. BBS, I wrote quickly to Daisy.
“Nancy!” My mother called me from the front door. “You have a visitor.”
A visitor? I wasn’t expecting anyone. I smoothed my hair behind one ear and walked to the front hallway.
It was Parker, leaning in the doorway, giving me his adorably crooked smile. “I was just in the neighborhood.”
I laughed. “Well, we do live in the same neighborhood,” I pointed out.
“I know! It makes this whole oh, I just dropped by thing so much more convincing. It’s awesome. And very convenient.”
“Nancy,” my mother said, “your gentleman caller was saying he wanted to take you to the Frosty Queen.”
“I was,” he said. “I was craving one of those M&M mixer things.”
I peered at him. “It’s a little cold for ice cream, but I’m game.” I looked back at my mother. “And please don’t ever say ‘gentleman caller’ again.”
“You can pick the activity this weekend, if you like,” he said, holding his arm out for me to link mine through.
“Did we have plans for the weekend?”
“Well, I was hoping we could,” he said.
“Ooh, Nancy, this one’s a charmer,” my mom said. I could tell from her expression that she liked Parker.
That was good, because I did too. He was sharp enough to keep up with me, and so far, he didn’t seem weirded out by my girl-detective thing. I’d started to wonder if such a guy even existed.
“And yes, you’re excused from dinner,” she said, winking.
“Hang on just a second,” I told him. “I’ll grab my coat.”
* * *
“A random ice cream run,” I said. “Good instinct.”
“I know. Admit it,” he said, walking me to the shotgun side of his car and opening the door for me—a charmer, just like Mom had said; it was so true. “Now that I’ve mentioned it, you can’t get the idea of ice cream mixed with M&M’s out of your mind.”
“I admit nothing,” I said. Then I burst out laughing as he got into the car and revved the engine. “But you’re totally right.”
“I’m always right,” he said. “You’ll learn that about me soon enough. It’s one of my best qualities.”
“Funny,” I said. “Around here, I’m kind of known for always being right too.”
“That is funny,” he replied. “I guess the two of us together will be basically unstoppable.”
He was teasing, but his words still made me go all melty inside. Which was nice, because though the heat was on, the car was definitely still chilly.
He turned on the headlights.
My blood ran cold.
This time, it had nothing to do with the temperature in the car.
“Your … headlights … ,” I stammered. “One of them’s flickering.”
“What? Oh, yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair, distracted. “It’s been doing that lately. Weird. I should take it in. Which mechanic do you recommend, neighbor?” he asked playfully.
“Um, J. Dodd’s,” I mumbled. “They’re the best.”
“I’m guessing in a town like Horseshoe Bay, they’re also the only, right?” Parker rubbed his hands together, blowing on them. “Damn, Nancy … you may be right about ice cream being a bad idea tonight. I’m, like, chilled to the bone.”
Me too. But for very different reasons.
“Nancy? Hey—are you okay?” Parker turned to me, concerned. He brushed a hand across my cheek. “You suddenly look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“What?” I hated to admit it, even with the slow crawl of dread across my skin, his hand on my face made me tingle. “Sorry, no. Just … spaced out there, for a minute.”
“Well,” he said
, a grin spreading across his own perfect face. “Let’s see what we can do to bring you back into the moment.”
He leaned in and kissed me softly.
If I’d been cold a moment before? Now my whole body was on fire.
In that moment, I knew my parents could totally see us through the living room window—if they were looking, which wasn’t typical of them, but then again, they were parents. I knew something strange—something dangerous—was still swirling out there, around us, somehow connected to Naming Day, curse or no.
And I knew that Parker’s headlight was flickering, just like Caroline’s had. Just like the car that followed me the other night.
Meaning, maybe I had another suspect to add to my list now.
I look like I’ve seen a ghost? Parker had no idea. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to look into a mirror and see those pale, lifeless legs dangling in the glass. And right now, wrapped in his arms and taking in the warm scent of him with every breath?
Anything would have been preferable to what I actually saw in my mind when I shut my eyes.
Twin beams, bearing down on me, on a lonely deserted road.
Could it have been Parker?
I pulled him to me tighter now, willing the thought away. If only for the moment.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Thursday
More auspicious than Parker’s car troubles the night before was the eager honk of Daisy’s Mini from outside my house, bright and early the next morning.
Thank freaking God.
In the end, it turned out an icy-cold Flurry was exactly what the two of us needed last night, and it was definitely what I needed to dive straight into the sweet oblivion of a massive brain freeze. If I concentrated deeply enough, I could still feel the tiny sugar crystals and the crunch of the M&M shells on my tongue.
Not to mention the feel of Parker’s hands running through my hair.
I hadn’t been able to put the flickering headlight totally out of my mind on our date—I wouldn’t have been myself, if I had. But I was able to put it in a box, somehow, tightly shut and neatly stored in some far-flung corner of my brain, just for a few hours. I thought of it as the filing cabinet of my subconscious, and what I really didn’t want to dwell on right now was the fact that, directly adjacent to the WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH PARKER’S HEADLIGHTS? file, was one marked, ANOTHER SHADOWY NIGHTMARE, THIS TIME WITH THE NEWSROOM UP IN FLAMES, CONSUMED, AS A HANGED CORPSE SWAYS FROM A LIGHT FIXTURE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM.