Where was she? With Otis? Or Steve? Or someone else entirely? What if I never saw her again? I felt a lump in my throat. Maybe our friendship had always been hollow. I’d needed someone to admire, and Nancy needed to be admired. And now that the framework had changed, we were all at sea.
“Well,” I said, closing my palm over my phone. “I know where we can find her. If she’s still with Otis, she’ll be at the mess.”
Luke nodded. He looked at me. I couldn’t read his expression. He said, “You don’t have to do all this, you know?”
“All what?”
“This . . . investigation.”
“Ah, but I do. It’s in my blood.”
We staggered our return to the shop. I headed straight for the stereo, rewound Nancy’s tape, and pressed play. The tracks were the same as the ones on Mia’s tape. I knew the songs not just because I worked in a record store, but because they were a certain vintage. Dad nodded along. When “Wishing Well” sounded, he jolted to attention.
“Whose tape?”
“It’s just a mix,” I replied.
“Someone’s got good taste,” Dad said grudgingly.
A MINUTE’S SILENCE
ON THE LAST DAY of school Quinn cornered me in the girls’ bathroom and asked if I wanted her to sign my dress.
“Go crazy,” I said. “I’m not coming back next year.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re moving. We’re crossing the water. Newport.”
“For real? Well, that sucks. It’s only taken me three years to find a compadre and now you’re absconding. . . . Are you happy?”
“I’m happy we’re not moving to the country.”
She nodded and was quiet for a bit. We listened to the last day’s sounds: girls gone wild, shrieks and water bombs, the triumphant clang of emptied locker doors. Quinn brandished her Sharpie.
“Okay, bend over.”
I bent over. I wriggled under the nib. Quinn was writing for a long time—on my shoulder blades and my spine and the soft spot above my hips. Finally she put the cap back on and sat on one of the toilets and lit a cigarette.
“What did you write?” I twisted to try to see.
“You’ll have to take it off to read it.” She smiled through the smoke. The words felt like a challenge, but I was up for it. I pulled my dress up over my head and stood there in my undies and singlet with my non-chest out on display. Quinn checked me out shamelessly. “I think it’s cool that you don’t wear a bra. I wish I didn’t have to.”
“You don’t,” I said, though she definitely did.
“I’m going to burn it.”
I laughed as I spread my dress out on the bench.
Quinn had drawn a map.
“What is this?”
“That’s where the mess is. Christmas Eve.” She really was trying to burn her bra. She poked the cups with her cigarette. It caught and sent off a sharp smell as my fingers traced the line of the canal. Quinn hung her flaming bra on one of the dress hooks. “The password’s ‘Ringo.’ ” The smoke alarm sounded and a limp spray shot down from the ceiling. I threw my dress back on and we ran out laughing. We headed for the library and logged into Goldmine, where I nearly wet myself anyway because every record we’d listed had sold.
“Result!” I cried, and promptly printed off the list.
“You gonna show your dad?” Quinn asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Can I come?”
“Uh-huh.”
Friday night family fish and chips. Quinn was eye-balling Luke over her potato cakes. She knew all about him now, knew that he was Mia’s brother, and my boyfriend, but she didn’t let on.
Meanwhile, the shop was in chaos. Records stuck out all over like country teeth. The bargain bins had been well plundered. The trestle table out front was caving under the pressure of 101 Top of the Pops records. But we had living, breathing, walking-around-eating customers. The Grand Sale was having a moment, and it made Dad merry enough to study my list of Goldmine results with minimal freak-out.
“Where did you get the stock?” he asked.
Quinn jumped in. “My grandma. In Sydney. She died. She had eclectic taste.”
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Not about the records, obviously—they’re fucking great—but about your grandma.”
“It’s okay.” Quinn smiled innocently. “I didn’t really know her.”
“So you just list them and choose a starting price?” Dad marveled. “It’s incredible.”
“It’s not new, Dad.” I rolled my eyes, but I felt a warm buzz inside. Something had shifted. Bill the Patriarch was finally getting it.
Later when Luke and Quinn and I had escaped to the roof, she said, “Your dad is a time traveler.”
“Yeah, only he never goes forward.”
“I’d go forward,” Quinn decided.
“I’d go back,” Luke said.
Quinn had her camera with her. She leaned over the rail and took a photo of the poster of Mia. It had been weeks since Luke had first put her up, and she was starting to look a little tired.
“That’s her, huh?” Quinn said softly.
“That’s her,” Luke said.
“I didn’t know her.”
“I’m starting to think no one did.”
“At least you had her for a while,” Quinn said. “The thing about being an only child, you don’t know your place in the world.” She paused, and cocked her head, like she was tuning in some other frequency. When she tuned back into us, her eyes and voice was sharp. “If we go to the mess, you can talk to Otis.”
“I heard he’s a delicate flower,” Luke said. “But I’m gonna try.”
Quinn looked at Luke through her lens. She took a photo. “What’s a good memory of her?” Luke closed his eyes. His words felt like a cool wind blowing across us.
“Remember I told Gully about the kid who wanted to fight me? Mia used to take me to the kung fu movies. One day, after, we ended up in the same ice cream parlor—me and Mia and the kid and his parents. I’d never told her who he was, but Mia knew just by the look on my face. She dumped a double scoop of rainbow and choc-mint in his lap. She said it’s always better to do something, even if it turns out to be the wrong thing. Because no one ever got anywhere by sitting still.”
We gazed at Mia’s face, gave her a minute of silence. So much had happened since the first time I saw her. Her mouth that I’d once thought haughty looked soft now. Had she laughed a lot? Had she loved anybody? Did she know that Christmas Eve when she put on her flower crown and silver dress and headed out the door that she wouldn’t be coming home? In my mind she merged with Nancy. She was smiling, saying, “It was just an accident, little sister. Just bad luck. Don’t you know it has to end this way for some people?” I knew she was right, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
THE WORLD IS A TERRIBLE PLACE
MY PHONE—ALWAYS PRIZED, a symbol of friendship, of freedom—took on a new importance. I kept it on hand and waited for the magic ring. No Nancy, no Nancy, no Nancy. Saturday afternoon I saw her stroll past the shop like a stranger, like she’d never sat up on the back counter and teased Dad or me or Gully. I left my post and followed her down Blessington Street to the corner of the park. It was a perfect day, and the green was ringed with travelers. They came from all over, fixing their campervans in the last remaining strip of deregulated parking. As I turned to avoid a juggling crusty, I saw something else: Gully ducking behind a palm tree. For the moment I forgot my pursuit of Nancy and felt my way around the trunk. He was pressed against it; eyes shut, like if he couldn’t see me, then I couldn’t see him.
“Gully—what are you doing?”
One eye opened, then the other. “I thought you might need backup.”
“Well, I don’t.” I craned my head past a circle of people who were taking turns laughing stupidly loud. “Shit—now she’s gone.”
“Mouth,” Gully shot back. Then: “She’s over there.”
Sure enough, Nancy had stopped at
the end of the playground.
“Nancy!” I shouted.
She turned but either didn’t see me or didn’t want to see me. She started walking off. I nudged Gully back in the direction of the Wishing Well. And then I dashed past the laughing club, trying to shake off the feeling that I was making them laugh louder.
Nancy ambled. She was carrying a hippie bag that had sheafs of paper sticking out of it. Her hair looked like she’d brushed it with a fork. I caught up with her, laying my hand on her arm, and she whipped around. When she saw it was me, her mouth dropped open, but the laugh never came. “Dollbaby,” she said. “Are you stalking me?”
“Yes!” I willed her to smile. Her mouth didn’t move. I hung around her. That was how it felt. I was hanging. And as it became clear that she wasn’t going to talk to me, I clamped my feet to the ground, as if to earth us both.
“So . . . where are you going?”
Nancy shifted. “The beach. I’m meeting Otis.”
“How is it going with him?”
She gave me a dull look and didn’t answer. I broke then, and I couldn’t keep the whine out of my voice. “I’ve been calling you and calling you.”
“I lost my phone.”
“I went to your place.”
“I’m not staying there.”
“I know that.”
Nancy wrinkled her nose. She looked itchy to leave. I kicked a little dirt over her feet.
“Don’t you wear shoes anymore?”
She dropped her cold pose and looked me in the eye. There was sadness there; it was unnerving. She said, “I wish I hadn’t told you.”
I tried to act diffident. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“Liar.” She turned away. “Whatever.”
I grabbed her arm.
“I wanted to ask you about the tape. The one that was in your bedroom. The mix tape with the Millionaires . . .” I rushed on. “Mia Casey had a tape too, with the symbol on it. You know—the three lines.”
Nancy blinked. Her mouth slowly curled upward.
“Look at you, Nancy Drew. I thought Gully was the detective in the family.”
“Luke has this photo of Mia. It was taken in your room—it’s the same door handle. . . .”
Nancy quacked her free hand and rolled her eyes. “All that talk is just a whole lot of noise in the wrong place.” A quote from somewhere.
I persisted. I was almost going to go the pretzel hold, but Nancy pulled her arm free. Papers fell from her bag and littered the street. She huffed and bent to pick them up. They were travel brochures, too many of them, to all different places.
“What’s the matter with you?” Nancy snapped as she gathered the brochures. “So Mia had the same tape and she stayed in the same room—so what? So Ray’s a sleaze. Your dad’s girlfriend could have told you that. Mia’s dead, Sky. She drowned. The world is a terrible place. End of.”
She marched off so fast and forcefully that dust flew up. At Beach Road she turned back to see if I was still following, but I was done with that. I thought of the most hurtful thing I could say and then I shouted it.
“You’re never going to get overseas. You’re not going anywhere!”
I walked back feeling shaky and grim. When I turned onto Blessington Street, I saw a huddle outside the Wishing Well—Dad, Gully, Luke, some tourists—they were all out in front of the shop. As I drew closer, I heard whoops of excitement: Gully. He was running in tight circles, his hand tracing madly, and if he was aware of his audience, he didn’t show it. Dad covered the open doorway, and Luke was under his plane tree, a smile lighting his face. When Gully saw me, he gave me a wide joker’s grin and then reverted to superserious. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. He touched his night vision goggles compulsively.
“We found the Jeep!” He was trying to keep his business face on. “We have plates! OWT 654. Constable Eve Brennan’s going to run them, and then we’ll have a name and then, Agent Skylark, then I’ll have my collar.” He whirled around and told the tourists, “Move on, please, there’s nothing to see.” He sighed and said to himself, “A momentous day. Mo-ment-ous! Chh!”
Memo #5
Memo from Agent Seagull Martin
Date: Saturday, December 20
Agent: Seagull Martin
Address: 34 Blessington St., St. Kilda, upstairs
STATUS UPDATE
POINT THE FIRST:
On Saturday, December 20, at approximately 16:43 I, Agent Detective Seagull Martin, Special Investigations Unit, witnessed the white Jeep involved in the Bricker case. I was sitting at my post out in front of Bill’s Wishing Well when the Jeep passed by. Though it was too fast for me to see the driver, CCTV revealed the license plate.
POINT THE SECOND:
The license plate is OWT 654. I can confirm the white Jeep has a sticker that says LOVE LIVE LOCAL. The driver was a male, Caucasian. He could have been anywhere between 18 and 25. He wore black sunglasses and had an overlarge forehead. NB: ordinarily this is indicative of a high intelligence quotient. My hunch is this case is the exception to the rule.
POINT THE THIRD:
On the advice of Constable Eve Brennan, SKPD, I have not actioned a stakeout. Constable Brennan has informed her supervisor, and I await the driver’s ID.
On a personal note I’d like to commend myself for having faith, patience, and foresight. An arrest is imminent. I can feel it in my waters!
EVERYBODY HATES NANCY
SATURDAY BECAME SUNDAY BECAME Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. The shop kept me busy. We experienced a rash of sellers, hustling last-minute Christmas cash. Dad took a step back from the counter and put the Buys Book in my hand. “I bequeath you,” he said with an ironic bow. I selected stock with Goldmine in mind. I did it all perfectly: the poker face, the fast flick. I was sensitive but not too sensitive. I had found my calling, just as the doors were closing. Settlement was set for the end of February. We had the summer, and after that, anything was possible. That was what I told Gully. I was determined to be jolly.
We, the Martins, were crap at Christmas. Thank Bob for late-night shopping. After we finally kicked out the last stragglers on Christmas Eve, Dad hauled out the old tree from the cupboard under the stairs. It was an el cheapo number made of white wire and tinsel; its branches were scanty and bent out of shape. We had kept all of Gully’s primary school decorations: the glitter leaves and macaroni stars and the focus puller—a nativity set constructed entirely from toilet rolls. Dad drank ginger tea by the gallon. He put on the Tijuana Brass’s swinging version of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” and we gathered around the tree, admiring the crap and tack. Dad put one arm around Gully and the other arm around me. “This is the last Christmas we’ll have here. Let’s make it a good one.”
Gully chhed his fist. “Roger that.”
It was a cozy scene, but my mind kept fleeing. The mess was upon us. The mess, the mess! I had the map memorized. I had Quinn’s ETA. In minutes Luke would be waiting for me under the plane tree.
I waited until Dad had put away his pudding. “Can I go to Quinn’s for carols by candlelight?”
“You hate carols,” Dad said.
“I hate regular carols. Quinn’s are like anti-carols.” I could feel Gully studying me, trying to catch me in a lie. I kept my body straight and my hands balled. If he could tell I was lying, he let it go.
“Where does she live?” Dad asked. “How are you going to get there?”
“Windsor. Luke’s going to walk me.”
“Luke? Our Luke?”
“Agent Casey, FBI.” Gully’s eyes were narrowed to slits.
“Yes,” I huffed. “He’s meeting me out front. Like, now.”
Dad’s face hollowed, and then he puffed his cheeks in a display of fatherly concern. He threw his hands up. “Okay.”
Gully followed me out to the living room.
“What are the specs?”
“What do you mean?”
He gave me a long look. “Agent Sky, I can be discreet
.”
I studied his face; it was smart but forlorn. It was the face of the kid who never got picked for anything. I turned my attention to the presents under the tree. Dad had rewrapped Gully’s night vision goggles, and there was something there for me from Mum, and also the obligatory shortbread from Vesna.
“Sky, Sky, Sky.” Gully’s face alternated green and red under the Christmas lights. “Is it about the Bricker? Or the Snouter?”
I paused for drama. “It’s bigger than both of them.”
Luke and I walked fast and silent, holding hands. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being followed, but when I did the trick-stop-and-whirl-around, the view was always clear. Clouds hid a fingernail moon. Across the road the sea looked like a sleeping giant.
On Beach Road we counted the house numbers down, stopping finally in confusion.
“There’s nothing here,” Luke said.
“Don’t be so sure.” I searched my mental map of Quinn’s map. This was the place, I knew it.
We faced a construction site, a concrete castle protected by a high wire fence. There was a display unit—its window lit up like a school diorama. Luke and I took in the model of La Mer—fifty-five villas, plus restaurant and spa complex for discerning retirees. INVEST NOW! SELLING FAST! It was hard to imagine the future dream against the work in progress. ANOTHER URBAN RENEWAL ACHIEVEMENT, the sign read. The connection only made me more certain that we were in the right place.
We walked the length of the site and turned down a side street. The wind dropped. The surrounding houses were all stately homes, the kind with ancient hedges and German Shepherds. If I closed my eyes, I could hear the distinct hum of money.
At the end of the development lay an access road. Down there the air changed. I could no longer smell the sea, just cement and smoke. The occasional car rumbled in the distance, but an undertow was now discernible, a thud-thud-thud of music. I turned another corner and stumbled into a body. The body was at the end of a line of bodies disappearing through a break in the fence. Luke squeezed my hand hard. When we reached the front of the line, a torch shone in my face.
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