Gone: A Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys Mystery

4. Bess

I look down at my Candy Crush Saga game. I didn't seem to be able to do anything while Nancy was missing. I hoped she was missing. I look up, flipping my hood off and slipping my phone into my kangaroo pocket. I lay back against George's front windshield. Why were we even here? Oh right! George has brought some of her and Nancy's friends in. They are secret agents and detectives and George refers to them as the Hardy Boys. That was about all I knew though aside from the one who picked up the phone when I called had a cute voice.

I peer down the road. The two boys are talking with George at the edge of the bridge, the same activity they have been engaged in for like twenty minutes. Okay, it was like ten. From what Nancy is like I would guess that they are asking for every detail which isn't much. George and I went over that crime scene with our eyes as much as we could. No footprints, hairs or lost objects to be found. It looked like Nancy had been killed, but we couldn't believe that.

The trio began to walk back to the car. I thought maybe the Hardy Boys would have a startling revolution and know exactly what happened, but as they get closer I can tell by their faces that there is no such luck. I hop down and try to combat their gloomy faces with a pasted on smile.

"Hi," I stick my hand out to the blond brother. "Elizabeth Marvin, but everyone calls me..."

I froze. I recognized him. He was the boy I had danced with last night at the ball.

"I'm Joe," he replies, pumping my hand up and down three times. He has the same voice as the man I called this morning. He freezes with the realization of who I am but recovers faster. "This is my brother, Frank."

I use my mask of choice and paste back on a cheery smile. Frank was the man who helped me play ghost yesterday.

"How do you fit in?" Joe asks me.

"Excuse me?" I say with more sass than is probably necessary.

George leans over. "He wants to know your relation to this case."

I look back at Joe. "I am Nancy's other best friend and I am George's cousin.

Joe looks back and forth at us like every single person I make that statement to does. "you don't look related."

"We get that a lot," George mumbles.

"You two don't either. You have the same nose and facial expressions but other than that, totally different."

Frank rolls his eyes as Joe stabs him in the ribs.

"George, you said one of the neighbors saw the explosion?" Joe asks.

I find it strange that Joe does most of the talking. Frank stands there so awkwardly.

"Yes, Mr. Matthews said he saw the explosion. Though he is really old and kinda loopy. He doesn't remember much of anything anymore," I answer.

"Any witness is better than no witness," Joe replies.

"Alright. His house isn't that far. We can walk," George almost commands.

We all troop to ole widowed Mr. Matthews' house down and across the bridge from the scene of the accident. He has a quaint little house with a small garden in front. Nobody really visits Mr. Matthews, mostly because he loves to be by himself. The poor man is like eighty-something and hard of hearing and without a good memory.

I knock on the open front door and call out, "Hello Mr. Matthews," before stepping inside. The entry floorboard creaks as I step on it and I can almost hear Nancy groan at my unsleuth-like walking. I spot Mr. Matthews in his recliner in the parlor gazing at a muted television. An eighties TV show plays and bright colors flash. I clear my throat and Mr. Matthews' head jerks up.

"Mr. Matthews, we were wondering if you could tell us about the car crash this morning."

"Oh, yes," he croaks. "Come in, dearies." He motions to his old mustard yellow sofa and the high backed red chairs that sit around his glass coffee table. His voice gives me the creaks but I listen and pad across the rainbow braided rug and perk myself on the edge on the sofa. The others follow in and just as tentatively take their seats. There is a long, awkward silence as Mr. Matthews stares at the blinking colors on the television screen. Joe reaches over to the remote on the coffee table and the old television blacks out. Mr. Matthews still somewhat stares into the empty space. When he finally speaks, I am so surprised I miss the first couple of words.

"...'bout midnight it must've been. That terrible noise, uh. A frightening sound it was. That river looked like it was 'er on fire. I saw it and called them cops. Chief McGinnis, that man, he comes with the firemen but we both know it was raining so hard they didn't need the fire crew. They said it was Miss Drew's car. Oh, tsk, tsk. That miss looked like a pure image of her mamma. I can't believe something like this would happen to the dearie. Oh, that day was terrible..."

Mr. Matthews babbled on but I didn't think it was important. Apparently, all he saw was car plus fire equals call the police which was no help what-so-ever to us since we already knew that.

"Thank you, Mr. Matthews, for telling us what you saw," George sweetly smiled and winked at me, a cousin meaning for she was as bored as I was. "We have to get going now."

We bustled out as quickly as possible. Once we got to George's truck and the boys' bikes we paused to talk.

"So, that was useless," was the first thing Joe spat out, exactly what I was thinking.

"Did Mr. Matthews say that this was the same thing that happened to Nancy's mother?" Frank asks. "What happened to Mrs. Drew?"

"I am not really sure," I say, glancing to George.

"Don't look at me. All I know about her is her name is Stella Stone Drew and she died before Nancy could ever remember her. She is said to look just like Nancy," George shrugs. "I haven't heard anyone say much more than that."

"If you really want to know, we could always take a trip down memory lane," I suggest.

"How?" George snaps.

"Who knows Mrs. Drew better than her husband?"

"Oh no, here we go again, interrupting Drew at work. But if it will help us find Nancy, it's worth a try. Let's go," George says.