‘Thanks, Lorraine!’ I called out, but by the time we had stopped jumping and un-hugged she had left. I moved through the party and crept into my bedroom. In my backpack, I pulled out Dad’s group photo again. All of the men dead, except Duncan Nunn. Mr Dalrymple’s Land Rover. How did it accidentally explode when it had just been serviced at the mechanics? Todd had repeatedly told me and Sam that cars never blew up like they did in the movies, and that explosion was huge.
Holding my magnifying glass, I examined the photo again. I froze. Above the group in the background were white wooden paling fences. I peered closer. In the distance was Mr Tulips’ hedge and the roof of his house and garage. They must be on Dalrymple’s farm. But why would Dad be there?
I stared at Dad, trying to see a shadow of what was to come in his smiling face. But there were no shadows, nothing but the Dad I knew and trusted. That niggling feeling deep inside me would not leave me alone. I stuffed the photo and magnifying glass back into my bag and went to the living room, smiling at all the happy faces, and out onto the balcony. I walked around the corner until I got to the end, standing in front of the view out across Riverstone. I focused on Dalrymple’s crash site and studied the blackened grass bank at the foot of the bridge. Mr Dalrymple wanted to kill himself and now he was dead. A flash-memory popped up of me driving Mr Dalrymple off the road. Dad driving off the road to see Mr Henderson.
An oncoming car. The police report stated no other vehicles involved, but how did they know that? No eyewitnesses listed or camera footage. What if Dad had swerved to avoid an oncoming vehicle? One that never stopped to help. My skin crawled. What if Dad was unhurt before that other vehicle had stopped? I shook my head to clear it. I was not prepared to imagine Dad being hurt.
I went back into my bedroom and pulled the police report copy out from under my bed. I grabbed my magnifying glass and studied the dashboard photo. The gear lever was in reverse. Had he been trying to escape? I flicked over to the list of items and re-read it. I already knew my money he stole that night wasn’t found in the car; I was searching for any other clue. Then bile rose up and burned the back of my throat. I’d found it. His keys. Dad’s car keys had been missing.
Everything in my gut, everything I knew about Dad, all the questions the police report didn’t answer, those smiling men in that photo dying strange deaths. My head spun. Everything pointed to the same thing. I bit down on my lip and dropped my chin to my chest. Sorry, Dad. I pulled out Piggy-Cat’s paw from under my T-shirt and squeezed it, holding it close to my lips. I was wrong. Love you forever. I kissed it and popped it back under my shirt. A random memory popped into my head, Dad’s laughing face as I splashed him in Riverstone Centennial Pool. I think I was ten. I concentrated on it, on his face, remembering my happy exhausted arms in the warm water, Dad splashing me back and coaxing me to swim in the deep end. A happy Dad memory. I tried to burn it into my brain as my new default.
I ran my fingers through my hair, squaring my shoulders. I knew what I had to do. In the living room Uncle Pike and Devon were still lying on the couch together. I needed to get their full attention before I changed my mind.
‘I have a favour to ask,’ I blurted out. I wasn’t sure if favour was the right word. I dragged the pouf over and sat in front of them, digging my nails into my palms. ‘When’s the soonest you can come back?’
Devon sat up. ‘I suppose we do have a housewarming to organise.’ Uncle Pike smiled and locked fingers with him. Raewyn and Mr Tulips doing the same with their hands in the ripped photo popped into my head. It was a sign. Somebody out there knew the truth.
‘The Nancys have a new client,’ I said. ‘And they need us to start ASAP.’
‘Wow,’ Devon said. ‘Word of mouth really does work.’
Uncle Pike frowned and leaned forward. ‘Who?’
I glanced behind him at the straggle of guests in the kitchen. I lowered my voice, ‘Nancy business, Mum can’t know.’
‘Sounds pretty standard,’ Uncle Pike said.
‘True.’ Devon nodded. ‘What are we investigating?’
I blew out a deep breath. ‘We may never know, but unless we try we won’t know.’ I held their massive hands, focusing on their knuckles. ‘What everyone thinks is true is not always true: Mr Tulips as guilty when he was innocent; Sally Homer arrested for a murder she didn’t commit.’ I sat up straight. ‘Except for us, we don’t listen to what we’re told to believe. Like Nancy Drew, we investigate and we find out the truth ourselves.’ I looked them in the eye and tried out Lorraine’s word. ‘The Nancys are veracious.’
‘Ooh, nice,’ Devon said.
Their hands were warm, safe, strong. I kept hold of them, not letting go. ‘Uncle Pike, you told me, “If you look up long enough you’re going to see something.”’ He nodded. ‘Well, it’s time to look up,’ I said.
I stood. ‘I’m the client. We’re investigating Dad’s murder.’
They gasped. Finally, deep inside me, it felt like the truth. Sorry, it took me so long, Dad. Love you forever. Firsts are hard. The truth is harder.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To Ali and Grier, thank you for everything. Every step of the way you have been sharing our life with Tippy and the gang. Thank you for being so patient, supportive and clever when I needed to write and run lines by you.
Grace Heifetz, again what can I say but I love you and thank you for your friendship and this writing journey from the bottom of my heart.
Jane Palfreyman, my incredible publisher. Thank you for believing in Tippy, Uncle Pike, Devon and the cast of Riverstone. For championing The Nancys (and coming up with this title, Nancy Business). Your support, guidance and belief mean the absolute world.
Rebecca Kaiser, Erena Shingade and the team at Allen & Unwin, thank you. You are first class.
Ali Lavau and Christa Munns, thank you both so much for your brilliant, kind, challenging and insightful editing.
Alissa Dinallo, whose original cover designs for both The Nancys and Nancy Business are now so intertwined with my experience of these books, thank you so much for such a wonderful gift.
To my writing BFF Katherine Kovacic and to Jenni Northcote, Fionn Batchelor and Marguerite Clancy for reading those early drafts and all your support. Thank you!
My wonderful, supportive writing group, Melbourne Faber Academy Class of 2016. Thank you. Although we may not catch up as often these days, you are always there in my corner. For those who I have workshopped and talked through Nancy Business—Narelle Hill, Renee Singleton, Jean Ross, Sherryn Hind, thank you for your encouragement and feedback.
Huge thankyou to Jennifer Fisher for her excellent Nancy Drew research and website: nancydrewsleuth.com
And to my family and friends. Thank you. You are what makes the sun rise every day. I love you always.
Dad I miss you and yes I wrote another book, and yes I might write another one. Mum, thank you for the love of reading and writing. I will always love you both.
Jenny, thank you and I love you.
Finally, to all those people who have been kind enough to ask how my writing is going, have supported me both online and IRL, the writing and book community, my writer and bookselling friends, and to the most wonderful readers in the world—thank you, thank you, thank you.
P.S. Murphy and Elaina, you are both still awesome J
P.P.S. Cate McNeil keep writing!
P.P.P.S. Hi Hugo and Billy! JJ
R.W.R. McDonald (Rob) is an award-winning author, a kiwi living in Melbourne with his two daughters and one HarryCat. His debut novel, The Nancys, won Best First Novel in the 2020 Ngaio Marsh Awards, as well as being a finalist in the Best Novel category. It was shortlisted for Best First Novel in the 2020 Ned Kelly Awards, and Highly Commended for an Unpublished Manuscript in the 2017 Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards. Nancy Business is his second novel.
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