“Haven’t you read this before?” I asked him.
“I seem to recall starting it…but never finishing it. Can’t remember what happened. Oh, yes, someone interrupted me. Who was it? And what was she doing?”
He stared out the window, rubbing his chin.
“Oh, you remember. Webothremember.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, giving me a look to burn paper. “It’s coming back to me now.”
“Stop looking at me that way. Ground rules.”
He buried his face in the pages of the book. His voice muffled, he replied, “Sorry, love. I’ll behave and read my book.”
I pulled the book away from his face.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I said.
“No, I swear, I’m invested. This Nancy Drew character is quite the young spitfire.”
I sat up next to him, back to the headboard, leaning in to read over his shoulder. “What do you think of Nancy’s skills? Detective on detective?”
He turned another page and ran his fingers over the nearly hundred-year-old words.
“For a girl of sixteen, she’s doing quite well,” Duke said. “She’s incredibly determined. Simple stubborn refusal to quit is half the battle. Good instincts too. And she’s on the case for the right reasons. She cares very deeply about helping the poor and disadvantaged. She even defends a falsely accused shopgirl about to lose her job. And she’s quitea good driver. Ready and willing to eavesdrop, sneak into places, steal evidence…Feisty lass.”
“Too feisty. Did you know that in the 1960s, they rewrote the original Nancy Drew books and re-released them? The original books had blue tweed covers and the new versions were yellow. They also were shorter and made Nancy older and better behaved. I like bad blue tweed Nancy better personally.”
Duke pondered that a moment.
“How would that work?” he asked. “Two different versions of the same character? Do you think the two Nancys ever swap places?”
“I’ve never thought of that. You think there’re two Nancy Drews? The originalandthe rebooted Nancy Drew?”
That was an intriguing thought, that if you rebooted a book series, you created a clone or a new version of the original character. Would they know each other? The 1930s blue tweed Nancy Drew, my mother’s Nancy Drew, and the yellow 1960s Nancy Drew? I could only imagine the shenanigans not one but two Nancy Drews would get into…
“Wonder if my books will ever get a reboot,” Duke said, then shook his head. “No, I’m already perfect.”
“They tried to turn you into a TV series, but it only lasted one season.”
“I still don’t quite comprehend what television is, but I’m deeply offended.” He turned another page in the Nancy Drew book. “It’s interesting. She mentions her dead mother a few times, but never thinks much about her, never grieves.”
“She is from the Midwest.”
“I’m from England. Even Midwesterners look at the English and say, ‘Let it out a little.’ ”
“Trust me,” I said, “it’s for Nancy’s own good. If you let it out, what if you can’t put it back?”
“The grief?” Duke asked.
I nodded. “Or maybe she’s happy to be a daddy’s girl.”
“I do like this Mr. Drew,” he said, tapping the first page. “Treats his daughter like an equal and gives her enormous freedom and latitude. Very unusual for his time.” He paused, then corrected himself: “Mytime.”
“You’d be a father like Carson Drew,” I said. “You’d adore your daughters and let them get away with murder.”
“As long as it’s not literal murder. That I would frown upon.” He closed the book and held it against his chest. “I admit I like the sound of that.”
“Murder?”
