Noelle's townhouse. Sunday morning. May 8, 2005.

Neal had taken over Noelle's kitchen, preparing a Mother's Day brunch for everyone. Henry was "helping," which mainly consisted of tasting things, setting the table, and making coffee.

On their way back to the hotel last night, Henry admitted that he hadn't gotten much more information out of Joe. Their partner in crime had insisted that Henry needed to learn to trust him, and that keeping them in the dark about parts of the mystery added to the realism when Neal and Henry were legitimately surprised by some of the twists and turns in the case. Henry had complained that Joe was almost as stubborn as Neal, but he said it with a grudging admiration. Stepfather and stepson were forging a friendship. Noelle would be pleased.

Given that positive step, Neal decided not to tell Henry or Joe that Noelle knew they were behind the mystery. They'd all enjoy it more if it played out to the end as planned. It was odd not knowing the end that Joe had in mind, though. Neal's experience working cases in the FBI and in cons and thefts before that had one thing in common: he always knew the ultimate goal. Joe was throwing both cousins for a loop with the secrets he was keeping.

Noelle had thrown him for a loop, too, with the conversation about homes. Even though he felt welcomed and comfortable in many homes, he wasn't convinced he had the same sense of home that she did. To him, it felt more like an emotional version of Mozzie's safe houses. If there were such a thing a safe house for your soul, then the Burkes' home might qualify.

Late last night he'd started to wonder if he really felt at home anywhere. Was a former con artist who was used to being on the run capable of settling down into a home, or did he simply adapt to the locations where he spent the most time? In recent months he'd thought of himself as a shapeshifter, fitting into any environment. If that were true, then was thinking he had a home only a matter of conning himself into believing that he belonged in the places where he had the most practice fitting in?

He'd soon tired of those questions and told his overactive imagination to shut up. It was too depressing to think he'd never truly have a home.

When Neal and Henry arrived at the townhouse this morning, Joe was out. Noelle said he'd had an errand to run. She didn't know what it was, but he'd promised to return by noon. His timing was impeccable, arriving just as Neal was ready to serve the quiche. Noelle had been reading while "her boys" cooked, and she brought the book to the table with her. She slapped Henry's hand away when he tried to grab it, saying they should eat, first.

"That's it, though, isn't it?" Henry insisted. "It's the larkspur book."

Noelle confirmed his suspicion, and Henry managed to behave until Neal rose to get the coffee cake he'd made for dessert. That distracted Noelle enough that he got the book away from her. "No way!" Henry said when he finally saw the title. "Another Nancy Drew mystery. The Password to Larkspur Lane."

Neal gave everyone a slice of the coffee cake before saying, "I'm sure there's a story behind that book if you've kept it since you were nine."

"Thank you for not doing the math and reminding us how many years ago that was," Noelle said. "The story goes back to something I mentioned to you yesterday. When he was twelve, my brother David decided to stay in D.C. and go to a boarding school. I'm sure he had no idea how much turmoil he was causing Meredith and me. There we were, nine years old, and for the first time questioning what home meant because our brother felt like he was staying home, but I'd always thought home was being with Mom and Dad. When it came time to move for Dad's next assignment, my sister and I put up a big fuss."

Joe refilled her coffee and asked, "Did your parents have a house in D.C. during the time you were traveling?"

"Yes. They'd purchased their current house a few years before that big fuss I mentioned. Dad always wanted us to have a home base to return to, and that house fulfilled his vision of what a family home should be. You should have seen our bedroom. Frilly and princess pink. Dad said it suited us because we were sweet princesses when we slept, and little devils when we woke up and left the room."

"You were identical twins?" Joe asked.

"Yes, identical in many ways, but opposites in others. I remember when I was ten someone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I said I wanted to be a sleuth."

"Like Nancy Drew," said Neal.

"Exactly like her. And when they asked Meredith, she said she wanted to be a knight errant."

Neal nodded, remembering her love of Camelot and stories about the Round Table. She'd probably dreamed of a knight or wizard who would rescue her from her humdrum life and take her on adventures, but she'd never met anyone like that in St. Louis. Or if she had, she'd decided she needed to stay home with her son, instead.

"Well, when we were nine and insisting we wanted the whole family to stay home in D.C. with David, Mom said that we could take home with us. She told us each to pick something small enough that we could carry it ourselves, and she'd make sure it went with us each time we moved. It would always stay in our new home, and be waiting for us to return when we went on vacations. I picked one of my Nancy Drew mysteries, and Meredith selected one of her books: The Story of King Arthur and His Knights, by Howard Pyle."

"Those books were your anchors," Henry said.

"Yes, you could say that. The quarters for diplomats were typically already furnished, or we rented what we needed. It simply wasn't practical to take much more than our clothing on international moves. Our books were among our few constants as we grew up. Each time we moved, Mom and Dad would read to us from those books our first night in our new home." She patted Henry's hand. "Our first night in this townhouse, I stayed up and reread the whole book. It helped settle my fears about taking you from your father and disrupting your life." Then she patted Neal's hand. "I also reread it the night the Marshals took you and Meredith away, hoping you'd both settle into a new home as happily as possible."

As Noelle wiped away a tear, Joe cleared his throat. "I'd like to propose that we put aside the reminiscences for a few hours. Can I interest you all in a tour of Baltimore's architectural highlights — by which I mean the parts of town where I have projects?"

He drove them past civic and commercial buildings. Then he surprised Noelle by driving through a neighborhood filled with Arts and Crafts style homes. He pulled to a stop in front of one of the houses, and she gasped. "It's the house from the flyer!"

Everyone got out of Joe's truck to stand on the sidewalk. Signs in the yard mentioned that the home was a project for a local construction company and Joe's architecture firm.

"Larkspurs," Noelle said with a sigh. She walked up to the front of the house, where the flowers were growing. They looked recently planted, with dark potting soil still surrounding them. "When did you plant them?"

"This morning. After your reaction to the larkspurs yesterday, I knew they were exactly what this house needed."

"And if we were to go inside, would we find a roll-top desk?"

Joe nodded. "I think that's very likely. Want to find out?" He led the way inside. While the exterior of the house was classic Arts and Crafts, the interior was a work in progress. "The previous owners remodeled in the 1980s, and it was a nightmare. Mauve and dusty blue everywhere, and they'd painted over or even removed most of the Craftsman touches. The new owners asked if I could map out a plan to restore it."

"But how..." Noelle looked at him with eyes still wide with surprise. "You said you haven't done residential work in ages. I thought Graham and Julia's condo was the only exception."

"Turns out you're my best advertising. You bragged about me to your fellow professors, and word spread. A professor of history who joined the staff this semester contacted me after he and his wife bought this place. They planned to move in with their daughter after the remodel, but then circumstances changed. First they learned they were expecting another baby. Then a few weeks ago they learned they're expecting triplets. They need a bigger place."

"They're the family you introduced to Pops," Henry said.

"It's turned into a musical chairs of housing options. Your old apartment is turning into your grandparents' condo, their house is going to be home to four children — and your grandfather is tickled pink about that — and that leaves this house in need of a new owner." Joe grinned at them. "They were so grateful that I connected them with Graham, the current owners said they wouldn't put this house on the market until my wife had a chance to see it. I told them I had a feeling it would be love at first sight."

Noelle hugged him. "Yes! Yes, this is perfect."

Henry glanced at Neal and said, "I should have warned you. Mother's Day with Mom always gets mushy."

Neal was smiling. He'd already added this house to the list of places that felt like an emotional safe house. "I don't mind."

June Ellington's mansion, Manhattan, NY. Sunday evening. May 8, 2005.

Peter and Elizabeth Burke and June Ellington were in the living room, where the Burkes' labrador, Satchmo, played with June's pug, Bugsy. The last several days Bugsy had stayed with the Burkes while June was away visiting one of her daughters. She'd returned home an hour ago and they'd brought her puppy back.

The trio were quietly chatting when they heard the front door open, followed by two familiar voices.

"No, I didn't change the ending. I read you exactly what she wrote," Neal said. "It's there in black-and-white. Neal was behind everything."

Henry vehemently disagreed. "No way. Henry was obviously the criminal mastermind. He was such a genius that even at the end no one suspected a thing."

"You mean he was such a non-entity that everyone forgot about him. I'm telling you, Neal was the genius."

"Sounded useless, to me."

"That was all part of the con. Of course he pretended to be bumbling around, so everyone would underestimate —" Neal stopped when he noticed everyone staring at him. "Umm. That wasn't what it sounded like."

Peter shook his head. "I'm glad to say I'm no longer worried when the two of you argue about who's the better criminal. I know you too well to believe you'd go back to that life."

"But we do want to know what you were talking about," said El.

"Coffee?" June offered. "Or perhaps a glass of wine?"

"Wine sounds perfect," Neal said. "It's a long story."

"Take a seat, then," June said. "And welcome home."

Peter thought the trip must have gone well. He'd worried a bit about Neal's first Mother's Day with Noelle and all the opportunities for angst that could come from spending this weekend with an aunt who had only recently been revealed to be Neal's biological mother, but the kid looked perfectly relaxed. El had an I-told-you-so expression, because she'd insisted the trip to Baltimore would be good for Neal. Peter suspected that she'd been conspiring with Joe on plans to keep Neal from getting too lost in his head during the trip. When they got home he'd try to get more information out of her. Or maybe he should simply call Joe to get the full story.

Neal shared a contented smile with all of them. "I'm glad I went to Baltimore, but it's good to be home."

"Hey, wanna read another mystery next weekend?" Henry asked. "I packed that Hardy Boys book. We can take bets on which one of us guesses whodunnit first."

It looked like Neal was about to decline, not surprising given the amount of assigned reading he had as a grad student, but then he seemed to remember that summer break would soon offer more time for pleasure reading. "Once I finish my classes this semester, I'll wipe the floor with you."

Henry snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Hardy Boys, huh?" Peter said. "I remember reading those. Are you a fan?"

"Never tried 'em," Henry said, "but Mom always thought I'd like them. I'm finally going to give one a try."

"Did you have a favorite book as a child, Neal?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal shook his head. "I don't think I had a favorite, but if I could reread any of my old books now, I'd want Harold and the Purple Crayon."

El nodded. "The perfect book for a young artist." She gave Peter a look he knew well. The next time there was an occasion that called for a gift to Neal, they would be buying that book.

A/N: My thanks to Silbrith for the Nancy Drew inspiration. I reread a few of the Nancy Drew books recently to prepare for this vignette, indulging in some happy grade school memories. One of the stories I picked more-or-less at random was The Clue of the Broken Locket; the pop music piracy plot line, along with characters named Henry and Neal, was too good to pass up. 

In addition to all the coincidences Neal & Henry pointed out, the Nancy Drew mystery they read also included a group called The Flying Dutchmen. You may recall that in canon Curtis Hagen was called The Dutchman. I didn't explore that link in this story, but you'll read more about Hagen in Silbrith's stories, including Witches' Sabbath. 

The next story in this series is Magic Trick, which I'll post next week. See my Table of Contents document, Caffrey Conversation chapter to see the full list of stories in order.