Chapter 26 - Nancy

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Lakeside Hotel & Suites

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Tuesday 11 March 2008

We walk up the steps, our footsteps echoing through the stairwell. If I were to say that it isn't super convenient to use Sam and Dean's FBI badges to get us past security in Edward's hotel, I would be lying. I didn't even feel guilty when they blatantly lied to the receptionist. The only thing that worried me was perhaps getting caught... which we didn't. Justifying actions like this is getting too easy. My dad would have an aneurysm if he knew how many laws I've broken in the past three days.

We reach the third floor, and I follow the brothers to Edward's room: 311.

Dean knocks on the door. "Edward? My name is Dean. I'm with Nancy Drew." He waits a moment. "Edward?" He looks back at us.

Sam steps up with his lockpick and kneels by the doorknob. It's an older style of hotel, so no electrical keycard lock. He easily moves his hands to adjust to the pins, and it swings open. I do a double-take at the speed, having been prepared to wait at least a full minute. He's much better at that than I am. I need to practice more. Maybe one day I'll be able to beat him at it.

The fact that this is my only reaction to breaking and entering concerns me.

We all step into the room, and Dean flicks on the light.

Edward's room looks untouched, except for the small desk against the wall by the window and HVAC. Take-out boxes and empty coffee cups clutter every inch of the desk that isn't covered by a stack of paper. A typewriter sits in the center of the desk, a half-filled page resting in the machine. Sam walks over to it, and noisily takes the paper out. "He was working on his book," he comments, "something about building materials in the 1700's in this region."

"How does the 'e' look?" I ask him, recalling the notes Sheriff Reeves had shown me back at the station.

"What?" Sam turns to me in confusion, still holding onto the paper.

"The lowercase 'e.' Is it crooked?" I ask.

Sam looks back down at the paper. "...No. Why?"

I sigh. It was worth a try. I pull out one of the notes and show him. "Someone left the victims notes typed out on a typewriter leading them to Lockwood Estates. The 'e' was crooked on those notes. Sheriff Reeves cleared Edward's typewriter, but I just want to make sure."

"Guys," Dean says. I turn and see him crouched by the mini fridge. He holds up a tiny bottle of whiskey and grins. "Edward has good taste."

I roll my eyes and hear Sam sigh. I look around the room and see a small pad of paper on the nightstand next to the bed. It has scrawled writing on it. I frown and walk over to pick it up.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stop your research. Don't want to end up like the rest of those who looked too closely at the Lockwood Estates, do you? Your head looks too good attached to your body."

Well, this is creepy as hell. I frown and check the heading of the notepad. It has the hotel's name on it, implying that it is the one usually left on each nightstand. Did the killer break into Edward's room? My heart rate picks up.

Where is Edward? Please don't be dead, I silently plead. Too many people have died on this case already.

The image of Edward lying on the cold mansion floor, a pool of blood trailing to his head several feet away from his body, pops into my mind. I blink and shove that thought away. I can't get emotional. I have to stay focused. We don't yet know for sure if Edward is dead. I mean, maybe he's out getting food.

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