Chapter 28 - Nancy

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Blackridge Senior Living Center

Blackridge, New Hampshire

Tuesday 11 March 2008

The nursing home is the most modern building on the block, compared to the brick houses and shops lining the streets. I wouldn't call it "new," but it does seem to be kept up well. There are three snow-coated transport busses on the far side of the parking lot, next to a large wheel-chair entrance.

I trail after the boys toward the door, looking worriedly up at the dark skies. While growing up, my mom and dad would take me to the River Heights nursing home on the weekends to volunteer. I got to know a lot of the patrons by name, and they would break into a grin every time they saw me. They called me "the greatest bundle of energy" they had ever seen.

After my mom died, we stopped going.

I swallow, stepping inside. The strong scent of cleaner and Febreze hits my sinuses, and I have to shake my head to be rid of the memories tied to it.

Thankfully, neither Dean nor Sam seem to notice my reaction.

"Hey Hayden," Dean says smartly, leaning his elbows on the reception desk and showing the nurse his badge. "We're here to see the art instructor."

"Wha--" Hayden starts. "I know you?" I can't tell if it's a question or a statement.

Just in case, I give him a tight smile, and nod at the name on his shirt. "Name tag," I say in explanation.

"No, no. I know you guys. You came in here yesterday." His eyes latch on me. "I don't know you, though."

"Yeah," Dean says impatiently. "Agents Wood and McKellen, remember? This is our associate, Nancy Drew. And we are here to see the art instructor."

"Yeah, yeah," he points down the hallway to our left, "I think she's still here."

I follow Dean and Sam through the double doors at the end. The room looks to be both a cafeteria and a rec room, and is empty except for a woman organizing art supplies on rolling carts to be put away. She spots us as soon as we enter the room. She wears a paint-stained apron, and her auburn hair is pulled up into a smooth ponytail. She has a smudge on her cheek.

"Can I help you?" the woman asks with a warm smile, setting down a canvas and clapping her hands together. She bounces on the balls of her feet. Her name tag reads "Elicia Hill." Her eyebrows quirk for a brief moment. "I have met you two before, haven't I?" she asks, pointing at Sam and Dean, "You're the FBI agents, right?"

"And you're the art instructor, right?" Sam asks.

"That'd be me." She stuffs her hands in her apron pockets, settling into a casual pose, and then looks over to where I am standing, "Elicia Hill, at your service." She bows her head for a moment, grinning.

"This is Nancy Drew," Sam introduces, "She's with us."

"Good to meet you," Elicia says.

Dean pulls out the picture of the sword. "We're here about this."

Her eyes widen slightly. "The reference photo Nora gave me? What about it?"

"Reference photo?" I ask.

"Yes." She takes the paper from Dean, examining the printed picture. "Normally, I do tutorials of sunsets and flowers and stuff like that. But, Nora came in last week and asked if I could show her how to paint this. I found it intriguing enough that I used it for my next class. That's the one you saw yesterday."

Sam straightens. "Do you know what made her gain interest in that particular sword?"

"No idea," Elicia says, handing the paper back, "I just assumed it was an interesting thing she'd found online. Why? What is it?"

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