Free Not A Girl Detective by Susan Kandel

looked around the room. The walls were covered
    from floor to ceiling in mirrored tiles, which created the chilling effect of an infinitely regressing gallery of Chums. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. To my
    horror, I realized I was nervous. But that was insane.
    Why should I be nervous? There were no more than sixty women in the Oak Salon. Sixty sensibly dressed women, not a sarong in the bunch. And they were out to have a good time, not to torment me. I had to get over myself.
    The welcome table had been abandoned, but I spied a
    red marker with a stubbed tip and a pile of blank name tags. I scrawled my name on one and slapped it onto my T-shirt.
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    “I’m going to find Clarissa. Get yourselves some-
    thing to eat.”
    Bridget and Lael headed toward a towering mountain
    of minibagels. I wandered over to the book display,
    then to a long table covered with Nancy Drew Christ-
    mas ornaments and Nancy Drew slumber party kits.
    The Mystery of the Fire Dragon kit included fortune cookies and a paper cheongsam. The Bungalow Mystery kit included two sets of handcuffs and a blindfold.
    Pretty kinky, if you asked me. As I left the table a tall, very pregnant woman wearing a Chums 1997 Convention sweatshirt and a blue wraparound skirt snapped
    my picture and handed me a book.
    “Will you sign it?” she asked, peering at my chest.
    “Ms. Caruso, is it?”
    “Call me Cece.”
    “I’m Tabitha.”
    “You really want me to autograph your book?”
    “I do it at every convention. I buy a Nancy Drew
    book that’s missing pages or something and get every-
    body to sign it. Then I have a record of who was
    there.”
    “That’s so sweet,” I said, writing my name across the ripped title page of a 1944 edition of The Whispering Statue. “I never actually read this one. How is it?”
    “Togo, Nancy’s little terrier, appears for the first time in this book, so it’s a favorite of mine,” she replied. “I can’t have animals because I’m a flight attendant and I’m always traveling, but I love them like crazy! I’m sort of an expert on them,” she added, blushing a deep shade of crimson.
    “Animals in general?”
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    “No, in Nancy Drew. Snowball the cat, Nancy’s white
    Persian, appears for the first time in The Mystery of the Brass-Bound Trunk, original text, not revised text, I mean. And Nancy has a horse named Black Prince in
    one of the spin-off series, number sixty-six, Race Against Time . But that’s about it. I think Hannah must’ve been allergic. Or didn’t need the extra aggravation.”
    “Hannah Gruen, Nancy Drew’s housekeeper?” I
    asked.
    “Uh-huh,” she said, taking back her book.
    “Who’s allergic?” demanded a potbellied woman
    standing behind us. “Because I’ve got a shitload of an-tihistamines if anybody needs them.”
    “We were just talking about Hannah.”
    “Oh, Hannah,” she said.
    “How’re you doing, Rita?” asked Tabitha.
    “Fair, Tabby Cat.”
    “My online persona,” Tabitha explained.
    I recognized the name from her postings on the
    Listserv.
    “Sleuth or Virgin Sleuth?” Rita demanded of me.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “It’s Clarissa’s concoction. Fresca with or without
    gin. Over by the minibagels.”
    “Don’t forget the maraschino cherry,” Tabby Cat
    said shyly.
    “I’m not thirsty right now,” I replied. “But thanks.”
    “So it’s official,” said Rita. “I’m getting divorced.”
    “Oh, no! What about your collection?” Tabitha
    turned to me. “Rita and her husband—ex-husband-to-
    be, I guess—have an amazing Stratemeyer collection:
    Bomba the Jungle Boy, the Motor Boys, the Campfire
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    Girls, Honey Bunch. Who wrote the Honey Bunch
    books again?”
    “Mildred Wirt Benson wrote the Honey Bunch
    books as Helen Louise Thorndyke,” I answered. What a
    pedant.
    “ ‘Honey Bunch is a dainty, thoughtful little girl, and to know