“So the Duchess’s party will be your fashion debut?”

“That’s true,” Hannah replied. “Oh goodness, that makes me a little nervous.”

I looked at the hat in progress and tried to picture Hannah wearing it. The puffy shape harmonized with Hannah’s round, kind face, and the soft pink tulle set off her eyes. It was perfectly designed, especially for her.

“You have nothing to worry about. In that hat, you’ll turn everyone’s head. How do you decide what to make? How do you choose the colors or which decorations to use?”

“It’s hard to explain. … I guess I just go with what feels right. If it makes me happy, I’ll use it. Same as cooking. If it tastes good to me, I know you’ll probably like it too.”

“I think I see what you’re saying. … You make hats about who you are, not about what other people want.”

Hannah nodded. “Precisely. Now, what do you think about these cherries?” She dangled the red globes in front of my nose.

“Definitely add those.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. The next question is how to attach them. …”

I closed my eyes, and suddenly I could picture it: my suitable outfit, the one I’d wear to the Duchess’s party to make everyone who saw me think, There’s Nancy Drew, the best detective in River Heights. Isn’t she fabulous!

“I think I finally know what I want to wear,” I said, “but I’ll need to borrow your sewing machine. And maybe one of these silk flowers. Pretty please?”

Hannah waved an agreeable hand in my direction, already absorbed in her creative process. Breathless with excitement, I ran to the hall cabinet where Hannah kept the sewing machine, hauled it out by the handle, and lugged it upstairs to my room. I switched on my bedside lamp. I’d have to stay up late, but it would be worth it for a dress that suited me.

CHAPTER SIX Arriving in Style

IT WAS AFTER FIVE O’CLOCK on Saturday by the time I finished the last adjustments to my party dress. The invitation said the celebration would start at six, and I still had to pick up Bess and George. I stepped into my dress and zipped myself in, pleased by the perfect fit.

Then I phoned Bess and George on a three-way call, putting them on speaker while I curled the ends of my hair.

“Are you both ready to go? Can you wait outside for me? I’m running a tiny bit late!”

“I await my chariot,” said George.

“Don’t worry about me, Nancy, I’m getting a ride with Sven,” Bess said.

“On his art cycle? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Don’t listen to her, Nancy. It’s an imposter! The Bess I know would never set foot on something called an ‘art cycle’!”

“Shut up, George,” said Bess.

“Love you, Cousin.”

“Promise me you’ll wear a helmet,” I said to Bess.

“And squash my hair? You’re dreaming, Drew.”