Without a Trace Read online

  “Don’t forget, first we went and peeked in the window,” George reminded her. She glanced at me. “We didn’t want to hang around there all day just to find out everyone left early for doughnuts or something. It was my idea to check.”

  “Right,” Bess said, rolling her eyes. “And it was also your idea to stick your big old head up right in the middle of the kitchen window. It’s a miracle they didn’t see you.”

  “Well, they didn’t,” George said, sitting up straighter in the visitor’s chair. “Anyway, everyone was still home. After what we talked about this morning, Bess and I decided that if the guys split up when they went out, we were going to follow Jacques.”

  “He’s definitely the most likely suspect after what happened to you, Nancy,” Bess agreed.

  They looked so pleased with their own decision that I just nodded and smiled. While I agreed that there were certainly some odd things going on with Jacques, I almost wished they’d decided to follow René or Thèo. I felt as though I’d hardly had a chance to talk with either of them. I would have liked to know a little more about them. What if we were focusing all this attention on the wrong suspect, while the real thief or thieves were dancing around right under our noses?

  But I kept quiet as George picked up the story again. “After breakfast Simone drove off somewhere, and Pierre and Thèo went out in the backyard and started hacking at that overgrown garden back there. We watched them for a while, until Jacques came out the front door.”

  Bess nodded eagerly. “He looked really suspicious, too. He kept checking over his shoulder, like he didn’t want to be seen leaving.”

  “And he headed for town, on foot,” George said meaningfully. “No sign of any fancy sports car.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Did you follow him?”

  “Of course!” Bess said. “We stayed back a few blocks until we got downtown, where it was easier to stay close without being seen.”

  I glanced at Bess’s footwear, impressed as always at how she seemed to find strappy, flimsy sandals as comfortable as most people found sneakers. “So where did he go?”

  George leaned toward the bedside table to help herself to one of Hannah’s cookies. “He went to a few different places,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. “It turned out to be a little tricky trying to keep track of him without letting him see us.”

  “Yes,” Bess agreed. “You know, in the movies that sort of thing always looks so easy. But it’s really not.”

  My sixth sense was tingling again, but this time it had nothing to do with Jacques, or the case as such. I had a feeling my friends weren’t telling me something. “So what are you two saying?” I asked. “Did Jacques catch you following him?”

  Bess looked sheepish. “Well, I guess we weren’t being quite as sneaky as we thought,” she began.

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff?” George broke in with a snort. “I’m not the one who decided to dress up like a neon sign! You could see that pink jacket from outer space.”

  I was starting to get the picture. “So Jacques saw you?”

  “A few times, I guess,” Bess admitted. “We had followed him into that big antique store on River Street, and George and I split up to try to stay out of sight more easily. I was sort of sneaking around this big urn thingie when I accidentally took a step too far and ended up face-to-face with Jacques.” She shrugged. “He didn’t really seem that weirded out or anything. He just asked how you were doing, and then mentioned that he thought he’d seen me in Olde River Jewelers. So he asked if I was following him.”

  “He was joking,” George put in. “Obviously. But Miss Supersleuth here panicked.”

  “Maybe a little.” Bess blushed. “I—um—I sort of told him I was following him, but only because I was feeling too shy to just walk up and say hello. Because, you know, I thought he was so cute at the party and all. . . .”

  “Yikes,” I said with a grin. “So did he buy it?”

  Bess smiled modestly. “He seemed to. I think he was about to ask me out, actually. But then George popped out from behind a pile of old Oriental rugs—”

  “Hey, I thought you were about to blow our whole cover!” George exclaimed. “So I, you know, came to the rescue. At that point, I guess Jacques thought we were a little weird.”

  “Just a little?” I teased. My friends’ whole day was starting to sound like an old Keystone Kops routine.

  “Anyway, George decided to distract him by giving him the third degree,” Bess said.

  George shrugged. “Hey, the best defense is a good offense, right?” she said. “So I just asked him why he was wandering around town on foot if he’s got this fancy new car he’s been bragging about. That threw him for a loop.”

  “Yeah, he sort of turned red and then mumbled something about it being in the shop,” Bess said. “That seemed sort of weird. I mean, a brand-new car already in the shop? So naturally, I asked him what was wrong with it.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Bess loves cars like George loves computers. She fixed up her own car herself, and can diagnose a damaged gasket or a blown engine from a mile away.

  “So, he was totally tongue-tied!” Bess continued, throwing up her hands in remembered amazement. “He doesn’t know what’s wrong with it? Come on! So I mention a few possibilities, and he’s still totally clueless. He doesn’t even know if the car’s got an overhead cam. But what guy in his right mind wouldn’t know something like that about his brand-new sports car?”

  Even though I had no idea what an overhead cam was myself, I had to admit she had a point. I’m a total dunce about cars, but Jacques’s story was starting to sound more and more suspicious.

  “He really did look pretty uncomfortable,” George added. “He obviously had no idea how to answer any of Bess’s questions about the car. He eventually made some lame excuse and took off.”

  Bess smiled. “We decided not to follow him back to Simone’s, though, for obvious reasons.”

  “Interesting,” I said, musing on what my friends had just reported. “Now tell me all the stores he went into while you were following him.”

  “Oh! Right. That’s important,” George said. “He went to a jewelry store, a secondhand consignment-type store, and three antique stores.” She ticked them off on her fingers, then paused to let the information sink in. “But he didn’t buy anything.”

  10

  Connections and Opportunities

  I was still thinking about Jacques’s “errands” when visiting hours ended and a nurse arrived to shoo my friends out of the room. A jewelry store, a consignment shop, and antique stores. All of those places seemed likely choices to hock a stolen egg. I had to admit, Jacques was starting to look more and more like our top suspect.

  But it wasn’t as if Jacques had actually pulled out the egg at any of the shops. Was he just scoping the best place to unload it for some quick cash? Or were we still missing something, some important piece of the puzzle? I was still thinking about it through dinner and as I drifted off to sleep.

  When I woke up the next morning, my head felt much better. My mind jumped straight back to my cases. I couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital and get back to work on them.

  I was just finishing breakfast when the phone rang. It was Simone calling to see how I was doing.

  “I’m feeling much better,” I assured her, pushing away my tray. “They’re supposed to let me out of here sometime this morning.”

  “Oh, that is wonderful!” Simone sounded relieved. “We’ve been so worried about you, Nancy. I feel so terrible about your fall. I feel that it was partially my fault because it happened at my party.”

  “Don’t feel that way,” I told her. “It was just an accident. The only thing to blame is my own clumsiness.”

  “Pierre keeps telling me the same thing.” Simone laughed. “Oh, not about your clumsiness of course,” she added quickly. “But that it must have been an accident, just as Jacques told us.” She sighed. “I’ve been so glad to have Pierr
e here through all of this. It has been a great comfort having someone familiar stay with me in this new place. Who knew that he and I could end up so close, being the children of two such jealous, warring fathers? But after all that’s happened, Pierre feels more like my brother than my nephew. Oh! Here he is—he must have heard his name. Just a moment, please, Nancy.”

  I waited, leaning back against my pillow and staring at the greenish beige walls. I couldn’t help wondering what that comment of Simone’s meant. It definitely sounded as if her father and Pierre’s father didn’t get along. Was there a story there? It would have been pushy of me to ask for more information, but I was curious. It might not have any bearing on the case of the missing egg, but then again, it never pays to ignore a possible clue, no matter how unlikely it might seem at first.

  As I tried to think of a polite way to find out more, Simone came back on the line. “Nancy, Pierre is eager to speak with you,” she said. “I’ll put him on now.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Nancy!” Pierre’s voice cried into my ear a second later. “You’re still alive!”

  I chuckled. “Yep, that’s what they tell me,” I said. “I hope I didn’t scare you all too much.”

  “Oh, you gave us quite a fright,” Pierre replied. “Seeing you lying there, so still . . . Well, it put things in perspective.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Pierre sighed. “Oh, Nancy,” he said sorrowfully. “Simone has told me that you want to help her get her egg back. But we both agree that no heirloom, no matter how valuable, is worth getting hurt over. If someone pushed you down those steps . . .” His voice trailed off.

  I didn’t bother to point out to him that I’d actually been working on the zucchini case at the time of my accident. I was touched by the worry in his voice.

  “I appreciate your concern,” I told him. “But nobody is saying for sure that I was pushed. I probably just tripped and fell.” I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure about that. But until I got some evidence to the contrary, it seemed the most likely scenario. Hadn’t I almost tripped myself in that skirt several times earlier?

  “Hmm.” Pierre didn’t sound convinced. “Well, yes, that’s what Jacques told us happened. . . .” His voice faded again for a moment. “Anyway,” he went on, “it’s starting to seem like a job for the police. I don’t want to see you hurt again, and neither does Simone. It would simply destroy us if that happened.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “And I’m sure the River Heights police will find that egg soon.”

  I wasn’t sure about any such thing. And I certainly wasn’t planning on giving up on the case. But I didn’t want to worry Pierre and Simone by telling them that right now. Once I was out of the hospital, I could figure out how to proceed. I said good-bye to the pair and hung up.

  Just as the handset hit the cradle, the phone rang again. This time George was on the other end of the line.

  “So are they springing you today or what?” she demanded immediately.

  I grinned. “I sure hope so!” I said. “I’m ready to get out of here. Did you find out anything more since yesterday?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” George said. “Hold on a sec. Bess is here with me, and she’s poking me in the arm and making faces. I think she wants to talk to you too.”

  A second later I heard another extension pick up. “Nancy?” Bess said breathlessly. “Are you there? How are you feeling?”

  I assured her that I was still in one piece. “Anyway,” I said, “George, what were you saying? You found out more about the case?”

  “Sort of,” George said. “I did a little snooping online last night. Namely, I found out that there’s no car registered in Jacques’s name. Not in France, and not here. Zippo. Nada. Which means that if he really does have some fancy sports car, he didn’t get it legally.”

  “Well, we don’t know for sure that it even exists,” I pointed out, smiling at the nurse who had just entered to retrieve my breakfast tray. I waited a second until she had bustled out of the room, then added, “He could just be making up the whole story for some reason.”

  “Or maybe he just hasn’t registered it yet,” Bess said. “He did say he just bought it, right?”

  “True,” I said as the nurse returned, along with my father. “Oops,” I told my friends. “I have to go. I think they’re finally releasing me. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  An hour later my dad pulled his car to the curb in front of our house. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he asked me. “I can cancel my meetings and stay home with you if you like.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled. He’d asked me the same question at least a dozen times already on the fifteen-minute drive from the hospital. “I’m fine, Dad,” I told him patiently. “Even the doctor said I’m good as new, remember? I appreciate the ride home, but you can definitely go on to the office now.”

  “Well, okay,” he said with a slightly sheepish smile. “But I want you to get some rest this afternoon, okay? Just let Hannah take care of you.”

  At that moment Hannah herself appeared in the doorway and hurried out to meet us. I let her help me out of the car and up the front walk into the house, even though I really did feel fine.

  Soon I was tucked into bed with Hannah bustling around, waiting on me hand and foot. She brought me magazines to read, then made me lunch. After she’d taken my tray away and had loaded the dishwasher, she stuck her head into my room.

  “Nancy, I’m just going to step out to run some errands,” she told me. “Will you be all right here by yourself until I get back?”

  “Of course,” I assured her. “Don’t worry about me. Take your time.”

  As soon as I heard her car start up and pull away, I hopped out of bed. I’d done enough resting for one day. I was itching to get back on the case.

  I was pulling on some clothes when the phone rang. I grabbed it, guessing that it was my father calling to check on me.

  “Hello?” a soft, accented voice said. “Is Mademoiselle Nancy at home, please?”

  “This is Nancy,” I said, immediately recognizing the voice. “Is this Jacques?”

  “Yes, it is I,” Jacques replied, sounding a little shy. “I—I just wanted to call and inquire how you are feeling. Pierre told me you were coming out of the hospital today.”

  “That’s right,” I said, leaning against my dresser and propping the phone on my shoulder so I could run a comb through my hair. “And I’m feeling fine, thanks.”

  “Oh, that is good news.” Jacques sounded relieved. “I still keep thinking that if only I had been a little closer, I might have been able to catch you. I am sorry to say that I did not even see that you were falling until your head hit the steps.”

  “Really?” I dropped the comb and stood up straight, suddenly very interested. “I thought the others said you saw me trip and fall.”

  Jacques hesitated. “Not exactly,” he said. “That is, I saw it out of the corner of my eye—enough to see that your feet went forward and your head went back. But at the time you started down the steps, my attention was distracted by something else.”

  I pressed the phone to my ear. “What?” I asked, instantly remembering that shadowy shape in Mr. Geffington’s yard. “Did you see something?”

  “I—I think so,” he said hesitantly. “I spotted a figure running through the bushes in the yard we were entering. I turned to see what it was. When I turned back, you were falling.”

  “Did you get a look at the figure?” I asked. “Was it a person? How tall?”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I did not see it very well. It might have been a person crouching down, but it also might have been an animal, perhaps a large dog? I only caught a glimpse before I heard you call out and turned to see you hit the ground.”

  After I finished assuring him again that I was fine, we said our good-byes and hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment, thinking about the convers
ation. Why had Jacques called? Was it really just to check on me, or was he trying to determine how much I remembered? I wasn’t sure. He’d sounded genuinely worried about me, and hadn’t really questioned me about my memory of the accident. Did that mean something?

  I shook my head with frustration. So far the only clues I had seemed to point to Jacques as the most likely culprit. His loner behavior at the party. The wild story about the sports car that might or might not really exist. His presence at the scene of my mysterious accident. His odd “errands” when Bess and George followed him.

  But even given all that, I just couldn’t make the Jacques-as-thief theory add up in my head. The trouble was, I wasn’t having much luck coming up with alternative ideas. All I knew was that someone had taken the egg, and that someone obviously didn’t want to be caught.

  I picked up the phone to call Bess and George.

  My friends arrived a few minutes later. I’d tried to call Ned, too, but he was out somewhere with his father.

  “So?” George said as she and Bess entered the house. “Now that you’re on the loose again, have you wrapped up your cases yet?”

  “Not exactly,” I admitted. I perched on the edge of the antique bench in the front hallway, still feeling a little weak from my two days in bed. My head was also a little achy. But my mind was feeling as strong as ever, and I’d spent my time waiting for my friends by thinking again about the egg case. “Actually, I wanted to ask you more about the day you followed Jacques,” I told my friends. “How did he seem while he was going into those stores? You know—his mood, his expression. That kind of thing.” I still had the feeling there was something I was missing, and I wouldn’t rest until I figured it out. After all, it could be the key to cracking the whole case.

  George’s eyes lit up. “Aha!” she said. “So you’re starting to believe he’s guilty?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m starting to believe he might be the only one who’s definitely not guilty.”

  “Really?” Bess sounded surprised. “But all the clues point to him.”