Without a Trace (12 page)

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 conversation. 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.”

“I know,” I told them both. “And that’s why I think someone might be trying to frame him for the theft. And for my accident.”

“Is this another one of your hunches?” George asked skeptically.

I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said. “But I also just don’t
think the clues really add up. I mean, Jacques’s obviously not a stupid guy. Why would he push me down those steps when he knew he’d be setting himself up to look guilty? And if he wanted to sell stolen property, would he really wander around town in broad daylight? In fact, would he be dumb enough to try to hock the Fabergé egg right here in River Heights?”

“Hmm. I guess that’s a good point.” Bess looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, he didn’t even seem that nervous when we were following him—not until he saw George and me, at least.”

George frowned. “He did seem a little weird, though,” she told Bess. “Remember? You commented on his expression. It looked like he was angry or worried or something.”

“Right,” Bess agreed. “But not nervous, exactly. Not like someone with valuable stolen property in his backpack.”

“But what about that weird car story?” George asked, leaning against the wall. “What’s up with that?”

I shrugged. “That part still doesn’t make sense to me, either,” I said. “I mean, if we’d actually seen some expensive sports car, it would definitely be a big clue since we know he doesn’t have much money. But there’s no car to be seen, and no registration, either.”

Bess nodded sadly. “Too bad,” she murmured. “That car sounded pretty cool.”

“Well, I’m still not totally convinced,” George said. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check out some other leads. So what do you have in mind, Nancy?”

“I want to go over to Simone’s,” I said. “I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to René or Thèo. And I’m a little worried about Jacques. If someone really is trying to frame him for this, he could be in danger. Especially if that someone had anything to do with my fall.”

“What do you mean?” Bess asked, looking concerned.

I thought back to my last conversation with Jacques. “There was a shadowy figure in Mr. Geffington’s yard,” I told my friends. “That’s why I ran over there; I thought it might be the zucchini smasher. Jacques mentioned that he saw it too. But what if that figure had something to do with the stolen egg? Did anyone else leave the room between the time I went outside to talk to Jacques and when he came back to the house after I fell?”

“I don’t know,” George said. “I was in the bathroom around that time, and then on the way back I stopped to read this framed family history thing hanging in the hall.”

“I’m not sure either,” Bess said. “The only one I can vouch for is Simone. I think that was around the time I was helping her slice some brownies in the kitchen.”

I made a mental note of Simone’s probable alibi.
Then I bit my lip, wishing I could get ahold of Ned. He would probably be able to tell me if any of the other French guys had left the room at any point. But I didn’t want to wait around until he got home. Now that I’d realized that someone could be out to frame Jacques, I was worried about him.

“I think we’d better get over to Simone’s pronto,” I said. “I want to talk to Jacques first. And then, if I can, I want to get some more information out of the other guys.”

Bess looked worried. “Are you sure you feel up to it?” she asked. “You still look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a short walk, and I could use the fresh air.”

Bess and George both seemed convinced by that. I tried not to think about what Hannah or my father would say if they were there.

We headed outside. Soon we were approaching Simone’s house. As we passed Mr. Geffington’s yard, I glanced curiously toward the bushes in the backyard where I’d seen that figure. They were thick, but not very tall—perhaps four feet at the most. Could one of the French guys have stooped down enough to run through the bushes without his head sticking up over the top? It would be awfully awkward, I decided.

I was about to ask George to go down there and
try it herself, just to see how it would look. But just then Bess let out a gasp and pointed ahead.

“Look,” she cried. “Up on the ladder. Isn’t that Jacques up th—oh, no!”

I spun around and looked to where she was pointing. There was a tall ladder propped against the back of Simone’s house—we could see it sticking up past the roofline—and Jacques was clinging to the top rung. I was just in time to see the ladder teeter sideways. It rocked back again, and then swang out of view as it crashed to the ground.

My friends and I
raced around the house into the backyard. Pierre was there, bending over Jacques’s still figure. The ladder lay nearby.

“Call an ambulance!” I shouted, and Bess peeled off toward the house.

“No, you can’t get in,” Pierre cried when he saw where she was going. “We were locked out. That’s why we got out the ladder.”

George and I skidded to a stop beside Pierre. “What happened?” George cried, staring down at Jacques. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Pierre exclaimed, his voice shaking. “We were working in the yard and accidentally locked ourselves out. We weren’t sure when Simone and the others would return, so Jacques offered to
climb up to one of the second-story windows. I was still hacking away at the vines by the vegetable patch, and had my back to him as he climbed. I heard him let out a shout, and turned around just in time to see him fall.”

Just then Jacques stirred and let out a groan. “It’s okay,” I told him soothingly, kneeling beside him. “Just lie still, okay? Help will be here soon.”

Bess hurried over. “What should we do?” she asked anxiously. “I wish I had my cell phone on me.”

“Never mind.” I hopped to my feet. “I’ll run across the street. Mrs. Zucker works at home during the day. You guys stay here with him, and don’t let him move.”

Without waiting for an answer, I raced around the side of the house. There was no traffic on the street at that time of day, so I ran across, without stopping, toward the Zuckers’ home a few houses down. The other houses on the block all looked quiet and empty. At that hour most people were still at work.

Little Owen Zucker was swinging his baseball bat around in the driveway. “Nancy!” he cried when he saw me. “Want to play?”

I stopped in front of him, panting. The run had taken more out of me than I’d expected. The sore spot on my head was throbbing again. “Sorry, Owen, not right now,” I wheezed, bending over and resting
my hands on my knees. “Could you run inside and get your mom? Tell her it’s an emergency.”