Without a Trace (9 page)

“I wonder if the police have turned up any new leads in your case,” I commented casually.

Pierre glanced at me. “I am not holding my breath,” he said. “The police who came here, they seemed very pessimistic. I don’t think they hold out much hope of finding the egg.”

“Yes, well, I’m just so sorry that the theft had to
ruin the good mood surrounding Simone’s move here,” I said. “And it’s also unfortunate that it had to happen so soon after your friends came to town. It’s a weird coincidence, isn’t it?”

Pierre frowned. “What are you trying to say, Nancy?” he demanded, his voice rising with sudden anger. As he spoke, the song playing on the stereo ended, allowing his words to leap out into the temporary silence. “Are you accusing my friends of something? After all, one could also point out that you and your friends were the only ones in River Heights who knew that the egg was here. What is to stop us from thinking that one of
you
stole it?”

Simone gasped. “Pierre!” she
cried. “How dare you speak of our guests that way? Nancy and her friends are our only friends here in town. How can you accuse them of such a thing?”

“I’m sorry,” Pierre said immediately, looking crestfallen. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Please, Nancy—all of you—please accept my apology. I spoke without thinking, and was only trying to defend my friends.”

Everyone else in the room looked decidedly uncomfortable. “What a way to bring down a party,
mon ami,
” René said to Pierre, his tone only half joking.

Pierre shook his head. “Really, I spoke without thinking,” he said, taking my hand and looking at me
earnestly. “I do that sometimes. Nancy, please say that you will forgive me?”

“Of course,” I told him. “I don’t blame you for defending your friends. I would do the same. And I really didn’t mean to accuse them of anything.”

I felt like kicking myself. So much for my undercover investigation; I had just blown any chance of being subtle as I questioned the French guys. I would have to be more careful from now on. If the thief was indeed in the room with me at that very moment, I was sure that he would be much more wary of me now.

As Pierre turned away to apologize to Bess and George, I noticed that Jacques had reappeared from wherever he’d been hiding earlier. He was watching the proceedings with a curious expression on his face—sort of a cross between confusion and indigestion.

“Are we all friends again now?” Pierre asked the room at large, interrupting my thoughts. “Please say that we are, or I will never forgive myself.”

“Don’t be silly.” Bess stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, giving him her most flirtatious smile. “Now stop apologizing and dance with me, all right? Because if you don’t, René will insist, and my feet just can’t take that anymore.”

René roared with laughter, Pierre joined in, and within seconds the party was back in full swing. I let out a sigh of relief.

Ned stepped over to join me. “That was interesting,” he whispered in my ear. “Do you think it was a guilty conscience speaking?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It could be. Or it could have been a quick-tempered but loyal friend speaking. I
did
practically accuse his friends of stealing the egg—or at least he could have easily interpreted it that way.”

“I suppose so.” Ned looked thoughtful. “Still, it was a pretty extreme reaction.”

I had to agree with that. “It’s definitely something to think about,” I said. “Although the more I get to know Pierre, the more I think he’s just one of those impulsive, emotional people. After all, he was the one who decided to throw us a party after knowing us for about thirty seconds.”

Ned laughed, and gestured toward the kitchen. “I’m thirsty after all that dancing,” he added. “I think I’ll go grab another soda. Can I get you anything?”

My gaze wandered toward Jacques, who was just disappearing into the front hall. “No thanks,” I told Ned. “I think I’ll go see what some of the other suspects are up to. Only this time, I’ll try not to actually accuse them of anything until I have more evidence.”

Ned chuckled and headed for the kitchen while I caught up with Jacques in the hallway near the front door.

“Nancy,” he said when he saw me. “Hello. Are you and your boyfriend enjoying the party?”

“Very much,” I answered with a smile. “What about you? You’re not trying to sneak out on us, are you?”

Jacques laughed, though I couldn’t help noticing that he seemed rather nervous. “No, no, no, not at all,” he said. “That is, I just stepped out for a moment. To think. Out here where it’s quiet.”

“What are you thinking about?” It was a nosy question. For all I knew, he could be thinking about world peace, or the weather, or that he’d forgotten to trim his toenails . . . but that little sixth sense was tingling again, and somehow I suspected that Jacques’s behavior had something to do with the case.

Jacques blinked in surprise. “What am I thinking about?” he asked. “Er, come out on the porch and I’ll tell you. I—I think I need some fresh air.”

“Sure.” I followed him eagerly as he stepped out the door onto the wide, slightly creaky planks of the front porch.

Once outside, he took several deep breaths of the pleasantly warm evening air. “Ah, that is much better,” he said, staring out toward the houses across the street. “What a lovely night.”

I had to agree with that. From Simone’s porch I could see Mr. Tracey hurrying to finish mowing his lawn before the last rays of the sun faded, and I heard the faint shouts of kids playing in one of the yards farther down the block. Lights blinked on in several windows as soft summer darkness gently settled over the neighborhood.

I waited as patiently as I could, but he didn’t seem inclined to continue speaking. “Well then,” I said after a moment or two. “What were you going to say just now? Inside, I mean. You promised you’d tell me.” I tried to put a little of Bess’s teasing, flirtatious tone into the words. It always seemed to work for her, and Jacques seemed so distracted that anything was worth a try.

As he turned toward me, I held my breath. His expression was serious, almost somber. Was he about to confess to the crime?

He hesitated for a long moment. Then his grim face suddenly broke into a bright, cheerful smile that changed his whole appearance. “Oh, you will think it’s silly,” he said. “But I was thinking about . . . about my new car.”

“Your new car?” It wasn’t quite what I was expecting to hear. “What do you mean?”

Jacques laughed, wandering down to one end of the porch and leaning on the railing. “You see, I have
always had a love for classic American cars,” he explained. “So when I came here with my friends, I thought, Why not buy one? It’s something I have always wanted. And so I did.”

“You bought a car?” I said uncertainly.

He nodded. “It is a lovely car,” he said. “Red paint, a silver racing stripe, sporty fins on the back . . . It cost me quite a bit, and of course I will have to pay to have it shipped back to France. But it will all be worth it, I think. It is a dream come true.”

“I’m sure it is,” I said politely. “The car sounds very nice.”

I couldn’t help being disappointed. Was this really all Jacques had on his mind? A moment ago I’d been so sure that he was hiding a guilty conscience about the egg. But now it seemed he had only been distracted by his big purchase.

I gazed thoughtfully out over the porch railing, not really seeing Mr. Geffington’s darkened house and yard next door. From Simone’s porch I had a clear view over the picket fence that separated the two yards. I could see the entire front yard, plus about half of the vegetable garden, behind the house.

Jacques leaned toward me. “Nancy, I hope you will come for a ride with me someday,” he said. “I know you will love this car. It really is an American beauty—much like you.”

“Thanks,” I said absently, my mind more on the case than on his compliment. “And sure, I’d love to go for a ride sometime.”

Just because Jacques isn’t going to confess to the crime himself, that doesn’t mean I need to give up on finding out any information from him, I reminded myself as Jacques chattered on about his car’s paint job. He still might know something that could be useful in the investigation.

I was trying to figure out how to broach the subject when I caught the sight of movement out of the corner of my eye. It was coming from Mr. Geffington’s backyard. Something was moving back there in the near-darkness.

I was instantly on alert, leaning over the railing for a better look. Was it just an animal wandering through? Or could it be the return of the zucchini smasher?

I had to find out. “Excuse me, Jacques,” I said quickly. “I’ve got to go check something out.”

I had my hands on the porch railing and was ready to vault over when I remembered that I was wearing a skirt. Mentally cursing my poor choice of clothing, I turned and hurried back toward the porch steps instead.

“Wait,” Jacques called, sounding confused. “Where are you going, Nancy?”

“I’ll be back in a second,” I called over my shoulder without slowing down.

I moved, carefully but quickly, down Simone’s front walk, still upset at myself for wearing the tight skirt. If I had been wearing jeans or other pants, I could have taken the direct route across the yard and over the picket fence.

But it wasn’t worth worrying about. With any luck, the intruder—if that’s who I had seen—wouldn’t hear me coming this way.

“Nancy!” Jacques’s voice floated clearly through the night air. “Wait for me! You shouldn’t rush into the night alone—it’s not safe!”

I winced. So much for the element of surprise.

Vaguely aware of Jacques’s pounding footsteps racing after me, I put on a burst of speed. In just a few more yards I would reach the concrete steps leading down into Mr. Geffington’s yard. Meanwhile I peered ahead, trying to spot the movement I’d seen.

There! I thought with a thrill of discovery. Right there—back by the garden fence!

I squinted at the shadowy figure. It was hard to make out who or what it might be; it was moving around in the deeper shadows of a little patch of trees in the side yard near the picket fence. But the important thing was that the figure didn’t seem aware that it was being watched.

My heart pounding at the thought of catching the vegetable vandal red-handed—or green-clubbed, as the case might be—I put on another burst of speed. Behind me I heard a flurry of footsteps. Jacques seemed to be catching up to me. I just hoped he would keep quiet for another few seconds.

I leaped for the steps down into the yard. There was no handrail, so I forced myself to slow down a little as I took the first step down.

Suddenly I felt my feet fly out from under me. The night sky tipped upside down as I found myself falling. . . .

Then everything went black.

I awoke to the
sound of gentle beeping.

That’s strange, I thought as I lay there with my eyes closed, drifting in a cloud of blissful near-sleep. My alarm clock doesn’t usually sound like that . . .

“Nancy?” a familiar voice said from somewhere very nearby. “Nancy, are you awake? I think she’s waking up!”

“Ned?” I croaked. “What are you doing—uh, here . . . ?”

My voice trailed off in surprise as I opened my eyes. Instead of the familiar yellow-and-white striped walls and solid wood furniture of my bedroom, I saw institutional green paint, white sheets, and stainless steel. My mind clearing slightly, I realized I was in the hospital.

In a flash I remembered what had happened to land me there. “I was running,” I said, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar. I cleared my throat. “The steps—I heard Jacques behind me—then I fell, I guess. . . .” I willed myself to remember more, but everything after that was a haze.

Ned put a hand on mine. “Shh,” he said gently. “It’s okay. Don’t try to remember too much. The doctors say you hit your head pretty hard.”

I sighed and relaxed against the comfortable hospital pillow. “I hit my head,” I repeated, the truth of that statement impossible to deny as I noted the dull throbbing at my temple. I put my hand up and felt my face. There was a bandage covering much of my forehead. “What happened?” I asked Ned. “How did you find me?”

“Jacques came running back to the party,” Ned explained. “He said you’d slipped on some steps and hit your head. We all ran out and found you conked out in Mr. Geffington’s front yard. In fact, by the time we got there, half the neighborhood was rushing out to help. Jacques was yelling pretty loudly as he ran to get us.”

I grinned, then winced as the throbbing in my head suddenly increased. “That’s me,” I said hoarsely. “Always making a scene.”

“Luckily Mrs. Zucker had her cell phone in her
pocket,” Ned continued, squeezing my hand gently. “She called an ambulance. Ms. Thompson was there too—she’s a nurse, you know—and so she sort of took over until the ambulance arrived.”