Without a Trace

by Carolyn Keene

  I’d been planning to wait a little while before broaching the subject of the theft. But since Simone had brought it up, I figured it was okay to jump right in. “Have you heard anything about the egg?” I asked her.

  Simone smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, no,” she replied. “The police, they say they are looking, but that I should not expect a miracle. I still have hope. . . . Ah, but here I am leaving you standing on the doorstep! Come in, come in. The boys are waiting for us inside.”

  Pierre and his three friends were in the living room, which had been transformed into a perfect party spot by flickering candles and plates of tasty food. French music was playing on the stereo, and Thèo was dancing playfully in front of the fireplace like some kind of hula girl. René and Pierre were watching him, laughing as they popped potato chips into their mouths. Only Jacques seemed unamused. He was sitting in a leather armchair in the far corner of the room, staring morosely into space. A glass of soda sat on a table beside him, apparently untouched.

  As soon as they noticed our arrival, all four guys—even Jacques—hurried over to say hello. Simone introduced Ned, and the guys greeted him politely, though all of them seemed much more interested in greeting Bess. I had to admit, she looked particularly stunning that night. She was wearing a pale blue dress that flattered her nice figure and peaches-and-cream skin coloring. Soon she was the center of a throng of admirers.

  As Ned chatted with Simone, admiring her home, George and I walked over to help ourselves to sodas. “Simone seems pretty cheery for a recent crime victim,” George commented in a low voice.

  I nodded, having noticed the same thing. “I wonder if she’s just putting on a brave front because she’s the hostess?” I said. “She probably doesn’t want to mope around and make us all feel bad.”

  George shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe she’s not all that upset now that she’s realized she’ll be getting a hefty insurance payment. That should pay for a lot of her moving expenses.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, grabbing a handful of mixed nuts from a silver-plated bowl. “But we don’t even know for sure that the egg was insured. I guess I’d better try to find out.”

  I turned and started back toward Simone and Ned, almost tripping again in my tight skirt. Ned saw my close call, and I could tell he was hiding a smile. If Simone had noticed too, she didn’t let on.

  “I hope you’re enjoying yourself so far, Nancy,” she told me sincerely as Ned excused himself to get a drink. “I meant what I said before; you were such a comfort to me yesterday after the theft.”

  “Thank you, but it was no trouble at all,” I assured her. “I wanted to ask you something else about that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Please, ask me anything,” she answered immediately. “At this point, you seem to be my only hope of recovering my beloved heirloom. The police think that it has disappeared forever—‘gone without a trace,’ as they put it.”

  I stepped to one side and set my soda down on a small table. But I wasn’t really trying to get rid of the drink—I wanted to position myself a little better to see if Simone’s expression changed when I asked her the next question.

  “I know that an heirloom like yours could never really be replaced,” I said. “But I was just wondering if you had any special insurance to cover such a valuable item.”

  Simone looked a bit surprised by the question, but I could see no trace of any other reaction. “It’s funny you should ask,” she said. “The egg was insured back in France, of course. But the policy ran out just before I moved. I was planning to have it reinsured here by an American company. In fact, I had an appointment with the appraiser on Monday afternoon.” She shrugged, a distressed expression playing over her face. “I suppose I will have to cancel that appointment now.”

  I patted her arm. “I’m sorry I brought it up,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Don’t be silly, Nancy.” She smiled bravely. “You didn’t upset me. Only the thief did that.”

  At that moment Pierre hurried over, wanting Simone’s help with something in the oven, and I stepped away to treat myself to one of the zucchini fritters I’d just noticed on a table nearby. I guessed that they were from Susie Lin’s restaurant. Sure enough, the one I sampled tasted just as delicious as all of Susie’s other food.

  How could anyone smash zucchini when it can be made into food like this? I wondered, my mind wandering briefly back to my other case as I discreetly licked a crumb of fried batter off my fingers.

  Glancing around the room, I saw that one of the French guys, René, had convinced Bess to dance with him. They had cleared a space near the fireplace and were both laughing helplessly as they performed some sort of swing dance that seemed to have little to do with the song that was playing at the moment. Meanwhile Pierre had emerged from the kitchen and was chatting with Ned and George, while Thèo was sifting through the pile of CDs near the stereo.

  Okay, since everyone else is occupied, I guess I should talk to Jacques first, I thought to myself. Just one problem—where is Jacques?

  I looked around again, but the tall, slim young man was nowhere to be seen. With a shrug, I walked over to Thèo instead.

  “Hi,” I said. “Are you enjoying your visit to River Heights so far?”

  Thèo looked at me. Up close, I couldn’t help noticing how intelligent his brown eyes were. “Very much, Mademoiselle Nancy,” he said in his heavy French accent. “It is a most charming town, with charming people. All except for one, that is: the one who has taken our dear Simone’s lovely egg.”

  “Yes, it’s too bad,” I said, keeping my voice as casual as possible. “Such a beautiful family heirloom—it’s hard to imagine who could steal such a thing.”

  “Not so hard,” Thèo replied with a shrug. “It is a very valuable art object, one that many might covet. Even back in Paris, I always wondered why Simone did not take more care in safeguarding it.”

  “I suppose a lot of people feel that their homes are safe, even when they’re not,” I commented. “A lot of criminals count on that very thing.”

  “Too true, too true,” Thèo said. “Ah, but enough of this sad topic.” Pushing aside the pile of CDs, he leaped to his feet and offered me his hand. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, lovely Nancy? I am sure your beau would not mind just one dance, would he?”

  I blushed slightly. While I’m not exactly a wall-flower, I’m also not accustomed to charming, handsome Frenchmen showering me with compliments. “I suppose he wouldn’t mind,” I agreed, taking his hand.

  We joined René and Bess on the tiny “dance floor,” and soon Pierre and George joined us. Thèo was an excellent dancer, and he had switched the music from the French tunes to one of my favorite CDs. Ned watched for a few minutes, tapping his foot to the music and smiling. When the song changed, he stepped out and tapped Thèo on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me, could I cut in?” he said.

  Thèo bowed, feigning a look of great disappointment. “Ah, I knew the magic moment was too good to last,” he said, placing my hand in Ned’s.

  I giggled, feeling decidedly popular. But as Ned and I danced together, I found my mind returning to the case. I had to remember that this party wasn’t just about having a good time. I had work to do.

  When Simone came out of the kitchen with a tray full of hot pastries fresh from the oven, the dancing broke up and everyone rushed to sample the delicious-smelling treats. As I blew on mine to cool it, I found myself standing with Simone’s nephew near the fireplace.

  I noticed that Pierre was looking at the empty glass case that had once held the Fabergé egg. Someone had closed the door, but otherwise it looked the same as it had the previous evening.

  “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 findin
g 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?”

  The Shadowy Figure

  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 j
ob. 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.