Without a Trace by Carolyn Keene Page A

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 thehouse. “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’tthink 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