Without a Trace by Carolyn Keene Page B

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 andtry 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