Free Without a Trace by Carolyn Keene

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 havealways 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