“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’t think 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 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 and try 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 it sticking up past the roofline—and Jacques was clinging to the top rung. I was just in time to see the ladder teeter sideways. It rocked back again, and then swang out of view as it crashed to the ground.
11
Accidents and Answers
My friends and I raced around the house into the backyard. Pierre was there, bending over Jacques’s still figure. The ladder lay nearby.
“Call an ambulance!” I shouted, and Bess peeled off toward the house.
“No, you can’t get in,” Pierre cried when he saw where she was going. “We were locked out. That’s why we got out the ladder.”
George and I skidded to a stop beside Pierre. “What happened?” George cried, staring down at Jacques. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” Pierre exclaimed, his voice shaking. “We were working in the yard and accidentally locked ourselves out. We weren’t sure when Simone and the others would return, so Jacques offered to climb up to one of the second-story windows. I was still hacking away at the vines by the vegetable patch, and had my back to him as he climbed. I heard him let out a shout, and turned around just in time to see him fall.”
Just then Jacques stirred and let out a groan. “It’s okay,” I told him soothingly, kneeling beside him. “Just lie still, okay? Help will be here soon.”
Bess hurried over. “What should we do?” she asked anxiously. “I wish I had my cell phone on me.”
“Never mind.” I hopped to my feet. “I’ll run across the street. Mrs. Zucker works at home during the day. You guys stay here with him, and don’t let him move.”
Without waiting for an answer, I raced around the side of the house. There was no traffic on the street at that time of day, so I ran across, without stopping, toward the Zuckers’ home a few houses down. The other houses on the block all looked quiet and empty. At that hour most people were still at work.
Little Owen Zucker was swinging his baseball bat around in the driveway. “Nancy!” he cried when he saw me. “Want to play?”
I stopped in front of him, panting. The run had taken more out of me than I’d expected. The sore spot on my head was throbbing again. “Sorry, Owen, not right now,” I wheezed, bending over and resting my hands on my knees. “Could you run inside and get your mom? Tell her it’s an emergency.”
Owen’s eyes widened. “Okay,” he said. “Here, hold this.”
He shoved the baseball bat into my hands and took off for the door. I leaned gratefully on the bat, ignoring the gooey handle, and tried to get my breath back as I waited for Mrs. Zucker.
A little less than an hour later, I was sitting on Simone’s porch with Bess and George. Pierre had gone along with Jacques in the ambulance, promising to call when he had any news. Bess had even run back to my house to fetch her cell phone from her car so she wouldn’t miss the call.
Simone was still out shopping, though René and Thèo had returned a few minutes after the ambulance had departed. After we told them what had happened, they waited with us for a while, but both of them seemed too distracted and worried to sit still. Finally they went back inside to fetch us some cold drinks. While we waited for them to return, my friends and I talked about the case.
“Okay,” Bess commented, glancing at her cousin. “I guess this means Nancy was right. Maybe Jacques is being framed.”
George shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. “Although, if you think about it, this would be a really great way for a clever thief to throw us off the track.”
Bess snorted. “Yeah, right,” she said. “By flinging himself off a
ladder? Doesn’t sound too clever to me.”
I smiled slightly at their bickering, but my mind was racing. Bess was right—this was one more piece of the puzzle. But how could I prove Jacques hadn’t stolen the egg? More importantly, how could I figure out who had?
Drumming my fingers on the arm of my wicker chair, I ignored the slight throb of pain in my head as I tried to think harder. “I just feel like there’s something . . . ,” I whispered, more to myself than to my friends. “Some clue, some bit of information I’m not remembering—”
“Hey,” George interrupted my train of thought. “Look. Here comes Mr. Geffington. Wonder if he heard all the commotion just now.”
I glanced up. Sure enough, Mr. Geffington was just coming down Simone’s steps from the street.
“Nancy Drew!” he exclaimed, hurrying toward the porch. “I heard you had a bit of an accident out in front of my house the other night. I hope you’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Sorry I haven’t been able to focus on your zucchini case.”
“I understand, of course. Anyway, I still think it’s Safer behind both incidents. You know how those dramatic types can hold a grudge.” He scowled in the direction of his other neighbor’s house.
I blinked, realizing what he had just said. “Wait,” I insisted. “You said ‘both incidents.’ Do you mean something else happened in your garden? Besides the smashing I know about from last Tuesday night?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Mr. Geffington said. “I planted some new zucchini after the first incident. They were doing nicely, growing fast and starting to form little fruits. But the scoundrel struck again! I had to clean the remains off my front steps on Sunday morning.” He clenched his fists angrily. “He must have stomped every plant and wiped his feet on his way out just to taunt me!”
Something clicked into place in my head. “Sunday morning?” I repeated. “You found—uh—zucchini remains on your front steps on Sunday morning? You mean the steps leading up to the sidewalk?”
“Of course,” Mr. Geffington replied, sounding a bit testy. “You don’t think the zucchini vandal broke into my house and smeared sticky, slimy zucchini all over my staircase, do you?”
Bess giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Meanwhile I was finally putting two and two together. Sticky, slimy zucchini. On those stone steps. If Mr. Geffington had discovered it there on Sunday morning, that meant the vegetable vandal had probably struck again on . . .
“Saturday night,” I said aloud. “Just in time to make me slip down those steps.”
George heard me and shot me a startled look. “Wait,” she said. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I nodded. “Jacques didn’t have anything to do with my fall,” I said. “Neither did anyone connected with the egg theft. I just slipped on—”
“Zucchini!” all three of us said at once.
Mr. Geffington looked confused. “What?” he demanded. “What are you talking about? Who’s Jacques, and what do eggs have to do with this?”
“Well, it’s sort of a long story . . . ,” I began.
Just then the front door opened and René and Thèo emerged from the house and moved onto the porch. Thèo was carefully carrying a trayful of glasses, while René held a pitcher of what looked like lemonade.
“Any news?” Thèo asked immediately, glancing toward Bess’s cell phone.
Bess shook her head. “Not yet,” she told the French guys.
I introduced Mr. Geffington, who chatted politely for a moment or two and then excused himself. “If I want to have any zucchini at all this summer, I’d better get back to the garden center,” he said, shaking his head sorrowfully before hurrying away.
Thèo looked perplexed. “What was that about?” he asked. “Zucchini—is that not a sort of vegetable?”
I was about to try to explain when a shrill, beeping version of the theme from Star Wars began to play. Bess shot George a dirty look and grabbed her cell phone from the porch railing. “Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve been reprogramming my ringer again.”
George grinned mischievously. “Just answer the phone,” she told her cousin.
Bess said hello, then listened for a moment. The rest of us waited eagerly. I could hear the tinny mumble of the voice on the other end. It sounded like Pierre—and it sounded like he was very excited. But I couldn’t tell if he was excited in a good way or a bad way. I held my breath.
Finally Bess’s pretty face broke into a wide smile. “Oh, that’s such a relief!” she exclaimed. “Thanks for letting us know, Pierre. I’ll tell the others right away. Please give our best wishes to Jacques, and tell him we’ll see him soon!”
She hung up and smiled at us. “Well?” George demanded impatiently.
“Is he all right?” René added.
“He’s going to be fine,” Bess reported. “Pierre told me that the doctor said Jacques was very lucky. He’s shaken up and bruised, but there’s no serious damage. He’ll probably be released in a couple of hours.”
“Oh, that is wonderful!” Thèo exclaimed.
“Yes,” Bess agreed with a smile. “I think Pierre was relieved too. He was practically shouting into the phone.”
I nodded. From what I knew of him so far, Pierre seemed quite impulsive and rather histrionic about life in general. In fact, while waiting for the ambulance after the fall, he had seemed more upset than Jacques himself about the accident.
René started pouring from the lemonade pitcher into the glasses Thèo had set on a little wicker table. “I think this calls for a toast,” he exclaimed, handing the first glass to Bess with a little bow.
“Sounds good to . . .” My voice trailed off as I spotted someone striding down the sidewalk toward Simone’s house. “Uh-oh,” I finished in a small voice.
The others followed my gaze. “Who is that?” Thèo asked. “She seems to be coming this way.”
I gulped. “It’s my housekeeper, Hannah Gruen,” I said. Just then Hannah spotted me and her frown deepened. “And I don’t think she’s coming for lemonade.”
I spent the next hour in bed, after being soundly scolded by Hannah for wandering off when I was supposed to be resting. It turned out she had run into Mrs. Zucker at the store, and the woman mentioned what had just happened at Simone’s house. Hannah had rushed home immediately to find me.
Although I couldn’t blame her for being worried about me, I was disappointed not to have the chance to talk more with René and Thèo. I still felt as though the two guys were a mystery to me. Did one of them have a motive to want to steal the egg? I had no idea.
Luckily Bess and George had promised to step in again. We’d managed a brief, whispered conference before Hannah had dragged me off. My friends had planned to stay at Simone’s and find out whatever they could about the two French guys, then come over and tell me what they’d learned.
Just because I couldn’t be there helping them, though, it didn’t mean I had to stop thinking about the case. I couldn’t. I lay in my bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling as I turned over all the facts and speculations in my mind. I reviewed everything I knew about the people involved, the details of the crime. Once again I pondered motives. What would make one of Simone’s friends steal a valuable, beloved heirloom from her?
For a moment I thought of Jacques again—he was the one who was so poor he couldn’t afford the plane ticket here on his own. Maybe I was wrong about him. After all, I really didn’t know him well.
Would the temptation of the egg just sitting there be enough of a motive? I wondered uneasily. It was a prime opportunity. . . .
I suddenly sat up in bed, finally realizing that there was one additional thing I hadn’t been considering. As I heard a knock at my door the answer finally clicked into place in my head. Got it.
“Hi,” Bess said as she and George entered. “You look happy. Does that mean your head is feeling better?”
“A little,” I said, smiling. “What did you guys
find out?”
George flopped onto the end of my bed. “Not a whole lot,” she said. “But we did confirm that Jacques can’t afford bus fare, let alone a new sports car. Thèo’s jaw practically dropped off his face when I mentioned what Jacques had told you.”
“However,” Bess added smugly, “he also said that when Jacques likes a girl, he tends to make up wild stories to impress her. So I guess my theory was right!”
George shot her a glance. “Uh-huh,” she said. “And speaking of crazy crushes, it would have been helpful if René hadn’t been staring at you like a lovesick puppy the whole time we were trying to get information out of him.” She turned to me with a shrug. “We couldn’t get him to make any sense at all.”
“Never mind,” I told her. “I’ve been thinking about the case all afternoon. And I know who stole that Fabergé egg.”
12
A Taste of Friendship
Bess and George just stared at me for a moment.
“Huh?” George said at last.
I smiled at their stunned expressions. “It was really kind of simple once I realized that we’d been spending all this time worrying about motive, when there was something else we should have been thinking about,” I told them. “Opportunity.”
“What do you mean?” Bess looked confused. “Didn’t they all have the same opportunity? I mean, they were all in the house before it happened, right?”
“Right,” I said. “Come on. I’ll explain it on the way to Simone’s. I want to go over there and confirm a couple of things.”
Bess looked dubious. “Do you think Hannah will let you go?”
I shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
Miraculously, we were able to convince Hannah. She knows me well enough to realize that when I’m on the trail of a mystery, I can’t think of anything else until it’s solved. When I explained to her why I wanted to go to Simone’s, she just sighed and waved me on my way.