A Spy Like Me

by Laura Pauling

  Thirteen

  Malcolm whispered in my ear. “Does some super-secret evil villain live here?”

  I elbowed him in the gut. “Somehow rose trellises and flower boxes don’t say evil to me.” I loved the old-time feel of Aimee’s family’s cottage, the paint chipping off the sides and the old stone chimney and crumbling walkway. I was a bit jealous of the stability of living in the same place for so long.

  “I’m trying to figure out how this is training,” Malcolm complained.

  I approached the door, trying to ignore the guilt of not following Dad’s instructions, but then I remembered how he blew off my conspiracy theory on Aimee. Someone had to find her.

  Over my shoulder, I said, “You’re shadowing me, following the lifestyle of a Spy Games staffer. Deal.”

  Before I could knock, a shrill voice yelled at us in French. Aimee’s grandmother, Marie, stormed across the neighbor’s tiny yard.

  “What’s she saying?” I whispered.

  Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “She’s basically telling us to scram. Who is she?”

  I looked at Marie and stared back at the cottage in front of me. “I’ve got the right place.”

  Malcolm muttered, “She’s on the attack.”

  Marie stopped in front of us. Her wispy white hair was held up by bobby pins and she wore a faded, flowered smock that looked like a relic. She scolded us. In French.

  “Marie?” I coughed and spoke louder. “It’s Savvy. Aimee’s friend?”

  A look of understanding and a bit of apprehension crossed her face. She switched to English and pasted on a smile.

  “What was I thinking? I did not recognize you. It has been far too long.” She held out her arms and gathered me into a hug and kissed both my cheeks. “Bonjour, Aimee’s young friend.”

  That was what I loved about Aimee and her grand-mere. They both spoke English. In fact, that was probably why Aimee and I were friends—because she could talk to me.

  “I keep asking Aimee when you are going to visit again.” She released me and noticed Malcolm. “Who is this? A special man in your life?” She kissed both his cheeks. “Marie.”

  “Malcolm.” He didn’t hesitate for a second when Marie enveloped him in a hug too.

  She opened the door and entered the cottage with a wave of her hand. “I was visiting next door. You must come inside for some tea. A bit of young love is just what I need.”

  “Yeah, about that.” If I didn’t straighten out the story, she’d have us married before we left.

  Malcolm put his arm around me and squeezed. “I was lucky to find such a gem.” He leaned over and planted one on me.

  He slowly let me go, and I had trouble finding my breath. I didn’t know whether to belt him one or throw him to the ground and kiss him back.

  Marie clapped. “How wonderful. It is your lucky day. I made gingerbread cookies and the kettle is on. I keep telling Aimee she needs to find a good man and settle down. Maybe you can talk sense to her.”

  We followed Marie into a tiny sitting room off the kitchen. Herbs growing in pots on a windowsill scented the air, and a giant fern filled most of the room. Tiny chairs surrounded an equally tiny glass table the size of a checkerboard.

  “Looks great,” I said. “I like the new furniture.”

  “Merci. Take a seat and help yourself. I will be right back.”

  As soon as she left, I kicked Malcolm in the shins. “What were you thinking?”

  He rubbed his shin. “I couldn’t disappoint an old woman. She probably lost her husband in a war long ago. Would it kill you to make her day?”

  “Unfortunately,” I said while giving him my darkest look, “we aren’t exactly coming with the happiest of news.”

  He reached for a cookie. “All the better to brighten her day with our young love.”

  “Fine, but let me steer this conversation. Consider this part of your training in role playing and how to question a subject.”

  Marie cut our conversation short when she entered with a kettle and poured us tea. Her hand shook, and I worried she would drop it.

  Malcolm stood. “Let me do that for you.”

  Marie smiled and crinkled her face up with tiny lines. She winked at me. “And a gentleman, too.”

  I distracted myself with a tiny thread unraveling from the cloth napkin. The more I got to know Malcolm, the more I liked him.

  When the tea was poured, and the cream and sugar added, Marie settled into her chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  Malcolm leaned back with a cookie, an amused look on his face.

  I licked my dry lips. How exactly do I tell a grandmother that her only living relative is missing? “We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d drop by for a visit. Is Aimee here?”

  Marie lowered her eyebrows. “Aimee should be at work. Is everything okay?”

  Malcolm kicked me under the table as if to say “good one.”

  “Um, my dad gave certain staff the day off to rest.”

  Marie put her teacup down. “I hope he’s not thinking of letting her go, because we really depend on her earnings.”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Aimee is a valued part of the team.”

  A light sweat broke out on my forehead, and I could feel a nervous rash spread across my neck. I decided on a more direct approach. “Did Aimee tell you where she was headed today?”

  “I have not seen Aimee since she left for work yesterday morning.”

  Fear bloomed in my chest, pressing against my lungs, making it hard to breathe. It was hard to laugh and act like nothing was the matter.

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “Should I be worried?”

  I waved my hand and laughed, probably a little too loud to be convincing. “No, not at all. She slept at my place last night and um, er, left early this morning. She borrowed a sweater of mine last week. Do you think I could take a look in her room?”

  If Aimee was on any kind of innocent trip, her grandmother would know about it.

  “Sure, dear. You remember. First room on the right.”

  I excused myself from the table, needing to be alone.

  “Do you need help, sweetie?” Malcolm asked.

  I mustered the most sugary voice I could. “I’ve got it, pumpkin. Be right back.”

  I was at the stairs when I heard Marie encourage Malcolm to go with me. She needed to clean up in the kitchen, and even though she wasn’t young, she wasn’t that behind the times either. I begged to differ with the flowered apron.

  I took the stairs two at a time. In the doorway, I looked over the room before poking around.

  With a warm hand on my waist, which I tried to ignore, Malcolm said, “Good one down there. You almost sent her to an early grave. Was I supposed to learn from that?”

  “No one’s perfect.” I kept my eyes on the room. It looked different and I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t remember if the pink and green flowered wallpaper, cracked and peeling in places, was the same or not.

  “What’s our next lesson, boss?” His breath tickled my ear. Shivers rippled down my spine. In a good way.

  I promptly moved into the room, desperate to find proof she was on vacation. I strode over to her jewelry box. Most of it was gone except for a necklace. I picked it up and let the beads poke into my skin before letting them slide from my fingers. I threw open the doors to her closet to find half of her clothes gone. Except for a pair of hiking boots. She’d never leave without her hiking boots.

  Malcolm fussed around in the room behind me. “No ticket reservations or books on Europe or hotel reservations. You might be right.”

  The reality that my best friend was most likely kidnapped hit me in the gut. I slumped to the floor and leaned against her dresser.

  Malcolm sat next to me. “I’m sorry.”

  He rubbed my shoulders, easing out the tension, then he wrapped his arms around me. Slow-burning warmth spread through my chest. I enjoyed the comfort of his body clo
se to mine a little too much, but did he think I was going to break down and cry or something? Hardly. I whipped out my cell and sent an email to my home computer, reminding myself to check up on Marie next week. Until Aimee returned, or I’d rescued her, I’d make sure Marie was okay.

  I shook off the temptation to call Dad with proof that Aimee could indeed be missing. He’d already screwed up his chance to work with me, and he’d probably find some way to trivialize my evidence and point out all my overreactions.

  “What now?” Malcolm asked.

  We stood as I answered. “When we make a mistake, we do everything in our power to fix it.”

  “Mistake?”

  “If Aimee was kidnapped, it’s my fault, and I’m going to find out what happened.”

  I was ninety nine percent sure I knew who’d done it.