Twenty
“Hello?”
No one seemed to be home, but I really wanted to check Aimee’s room again. Call it my budding spy sense, but trespassing uninvited seemed the best option. I wasn’t going to eat any cookies, just take a peek inside. I walked through and closed the door, hoping a neighbor hadn’t seen me. The floor creaked. Was it that loud last time? I quickly made my way up the stairs to Aimee’s room.
At first, I stood in the doorway and observed. The room looked the same as when Malcolm and I were here. The fading wallpaper, her bed, her jewelry, the half-empty closet. What was it? I stepped in the room and made my way over to her dresser. I ran my fingers over the beaded jewelry. If Aimee left on a hiking trip, she wouldn’t bring necklaces. I turned to the closet. But hiking shoes she’d bring. So why were they still here?
I sat on the bed and closed my eyes, letting my mind drift. Maybe if I relaxed and stopped trying to figure it out, the answer would come to me.
Minutes passed.
Memories faded in and out of the few times Aimee and I had spent in her room, which granted wasn’t a lot because she lived outside the city. The faded smell of her perfume barely lingered. I remembered the laughter and her crinkly smile. This was where the clues I was missing would magically appear. But nothing.
Except for the creak downstairs, which wasn’t part of any memory.
My meditation came to an abrupt end, and I sat straight and listened.
Another creak. Was Marie home? Wouldn’t someone walking into her house make more noise? This intruder sounded like me. Sneaky.
Damn.
Somehow I had to leave the house, and I couldn’t use the stairs. Why didn’t I think to bring rappelling hooks? I crept over to the window and pushed it open. A breeze drifted through bringing fresh air to the stale room. It was my only escape route.
Slowly, so I wouldn’t make any noise I brought one leg over the windowsill and let it dangle. This was crazy. I wasn’t the kind of girl to jump out of second story windows. Maybe I should hide in the closet?
I heard footsteps on the stairs. My heart raced. I threw the other leg over. If I hung from the window and then dropped, the fall wouldn’t be that big of a deal. I hoped. Gripping the bottom of the window, I let my body scrape against the wood as I slowly lowered it. I had no idea how far of a drop it was but the cottage wasn’t that tall. Right?
The bedroom door creaked. I couldn’t drop. What if the person heard me? I held on for dear life and hoped the person couldn’t see my hands. Sweat broke out all over my body in a rush of heat. What were they looking for? Aimee wasn’t a criminal who stored cocaine or top military secrets in her closet. I prayed the person would leave because my fingers were cramping. I couldn’t hold on much longer.
The door creaked again. Whether or not that meant the intruder had left the room, I didn’t care. I let go.
The impact shot up through my legs and forced a groan from my chest. My feet ached but I dove into the nearest bush. I sat and massaged my fingers while waiting for my body to stop shaking. But spies don’t stop in the middle of a mission because their fingers hurt. I crawled along the side of the house until I got to the kitchen window. If the intruder was leaving they had to come this way.
Inch by inch, I raised my head until I could peek into the kitchen window past the ruffled curtains. The intruder seemed to have vanished. I sank back down and stayed crouched by the side of the house. Who could the intruder have been? Who else was interested in Marie and Aimee?
I didn’t dare move. Mysteries swirled around me as if all I needed to do was reach out and catch the answer like it was a leaf on a windy day. Marie’s front door slammed, and I jumped up to run like crazy. A middle-aged woman with mousy hair rounded the corner. I couldn’t catch one word of her French it was flowing so fast. I nodded. The woman grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet, while continuing the scolding.
“Sorry.” I breathed deep and tried to call up a smooth response. I’d seen enough spy thrillers with my dad. I should be able to get out of any situation. “Just visiting Marie’s granddaughter, Aimee.”
The woman narrowed her eyes then glanced to her left and right and brought her face inches from mine. Her eyes held a hint of fear. She spoke in choppy English. “No one lives here.” She let go and turned abruptly.
“Wait!” I called out and caught up to her. “What are you talking about?”
She slowly faced me and shook her head no, then hurried into her house.
“What about Marie and Aimee? You must be mistaken!” But the lady was gone.
Her words stayed with me. And then it hit me. Knickknacks. Framed photos. Dirty clothes. That was what was missing. The lived-in feeling of a teenage girl’s room. I had no idea why, and I wasn’t any closer to figuring out what had happened to her.
Except, I knew there was more to Aimee and her life then she’d led me to believe. And that was never a good sign.
A Spy Like Me Page 21
