Page 30 of Nobody's Fool

Her face pales. “Still.”

“Still what?”

“She could have just been someone who worked at the estate. Like a housekeeper or groundskeeper or something.”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

“Why not?”

“I tried to sneak to the house through the woods. Before security caught me, I saw Anna in an upstairs bedroom window. I mean, maybe she was just dusting or whatever, but it was late at night.”

“Still,” she says again. “It doesn’t mean it was her.”

“Wasn’t who?”

“I mean, no one is even sure she lives there.” Her words are coming fast now. Driver Girl had been so poised, so mature up to this point. “But that’s what my parents told me. I’ve never seen her. I don’t think anyone has.”

“Slow down a second,” I say. “Take a deep breath.”

“No,” she replies. “If I slow down—if I think about it too long—I won’t tell you. I’ll back out. The family that lives there.”

“What about them?”

“Their last name is Belmond.”

It feels as though the air has been suddenly sucked out of the room. Her eyes stay on mine.

I almost take a step back. “Belmond,” I repeat. “As in?”

She nods. “Victoria Belmond. The girl you call Anna? She may very well be Victoria Belmond.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I don’t even know what to say.

“What?” Debbie says when we are back outside. “What happened?”

I don’t reply. We pick up my car from the valet. My head spins as I put it in drive. When we are down the block, I pull over and take out my phone.

“Kierce?”

I bring up the WhatsApp group called No Shit, Sherlock. I have the contact info for twenty-eight students. I pare it down to what I consider my top ten students—the Pink Panthers, Golfer Gary, Leisure Suit Lenny, Debbie, a couple of others. I call this new group No Shit Elite.

With a slightly shaky hand, I type a message:

Special Secret Class Tonight at 9 PM.

Group Project: We are going to try to solve one of the most famous cold cases of the twenty-first century: The kidnapping of Victoria Belmond. All students are expected to research the case and be prepared to present facts, evidence, and theories.

When I hit send, I hear a ding. That’s Debbie’s phone. She reads the message on her phone.

“What the hell, Kierce?”

I am wondering how to reply to that when my phone rings. It’s Arthur from White Shoe. I put a finger to my lips to signal that Debbie should stay quiet. She nods that she understands. I hit the answer button.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I need you to come to the office.”

---