The Twisted Window by Lois Duncan Page B

Then he led the way out of the kitchen. Shoving aside the newspapers that littered the sofa, he sat down, motioning Tracy to take a seat beside him.
     
    "Well, tell me about yourself," he said. "You can't be from around here; you don't have the mandatory drawl. I'd guess you're from somewhere in the East. Am I right?"
     
    "I'm from New York," Tracy told him. Then, anticipating the next question, she continued, "I moved here to be near my family—my aunt and uncle. They're sort of elderly and not too well."
     
    For some reason she found that statement difficult to utter. She was surprised by that fact, for the overall deception did not bother her. As Brad had noted, she was the product of a theater background, and playing a role came naturally and easily to her. Still, the lie about the Stevensons made her oddly uncomfortable. She wished she could have thought fast enough to have come up with some other reason for having made the move from New York to Texas.
     
    "Have you been able to find a job yet?" asked Jim.
     
    This was another question for which she had not prepared herself. Where would it be logical for her to say she worked? Although she might appear mature enough to be out of high school, she knew she did not look old enough to be a college graduate. What sort of job could she reasonably be expected to hold that would permit her to afford an apartment at the Continental Arms?
     
    She was taking too long to answer.
     
    Jim regarded her strangely.
     
    "Don't tell me," he said. "Let me guess. I think you're a spy."
     
    "A—spy?" Tracy echoed.
     
    Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes and realized he was teasing her.
     
    "Don't try to deny it. You've been hired by Ewing Oil. Your mission is to check out the oil fields around Winfield and let J.R. know which ones to buy into."
     
    "How did you guess?" Tracy asked with a nervous laugh.
     
    "I was trained by the CIA," Jim said, laughing with her. "All joking aside, though, what is it that you really do for a—"
     
    The question was cut off by the jangle of the telephone.
     
    "Oh, no!" Jim exclaimed in mock exasperation. "Please, excuse me while I answer that. It's probably the White House calling again. The President just won't take no for an answer, and I do find his parties so boring."
     
    He got up from the sofa and went out to the kitchen. The phone broke off in mid shriek, and Tracy heard Jim saying, "Hello? Oh, hi, Debbie, how are you doing, pretty lady?" There was a pause. "You got tickets for that? I thought they were all sold out! Hey, I'd love to go, but I'm going to be out of town this weekend. I've got a couple of days of vacation coming, and I'm taking off in the morning for Padre Island. You might give my roommate a try though. He's really bummed out. That's one guy who could use a little R and R."
     
    Grateful for the timely interruption, Tracy seized the opportunity to turn her attention to the hall leading back to the bedrooms. Although there had been no sign of a child's presence in either the living room or kitchen, if Mindy did indeed reside in this apartment, there was bound to be some evidence in the room she slept in.
     
    Moving quietly, Tracy got to her feet and hurriedly crossed the living room to the hall. Of the three doors that opened onto the hallway, two stood ajar. The first of these led into a bathroom still misted with steam from Jim's shower. Nothing there indicated a child's recent presence; no potty-chair sat next to the toilet, no toy boats or rubber ducks lined the edge of the tub.
     
    Jim's voice drifted out from the kitchen.
     
    "He's having dinner at his sister's tonight, so you can probably catch him there. Hey, wait a minute, I just remembered something. It's possible he may not be available either. He was telling me this morning that Friday is Doug and Sally's anniversary. I know they've been having a hard time finding sitters. If they're planning a big night out, he might be stuck with the kid."
     
    The