The click of my study door seemed to echo in the room following Alice's departure. I looked at the book I had collected from her and skimmed through her notes. Her baby perfume, too strong in the air, still assaulted my nose, and her voice replayed in my mind. She was a poison. Or a drug.
I walked over to the bookshelf. Three book spaces were empty from where she had taken some books. She had taken two adventure novels, for Carlitos and one of Serena's bedtime books that I kept here. It seemed like she was one of those kinds of girls who were always in her head. I didn't know what to make of it.
She came in with a list of observations so well articulated that it was brilliant. That alone established the grounds for her being a hired spy. But her clumsiness contradicted that theory.
She
