Abduction! (7 page)

His sister and brother-in-law had money up to their eyebrows. Winston had started his own business, something to do with computer software, while he was still in college and had sold it for millions eight years later. Then, instead of leading the easy life, Winston had started another company. It, too, was a success.

“You’re a workaholic,” Denny had said.

“Better than being a bum,” Winston had replied.

Denny put the ice-cream container back in the freezer with steady hands. Thanks to Matt, he’d never have to fear the Broncos of the world again.

Matt watched Denny stuff the money in his jacket pocket. He had never seen so much cash. Denny had told the truth when he said he was rich.

“I’ll be right back,” Denny said. “Make yourself at home.”

Matt sat on a wooden chair and looked at his lap. His head ached. He itched all over. Worst of all he felt a deep sorrow unlike any emotion he’d experienced before.

I don’t like Denny Thurman, Matt thought. I always thought if I ever met my dad I’d like him a lot, but I don’t like this man. He isn’t even sad! Mom and Bonnie got killed, but he’s acting as if Mrs. Watson told him Mom and Bonnie were on a vacation.

Matt longed to bury his face in Pookie’s fur and cry.
He wondered if Pookie was still tied to the post or if someone had rescued him by now. Poor old Pookie. He must be so afraid.

Matt felt cold inside, as if he’d swallowed a big chunk of snow and all his blood had turned to ice water. He didn’t think he would ever feel warm or safe or happy again.

A
fter the police left, Bonnie said, “I’m going to call Nancy and my other friends. They’ll let all the kids know to watch for Matt.”

“I don’t want you using the phone,” Mom said. “Matt might call and get a busy signal. I want to keep the cell-phone line open, too. He memorized both numbers; I know he’ll call if he can.”

“Is it okay if I use Mrs. Watson’s phone?”

Mom nodded.

Bonnie ran next door. Mrs. Watson didn’t answer the door, so Bonnie continued down the street to the Largents’ house. She told Mrs. Largent what had happened.

“Make as many calls as you want,” Mrs. Largent
said. She plucked her toddler from his playpen and held him tight, as if she feared he would disappear next.

Bonnie dialed Nancy’s number, but Nancy wasn’t home. Of course she isn’t, Bonnie thought; she went shopping with Sharon.

She left a message: “Hi, it’s Bonnie. Matt is missing, and so is Pookie. The police came with a police dog, and they’re searching at the school now. Don’t call me because Mom wants to keep the phone line open. I’ll call you again when I can.”

She felt surreal, as if she couldn’t possibly be speaking the words she said. She reached two other friends, who both promised to spread the word.

“I’ll alert the other neighbors,” Mrs. Largent said.

“Thanks.” Then, not knowing what else to do, Bonnie returned home.

Twenty minutes later, Nancy and her mother drove up. “What happened?” Mrs. Tagg asked as Bonnie let them in.

Mrs. Sholter quickly explained.

“I thought you went to the mall,” Bonnie said.

“Sharon has a bad headache,” Nancy said, “so we decided to go shopping tomorrow. We came here as soon as we heard your message.”

“What can we do?” Mrs. Tagg asked.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Sholter said. “I can barely think.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Maybe the police need help looking for him around the school,” Bonnie said.

“We’ll go there,” Mrs. Tagg said. “Come on, Nancy.”

“Can I go with them?” Bonnie asked. “I might be able to help.”

Mrs. Sholter hesitated. “Right now, I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” she said.

“I’ll go crazy waiting here, doing nothing.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Mrs. Tagg said, “unless you want her here.”

“You can go,” Mrs. Sholter said to Bonnie, “but please don’t be gone too long.”

As they drove to the school, Bonnie told of Pookie’s disappearance and the visit from Spike. For once Nancy didn’t offer an opinion or make a joke.

Four police cars lined the school driveway. Mr. Quinn, some teachers, and several other people stood near the flagpole, listening to a police officer. As the girls and Nancy’s mother joined the group, they heard the officer give directions for searching the neighborhood.

Before he had finished, Detective Morrison and Spike came around the corner of the building. Bonnie
hurried over to them, followed by Nancy and Mrs. Tagg.

“Did Spike pick up Matt’s scent?” Bonnie asked.

“Yes. He finds it near the side door, then cuts across the playground to the street.” She pointed. “Spike stops at the curb and can’t find the scent again. We’ve repeated the search three times with the same results. Matt apparently left the school via that door, then got in a vehicle that was parked on the street.”

Nancy took Bonnie’s hand.

Bonnie clung to her friend, glad for Nancy’s presence. “What happens now?” she asked. “The teachers and others are planning to search this area, but there’s no use looking for Matt around here if he was driven somewhere else.”

“We still want a door-to-door search of this neighborhood. Someone might have noticed a vehicle parked here. Someone might have glanced out a window and seen Matt and the person he was with as they walked across the playground, or maybe someone walked past as they drove away. We might get lucky and get a description of the vehicle or the abductor or both.”

At the word
ABDUCTOR
, Bonnie’s blood ran cold. What a horrible word, she thought. An ugly name for a terrible person.

“The searchers are starting out,” Mrs. Tagg said. “Do you still want to join them, Bonnie, or do you want me to drive you home?”

“Join them,” Bonnie said. “I’ll do anything I can to help find Matt.”

L
et’s stop at Marymoor Park,” Fred Faulkner suggested. “We can walk the path and stretch a bit.”

His wife, Ruth, shifted in her seat. “Good idea,” she said. “My arthritis is bothering me.”

“We used to drive half a day without stopping,” Fred said. “Now these old joints stiffen up if I don’t get out every hour.”

“At least we still go on outings,” Ruth said. “Not like some of our friends, who sit at home day after day and get bored with themselves.”

“Life’s too short to waste any of it,” Fred said. “We’ve been having good times for more than seventy years. No point in getting bored now.”

Ruth smiled, and patted his knee. “I did enjoy seeing the Mount Vernon tulip fields,” she said.

“Acres of color—and no charge to look at such beauty.”

“Maybe there’ll be some children on the play equipment,” Ruth said. She enjoyed watching the little ones climb and run; it reminded her of when her own girls were small.

Fred pulled into Marymoor Park and stopped the car. After putting a dollar in the parking-fee box, he and Ruth both stretched and headed toward the restrooms.

When Ruth came out, Fred was waiting for her. “Come and see what I found,” he said.

Ruth followed her husband to a sign at the side of the restrooms.

“Oh, look at you!” Ruth approached the terrier who was tied to the signpost. “Aren’t you a sweet thing?” She let the dog sniff her fist before she petted it. The dog wagged his tail and licked Ruth’s fingers.

Ruth looked around. No children climbed the slide; no parents pushed the swings. “Who does he belong to? Is there someone in the men’s room?”

“There’s nobody else here,” Fred said. “We’re the only car in the lot.”

“Someone drove off and
FORGOT
their dog?” Ruth said. “How could they?”

“Maybe somebody was walking him, and the dog got tired, so they left him here while they finish their walk.”

“I’d be afraid someone would take him.”

“Maybe the owner wanted to get rid of him. Maybe he’s been abandoned.”

“No! Oh, who would do such a thing?” She patted the dog’s head. “He isn’t wearing a collar,” she said. “No license. No ID tag.”

“No way to contact the owner,” Fred said.

“I can’t believe anyone would purposely leave a darling dog like this,” Ruth said. “Let’s stay here with him for a while, until they come back.”

“He looks like an old-timer,” Fred said. “He’d probably like to walk around a bit, the same as we did. No telling how long he’s been sitting here.” He untied the leash from the post, and the dog walked along the path beside him. The tail never stopped wagging.

“We still have half a sandwich left from our lunch,” Ruth said. “I’ll get it.” She took a wicker basket out of the trunk, opened it, and unwrapped half a peanut-butter sandwich.

When Fred returned from walking the dog, Ruth put a piece of sandwich on her palm and held it out. “Here you go,” she said. “Here’s a treat for you.”

“Thanks,” Fred said as he reached for the sandwich.

“Not you. The dog.”

The dog took it eagerly, smacking his jaws as the peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Ruth broke the rest of the sandwich in pieces and the dog gobbled all of them. He nudged her hand, hoping for more.

“He’s starving,” Ruth said. “He probably hasn’t eaten for days.”

“He isn’t starving,” Fred said as he ran his hands down the dog’s sides, digging his fingers through the thick fur. “I can’t feel his ribs. He’s clean and he’s been brushed recently and his nails are trimmed. He’s been neutered, too. Someone has taken good care of this dog.”

“Not good enough.”

“Now, Ruthie, you mustn’t jump to conclusions. His people will probably drive up any minute with an explanation.”

“I wonder what his name is,” Ruth said.

A car drove in.

“Here they come now,” Fred said.

A couple and two young boys got out and headed for the playground. The boys raced ahead of their parents; none of them paid any attention to Ruth and Fred or to the dog.

“Must not be their dog,” Fred said.

Ruth heard music and looked down the path. Three teenage boys with a boom box glided past on Rollerblades. They glanced at the dog but didn’t stop.

A van arrived next, followed by a car pulling a trailer loaded with bicycles. The couple in the van got out to walk; the others rode off on their bikes. None of them showed any interest in the dog.

Forty-five minutes and many passersby later, Ruth said, “We’ve waited long enough. If this dog was left here accidentally, he would have been missed by now.”

“We can’t leave him here,” Fred said. “Look how cloudy his eyes are. I don’t think he can see much.”

Ruth smiled. “It looks like we have a new friend,” she said as she opened the back door of the car.

The dog put his front paws on the seat and tried to jump in, but didn’t make it. “He needs a boost,” Ruth said.

Fred gave the dog’s backside a shove, and the dog scrambled into the car.

“An old arthritic dog will fit right in with us,” Ruth said. “I need a boost myself now and then.”

“We should leave a note on the signpost,” Fred said, “in case someone comes looking for him.”

“Hmmph!” Ruth said. “Anyone who would go off and leave a wonderful dog like this tied to a post doesn’t deserve to get him back.”

“Now, Ruthie. The dog might belong to a family, and one of the kids tied the dog there and the parents won’t know he isn’t with them until they get home. They could be frantic, worrying about what happened to him.”

“Oh, all right,” Ruth said. She rummaged in her purse for some paper and fished out a grocery receipt. She wrote on the back: FOUND: DOG—Call 425-555-3268.

“Shouldn’t we say he’s black and white?” Fred asked. “An older terrier with cloudy eyes?”

“Absolutely not. If someone calls, they’ll have to describe him. I’m not giving this dog to just anybody.”

Fred took the receipt to the signpost where he’d found the dog, but there was no way to attach it. He went back to the car. “Do you have any tape?” he asked.

“No.”

“What about a pin?”

Ruth dug in her purse some more and finally came up with a small sewing kit with a needle in it. Fred put the needle through the receipt and then jabbed it into the wooden signpost.

“Such flimsy paper won’t last ten minutes if there’s rain or wind,” he said as he got back in the car, “but it’s the best we can do.”