by Peg Kehret
I heard footsteps thump up the stairs.
“Help!” I yelled.
Someone pounded on the door. “Police! Open up!”
“I’m tied up! I can’t open the door!”
I heard a thud, as if something hard had rammed into the door. A second thud followed. This time I heard wood splintering and then a loud BANG as the door fell forward onto the floor. Water splashed over me when the door landed.
“Emmy Rushford?” the officer said. “Is that you?”
“Yes! I’m here!” I felt as if it were my birthday and the Fourth of July and the first day of summer vacation all rolled into one.
The officer shined a flashlight around the room. The beam of light swept across my chest, glinted off the water, and illuminated the officer’s face.
I recognized Lieutenant Benson, the one who had downloaded my photos. “Are you injured?” she asked.
My teeth chattered so hard I could hardly talk. “I’m not hurt, just cold. The water’s coming from the bathroom.”
Lieutenant Benson turned off the faucets and removed the drain plugs before she started to untie me. By then the water level had already dropped several inches as the water flowed out the open door and down the stairs.
“I am really glad to see you,” I said as she undid the knots in the rope. What an understatement! Five minutes earlier every muscle in my body had been tense with fear. Now that tension had dissolved, replaced by relief and gratitude.
“I’m glad to see you, too,” she said. “Your mother is frantic.”
As soon as I was free, Lieutenant Benson called headquarters. “Emmy Rushford is safe,” she said. “Request paramedics at 1135 East Sycamore to check her condition. She appears unharmed.”
When the call ended she said, “Your parents are being notified.” Then she added, “It’s odd. Your mother seems to think your name is Emmy, not Louise.”
“I didn’t use my first name when I gave you the photos,” I said, “because I didn’t want the thief to find out it was me who turned the photos in.”
“So much for that plan.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“The woman who lives below this apartment called 911 because water was dripping through her ceiling.”
I grinned. “Then one of my plans worked,” I said.
“You’re the one who turned on the faucets and plugged the drains?”
I nodded. “It was the only way I could think of to call attention to the fact that I was here.”
A Medic One van arrived. The two medics quickly wrapped a blanket around me, and then took my temperature and blood pressure. They examined my wrists where the rope had been.
While I was being checked, more police officers arrived.
“Why are they here?” I asked.
Lieutenant Benson said, “Kidnap is considered a priority felony case. This apartment is a crime scene and needs to be secured.”
The medics decided I did not need to be transported to the hospital.
“I just want to go home,” I said.
“That’s where we’re going,” Lieutenant Benson said.
I followed Lieutenant Benson down the stairs. Mrs. Spangler stood in her open doorway, watching all the activity. She had laid a folded blanket across her threshold, to keep the water out of her apartment.
“Emmy!” she said, when she saw me. “What in the world are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“Your neighbor abducted me! He tied me up and left me in his apartment.”
“Why would he do that?” Mrs. Spangler asked. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“No. I’m okay.” I had finally stopped shivering.
“Where’s all the water coming from?”
“The water has been turned off,” Lieutenant Benson said, “and your landlord will get an emergency call right away. Is there a bulge in your ceiling or is it just dripping?”
“It’s dripping.”
“Someone from the city building department will be here within an hour,” Lieutenant Benson said, “to decide if it’s safe for you to stay.”
“She can come to my house,” I said.
Lieutenant Benson said, “Do you want to stay here until your ceiling gets checked, or come with us?”
“I’ll stay,” Mrs. Spangler said, “but thank you for the offer.”
Lieutenant Benson ushered me to the squad car and offered me a dry blanket in exchange for the first one, which was now damp. I buckled my seat belt, then draped the blanket over myself. I wasn’t cold any more but I couldn’t stop shaking. I felt anxious again, as if I expected another catastrophe to occur at any moment.
Watching all the police activity had reminded me that, even though I was now going home, No Help had not yet been captured. He would learn of my rescue. Then what? If he managed to escape, would he harbor a grudge? Would he return some time in the future, still blaming me for his problems?
Reporters from the TV stations and the local newspaper milled around our front yard. A van that said KOMO on the side was double-parked in front of Mrs. Braider’s house. Bright lights illuminated the crowd. They couldn’t have arrived so soon after I was found; they must have come because of the AMBER Alert.
As Lieutenant Benson and I got out of the car, the lights focused on us. Cameras whirred and flashed.
Mom had been watching for us and she came flying through the crowd, hugging me and weeping. I shed happy tears myself. Even Mrs. Braider cried.
Lieutenant Benson steered me through the media people, who thrust microphones in our direction while they shouted questions.
“We’ll have a statement in about half an hour,” Lieutenant Benson told them, but they kept calling to us anyway.
We trooped inside, where Waggy pranced around like a circus pony, acting as if he had not seen me for a year.
“I called your dad to tell him you’re safe and that he doesn’t need to come home,” Mom said, “but he’s coming anyway. He booked a midnight flight. He said he needs to see you for himself.”
I quickly changed into dry clothes, and then we all gathered in the living room. Sergeant Whitman had arrived, and was talking to Lieutenant Benson.
I had never seen Mrs. Braider smile so much. A truly newsworthy disaster had finally occurred, and she had been an important witness.
It took a while for me to tell them everything that had happened. While I talked, Sergeant Whitman kept glancing at his computer. In the middle of my report, he said, “You might want to turn on the TV. They’ve caught our suspect.”
When the TV came on, big letters filled the screen: BREAKING NEWS. I was startled to see my picture appear. A reporter said, “Emmy Rushford, the twelve-year-old girl who was abducted earlier this evening, is safe. She was found tied to a chair in an empty apartment on East Sycamore Street in Cedar Hill. The AMBER Alert has been canceled.”
The scene changed to an aerial shot, taken from a helicopter. I could see the white truck, its bed piled high with stolen items, pulled to the side of the freeway. Police cars surrounded it, lights flashing.
“The suspect in this case has been apprehended,” the reporter said. “Thanks to the AMBER Alert, a citizen recognized the suspect’s truck, called 911, and told police the truck’s location. After a high-speed chase down Interstate 405, police used spike strips to stop the suspect’s vehicle. As officers approached, he fired a gun out the window of the truck, but did not hit anyone. When he realized he was surrounded by police, he dropped his weapon and surrendered.”
So he did have a gun, I thought. It’s a good thing I didn’t try to run from him.
No Help stood next to the truck while the officers handcuffed him. As I watched him being put into a squad car, the anxiety seeped out of me.
“No doubt he’ll plead not guilty to abducting Emmy,” Sergeant
Whitman said.
“I got the license plate number of the truck that he put me in,” I said. I thought for a minute. The start of the alphabet, Dad’s age, piano keys, and three blue jays at Grandma’s bird feeder. I said, “A-43-88-3J.”
The corners of Sergeant Whitman’s mouth curved into a smile. “He won’t be able to deny that he’s the one who took you,” he said.
“There won’t be any bail offered this time,” Lieutenant Benson said. “Mr. Zummer is going to prison.”
I felt completely safe for the first time since the day he had ridden home with me on the bus.
The news story ended with a promise to update the viewers as soon as more information was available. Mom turned off the television.
I told Lieutenant Benson that No Help had another apartment where he kept stolen goods. “He also has a partner named Max who used to work with him in the kitchen of Porky’s Pig Palace,” I said. “Max rents an apartment a few doors down from Sophie’s building. He kept stolen goods there, too. No Help, I mean Mr. Zummer, said the police had not found it.”
“You do good work,” Lieutenant Benson said. “We may have to put you on the force.”
“Emmy is done tracking down criminals,” Mom said.
“That’s for sure,” I said.
Lieutenant Benson said she needed to give a statement to the press and asked Mom if she wanted to say anything. Mom stood in front of the microphone and said, “I am grateful to the police for bringing Emmy home safely. Thank you to everyone who paid attention to the AMBER Alert and watched for the suspect’s truck.”
When the officers and Mrs. Braider left, I searched for Midnight but I didn’t find him. Mom and I turned the TV on again. This time my jaw dropped as I heard Lieutenant Benson declare I was a hero! “By turning on the faucets, Emmy made sure that she would be found. She had also memorized the license plate number of the suspect’s truck, so he can’t deny that he abducted her.”
As I listened to the broadcast, Midnight crept into the room, swishing his tail nervously. “Where were you?” I cried as I scooped him up and hugged him. “I was afraid something had happened to you.”
Midnight refused to be petted. Instead, he struggled to get down and headed for his food bowl.
Mom checked my sore shoulder, which now had a purple bruise, and gave me some ibuprofen.
Dad got home in the middle of the night so I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep but I went to school the next day, anyway. Mom and Dad drove me.
When I got to my classroom, Shoeless high-fived me and Jelly Bean pounded his crutches on the floor. My classmates crowded around, telling me they had seen my picture on TV. They asked a zillion questions and Mrs. Reed let me answer all of them, even after the bell rang.
Crystal’s eyes grew wide as she listened. When I told about leaving Sycamore Street, she gasped. “You rode in a cop car?” she asked. She said it as if I had ridden home on the back of a vicious grizzly bear.
“Lieutenant Benson drove me home.”
“You should never ride in a cop car,” Crystal declared.
Shoeless interrupted. “It will make your teeth turn black,” he said. “Right, Crystal?” He almost fell out of his chair laughing at his own wit. The other kids laughed, too.
“Class!” Mrs. Reed said. “Quiet, please. We want to hear about Emmy’s experience.”
Before I could continue, Crystal blurted, “Riding in cop cars causes . . .”
Mrs. Reed said, “Crystal! Stop. It is Emmy’s turn to talk.” She nodded at me, and I finished telling them what had happened.
• • •
A few days after my rescue, Dunbar’s announced that a sixty-eight-year-old woman who said she wanted a clothes dryer had won Dunbar’s Dream Contest. The woman had hung her laundry outside to dry her whole life, but now she had back problems, and it was getting too hard for her to carry the heavy loads of wash.
“As soon as I read her entry,” Mom said, “I hoped she would be the winner. It’s nice to know that all the time I spend reading entries results in something good happening to someone who deserves it.”
I thought about Sophie, who had received food as a result of entering the contest even though she was not an official winner. Thinking of Sophie was like reading an exciting mystery novel that’s missing the last chapter. I had lots of questions, but no answers. I wondered where she lived now. I hoped she and Trudy were safe, and had enough to eat.
The next afternoon, Mrs. Reed asked me to stay behind when the class went outside for recess. As my classmates filed out the door, Mrs. Reed handed me an envelope.
“This letter is for you,” she said, “but it was sent to my attention.”
Crystal said, “Emmy’s going to be on The Today Show. That letter probably explains that she has to wear something green. Otherwise the cameras make your nose appear too big.”
Several kids stopped walking and gawked until Mrs. Reed said, “Emmy is not going to be on The Today Show.”
I looked at the return address on the envelope. Sophie Stanford. Stanford? Had Sophie changed her last name? Or had she been registered at school under a false name? The street address was in Liberty, Missouri.
Missouri! How did Sophie get all the way to Missouri? Instead of following my classmates outside, I sat at my desk and opened the envelope.
Dear Emmy,
I hope you get this letter. I remembered your teacher’s name from when I saw you at the hospital. I thought it was better to contact you through her than to try to send another letter to Dunbar’s.
I am in Missouri, living with Mama’s cousin, Joanie. She and her husband, Doug, paid for our plane tickets after Mama called Joanie and told her that we had to move out of our apartment because Mama had been too sick to work, and we didn’t have money to pay the rent.
The best news is that we no longer have to hide. The reason I couldn’t let Mrs. Reed help us, and why Mama would never ask for help from the food bank or any other agency, was because my uncle, my father’s brother, was searching for us.
Two years ago, my father got a sickness called E. coli from eating tainted chicken. When he died, his brother accused Mama of poisoning him! This was not true, but my uncle, who drank too much and didn’t think clearly, vowed revenge. Mama took Trudy and me away and used a different last name. We had been hiding from him ever since.
When Mama got out of the hospital, we returned to our apartment, but we could not stay there any longer without paying the rent we owed. We had no place to go. We slept in a shelter for homeless people for a few nights, until a social worker there talked Mama into calling Cousin Joanie. That’s when Mama learned that my uncle went to Alcoholics Anonymous a year ago, quit drinking, and admits that his brother was not poisoned.
We are no longer afraid!
Mama is well now and tomorrow she starts her new job in the cafeteria of the school where Joanie teaches. I am in the fifth grade at the same school. I like my teacher because she reads to us every day.
That is all the good news. The bad news is that Midnight escaped the day the ambulance came, and I never found him. Even though I called and called him the day we moved out, he did not come. It broke my heart to leave him behind. Joanie and Doug have two cats, but I still miss Midnight and worry about him.
You have already done so much to help me that I hate to ask another favor of you, but if you could go to my old apartment and look for Midnight I would be so grateful. I don’t want him to be cold and hungry.
Thank you again for helping my family. We will stay in Missouri now, so I probably won’t see you again. Cousin Joanie’s address is on the envelope. If you find Midnight, please let me know.
Your friend,
Sophie
Clearly, Sophie had not heard from Winkowski Associates that I had Midnight. Maybe Sophie’s mom hadn’t sent them the Missouri address. Any damage deposit ma
y have been kept for rent owed.
When I showed Sophie’s letter to my parents, Dad said, “We can send Midnight to her. He can go on a plane.”
“He would be scared out of his mind if he was alone in a cat carrier on an airplane,” I said. “He’d have to ride in the baggage section.”
“Yes,” Dad admitted, “he probably would be frightened. But he is Sophie’s cat, and I don’t know any other way to get him to her.”
I stared at my shoes. “I wouldn’t have to tell her that I have him,” I said.
They waited until I looked up at them.
“Sophie is worried about him,” Mom said. “You need to let her know that he is safe.”
Dad added, “How would you feel if Waggy was lost and you never knew what happened to him?”
I had used that same argument on the secretary at Sophie’s school.
If Waggy was lost, I would be devastated. I knew I would want the person who found him to return him, even if it meant he had to ride alone on an airplane. I was afraid Sophie would feel that way, too, but I knew Mom and Dad were right. I had to tell Sophie that Midnight was at my house.
I mailed my letter to Sophie the next day. I would have called her, but she had not told us her cousin’s last name so I didn’t know how to find a phone number. In my letter, I told her about Midnight being thrown in the Dumpster and how he shredded my stomach on the bus ride home. I told her that he and Waggy were pals, and that Midnight slept on my bed. I said my parents would pay to send him to her but that I loved him now, too, and would gladly keep him. I wanted to beg, “Please, please let me keep him,” and underline it six times, but I controlled myself.
I estimated it would take two days for my letter to reach her, and two days for me to get her reply. I hoped she would answer right away.
Abby bounced into class the next morning with a big grin on her face. “I got my laptop back!” she announced. “We got everything back that had been stolen except the cash.”
“Aunt Karen got her TV back, too,” said Hunter, “but her other things haven’t been found yet. The police think the thieves already sold them.”
