Dawn and the Impossible Three

by Ann M. Martin

  “Okay,” I replied.

  I pushed Marnie to the Barretts’ house so fast that Suzi had to run to keep up with me.

  There’s no reason to panic, I kept telling myself. This is a big neighborhood with lots of kids. Buddy could be anywhere.

  Even so, my heart was pounding and I was beginning to feel nervous. Buddy was my responsibility. I was supposed to know where he was.

  At the Barretts’, I plopped Marnie in her playpen, much to her dismay, and Suzi and I checked the house and the yard thoroughly. Unless he was in a very clever hiding place, Buddy was definitely not at his home.

  I called the Murphys and the Spencers. No one had seen Buddy. But Mr. Murphy gave me the names and numbers of four other neighbors. I called every one of them.

  Not a trace of Buddy.

  Feeling panicky, I phoned Mrs. Pike. “I’ve looked everywhere and called all the neighbors!” I cried breathlessly. “I can’t find Buddy.”

  “Keep calm,” said Mrs. Pike. “Call the Spencers and the Murphys again while I phone some other neighbors. We’ll spread out and search for him. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

  Twenty minutes later, a big group of people, including Mr. and Mrs. Pike and seven little Pikes (Jordan was at his piano lesson), were gathered in front of the Barretts’. Mrs. Pike took charge.

  “Everyone spread out and look for Buddy,” she instructed us. “Go in pairs or in groups of three. Younger children go with an adult. Come back here if you have anything to report. I’ll stay with Dawn by the phone in case Buddy calls.”

  The neighbors dispersed excitedly. Mrs. Pike and I went inside and I put Marnie down for a nap. When she was settled, I ran into the kitchen, where Mrs. Pike was fixing Suzi a sandwich.

  “Have you called Mrs. Barrett?” Mrs. Pike asked me.

  “I can’t reach her,” I replied. “She drove to Greenvale to shop. Maybe her phone is off.”

  Greenvale is a historic town about thirty miles from Stoneybrook. The main street has been fixed up to look the way it did two hundred years ago, and it’s lined with quaint shops. The town is sort of a tourist trap, but it’s a lot of fun.

  “Oh, Greenvale,” said Mrs. Pike. “Did she say anything about eating lunch there? We could try calling the restaurants.”

  I shook my head. “She just said she was going shopping.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t suppose calling her would do much good anyway. She’d just panic and come home.”

  I wandered anxiously to the front door and back into the kitchen. “Why hasn’t someone found him by now?” I asked. “How far could he have gotten?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie,” said Mrs. Pike, “but he’ll turn up.”

  “What if he’s hurt?” I cried suddenly. “What if he climbed a tree and fell out or got hit by a car or something? Maybe he’s lying somewhere unconscious and that’s why he hasn’t come home.”

  “Try not to think that way,” said Mrs. Pike. She eased me into a kitchen chair across the table from Suzi and set a glass of milk in front of me.

  I couldn’t drink it. “Once I read about a little girl who fell in a septic tank,” I said. “Buddy could have fallen down one. Or —”

  At that moment the phone rang. I leaped for it.

  “Hello. Barrett residence. Buddy, is that —”

  “Hello?” said a woman’s voice. “This is The Stoneybrook News. Would you be interested in a subscription? We offer a special discount to —”

  “No, thanks,” I interrupted her. “Sorry.” I hung up the phone. “Newspaper subscription,” I told Mrs. Pike.

  She looked disappointed.

  “Dawn?” said Suzi. “Someone’s at the door.”

  Mrs. Pike and I dashed to the front door, where we found Mr. Murphy, Mr. Prezzioso, and Mallory Pike.

  “Just checking in,” said Mr. Murphy. “No luck. The three of us walked all up and down High Street. Then we looked in the backyards along Slate Street.”

  A few minutes later Vanessa Pike, Mrs. Prezzioso, and Jenny checked in. They hadn’t had any luck, either.

  Just as they were leaving, Jordan Pike turned up. “Hi, Dawn,” he said. “Hi, Mom. I got your note and I came over like you said to. What’s going on? There are all these people outside.”

  “Honey, Buddy’s missing. Everyone’s out looking for him. You haven’t seen him by any chance, have you?”

  “Sure I have. And he’s not missing,” replied Jordan.

  I could have jumped for joy. “Where is he? Where is he?” I cried.

  “He’s at his lesson.”

  “Lesson? What lesson?” I asked. Mrs. Barrett was disorganized, but she wouldn’t forget to tell me if one of the kids was supposed to go to a lesson — would she? “Suzi, come here for a sec,” I called.

  Suzi ran out of the kitchen and joined Jordan and Mrs. Pike and me on the front porch. “Suzi, does Buddy take any kind of lessons — like piano lessons or art lessons?” I asked her.

  She frowned. “No …”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No …”

  “Honey, what makes you think Buddy is at a lesson?” Mrs. Pike asked Jordan.

  “Because at the same time Mrs. Katz and Sandy picked me up for my piano lesson, I saw someone pick Buddy up. So I just thought —”

  “You saw Buddy get in a car with someone this morning?” Mrs. Pike exclaimed.

  Jordan nodded.

  Mrs. Pike turned to me. She looked stricken. “I’m going to call the police,” she said.

  I followed her inside the house, feeling dazed.

  After Mrs. Pike called the police, everything started happening so quickly that the afternoon went by in a blur.

  First Suzi began to cry — hard. So when Mallory came by the Barretts’ again, her mother told her to take Suzi, Claire, and Margo back to the Pikes’ house for a nap. It would be quieter there, and they didn’t need to be around when the police arrived.

  Shortly after Mallory left, Mrs. Spencer arrived, carrying a small red sneaker. It was rain-soaked and muddy. “I found this near the sewer on High Street,” she reported. “It’s not Buddy’s, is it?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “No, thank goodness. It’s too small for him, and he was wearing boots.”

  The police arrived next. There were five of them. Two left as soon as they had a recent photo of Buddy. (I grabbed it off the coffee table in the Barretts’ living room, frame and all.) Another one asked me questions, while the last two asked Jordan questions. They were more interested in Jordan than in me.

  Over and over, they asked him the same questions: What did the car look like? Did you see the license plate? Can you describe the driver? Was it a man or a woman?

  Jordan became frustrated, then frightened, and finally burst out tearfully, “I don’t know, okay? We live three houses away, and besides, I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t think there was any reason to. Mrs. Katz was backing down our driveway and as we turned onto the street I saw the car pull up next to the curb in front of the Barretts’ house and I saw Buddy get in. That’s all.”

  “It was a blue car?” asked one of the policemen.

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t notice the driver?”

  “No.”

  “Did Buddy look scared as he got in the car? Did he look like he didn’t want to go?”

  “No, he was just opening the door and getting in.”

  “Did you recognize the car? Have you seen it around here before?”

  “I don’t know. It was just a car.” A tear slipped down Jordan’s cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his arm and glanced around, looking ashamed. Most of the neighbors had gathered, and Jordan was embarrassed to be seen crying.

  Mr. Pike put his arm across Jordan’s shoulders. “Any more questions?” he asked the police.

  “Just a couple,” replied one. “Jordan, I know we’ve asked you this before, but are you positive you didn’t see the driver? You can’t even tell us whether it was a man or a woman?”<
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  Jordan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was trying to control his temper. “I didn’t see,” he said after a moment. “I was looking at Buddy, not at the car or the driver.”

  “One last thing,” said the policeman. “About what time was it that you saw Buddy get into the car?”

  (I thought this was a dumb question because I’d already told him that Buddy had disappeared sometime between eleven and eleven-fifteen, but I guess they had to follow certain procedures.)

  Jordan turned to Mrs. Pike. “Mom, what time did Mrs. Katz pick me up?”

  “At eleven-fifteen, honey.”

  “Eleven-fifteen,” Jordan told the policeman. “My piano lesson was at eleven-thirty.”

  The cop nodded his head and made a note on a pad of paper.

  Meanwhile, I had finished answering the questions the third policeman was asking. He wanted to know what Buddy was wearing, how old he was, where his mother was, whether anything unusual had happened during the morning — and a lot of stuff about his father. He especially wanted to know where Mr. Barrett lived and what I knew about the divorce. He looked disappointed when I said I didn’t know where Buddy’s father lived, or anything about the divorce, but he was quite interested when I said that Mrs. Barrett didn’t like Mr. Barrett to call the kids.

  When he was finished talking to me, I sat down on the ground right where I’d been standing, bent my head down so that my hair fell around me, hiding me, and let the tears begin to fall. I cried and cried.

  After a while I felt a hand on my back.

  “Dawn?” said a gentle voice.

  It was Mom. Someone must have called her. Probably Mrs. Pike. I could tell she had sat down next to me. Without a word, I leaned over to her. She put her arms around me and held me for a long time.

  When I felt better, I sat up. “I guess I ought to get back to work,” I said, sniffling. “Marnie will be awake soon, and the police are trying to find out where Mr. Barrett lives.”

  Mom patted my back. “You’re a brave girl. I’m very proud of you.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around, though,” I told her.

  She smiled. “I plan to. The police have decided to organize a search of the neighborhood, even though Jordan saw Buddy get in the car. Jeff and I are going to help out. We’ll stay right around here.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

  For the next hour, the police came and went. They searched the house for an address book or any clue to Mr. Barrett, but didn’t find much. Mrs. Barrett seemed to have hidden away all information about her ex-husband. I even called Suzi to see if she knew where her daddy lived, but all she said was, “In his ‘partment.”

  I took care of Marnie, who was up from her nap and hungry. Sometimes the police asked questions, sometimes they needed to use the phone. Under the direction of the cops, the searchers combed the neighborhood. Six German shepherds joined in.

  I fed Marnie, then brought her out on the front porch and let her toddle around the yard. I recited nursery rhymes to her. I sang songs. Marnie made the ham face.

  “Silly girl,” I said.

  The phone rang.

  I picked Marnie up and ran into the kitchen.

  “Hello?” I said urgently.

  “Hello?” said a small voice. “Dawn?”

  “Buddy, is that you?” I cried.

  “Yes, I —”

  “Buddy, where are you? We’re worried to death. Where are you?”

  “In a gas station.”

  “A gas station? What — Where —” I didn’t know what to ask next. “How did you get there? Whose car did you get into?”

  “Dad’s.”

  “Your father’s?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be with him. I knew you’d be worried, though, D —” Click, click. The connection went bad. Buddy’s voice faded away.

  “BUDDY? BUDDY?” I shouted.

  Very faintly, I could hear him saying, “Dawn? Hey, how does this thing work?” He must have been in a pay phone.

  Just before the line went dead, he yelled, “We’re on our way home, Dawn. Okay? Dawn? We’re on our w —”

  “Buddy!” I shouted.

  At that moment, the phone was grabbed out of my hand.

  I screamed and whirled around.

  It was one of the policemen. “It’s Buddy, it’s Buddy!” I babbled. “He’s with his dad. He’s at a gas station somewhere. He said they’re on their way home.”

  The cop, whose name was Detective Norton, looked puzzled. “There’s no one on the line,” he said. He hung up and got on the phone with the police station.

  I began to indulge in a fantasy. The fantasy was that Mr. Barrett would return, the police would see that Buddy was okay and would leave, the neighbors would do the same thing, and Mrs. Barrett would come home and never know anything had gone wrong.

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Barrett showed up about fifteen minutes later. She came home to find the neighborhood swarming with searchers (they hadn’t been called off, despite the phone call), and two policemen having coffee in her kitchen.

  She turned pale and dropped her shopping bags on the floor. “Dawn, what’s going on?” she exclaimed.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, Buddy disappeared this morning, and Jordan Pike saw him get into some car. So Mrs. Pike called the police and everyone’s searching.”

  “Oh, no.” She sank into a chair.

  “But Buddy called a little while ago. He’s with his father. I don’t know what’s going on, but, anyway, he said he was on his way home. Oh, and Suzi’s at the Pikes’. She’s fine.”

  Mrs. Barrett looked dazed.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” asked Detective Norton.

  “Yes, fine, thanks,” she said briskly. She put her hand to her forehead. “I’m just trying to think…. I’m sure this isn’t Ham’s — that’s Hamilton, my husband — I’m sure this isn’t his weekend to see the kids. At least I don’t think….” She got up and crossed the kitchen. By the phone was her engagement calendar. She flipped a few pages. “Oops,” she said. “It is his weekend. I was mixed up. But I wonder why he only has Buddy, and why …” She trailed off in confusion.

  Twenty minutes later, Mr. Barrett still had not arrived.

  “Ma’am, I don’t mean to alarm you,” Detective Norton began, “but has your divorce been a friendly one?”

  “No, it hasn’t,” Mrs. Barrett answered. “Why?”

  “Because,” replied the detective, “many of the children missing today in this country are children of divorce. They’ve been taken by parents who want custody of them, but have not been granted custody.”

  “Oh, no,” exclaimed Mrs. Barrett firmly. “Ham and I have problems, and I know he feels he doesn’t get to see the kids enough, but he’d never kidnap them.”

  “Are you sure? A parent will do desperate things for his children.”

  Mrs. Barrett poured herself a cup of coffee. She stirred it thoughtfully. But before she said a word, we heard car doors slam, and the next thing we knew, Buddy burst into the kitchen, followed by a tall, sheepish-looking man.

  Buddy ran to his mother and gave her a hug. Then he ran to me and gave me a hug. “I’m sorry I made you worry, Dawn,” he said. “I’m starving. Do we have any cookies?”

  I found cookies for Buddy while the police sat Mr. Barrett down and began asking him questions furiously. Apparently, earlier in the week Mr. Barrett had become angry when he’d realized that once again, Mrs. Barrett had confused the dates and had forgotten that today was to be Mr. Barrett’s day with Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie. He had decided to teach her a lesson. His plan was to come by on Saturday, simply take the children, and wait for Mrs. Barrett to figure out her mistake. So he drove over to the Barretts’ house. There he found Buddy by himself in the front yard. At that moment, he decided that the easiest course of action would be just to take Buddy without bothering to look for the girls. So he did. He drove Buddy to an amusement park and took
him out to lunch, but Buddy didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. When he asked him what was wrong, Buddy said he was worried about me. He didn’t think I knew where he was. That was when Mr. Barrett realized that Mrs. Barrett wasn’t even home. Concerned about what a baby-sitter might do when she discovered that one of her charges was missing, he headed home immediately, stopping briefly at the gas station on the way. He’d tried to call before that, but had gotten only busy signals, and didn’t even know Buddy had phoned until they were on the highway again. (Buddy had called while his father was in the men’s room.)

  The police gave Mr. Barrett a warning, but that was all. However, they did strongly suggest that the Barretts talk to their lawyers about the custody arrangements. Just before I finally left, I told Mrs. Barrett I would be back the next day.

  I had something to tell her.

  Mrs. Barrett and I were sitting on the Barretts’ back porch. It wasn’t Mr. Barrett’s day to spend time with Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie, but Mrs. Barrett had suggested that he take them — considering the mess she had caused the day before.

  The house was quiet. I had never heard it so quiet. No running feet or yelling voices or crashing toys. Mrs. Barrett had served us glasses of iced tea and had brought out a plate of cookies.

  We both added sugar to our tea, stirred it, and took a sip.

  “So, Dawn,” said Mrs. Barrett, “what is it you wanted to talk about?”

  I put my iced tea down and drew in a deep breath. “Mrs. Barrett,” I said, “I really like Buddy and Suzi and Marnie, but I can’t baby-sit for them anymore.”

  Mrs. Barrett looked at me in dismay. “You can’t? Why not?”

  “Because of what happened yesterday.”

  “Mr. Barrett? But we’re going to straighten our problems out. We’re going to talk to our lawyers just like the police suggested, and maybe a counselor, too. You won’t have any more problems with my ex-husband.”

  “That’s not really what I meant,” I replied. “The problem is …” How did I tell Mrs. Barrett the problem was her? “The problem is that I’ve had a lot of trouble because of mistakes that … mistakes-you’ve-made,” I said in a rush.