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“Good news!” Sandra announced to Frank, who was in the office, looking at a pile of paperwork. How he could read anything in the meager candlelight was beyond her. Maybe he wasn’t reading. Maybe he was just trying to stay busy. Or maybe he was just trying to look busy.
Frank glanced up, looked at Peter, and, without looking the least bit relieved to see him alive and well, asked, “Where was he?”
Though Bob had instructed her to tell people that Peter had just wandered off after all, Sandra blurted out the truth. “Someone stuffed him in the shed outside.” She stepped into the small office and went to stand behind the seated Frank. “Step into his light,” she said to Peter, “so I can get a look at you.” This ruse didn’t even make sense, as Sandra held a candle of her own.
Still, Peter stepped uncomfortably close to Frank and was hardly subtle as he took a big sniff.
His personal space invaded, Frank tried to push away from Peter, but his chair didn’t move an inch before hitting Sandra. “What is this about?”
Peter stuck out his hand. “Thank you for looking for me.”
Without telling the kid that he hadn’t worked very hard to find him, Frank took Peter’s offered hand and shook it.
As they shook, Peter roughly wrapped his hand around Frank’s right wrist and tried to shove his sleeve up. Sandra knew this wouldn’t work, and it didn’t. The sport coat sleeve slid up a few inches, but the dress shirt beneath it was buttoned up tight as a drum. Frank yanked his hand out of Peter’s grip, and flew out of his chair. He quickly distanced himself from the intruders and pressed his body against the wall, completely out of the light from his candle. “I ask again, what is this about?”
“We just wanted to tell you that we found him, and that he’s all right. Let’s go, Peter.”
Her son completely ignored her. “Mr. Flamatti, may I please see your arm?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Peter picked Frank’s candle up off the desk and stepped closer to the director. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to figure out if you’re the one who shoved me in that shed, and I need to see your arm.”
Peter had decided to simply tell the truth. An odd tactical maneuver, but worth a shot.
Frank stood still for several seconds and then wordlessly, with great poise, took off his sport coat, unbuttoned his sleeve, and then neatly rolled it up. He held it out toward Peter, who patted his arm as one would pat a cat he didn’t know well. Then Peter looked at his mom. “It’s not him.”
“Of course not,” Frank said evenly as he started to put himself back together.
“Thank you,” Sandra said. “We’ll get out of your hair now.” Not realizing she’d sort of made a pun until it was out of her mouth, she hurried out of the room before she could laugh, shooing Peter out in front of her.
“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, annoyed with her.
She shut the door behind them and stopped moving so she could decide where to go next.
“Let’s find Billy,” he said.
“It wasn’t Billy.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Bob appeared beside her.
“Where have you been? I thought you were going to go with us. Peter walking around smelling people was your plan!”
“I know, but I wanted to go see where the police are.”
Oh! What a good idea! Why hadn’t she thought of that? “And where are they?”
“They’re still miles away. They’re following a sand truck. There are no other cars on the road.”
Everyone else knew enough to stay home.
“Where is Ethel?” Bob asked.
“She’s still in the props room. She says she’s too exhausted to go on a scent tour—”
“I’ll go check on her.” Bob disappeared, but was back in a single second.
“Was she still there?” Sandra asked, though she was certain of the answer.
“Yes, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the door, and clutching that flashlight like it was a rifle.”
Sandra snickered at the image. “Any idea how much longer it will take for the police to get here?”
He shook his head slowly. “Maybe just under an hour?”
Bummer. “Then I guess we need to keep sniffing.”
“It wasn’t Frank?” Bob asked.
“No,” Peter said, sounding too serious for a ten-year-old. “I need to sniff Billy.”
Bob chuckled. “All right. Let’s go find him, then.” He led them into the auditorium, but Billy wasn’t there. They turned around and returned to the front of the building, where they checked the sound room, the concessions booth, the office, and the restrooms.
No dice.
“He must be downstairs,” Sandra said, annoyed that they were spending precious time looking for the most innocent man in the theater.
“Let’s go check,” Bob said after starting down the steps.
Billy Adams was sitting at the kitchen table eating from a box of Girl Scout cookies. “Want some?” he asked when Sandra traipsed in. Then he saw Peter. “All right, my man! Good to see your mum sprung you!” He shoved an entire cookie in his mouth and crunched loudly.
Bob looked at her suspiciously.
“I told him that we were hiding Peter.”
“Why?” Bob cried, his voice dripping with accusation.
“Because he was outside looking for him! He was going to die of hypothermia looking for a kid who wasn’t missing!”
“Uh, Mom? You’re not making any sense.” Peter’s eyes were huge.
Oh shoot. Not only did she appear to Billy to be talking to her imaginary friend, she was fighting with him. She looked at Billy. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little out of sorts.”
Billy was still holding the box of cookies out toward them. “They’re a little stale, but will do in a pinch.”
“This is indeed a pinch,” Sandra said, trying to offer some levity.
Finally taking the hint that no one wanted to share his old cookies, Billy pulled the box back to his chest and reached in for another dose of Do-si-dos. She pulled a chair away from the table and sat down beside him. She nodded toward the chair across from her. “Have a seat, Peter.”
He looked down at the table, where Billy had a flashlight and a cell phone.
“Does that phone have a light?” Peter asked.
“A-yup.”
“Could I borrow the flashlight then?” Peter held his empty hands out to his sides. “I’m lightless, depending on my mom’s pathetic candle.”
Billy laughed, and a few cookie crumbs flew out of his mouth. “Sure! Help yourself. Now that I don’t need to look for you anymore, I don’t need the backup.”
Peter grabbed the flashlight and sat down, leaning ridiculously close into Billy on his way down, so much so that Billy pushed himself back against his chair. Peter’s eyes widened as he inhaled through his nose and he looked at Sandra with big eyes.
Don’t be ridiculous. If her son named Billy as his kidnapper, she really wouldn’t know whether to believe him. She shook her head slightly.
He looked at Billy. “Could I see your arm?”
Billy laughed. “What?”
“Peter, it’s not him. He nearly froze to death outside looking for you.”
“Exactly,” Peter said to her and then looked at Billy. “Could I just see your arm, please?”
Billy held it out in front of him.
“Can you push up your sleeve, please?”
Sandra thought she might die from the awkwardness.
Billy blinked, obviously confused, and then pushed his sleeve up to his elbow and held out his arm.