The big silver bus pulled out of the Milwaukee depot at 9:05. Chris and Pat sat near the back, surrounded by empty seats. The only other passengers—a thin scarecrow of a woman with four noisy, scruffy little kids and an old man with an unlit, half-smoked cigar in his mouth—were seated near the front. They hadn’t gone six blocks before the old man got up and moved toward the back, taking a seat three rows in front of the boys. Chris watched him turn down his hearing aid.
“You think the bikes will be okay?” Pat asked.
“I think so. They’re chained to the pole and the pole’s holding up the building. I don’t think anyone’s going to move it—not without a cutting torch, or dynamite.”
“I hope you’re right. You got any food?”
Chris shook his head. “I didn’t have time to grab any. We can get something when we get there.” His mind drifted away; he thought about what they would do when they got there. What was the first step going to be? Should he walk right in and ask Bud and Clover to give back his little sister? And have them laugh at him? Or feel sorry for him? Or get angry? Or if they really had her, decide that they were in danger and needed to do something desperate?
No, walking in and accusing them of anything would be stupid. He’d have to think of something else, some other way to find out if there was really something to this dream he was having. Maybe their faces would give them away. Maybe he could just look in their eyes and know for sure. And then what?
He was staring out the window, but he could feel Pat’s eyes on him. He turned toward his friend. It was time to let him in on it.
“You going to tell me what we’re doing, Christopher?” Pat asked.
Chris nodded his head. “Yeah. But you’ve got to let me get through the whole story before you start laughing or calling me crazy. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Chris began slowly, trying to remember how he first got the feeling that something wasn’t making sense to him. He told Pat about the uneasiness he’d gone to bed with after seeing the tape. How he’d woken up twice, the second time recalling a scene and sounds on the tape that didn’t seem to fit. What he’d seen and heard when he watched the tape again. The earlier scene in town. And Molly’s secret.
He tried not to make anything sound more significant than it was, but as the words came out he could feel the excitement building. Pat listened quietly. Chris couldn’t tell what he was thinking. When Chris stopped talking Pat just sat there, staring at the back of the seat in front of him. He wasn’t laughing.
Chris waited for a response. It wasn’t like Pat to be quiet for more than a minute at a time. Chris just needed him to say something halfway positive, like maybe there was something to it.
“It’s possible,” he said finally. “I think it really is possible.” He frowned deeply. “But maybe it’s nothing. There isn’t much to go on; it could be just coincidence.”
“I know,” Chris said, but he felt as if a weight had been lifted. Pat didn’t think he was crazy.
“Why haven’t you told your parents?” Pat asked.
“Because I didn’t think I had enough to tell them. I figured they’d think I was fooling myself, or they’d get their hopes up over nothing. Or they’d just plain get upset. I wanted to see if I could find out anything on my own.”
“Yeah. I was hoping you could come; I may need a bodyguard, or at least a friend.”
“You going to be disappointed if this doesn’t get us anywhere?”
“What do you think? But there’s nothing I can do about that.”
Pat sat back in his seat and let out a sigh. “But wouldn’t it be something if she were, Chris—still alive, I mean?” he said.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “It would.”
“So what do we do when we get there?”
“I haven’t come up with a definite plan. Just play it by ear and be careful. Pretend we’re detectives without looking like we are. Clover and Bud live in an apartment attached to the back of their shop. I’ve seen it from the alley. If they’ve got Molly, she’d have to be there.”