by Peg Kehret
After an hour of knocking on doors, Mrs. Tagg said, “I think I should drive you home, Bonnie. Your mother will worry if we stay longer.”
Bonnie didn’t want to quit, but she knew Nancy’s mom was right.
When they got to Bonnie’s street, Mrs. Tagg couldn’t find a place to park. Television crews clogged the front yard; a news helicopter circled overhead. A spokesman from the police department was trying to create order out of the chaos.
“You can drive up the alley,” Bonnie said, “and drop me off by our back gate.”
“I had planned to come in,” Mrs. Tagg said, “but it’s clear your mother doesn’t need any more visitors.”
Bonnie and her mom, along with Officer Calvin, were interviewed by reporters from two newspapers and three television stations. Bonnie found it hard to talk about Matt and Pookie without crying. It was especially difficult when a reporter asked, “Do you think your brother ran away?”
“No!” Bonnie said.
“Maybe he ran off and took the dog with him,” the reporter said. “The largest percentage of missing kids are runaways.”
Bonnie wanted to scream, “He didn’t run away! Quit saying that!” But she knew media help was important, so she tried hard to be pleasant. “He had no reason to run away,” Bonnie said. “Matt was happy at home.”
“Matt was abducted from his school,” Mrs. Sholter said. “Less than fifteen minutes elapsed between when his teacher saw him and when Bonnie reported him missing.”
“A police dog picked up Matt’s scent in the doorway of the school,” Officer Calvin said, “and followed it across the playground to the street. It stopped there, indicating Matt got in a vehicle at that point.”
This silenced the reporter with the runaway theory, but it gave Bonnie chills to think of Matt crossing the playground and climbing into a car. She found it hard to believe he would have done such a thing after Mom had warned both of them repeatedly not to ever go anywhere with someone they didn’t know. Yet that must be what he had done.
When all the reporters and photographers finally left, Bonnie felt as if she’d run a twenty-mile marathon. The phone rang often as the word spread among their friends. Each time, she answered quickly, hoping it might be Matt.
At eleven p.m. Bonnie and her mom sat together and watched themselves on the Channel Seven news.
Mr. Quinn and Mrs. Jules appeared briefly on the newscast. They said Matt was a good student; everyone liked him. Matt’s friend Stanley, looking scared, told how he and Matt had played on the monkey bars during recess.
The screen showed a highway reader board on Interstate 90, with Matt’s description in bright lights. The announcer explained the Amber Alert and urged viewers to call 911 if they thought they saw Matt.
The story moved to Jefferson School, where nearly a hundred volunteers still searched the neighborhood for any clues. One man, who said he didn’t know Matt, explained why he was there.
“I have a little boy myself,” he said, “and I know how I’d feel if somebody took him. I’m here because I want to help.”
Then the camera focused on Bonnie and her mom.
Bonnie felt as if she were viewing a movie, watching an actress who looked like her. The look-alike girl talked about her brother and her missing dog. She held up a picture of Pookie while her mom held one of Matt. Mrs. Sholter begged whoever had taken her son to return him unharmed.
“Please bring my dog home, too,” the TV Bonnie said, her voice ending in a high squeak as she fought back tears.
The camera zoomed in on the picture of Matt.
“Anyone with information about the missing boy or his dog is urged to call nine-one-one or local police.” A number flashed on the screen, followed by a commercial.
After her mom turned off the TV, Bonnie felt numb. She wanted this nightmare to be over.
The police had set up a special telephone system so any calls coming in to the Sholters’ number would be monitored by the police. “You may get a ransom demand,” Detective Morrison said.
“Ransom!” Mrs. Sholter waved her hand around the modest living room with its worn furniture. “Why would anyone think I can afford to pay a ransom?”
“People who abduct children aren’t the great brains of the world,” Detective Morrison said. “Clear thinking is not required in order to commit a crime.”
The night dragged on. A police car remained parked in the Sholters’ driveway. Using their computer, Bonnie and her mom made posters with Matt’s picture on them. MATT IS MISSING the posters said.
Mrs. Jules had called earlier to say all the teachers would go out at daylight the next morning to hang posters around town.
“Don’t use your own phone number,” Detective Morrison had said. “Use the police number, so you don’t get any calls from wackos.”
“Wackos?” Bonnie said.
“People who call, even though they haven’t seen the missing child.”
“If they haven’t seen him, why would they call?” Bonnie asked. “What would they say?”
“Oh, happy things like ‘If you watched your child properly this wouldn’t have happened.’ One woman used to call every time a child disappeared and claim she’d seen the child’s body floating in Lake Washington.”
“Gross!”
“People can be cruel. Use my number. Better yet, use the toll-free hotline for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Someone’s there to answer the phone twenty-four/seven so you’ll be sure not to miss an important call. They know exactly what questions to ask.” She had written the number and handed it to Bonnie.
“Are you sure the center knows about Matt?”
“We gave them all the information this afternoon. His picture’s already on their Web site. We’ve also asked for help from the Washington State Patrol’s Missing and Exploited Children’s Task Force.”
Bonnie added information about Pookie to each poster. Knowing other people were trying to find Matt made his return seem possible.
At midnight, Bonnie’s mom insisted she lie down for a while. Bonnie knew it was pointless to go to bed; she’d never fall asleep, but she lay on top of her bed in the dark, listening for the phone as tears trickled into her ears.
At six the next morning, Mrs. Jules and Mrs. Payton came to get the posters. “Every teacher at Matt’s school and yours, Bonnie, will distribute these,” Mrs. Jules said. “There are dozens of other volunteers, as well. We’ll make more copies as we need them.”
It helps, Bonnie thought, to know the teachers are giving up their Saturday for this.
“We plan to blanket the entire Puget Sound area with posters,” Mrs. Payton said.
Mrs. Jules left her cell-phone number. “Call as soon as he’s found,” she said.
At seven, someone else knocked on the door. Hope surging, Bonnie ran to open it. Mrs. Watson stood on the step holding a pan of warm cinnamon rolls.
Mrs. Watson’s curls had a bluish tinge and she always smelled faintly of lilacs. Three years ago when Mrs. Watson turned eighty, she announced she would count backward on future birthdays. Now if anyone asked her age, she said, “Seventy-seven.”
“I thought you might need some breakfast,” Mrs. Watson said.
“Come in, Mrs. Watson,” Bonnie said.
“Is there any word about Matt?”
“No.”
Bonnie had eaten nothing the night before; the fragrant rolls smelled delicious. Although cinnamon rolls were her favorite treat, especially Mrs. Watson’s homemade cinnamon rolls, she felt guilty for wanting one. How could she think about food when her brother and her dog were missing?
“You have to eat,” Mrs. Watson said, “to keep up your own strength. You won’t be any help to the police otherwise.”
Mrs. Sholter poured two cups of coffee and invited Mrs. Watson to stay. Bonnie got herself a glass of orange juice to go with her roll. The prism in the window sent rainbows dancing across the tile floor. Maybe that’s a good omen, Bonnie thought. Rainbows
are a sign of hope. On the other hand, she’d seen rainbows yesterday morning, too, and look what had happened.
“I saw on the news that Pookie’s gone, too,” Mrs. Watson said.
“The police think someone might have taken Pookie first and then used him to entice Matt to go with them.”
“That gives me the all-over shivers,” Mrs. Watson said. “It means the person who took Matt came here, too.”
Bonnie knew Mrs. Watson was upset in part because she lived so close.
“I wish I’d stayed home yesterday, instead of going to my book club,” Mrs. Watson said. “I might have seen or heard something. Maybe Pookie barked.”
After Bonnie finished eating, she said, “I’m going to look around outside some more.”
Every inch of the yard had been examined the day before, but she was too antsy to sit still. As she crossed the yard, she looked at the polka-dot garage door. I’d give anything, she thought, to hear a tennis ball hitting the door again.
She went out the back gate then walked up the alley to the corner. When she returned, she spied something red deep in the weeds next to the fence.
When she pushed the tall weeds back, she saw Pookie’s collar. She reached for it, then withdrew her hand. The police might find fingerprints on the collar.
Bonnie raced inside. “I found Pookie’s collar!” she said. “It’s in the weeds out in the alley.”
Mrs. Sholter quickly called Officer Calvin. “Don’t pick it up,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
Bonnie returned to the alley. She wanted to be sure nobody else found the collar and took it. Officer Calvin arrived soon and, wearing gloves, carefully picked up the collar and dropped it in an evidence bag.
“So whoever took Pookie went out the back gate,” Bonnie said. “They must have parked in the alley and thrown his collar away so he couldn’t be identified by our phone number.”
“That’s as good a theory as any,” Officer Calvin said.
“Pookie was probably out in the yard,” Mrs. Sholter said, “which explains why nobody broke into the house. Pookie used his doggie door, then the man opened the gate and took Pookie.”
Bonnie imagined the scene. Dear old Pookie, plodding outside to do his business, then falling asleep in the sunshine. When the man entered the yard, Pookie probably licked his hand.
“Of course we don’t know it was a man,” Officer Calvin said. “A woman might have taken Pookie.”
Bonnie wondered if a woman might have taken Matt. She knew sometimes women who can’t have a baby freak out and steal someone else’s baby, but she didn’t think they stole six-year-old boys.
Officer Calvin had brought a computer-generated image of the man who had come to the school, pretending to work for UPS. “The secretary gave a detailed description,” he said, “especially of his hair, mustache, and tattoo.”
Bonnie stared at the drawing, examining the man’s eyes and his curly dark hair. She had never felt hatred toward anyone, but as she looked at the drawing she felt such intense dislike for the man that her feelings shocked her.
Mrs. Sholter glanced at the drawing, then covered her face with her hands and turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to look.
“Do either of you recognize him?” Officer Calvin asked.
“No.” Bonnie and her mom spoke at the same time.
“This image went out last night via e-mail and broadcast faxing,” Officer Calvin said. “It’s now in the hands of law-enforcement agencies all across the country. The school secretary says it’s a good likeness, and the rose tattoo is an excellent clue because it’s specific. People notice such things and remember them. Of course we don’t know for certain the UPS impostor took Matt.”
Officer Calvin doubts everything, Bonnie thought, even the obvious facts. She supposed it was good the police considered all possibilities, but only one scenario made sense: a man dressed as a UPS delivery man stole Pookie, drove to the school, and talked Matt into going somewhere with him. Who had done it? Why? Where were Pookie and Matt now?
Bonnie looked at the drawing again, barely resisting the urge to rip it into pieces.
Since the police were now monitoring the Sholters’ phone, Bonnie and her mom left the house together and spent the day distributing more MATT IS MISSING posters. They checked in with Officer Calvin frequently, but there was never any news.
By the time they returned home, Bonnie was worn out. She ate, took a shower, and went straight to bed.
Two hours later, she woke trembling and drenched with sweat. She had dreamed of running alone through tall grass, calling for help.
No, Bonnie thought. I can’t start having nightmares again. Matt isn’t gone forever, and I’m not alone. Dozens of people are helping us, people we don’t even know.
Bonnie longed to have Pookie on her bed again, pawing at the blanket and making little whimper sounds in his sleep.
As her heart rate returned to normal, she remembered reading Nancy’s note and wishing she could go to the mall instead of watching Matt. Had Matt been lured away from school at that exact moment? Had he climbed into a car as Bonnie wished she didn’t have to take care of him?
On Sunday, the Sholters’ house seemed full of what wasn’t there. Everywhere Bonnie looked she expected to see Matt or Pookie. She put fresh water in the dog dish, as she did every morning. She set three cereal bowls on the table for breakfast, then put Matt’s bowl back in the cupboard.
Even the sun glinting off the prism didn’t seem cheerful. Bonnie reached for the milk carton without glancing at the rainbows on the floor.
That afternoon Bonnie made smaller MISSING flyers on the computer. She put Matt’s picture on them plus his name and age. She added: FAVORITE FOOD: MACARONI AND CHEESE. LOVES TO PLAY BASEBALL. She put a description of Pookie, too, and said he was also missing. She used the phone number Detective Morrison had given her.
Bonnie printed the flyers, getting four per sheet of paper. She used red paper because red was Matt’s favorite color, but his picture didn’t show clearly, so she switched to white paper. She didn’t need to please Matt; she needed to find him.
“Pictures work,” Officer Calvin had said.
She printed fifty sheets, or two hundred flyers. Nancy helped her cut them.
“I’ll give some to everyone at school tomorrow,” Nancy said. “I’m sure they already know about Matt, but they can pass the flyers on to people who might not know.”
“Thanks,” Bonnie said. “Mom said I can take them to the grocery store and hand them out to people shopping.”
“What about other towns?” Nancy said. “Whoever took Matt might have gone away from here. I could mail some to my Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank in Richland. I know they’d give out the flyers.”
“Good idea. The police are using a national organization for missing kids, but we need to reach people who don’t know about that group.”
Nancy took a stack of flyers. “I have to go home now,” she said. “It’s my grandma’s birthday, and we’re having a party for her. We don’t feel like having a party—we’d rather help try to find Matt—but we invited Grandma’s friends weeks ago. I’ll give all of them one of the flyers.”
“Thanks.”
“Mom says if Matt isn’t found today, I can come over and help again tomorrow, as soon as I get home from school.”
Bonnie promised to call if there was any word. After Nancy left, Bonnie thought, Nancy’s right. The person who took Matt could have gone anywhere. Matt might not be in Washington State now. Matt could be in Florida or New York or anywhere.
The police had alerted the airport, but what if Matt’s kidnapper took a short flight before the word got out? Maybe he flew a private plane. Maybe they took a bus or Amtrak. Matt might be in a car right now, speeding across Iowa.
The possibilities were endless. Bonnie looked at the stack of MATT IS MISSING flyers. They seemed like such a small thing to do in the face of a huge problem.
Bonnie took a deep breath. My flyers m
ay be small, she thought, but they’re better than doing nothing, and Matt might still be in the Seattle area. His abductor could be holed up somewhere, waiting for the furor to die down.
She filled a bag with flyers, got on her bike, and headed for the grocery store. One of the clerks gave Bonnie permission to stand at the door and distribute the flyers.
“I saw you on the news last night,” the clerk said. “I hope they find your brother real soon. Your dog, too.”
In between shoppers, Bonnie had time to think. The Internet was the best way to spread information quickly. She decided to write an e-mail about Matt to all the names in Mom’s address book. She would ask everyone to watch for him and to send her message to all the people on their e-mail lists. She could include the Web site that had Matt’s picture. Hundreds more people all over the country would instantly be looking for Matt.
The idea was too good to wait. Bonnie left her post at the store and went home to send the e-mail right away. As she turned her bike onto her street, she saw a van from one of the TV stations parked in front of her house. Bonnie’s mom was talking to reporters again.
Bonnie’s pulse raced. Had Matt been found? She pedaled faster. Mom stood on the porch alone.
If Matt had been found, he would be there with her. Was there bad news? The small seed of fear that had lurked all day in the back of Bonnie’s mind quickly blossomed into panic.
As soon as she reached her own house, Bonnie dropped the bike at the curb and listened to Mom’s words: “If anyone sees Matt, please call the police immediately.” It sounded like a rerun of yesterday’s news conference.
Bonnie noticed her mom’s eyes were puffy and red. She probably cried half the night the same as I did, Bonnie thought. She retrieved her bike, rode it around to the alley, and put it in the garage.
When the media people left, Mrs. Sholter told Bonnie, “My boss called. He’s offered a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to Matt’s safe return.”
“Wow!” Bonnie said.
“Most people are good,” Mrs. Sholter said.
She’s right, Bonnie thought. There are bad people in the world, people who steal children and dogs, but there are lots more good people. Dozens of people—maybe even hundreds—were walking the streets today, searching for Matt.