Night of Fear by Peg Kehret Page B

story about a bank robbery and murder. Dane was glad to hear the murderer was already in custody.
    He took a handful of peanuts and began to shell them. He had just popped the first peanut into his mouth when his attention was yanked back to the news broadcast.
    “An elderly Pine Ridge woman and her grandson are missing tonight,” the announcer said, “and search parties are organizing to look for them. The woman has Alzheimer’s disease and is easily confused. If anyone has information or knows the whereabouts of Ruth Windham and her grandson, T.J. Stenson, please call the sheriff’s office immediately.”
    Dane dropped the peanuts and bolted upstairs to where his parents were just getting into bed. “T.J.’s missing!” he cried. “He and his grandma are gone. They just announced it on television.”
    “Missing?” Dane’s mother asked. “What happened?”
    “I don’t know. Mr. Stenson called me just before you got home from the Open House, to see if I knew where T.J. was, and I said I thought he was home watching
Top Gun.
He wanted to know when I last talked to T.J. and what he had said. I told him, and then Mr. Stenson just said, ‘Thanks,’ and hung up. Now T.J.’s name was on the news and the police are organizing a search party and I have to go over there and help.”
    Dane’s father reached for the telephone. “What’s T.J.’s number?” he asked. Dane gave it and his father dialed. Someone answered on the first ring.
    Dane listened impatiently to his father’s end of the conversation.
    His father hung up and said, “They’re both gone, with no clue as to what happened.” He began dressing as he talked. “Ted Stenson thinks maybe the grandmother wandered away and T.J. went out looking for her. I’ll go with you, Dane.”
    Dane’s mother said, “Wait for me,” and grabbed some jeans and a sweatshirt from her closet. “I’ll wake up Susan and tell her where we’re going.”
    When Dane’s older sister heard what was happening, she said she would help, too. Ten minutes later Dane’s whole family was in their car, headed toward the Stenson home.
    “If that poor woman is lost,” Dane’s mother said, “shemust be terrified. Amelia Stenson told me her mother is like a young child most of the time.”
    “T.J.’s grandmother wears an identification bracelet,” Dane said, “with her name, address, and phone number on it. T.J. told me they got it for her just in case she ever wandered away and got lost.”
    “An ID bracelet only helps if someone finds her,” his father said.

    T.J. sprinted past the truck. The sheds wouldn’t be out in the middle of nowhere. They used to be part of a chicken ranch, so there had to be a house nearby. Maybe he would get to act out the scene he had visualized, after all. Instead of doing it at a gas station, he would do it at a farmhouse.
    The ground was uneven, as if no vehicle drove regularly across it. He hoped the house, if he found one, was occupied.
    His foot hit a shallow hole and he fell to his knees, twisting his left ankle. He got up, rubbed at the ankle, and limped on.
    As he ran, he rethought his plan. Maybe he shouldn’t pretend to be sick. He was sure it would work, but if someone in the house believed he was ill, they would call for an ambulance, and medics would not be equipped to put out the fire. Ambulance attendants would have been fine if he and Brody were at a gas station, where there was no fire involved. Here, there was the fire to consider. At least three of those sheds contained valuable merchandise; probably the others did, too.
    T.J. hoped that a fire truck might arrive in time to save the carousel animals and the old car and the boat. He decided to tell the truth.
    He saw the outline of a house ahead: a two-story farmhouse, with a wide porch across the front. The house was dark but he could tell there were curtains in the windows and a bicycle leaned against the porch rail.
    He took the porch steps two at a time, and pounded on