Peter and the Shadow Thieves by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson Page B

hours. Now, however, they were entering the awkward stage between childhood and adulthood, and although they stil enjoyed each other’s company, they were unsure how to, or whether to, express that enjoyment.
    This had been particularly true in the months since Mol y had returned from her eventful trip to sea. George had sensed a change in Mol y; he had tried more than once to ask her about her experiences on the ship, only to have Mol y quickly change the subject. So he had given up on that line of inquiry. But he continued to cal on the Aster house regularly.
    After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he said, “So, who’s the bruiser lurking out front? He gave me quite the hard look as I walked up.”
    “That’s not a bruiser,” said Mol y. “That’s Mister Hodge.”
    “Al right, then,” said George. “And who is Mister Hodge?”
    “He’s a friend of my father’s.”
    George studied her for a moment.
    “Is your father here?” he said.
    “No,” said Mol y. “He’s…he’s away.”
    “I see,” said George. “And your father’s… friend …he stands outside al day?”
    “Yes,” said Mol y. “He does.”

    “I see,” he said.
    Another uncomfortable silence, final y broken by George.
    “Look, Mol y,” he said. “Do you…I mean, are you…I mean…is there something wrong?”
    “Wrong? Of course not,” said Mol y. “What would be wrong? There’s nothing wrong.”
    “Because if there is,” said George, “and if I could—”
    “There’s nothing wrong,” said Mol y.
    More silence.
    “Al right,” said George. “I just thought that…I mean…Never mind.”
    Mol y appeared on the verge of saying something, but she merely nodded. This was fol owed by more silence and increasing discomfort on both sides.
    “Al right, then,” said George final y. “I suppose I should be going, then.”
    Again Mol y appeared on the verge of saying something; again she held her tongue.
    “Al right, then,” repeated George. “Good-bye, Mol y.”
    “Good-bye,” she said, and they parted, both of them feeling quite unhappy, neither of them sure why.
    Jenna showed George to the door, and Mol y went upstairs to her room, which was on the third floor at the front of the house, with a window looking out on the boulevard. Mol y sat in the window seat and watched George trudge away, not looking back. He passed a larger person coming up the sidewalk toward the Aster house. Mol y saw that it was a bobby—
    a Metropolitan police officer—wearing the blue uniform and distinctive domed helmet. She noted that it was not Constable Calvin, the stout, red-faced, heavily whiskered man who had walked this beat since before Mol y was born, but a tal er man, hawk-nosed, clean-shaven, whose uniform seemed too smal for him, the frock-coat sleeves barely reaching his wrists.
    As Mol y watched, the bobby drew alongside the corner of the Aster property, where he passed Mr. Hodge, who was beginning his hourly circuit of the perimeter of the Aster grounds. Mr. Hodge nodded politely. The bobby did not respond, and in fact barely glanced at Mr. Hodge. Mol y saw that this reaction, or lack of reaction, puzzled Mr. Hodge; he turned and watched the bobby’s back for a moment. Then he shrugged and turned right, heading around the side of the house.
    And because he had gone around the side, Mr. Hodge did not see what the bobby did next, although Mol y, watching from her bedroom, did see it.
    The bobby stopped in front of the house and looked in al directions, as if checking to see that nobody was watching him. Then he looked toward the Aster house, peering intently; Mol y figured he was looking toward the sitting room.
    What is he looking at ? wondered Mol y.
    What he was looking at, unseen by Mol y, was a hand, held close to the sitting-room window. The hand belonged to Jenna, the maid. It was holding up three fingers.
    One for each guard.
    From her window, Mol y thought she saw the bobby’s head give just the slightest hint of a