there to starve, with his hands still tied so he couldn’t forage for berries or wild roots.
No one would find him. Ever.
“Jeezum,” he whispered to himself and a tear squeezed out. “Jeezum...”
Chapter Twenty-three
In Pursuit
“White Honda Civic with Vermont plates CCQ258 sighted on Route 2. Heading northwest,” the officer’s radio crackled, and the unmarked car veered sharply to the right.
Zoe was sitting in back, clutching Spence’s blue sneaker. She’d spotted it when she led the sergeant back to the turn-off where she’d escaped. What did it mean: a single shoe dropped in a patch of weeds? She was afraid to think.
A low causeway loomed up ahead and they swung across it. On either side the water lapped calm and blue-gray. A girl in a canoe drifted lazily along as though she had all the time in the world to get to where she was going. As though all was well with the world.
When it wasn’t. When Spence was still in danger.
Sergeant O’Hare saw Zoe’s concern. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll just follow at a distance. Let the kidnappers lead us to their destination before we stop the car. We’ll be sure your friend is safely out of the way before we close in.”
The sergeant sounded confident. Still Zoe worried. Things could go wrong. In the movies things always went wrong before they got better. Sometimes they didn’t get better.
“He’s heading up toward Alburg. Toward Canada,” the radio reported. “We’ve warned them at the border.”
“Alburg!” Zoe cried. “That’s the place. That’s where Miss Thelma’s farm is. The one they want to turn into a game park.”
Zoe explained about the letters, how the kidnappers were planning to turn Round Hill Farm into a place where people with guns could hunt down the tired old animals.
“And then skin them and hang the pelts on the wall for trophies,” she said, feeling outraged.
The sergeant flung up a blue arm. “Hey! That’s illegal.”
“It’s more than illegal. It’s wrong ,” cried Zoe. “Those poor animals wouldn’t have a chance to get away. They’re not in their native habitat. You’ve got to stop them!”
“You can betch your life, we will,” said Sergeant O’Hare. She radioed Zoe’s partial address on to the lead cop car.
The voice came back. “Can she remember the full address?”
Zoe thought. And thought. But couldn’t recall. She’d only glanced at the deed Thelma had taken from her safe deposit box. She only remembered the Alburg part. The name had reminded her of a burger. “Veggie burger, hamburger, turkey burger,” she recited in her head. But nothing more would come.
“Keep trying.”
“I will. If only Miss Thelma were here, she’d know.” She tapped Sergeant O’Hare on the shoulder. “We can call Thelma. She’ll know! Or the Bagley sisters will. But I don’t know their number.”
“We have to keep moving, kid. We have to keep following that car. It might not be headed for Alburg at all.”
They drove on mile after mile, past ice cream parlors and pastures full of cows. Past Kentucky Fried Chickens and Veggies-for-Sale- stands. Past Elm Streets and Maple Streets and Lincoln Ways and Cow Hill Lanes. James Road, Cider Mill Road, Ridge Road.
“Ridge Road,” she said aloud, “that’s it! That was the address on the deed. I don’t remember the number, but the farm is on Ridge Road. Ridge Road in Alburg.”
“Good girl,” said the sergeant, pushing a wisp of honey hair out of her eyes. “We’ll take a chance on that. Let the others keep after the car.” She radioed the message to the other police cars and pressed down on the gas. She was originally from this area, she said, she knew a perfect shortcut.
Zoe felt the thrill of the chase fill her throat, crawl up her spine. On and on they sped, twisting this way and that, until finally the car pulled into a long winding drive. Two white silos loomed up on the right, a long red barn with a cupola. A sign
No one would find him. Ever.
“Jeezum,” he whispered to himself and a tear squeezed out. “Jeezum...”
Chapter Twenty-three
In Pursuit
“White Honda Civic with Vermont plates CCQ258 sighted on Route 2. Heading northwest,” the officer’s radio crackled, and the unmarked car veered sharply to the right.
Zoe was sitting in back, clutching Spence’s blue sneaker. She’d spotted it when she led the sergeant back to the turn-off where she’d escaped. What did it mean: a single shoe dropped in a patch of weeds? She was afraid to think.
A low causeway loomed up ahead and they swung across it. On either side the water lapped calm and blue-gray. A girl in a canoe drifted lazily along as though she had all the time in the world to get to where she was going. As though all was well with the world.
When it wasn’t. When Spence was still in danger.
Sergeant O’Hare saw Zoe’s concern. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll just follow at a distance. Let the kidnappers lead us to their destination before we stop the car. We’ll be sure your friend is safely out of the way before we close in.”
The sergeant sounded confident. Still Zoe worried. Things could go wrong. In the movies things always went wrong before they got better. Sometimes they didn’t get better.
“He’s heading up toward Alburg. Toward Canada,” the radio reported. “We’ve warned them at the border.”
“Alburg!” Zoe cried. “That’s the place. That’s where Miss Thelma’s farm is. The one they want to turn into a game park.”
Zoe explained about the letters, how the kidnappers were planning to turn Round Hill Farm into a place where people with guns could hunt down the tired old animals.
“And then skin them and hang the pelts on the wall for trophies,” she said, feeling outraged.
The sergeant flung up a blue arm. “Hey! That’s illegal.”
“It’s more than illegal. It’s wrong ,” cried Zoe. “Those poor animals wouldn’t have a chance to get away. They’re not in their native habitat. You’ve got to stop them!”
“You can betch your life, we will,” said Sergeant O’Hare. She radioed Zoe’s partial address on to the lead cop car.
The voice came back. “Can she remember the full address?”
Zoe thought. And thought. But couldn’t recall. She’d only glanced at the deed Thelma had taken from her safe deposit box. She only remembered the Alburg part. The name had reminded her of a burger. “Veggie burger, hamburger, turkey burger,” she recited in her head. But nothing more would come.
“Keep trying.”
“I will. If only Miss Thelma were here, she’d know.” She tapped Sergeant O’Hare on the shoulder. “We can call Thelma. She’ll know! Or the Bagley sisters will. But I don’t know their number.”
“We have to keep moving, kid. We have to keep following that car. It might not be headed for Alburg at all.”
They drove on mile after mile, past ice cream parlors and pastures full of cows. Past Kentucky Fried Chickens and Veggies-for-Sale- stands. Past Elm Streets and Maple Streets and Lincoln Ways and Cow Hill Lanes. James Road, Cider Mill Road, Ridge Road.
“Ridge Road,” she said aloud, “that’s it! That was the address on the deed. I don’t remember the number, but the farm is on Ridge Road. Ridge Road in Alburg.”
“Good girl,” said the sergeant, pushing a wisp of honey hair out of her eyes. “We’ll take a chance on that. Let the others keep after the car.” She radioed the message to the other police cars and pressed down on the gas. She was originally from this area, she said, she knew a perfect shortcut.
Zoe felt the thrill of the chase fill her throat, crawl up her spine. On and on they sped, twisting this way and that, until finally the car pulled into a long winding drive. Two white silos loomed up on the right, a long red barn with a cupola. A sign
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