Joe’s stomach felt absolutely hollow by the time they got out of the crowded drugstore, but the sunglasses were a big help.  With the dark lenses muting the too-bright light, he found he could now keep his eyes open most of the time, only closing them when they began to ache a bit.  He was conscious of a few rather curious looks as he and Frank followed their mother down to the food court- apparently some people thought it was a little odd to wear sunglasses inside.  Or maybe it was because of the sunglasses themselves.  Mom had allowed him to get the funky neon-blue ones with purple spots, definitely the neatest ones there.  They were the kind that showed peoples’ reflections, too, and Joe had always wanted a pair like that.

When they got to the food court, Mom had a salad, Frank had a cheeseburger, and Joe decided on chicken nuggets.  Ordinarily he would have had a burger as well, but for some reason he felt like eating chicken.  They took a table near the center, next to the fountain, and speculated on how much money got tossed into the shallow pool for wishes and luck.  Frank wondered if anyone ever reached in and grabbed a handful, while Joe thought that perhaps janitors fished most of the coins out at night.  “I wonder, if you wish on a dime or a quarter, is it better than wishing on a penny?  Or is it that if you throw in a dime, you get ten wishes?” he mused.

“I think it means that people who throw in a dime or quarter are saying this wish is more important than just a penny-worth,” Mom suggested.  Joe agreed that this did seem to make the most sense.     

“I wonder what they think is important.”

“Oh, everyone has different priorities.  Something that’s important to them might seem not very important to us.”  Mom smiled.  “Like college applications.”

“Oh...yeah, guess so.”

By the time they were done with lunch, Joe’s eyes were beginning to feel almost normal again, but he kept the sunglasses on as they went back upstairs.  He was glad he did, for the first place Mom went was the Anchor department store.   This was on the ground floor and had large windows through which the midday sunshine was pouring; Joe found himself blinking fairly often at the brilliance.  “I thought you said fabric,” he remarked as Mom led them down into the women’s dresses section, a place both boys found very dull.

“We’ll go there, but I need a pattern first,” Mom explained.  “It won’t take long, I have the general idea already for what I want.”

“What is it this time?” Frank asked with mild interest. 

One of the things Laura Hardy did, when she wasn’t sewing for certain ladies in Bayport, was to help make costumes for an amateur theater group.  The boys had been interested when the group put on a rendition of Wizard of Oz, but had declared that the costumes for shows like Little House on the Prairie were pretty boring.

“Peter Pan,” Mom answered absently.  “Only not the original version; that new book about the Starcatchers.”

“Cool!” Joe opined.  “I’d like to see that one.”

“Me, too,” Frank agreed at once.  Dad had read them that book, and while it was much longer and a good deal grosser in some places than the classic Peter Pan, they had both enjoyed it immensely.

“Right now I’m working on Molly’s dress- Molly and her governess.  Stay nearby, you two,” their mother cautioned as she moved over to the drawers where the patterns were stored.

Both the boys obeyed- at least at first.  For a little while they amused themselves by looking at the dresses and wondering which ones Molly and her governess might wear, but that soon became dull.  Then they looked for colors that would make good sailor clothes.  Frank found a few rather gaudy shirts that he thought would do the trick, but Joe had less luck.  Wandering away from the shirts, he found himself in among the slacks, and soon discovered a pair of soft, velvety pants that seemed the epitome of the pirate captain’s fancy coat.  He was about to turn and call out to Frank when a hand clamped down on his arm.

“There you are,” a man’s voice said briskly.  Joe’s head snapped up and he gawked at the tall, bulky stranger who had grabbed him.  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.  Come on, we’re going to be late.”  And with that, the stranger began to pull him towards the exit.

“Hey!” Joe cried out, more astonished than afraid.  “Let go of me!”

“Come along,” the man repeated, and he started walking more quickly.  Joe, growing anxious, tried to set his feet and resist, but the man was too strong. 

“Let GO!” he cried again, louder.  “Let go of me!  Mooom!  Frank!” he screamed as panic threatened to overpower him.  “Mom, help!  You let go, I don’t know you!  Frank!”

“Stop being so silly!” the man snapped at him, giving Joe’s arm a rough shake, for his shouts were attracting attention.  A girl at one of the checkouts frowned in surprise, then picked up a telephone.

“Mooooom!” Joe shrieked, frantically trying to pry the man’s fingers from his arm.  He kicked out, felt his foot connect with the man’s shins, then grabbed at a pole that was supporting a dummy in a bathing suit.  Clinging to this, he filled his lungs and screamed, “FRANK!”

The man turned; there was something in his hand.  He pressed it hard against Joe’s mouth and nose and a sick, half-sweet odor filled the boy’s head.  He yanked away, but the cloth followed; releasing his grip on the pole, he snatched it away and flung it to the floor.  But his legs trembled and his head spun with dizziness as the man half dragged him forwards again.  “Now then, no more of your nonsense.”

“Mom,” Joe tried to cry again, but his voice only came out in a weak whimper.  He couldn’t walk...he wanted to lie down and sleep...

***

Frank Hardy jerked to the alert when he heard his brother shriek his name.  Shoving his way past several racks of shirts, the boy looked around quickly.  There- there was a big, tall man, and there, trotting unwillingly beside him and fighting every step of the way, was Joe!

“Mom!  Somebody’s taking Joe!” he hollered in the general direction of the patterns, and then he took off running after the two.  “You let go of him!” he shouted, but he was running too fast to shout very well.  And the guy was moving very fast; if Frank wasted any breath yelling, he’d never catch up.  The eleven-year-old grimly clenched his mouth shut and ran faster.

Joe was making quite a commotion; people were turning to stare.  But that was all they did- stare!  No one tried to stop the man or help Joe!  Then the man paused as Joe grabbed a pole, and this delay gave Frank his chance.  He skidded to a halt beside the two just as Joe slumped to the floor and groaned, “Mom,” in a weak voice.  Frightened by the sudden change from shouts to groans, Frank grabbed his brother by the shoulders and tried to pull Joe’s arm from the scowling man’s grip.

“Leave him alone!  Let go!” he yelled, panting.  “Mom!” 

“What do you think you’re doing to my nephew?” the man- a tall, bulky man of about thirty-five with light brown hair- demanded, jerking on Joe’s arm as he spoke.

“Let go of my brother!  He’s not your nephew, you liar!” 

“What exactly is going on here?” a voice demanded, and two men stepped out from a nearby door.  One was wearing a Security outfit, the other a dress shirt, tie and slacks. 

“He’s kidnapping my brother!” Frank shouted, too upset to lower his voice. 

“I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s talking about,” the kidnapper said smoothly.  “I was taking my nephew home-”

“You’re not our uncle!” Frank hollered, incensed.  “You liar, you were stealing him!  Moooom!”  Where the hell was his mother, anyway?  “We’re here with our Mom, she’s looking at patterns, this jerk’s making up lies!”

“Whoa, whoa.  Stop screaming.  You’re making a commotion over nothing,” the security man ordered.  “Now, sir-?”

“As I said, I was taking my nephew home.  He’s not feeling well, as you can see.”

“You did that to him, he was fine two minutes ago!” Frank seethed.  “And he’s not your nephew, any more than I am!”

“Look, son,” the businessman was beginning, when Laura came racing up, her eyes wild with fear and anger. 

“Arrest him!” she panted, pointing a shaking finger at the tall kidnapper.

“Ma’am, if you’ll calm down, I’m sure we can sort this out,” the security man said in a condescending tone.

“Sort this out?  He tried to kidnap my son and you want to sort this out?” Mom demanded.  Frank cringed a little at the anger in her voice; he knew she wasn’t mad at him, but he felt bad anyway.  Why hadn’t he stayed closer to Joe?

“I don’t know where you get off slandering me, ma’am, but you better stow your false accusations before I-”

“You drag my boy away kicking and screaming and then say I’m slandering and making false accusations?” Mom shot back, her voice rising.  “Get the police, now!” she added, whirling on the businessman.  “And the FBI will be involved as well- this is a Federal crime we’re talking about-”

Frank wrapped his arms more tightly around his brother, worried at Joe’s lack of response.  At least the fiend had let go of Joe’s arm; Frank was able to pull him away from the horrible liar.  He dropped to the floor and settled cross-legged, holding Joe tightly against him.  No one- not even some imbecile security man- was going to take Joe away and give him to a kidnapper.  ‘Over my dead body,’ he vowed grimly as the grown-ups continued to argue. 

***

Officer Pinelli placed her Starbucks coffee cup on the table and sat down in the chair with a sigh of relief.  She’d been on her feet all morning and they were letting her know they didn’t appreciate it.  She wished she could put them up for a while, maybe on the seat of another nearby chair.  But after she’d considered the notion for a few seconds, the officer reluctantly discarded it.  Propping her feet up in the station was one thing; in public was another.  As a recently-minted officer, still rather low on the Bayport force’s totem pole, she was wary of doing anything that might mar her image and/or dignity. 

At least her partner felt the same way.  Her trainer had been competent enough, but rather sloppy in his dress and habits.  He not only would have propped his feet up, he would’ve taken some delight in showing off his polka-dotted socks to any passers-by.  But Carota, the partner she’d just been assigned to, was another recent cadet and took pains not to embarrass either of them- or their badges.  Carota was level-headed, too, Pinelli mused, and easy to get along with, though they hadn’t quite progressed to a first-name basis yet.  Was it just luck that the two women had been paired together?  She’d never encountered chauvinism in the academy...  The policewoman took a sip of her steaming drink and glanced around, checking almost automatically on Carota’s whereabouts.  Carota was still in line at the fast-food place, waiting to get a soda; she wasn’t much of a coffee drinker.

A second later, the red-haired, hazel-eyed officer sat up straight as a call came in over the radio unit she wore at her side.  There was an alleged attempt at kidnapping in progress at the Anchor department store in the mall- one floor up from where Pinelli was currently sitting.  Frowning, the officer got up from the table, crossed the food court, strode up the escalator, and jogged down the mall into the department store.  As she went, she drew her radio from its holder and responded to the call, knowing her partner would hear it and follow at once.  She also requested backup, just in case; from all she’d been taught, kidnappings could be tricky things.

It was easy enough to locate the disturbance once she reached the store; the sound of angry voices was a guiding beacon to the policewoman.  When she got to the scene, her trained eyes quickly took in the situation: a furious blond woman who was demanding the arrest of a tall, bulky man; the man who was insisting that ‘the boy’ was his nephew; a hapless mall security officer, and the manager of Anchor.  A young dark-haired boy was seated on the floor, watching the proceedings and holding a younger blond-haired boy tightly in his arms.  The older boy couldn’t’ve been more than twelve, and his face full of fear and determination.   

“All right, enough!”  Pinelli deliberately pitched her voice above the angry squalling and it had the desired effect; they all shut up and turned to her.  “Now.  Someone’s tried to kidnap someone.  Have you checked identification?” she inquired of the security man, who fidgeted and said nothing, his face turning red.  “I’ll take that as a no.  ID, please?” she asked the blond woman.  The woman- fairly young and quite attractive- silently opened her purse and handed over her license.  The name, Laura Hardy, rang a faint bell but Pinelli couldn’t quite place it.  “Thank you.  And you?”

The man hesitated.  Then he shook his head, scowling.  “My nephew-”

“I didn’t ask about your nephew, I asked about your ID.”  The officer frowned, smelling a rat.  “No ID?  That’s extremely unusual.  Nothing whatsoever to link you to your alleged nephew?”

“Joe is my son,” Laura broke in, her voice taut.  “This man tried to drag him away- screaming and fighting every step of the way- and these two-” she gestured at the mall men, “would’ve just turned Joe right over to him on his word!”

Pinelli’s frown deepened.  “You do realize that would create a potential for charging you both with accessory to kidnapping, don’t you?  That’s a charge that carries a considerable time in jail,” she remarked.  “You don’t just hand a kid over to the first person who comes along and claims them.”  The men flushed at the rebuke; the manager took a breath as though to argue, then let it out again.  “Now-”

“I told them Joe was being kidnapped.”  The dark-haired boy was speaking.  “They wouldn’t listen to me.  They think that jerk’s telling the truth, and he’s not!”

“Well, let’s get to the bottom of this right now.”  The officer dropped to one knee beside the boys.  “Hey, Joe?”

The blond opened his eyes slowly.  He looked half-asleep, and that sent Pinelli’s suspicions even higher.  But first things first...  “Who’s that?”  She pointed at the woman.

“M-mommy,” the boy whispered.

“Your mommy.”  Pinelli glanced pointedly at the mall men, who both suddenly wore very worried expressions.  “And who’s this that’s taking care of you while everyone fights and argues?”

Joe actually smiled faintly.  “Frank.  Big...brother.”

Frank’s wary expression turned to one of appreciation and his cheeks flushed a little.

“Your big brother.  And who’s that there?”  Pinelli pointed at the bulky man.

Joe shrugged weakly.  “Grabbed me.  Put a...cloth on...nose ‘n mouth.  Stunk bad,” he murmured.

“You don’t know, he just grabbed you and put a cloth over your nose and mouth,” the policewoman repeated.  “I see.  What’s your full name?”

“Jo...seph Hardy.”  The boy’s eyes fell closed.

“Joseph Hardy.  Well,” Pinelli began, turning her head, and then she stopped.  The muzzle of a small but quite dangerous-looking handgun was pointing directly at her forehead.

***

A flash of hot rage was the officer’s first reaction to having a weapon pointed at her, but she squashed it and met the kidnapper’s gaze coldly.  “Well, so it’s plain who was correct, here,” she observed, not to the kidnapper, but to the mall men.  Both of those were now chalk-white and their eyes bugged out in horror. 

“I hope you’re aware that threatening an officer with a weapon is a very dangerous game,” a new, female voice said from behind the man.  And then everything happened at once.

The man didn’t actually turn around and the gun itself didn’t move, but he did turn his head sharply towards Carota’s voice.

As he moved, Pinelli’s hand snapped up and she wrenched the muzzle of the gun upwards, away from herself and the children.  As she surged to her feet, her other hand- clenched in a fist- took her momentum and landed exactly where she’d aimed it- right between the kidnapper’s legs.

It wasn’t exactly fair fighting, but the red-headed officer wasn’t at all concerned about that. 

The kidnapper folded with a groan; simultaneously, the gun went off.  A dummy that was standing on a display block a few feet behind the group crashed to the ground. 

Pinelli stifled her instinctive flinch and applied a wristlock; the gun dropped to the carpet.  A few seconds later, Carota was locking her handcuffs around the kidnapper’s wrists.  The man was far too disoriented to struggle; he huddled on the floor moaning.

“Good one,” Carota remarked dryly as she stood up and tossed back her jet-black hair. 

“Thanks.”  Pinelli took a deep breath and let it out in a relaxing sigh.  “Everyone okay?” she asked, rather surprised that no one had screamed.  As she looked around, it became obvious that ‘okay’ was indeed the question.  No one was hurt, but young Mrs. Hardy looked on the verge of tears and her elder son was even paler than the two faint-looking mall men.  “If you feel wobbly, sit down and take deep breaths,” she advised, and was faintly amused when the security guard did exactly that.

“I’ve called for further backup; Riley’s responding,” Carota told her quietly.  “And I’ve called for an ambulance too, I didn’t like the sound of that ‘stinky cloth’.”  Concern touched her expression as she regarded the children, her dark-brown eyes lingering on the younger one.

“I don’t either.”  Pinelli watched as Mrs. Hardy sank down beside her sons.  There was a strong resemblance between the subdued blond child and the woman, a less obvious one between her and the dark boy.  “He claimed not to have any ID,” the red-haired woman mused after a moment.  “Check him out; I’m going to see if I can find that cloth.  The hospital can test it for chemicals.”  She deliberately didn’t use the word poisons; no point being an alarmist.

“Mrs. Hardy, I do apologize,” she heard the manager saying as she walked away, her eyes searching the floor for any sign of a cloth.  The man’s voice faded into the background and the officer wondered briefly if any apology, however abject, would conciliate the woman.  It certainly wouldn’t if she were in Mrs. Hardy’s place.  And why was that name so familiar?

Pinelli banished the thought, concentrated on the search, and soon located the grayish-white scrap, half the size of a handkerchief.  There was a dark, irregular stain in the center from some kind of liquid.  Chloroform, perhaps; she hoped it was something that harmless.  Glancing around, the officer went to the checkout and asked the shaken-looking Asian clerk for a piece of plastic and a marker.  The clerk obligingly offered enough plastic to wrap a mummy and a black felt-tip; Pinelli took a midsized piece of plastic and used some of it to pick up and enclose the cloth.  Then, after marking the spot with an X from the black marker, she went back to the scene. 

“No ID, and no permit for the handgun,” Carota commented, glancing up from where she was hunkered beside the kidnapper.  “And not very forthcoming, either.”

“You’re just racking up the charges today, aren’t you?” the taller officer inquired cheerfully of the scowling man.  “Never mind,” she added to her partner as Carota stood up.  “We’ll get his prints off the gun and see just what else might be outstanding.”  Glancing around, she added, “And here’s the ambulance people, Mrs. Hardy.”

Mrs. Hardy nodded, gathered the pale, silent child closer to her, stood and hurried toward the white-coated attendants.  The older boy followed, pausing to scoop a pair of violently blue and purple sunglasses from the floor.  Pinelli trailed along behind and gave the bag containing the cloth to the female attendant, quietly explaining what it contained.  By the time the little family left, Riley and the rest of the backup had arrived and the usual arrest routine went into full swing.

***

Frank Hardy sat beside his mother in the plastic chair and tried to stop shaking.

It was weird, he hadn’t started to shake until he got out of the ambulance and trotted behind Mom into the hospital.  Mom had carried Joe in; she’d even held him the whole way to the hospital.  The attendants hadn’t been too sure that Frank would fit in with Mom and Joe and them, but with Mom holding Joe, there’d been enough room, barely.   One of the policemen had offered to drive Frank in the squad car, but Frank- no matter how tempted he would have been on any other day- was relieved when Mom vetoed that.  She wanted both her sons with her, she told the cop, and he hadn’t argued.

That officer had been one of several cops who had been coming into the mall just as Mom was carrying Joe out.  The rest had gone right in, but that particular man had stopped to say that he’d come by the hospital to talk to them after the kidnapper was in jail.  He’d added that some other guys, Federal men, were on the way as well.  The red-haired policewoman had said something about Federals too, and so had Mom, but Frank hadn’t feel like asking any questions.  He’d just braced himself against the wall as the ambulance started moving and watched as the attendants checked Joe’s breathing and pulse and blood pressure.  The male attendant had said he thought it was chloro-something or other, which was pretty harmless, but it was only wise to make sure. 

Now, slumped in the chair next to Mom’s in the hospital waiting room, reaching up occasionally to touch his sluggish brother’s shoulder- for Mom was still holding Joe like a baby- Frank thought of the policewoman and the loud noise of the gun going off and the kidnapper and shook silently in his seat.  He almost wanted to cry, but he felt too tired.  He wondered what was on that cloth that the kidnapper had put on Joe’s face.  The hospital people were testing it now, and they kept coming over to make sure Joe was all right, but it was taking too dratted long!  Frank was afraid his brother would stop breathing or something, the way he himself almost had when he’d been bee-stung earlier that summer...

“Mrs. Hardy?”

Frank jumped and turned swiftly, his tired nerves suddenly sharpening.  Then he relaxed a little as the policeman walked over to them.  Behind him was the red-haired lady cop who’d stopped the kidnapper and nearly got shot, and on seeing her, Frank felt peculiarly self-conscious.  She’d been very nice, and very, very brave...

“Officer Pinelli filled me in on the situation, but I’d like to take your statements, if it’s all right with you.  Or is this a bad time?” the man asked, glancing from Frank to Joe and then at Mom.  “Have they made any progress?”

“They suspect chloroform, but they want to be sure,” Mom said, her voice thin and tight.  “The man-?”

“He’s in FBI hands as we speak.  They’re pulling his fingerprints off his gun and we should have something on him quite soon.”  The man, whose name tag said Riley, sat down on the other side of Mom and introduced himself.  “I’ve heard of your husband from the chief,” he added, and Frank’s shaking eased a little as a tingle of pride went through him.  The chief of police had talked about Dad!  The woman sat down too, and listened as Riley talked to Mom about what had happened in the mall.  Actually, Mom did most of the talking; Riley asked some questions but mostly he took notes.  Frank leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes while the adults talked, wishing he could go to sleep. 

“If I ask you a couple questions, will you answer in your sleep?” 

Startled again, Frank sat up straight and blinked a few times.  “I’m not asleep,” he answered, rubbing his eyes.  A moment later, he noticed that Officer Pinelli had left, Mom had shifted Joe to a new position, and Officer Riley was now sitting on Frank’s other side.  “Maybe I did sleep,” the eleven-year-old concluded, noticing that he’d stopped shaking.

“Been a pretty tiring day, has it?” 

Frank nodded.  “Haven’t they come out yet?” he asked complainingly, looking over at his mother.

“Not yet.”  Mom sounded impatient.

“Do you need to talk to Joe, too?” Frank asked warily, turning back to Riley.  Joe was too tired to talk...

“Not till he’s feeling better,” the cop assured him.  “Now, when did you first know something was wrong?”

Frank slowly told his story, trying to keep everything straight, but finding it rather difficult.  Officer Riley was patient; he asked a few questions for clarification and repeated Frank’s answers to make sure he’d gotten it right.  During the conversation, Frank studied the cop and decided Riley was pretty young to be a police officer.  His dark-blue uniform was deceiving, it made him look older than he probably was.  “How old are you?” he blurted suddenly.  Then he blushed, wondering what was the matter with him, but Riley just smiled. 

“Twenty-six.  You?”

“Eleven.  Joe’s ten.”  Frank was about to add something else, but at that moment a woman in a white coat came up.

“Mrs. Hardy?  Joe’s going to be fine.  He got a dose of chloroform, as we suspected.  He’ll be drowsy for a few hours, and he might feel a bit sick to his stomach when the drowsiness wears off, but that’ll pass quickly.  Best thing you can do for him is take him home and let him sleep it off.  And give him a little Pepto if his stomach bothers him much.”

Frank sighed a big breath of relief just as his mother did the same thing.  “Thank goodness.  I was afraid that fiend had tried to poison him,” Laura murmured, bending to kiss Joe’s forehead.  Then she sat up with a frown.  “Where in the world is Fenton?” she asked no one in particular. 

“Dad?” Frank asked, perplexed.

“Officer Pinelli phoned him for me before she left,” Mom explained, frowning.  “He told her he’d stop by headquarters to file formal charges and then meet us here at the hospital.  How long does it take to file charges?” she asked, turning to Riley as the technician smiled and left.

“It depends,” the officer admitted, scratching his ear.  “I’m not surprised that he isn’t here yet; it can get pretty bureaucratic.  You’re without transportation, aren’t you?  I can give you a ride home, if you like.  That’ll give Frank a chance to finish questioning me,” he concluded with a wink at the boy.  Frank smiled, blushing again, and Mom almost giggled.

“All right, and thanks very much, Officer.”  She stood up; Joe made a little murmur as she shifted him but then sighed and was quiet again.  Frank took his brother’s limp hand, feeling better when he was touching Joe, and followed as Riley led the way out to his squad car.