Driving Team (8 page)

Stevie reached over and squeezed Veronica’s shoulder. “Don’t think like that. Just keep your thoughts positive.”

“I’ll try.” Veronica stood up. “That’s just what I need to do. Well, I guess I’d better hurry.”

She gave Stevie a brief smile, then ran back to the stable, leaving Stevie sitting alone on the hay bale with the two munching horses. For a while Stevie just stayed there, thinking that Veronica was really very nice on the inside and she and Carole and Lisa had never known it.
Maybe we should have tried to really talk to her years ago
, Stevie thought.
Maybe we could have all been good friends
. Suddenly Stevie’s stomach growled. It was way past lunchtime, and also past time to put Danny and Belle back in their stalls.

She stood up. Veronica was long gone, and nobody else was in sight. She was going to have to take care of Danny and Belle all by herself. “Oh well,” she said as she untied the horses from the fence. “So what if I have to do a little extra work? Veronica’s got a lot on her mind, and I certainly don’t mind doing a favor for someone with a troubled heart!”

“I
STILL CAN
’
T
believe anybody would do that to a five-year-old girl,” Carole fumed. She and Lisa were walking toward Lisa’s house. Though the temperature was cold, sunlight sparkled in the blue sky.

“I know.” Lisa stuffed her hands deep in her jacket pockets. “It makes me angry just to think about it. Sometimes you hear about stuff like that on the news, but when it happens right in front of you, it seems unreal.”

“And Mrs. Davidson!” Carole continued. “She’s so nice and sweet and helpful to us. How could she possibly consider throwing that little girl out on the street? Particularly on a day like yesterday, when it was so rainy and miserable?”

“It couldn’t be her,” said Lisa. “Maybe her boss is mean and makes her do it. I’m sure the library has rules, just like everyplace else.”

“Well, it seems like she could bend the rules in a case like this,” muttered Carole. “I mean, Cynthia’s only five. It’s not like she’s got a lot of choice in the matter.”

Lisa gave a big sigh. “Well, we’ve done the best we could to make her feel better. We’ve read most of
Misty
to her, and we’ve tried to make her feel good about herself.”

Carole pushed back a lock of dark curly hair that had fallen into her eyes and looked seriously at Lisa. “I think we should tell some grown-up about this.”

Lisa frowned. “Like who?”

“I don’t know,” said Carole. “Maybe your mom. Or my dad.”

“Or we could explain it all to Mrs. Davidson,” Lisa suggested. “Or we could even call the police.”

Carole shook her head. “I don’t think so. They might take Cynthia away from her mother. And nothing she’s ever said about her mom has been bad.”

“That’s right,” Lisa said. “Cynthia thinks her mother is great. She says she takes her to the movies and lets her friends come over for sleepovers and fixes pancakes for them on Saturday mornings.” She shrugged. “She sounds like a great mom.”

“Except for one tiny flaw,” replied Carole. “She just
can’t quit leaving Cynthia at the library while she goes to shop at the mall!”

“Maybe we should try to talk to her,” Lisa suggested. “Maybe we should wait for her at the library someday when she picks Cynthia up. Then we could tell her that she has to stop, or else we’ll tell the police.”

“But we can’t wait for Cynthia’s mother at the library every day,” said Carole.

Lisa stopped in her tracks. “Wait! I’ve got the perfect plan!”

Carole’s brown eyes grew wide. “What?”

“Mom’s taking us over to the mall this afternoon anyway, to shop at that big sale. We can look for Cynthia’s mom there!”

Carole grinned. “That’s a great idea! Cynthia said her mom always carries a big red pocketbook over her right shoulder. How many women do that? Probably not more than two or three. We could find her and talk to her and convince her that she needs to quit stashing her daughter in the stacks. Lisa, you’re a genius!”

Lisa laughed. “Maybe I’ve just hung around Stevie long enough to have some of that brilliant inspiration of hers rub off on me!”

They turned down the driveway to Lisa’s house. Inside, Mrs. Atwood had a hot lunch of vegetable soup and grilled cheese sandwiches waiting for them.

“I’m delighted that you’re coming with us, Carole,”
said Mrs. Atwood with a smile. “But I never thought you were particularly interested in shopping.”

“Oh, sometimes I am,” Carole said with a secret grin at Lisa. “I guess it just depends on what I’m shopping for.”

The girls finished their lunch quickly and helped Mrs. Atwood with the dishes. Soon they all piled into the car, heading for the huge mall on the outskirts of town. When Mrs. Atwood pulled into the parking lot, it was already packed with cars.

“Looks like everybody’s come to shop today,” said Mrs. Atwood. Carole and Lisa looked at each other and winked.

They parked as close as they could get to the store where Mrs. Atwood wanted to shop, then began to trudge toward the store between the parked cars. Carole and Lisa looked for a woman with a red pocketbook over her shoulder, but all they saw was a couple pushing a baby stroller and two teenagers on skateboards.

“No luck so far,” whispered Carole.

“We’ll do better when we get inside,” replied Lisa with a grin.

They walked into the main department store. It seemed that everyone in Willow Creek was there, trying on shoes or holding up scarves or squirting themselves with samples of perfume.

“Let’s go up to the junior department,” said Mrs.
Atwood. “Lisa, you need practically a whole new winter wardrobe this year.”

Lisa rolled her eyes at Carole, but they both followed Mrs. Atwood up the escalator. All the while they looked for a woman with a big red pocketbook, but the store was so crowded and Mrs. Atwood was moving so fast that they had little time to study the crowd.

“Okay,” said Mrs. Atwood as they walked into the junior department. “First we’ll start with sweaters, then we’ll try on some jeans; then, Lisa, I want you to look at a dress or two.”

“Oh, Mom, no dresses today,” Lisa groaned. “Please?”

“Well, let’s start with sweaters first and then see how you feel.”

Mrs. Atwood led them over to a display of cardigans. “How about this?” She held up a pretty green sweater. “It would go well with your eyes.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, Mom,” Lisa said distractedly, looking over toward the children’s department.

“Or how about this pretty pink one? That would complement your complexion.”

“Uh-huh.” Lisa was scanning the toy department.

“Or even this peach-colored one. Peach is such a flattering color.” When Lisa didn’t answer, Mrs. Atwood looked around. Both girls were staring over into the pots and pans.

Mrs. Atwood frowned. “Lisa? What’s going on with you two today? Your attention seems to be everywhere but where it’s supposed to be.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Lisa said quickly, glancing at the sweaters. “That one’s fine.”

“Which one?” asked Mrs. Atwood. “The green, the pink, or the peach?”

“Oh, the green. It’s great. I love it.” Lisa looked at her mother and smiled. “Mom, I think Carole and I are going over to the adult department.”

“The adult department?” Mrs. Atwood looked mystified. “Whatever for?”

“I don’t know. I think they had some nice … nice … uh, pocketbooks over there,” Lisa said. “Why don’t we meet you back here a little later?”

Mrs. Atwood blinked. “But what about picking out your clothes? We came here especially to shop for you today.”

“Oh, Mom, anything you like will be fine,” said Lisa. “You usually make all my choices, anyway.”

“Well, okay.” Mrs. Atwood watched in amazement as the two girls hurried off to the handbag department.

“You don’t think we made her mad, do you?” Carole asked as they headed around a display of fuzzy stuffed animals with music boxes in their stomachs.

“No,” said Lisa. “I think we surprised her. But she’ll
have a good time. There’s nothing she likes better than picking out clothes for me.”

“Have you seen any likely suspects for Cynthia’s mother?” Carole asked as they hurried down the aisle.

“I thought I saw a lady browsing over this way,” said Lisa. “Let’s go over here and see if we can find her again. Remember, we need to look for a lady who could have a five-year-old child and who carries a red pocketbook on her right shoulder.”

They scurried over to the women’s shoe department. There, looking over a table of slippers, stood a woman wearing a hooded car coat, with a big red pocketbook on her right shoulder.

“Look,” Carole whispered. “That might be her.”

Lisa frowned. “Let’s go over and see.”

The girls inched their way down the table, pretending to look at the shoes. Finally they stood next to the woman. Lisa reached over and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said.

“Yes?” The woman turned. Lisa caught her breath. The lady had snow white hair and twinkling blue eyes. She was more likely to be Cynthia’s great-grandmother than her mother.

“Uh, have you seen any snow boots on this table?” Lisa asked quickly.

“No. But I believe you can find them down in sporting goods,” the woman said kindly.

“That’s right,” said Lisa. “I wasn’t thinking. Thanks!”

She and Carole turned quickly away from the shoe table. “Well, so much for that red pocketbook,” said Carole. She stood on her toes and looked around the store. “See anyone else?”

“Yes,” cried Lisa. “There’s a woman with a red pocketbook over there trying on earrings, and there’s another one heading out into the mall.”

“And there’s one over there buying perfume,” said Carole. She frowned at Lisa. “Suddenly it seems like half the women in this mall have red pocketbooks on their shoulders.”

“This might be harder than we thought,” said Lisa. “But we’ve got to try. Think of poor little Cynthia all alone at the library, hiding from Mrs. Davidson!”

They walked over to the woman buying perfume. She was the right age, but she spoke broken English with a thick Spanish accent, and her hair was dark and curly.

“I don’t think that’s Cynthia mother,” whispered Carole. “They don’t look anything alike, and I think Cynthia would have told us if her mother was from another country.”

“You’re right,” said Lisa. “Let’s move on to that woman in the jewelry department.”

The woman trying on earrings had just opened her pocketbook to pay for her jewelry. As Carole and Lisa approached, three redheaded children ran up. They were all about five years old, were dressed alike, and looked exactly alike.

“Mama! Mama!” they all cried together. “Can we go get a cookie at the cookie stand?”

The woman looked down and smiled at them. “Alison, Abigail, and Alexandra, have you all behaved yourselves while I shopped?”

The little girls nodded. “Yes, Mama,” they said in unison.

“Well,” the woman laughed, “I guess you can have a cookie, then. Let me pay for these earrings and we’ll go. Everybody hold hands, though, so you won’t get lost.”

The little girls all held hands and soon followed the woman out into the mall, like little ducklings waddling after their mother.

Carole and Lisa looked at each other in astonishment. “They’re triplets!” Lisa cried.

“That’s right,” said the salesclerk. “That’s Mrs. McElroy. She shops here every weekend and brings them all with her. Aren’t they precious?”

“They sure are.” Carole smiled, then looked at Lisa. “So much for Mrs. McElroy.”

“Let’s go out into the mall. Maybe we’ll have better luck out there.”

They went out into the mall. It, too, was crowded with shoppers. As Carole and Lisa studied the throngs of people moving from store to store, it seemed that hundreds of women had red pocketbooks slung over their shoulders.

“Wow!” exclaimed Carole. “I had no idea red bags were so popular.”

“Me neither,” said Lisa. “I guess the best thing we can do is keep looking and asking the people who most fit the description of Cynthia’s mother.”

They walked up and down the mall, paying particular attention to women’s clothing stores and shoe stores.

When Carole remembered that Cynthia had said her mother bought her lots of things, they started looking in stores that specialized in items for children. Lots of women were out shopping with big red pocketbooks, but few looked like they could be Cynthia’s mother. One woman was perfect, except she was visiting Willow Creek from Boise, Idaho. Another good candidate was moving to Tampa, Florida, and had sent her children on ahead of her. As Carole and Lisa neared one end of the mall, they looked at each and sighed.

“You know what this reminds me of?” asked Carole, frowning with frustration.

“Looking for a needle in a haystack?” Lisa replied dispiritedly.

“Exactly,” replied Carole. “Only the needle has a big red pocketbook.”

“Yeah, along with about every other woman in Willow Creek. It wouldn’t surprise me now if my own mother came walking up with one.” Lisa shook her head. “So much for my brilliant flash of inspiration.”

“We need Stevie here now,” said Carole. “I bet she could think of something.”