Vanishing Acts (12 page)

I'd never been to a real police station before; it's not like it is on TV. I didn't see any hard-boiled criminals screaming about their innocence and struggling to break free as they were led away in handcuffs. Nor did I see any soft-boiled criminals, or any over-easy or sunny-side-up ones, either.

The room was a maze of desks with police officers scurrying between the rows like hamsters. None of them sported cheap-looking suits or funny mustaches. Not that there's any such thing as a non-funny mustache; I'm just saying, the entire scene was not at all what I'd pictured.

Of course, it's not like I actually got arrested or officially accused of anything. I didn't even ride down to the precinct in a police car, which is lucky, I suppose. It's because I had Preston with me—a built-in excuse
for not being able to go with Rudy at that very moment. I promised I'd go to the station later that day, and Rudy promised me if I didn't show up he'd find me. “Don't worry,” he said. “We've still got your address on file from the dognapping bust.”

Like that was supposed to reassure me!

As soon as I brought Preston home, I ran upstairs and called my mom and convinced her that this was real and not some elaborate prank. She told me to take the bus down to the precinct and to wait outside on the steps for her. “Do not walk through those doors alone—do you understand? I need to be there with you.”

“Do most kidnapping suspects show up with their mothers?” I couldn't help but ask.

“Nope,” my mom replied crisply. “But I'm not going to be there as your mother. I'm going to be there as your lawyer.”

“Yikes!” I said.

“Yikes, exactly,” she replied. “Now be sure to wear something nice. That means no jeans. And I'll see you there at six o'clock sharp. Remember—do not enter the building without me, and do not talk to anyone.”

After I hung up, I changed into a skirt and tights and boots. Then I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to figure out if I looked guilty. I mean, obviously I'm
innocent, but the whole being-summoned-to-police-headquarters-for-questioning-in-a-major-kidnapping-case thing made me feel like I'd done something wrong. And I hoped my nervousness didn't show. I was there to share information as a witness. This was what I reminded myself to quell my jitters once we finally sat down with Rudy and two other detectives at 6:05 that night.

Officers Flinti and Guererra were both short and roundish. Officer Guererra had a Spanish accent and a goatee. Officer Flinti was black and clean shaven.

After introductions, Rudy asked me to explain my encounter with Seth Ryan in my own words, using as much detail as possible.

“But I already did that,” I said.

“I know, Maggie. But we need to hear it again,” said Rudy.

I looked to my mom, who nodded for me to go ahead.

I took a deep breath and started talking. “I was at the Pizza Den last night, saving a table for my friends, when suddenly Seth Ryan was standing over me asking if he could ask me something. Which sounds redundant, I know, but that's exactly how it happened.”

“He just picked you out of the crowd?” asked Officer Guerrera, looking like he didn't believe me.

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, no. Not exactly. We'd talked on the movie set by his trailer two days before.”

“So you
were
stalking him,” said Officer Flinti, writing something down in his notebook.

“Objection,” said my mother. “My client never stalked the victim. Please don't put words into her mouth or we're out of here.”

I shot my mom a nervous glance. She smiled and winked and gestured for me to continue.

I took a deep breath and tried to re-create the scene as best I could. “No, I was just walking off the set and I passed by his trailer and I saw him waving. At first I figured he had to be talking to someone else, but no—it was me.”

“We were told that right before you were thrown off the movie set you caused a public disturbance,” Officer Guerrera said, checking his notes as if to verify this fact.

“Hardly!” I said. “All I did was try to leave. Jones Reynaldo was the one who freaked out. I wanted to stay, but I had to get to work—something I tried to tell him as politely as possible. But he wouldn't listen.”

“So you have nothing against Seth Ryan?” Rudy asked.

“No, I love Seth Ryan,” I said, then, realizing how that sounded, I tried to backtrack. “I mean, I like him. A lot. As in, I'm a fan, and based on our conversation, he seems like a nice guy. Not at all like I'd pictured him. Not that I didn't think he'd be nice. He's a total puppy dog.”

Officer Flinti leaned a little closer. “Excuse me?”

“What?” I asked.

“Did you just call Seth Ryan a dog?” Officer Flinti asked.

“No, no. I mean, yes. Kind of, but not literally. What I mean is, he's sweet like a puppy dog. And a little lost.”

“Not just lost,” said Officer Flinti. “Missing, because he was kidnapped.”

“I meant before he was kidnapped,” I clarified.

My hands, which were resting on the table, began to tremble. My mom grabbed one. “Relax,” she whispered.

“You say you're a big Seth Ryan fan,” said Officer Flinti. “So why aren't you in his fan club?”

“How did you know about that?” I asked.

“We have our ways,” Rudy said ominously.

“Well then, you also must know there are only two people in the Seth Ryan fan club,” I replied, sitting up straighter. “Beatrix Williams and Sonya Singh.”

They gave me blank stares.

I shifted in my seat and glanced at my mom. She smiled, encouraging me. I didn't know why I was nervous. I hadn't done anything wrong. “I like admiring Seth unofficially,” I said finally.

“Like at the Pizza Den,” said Officer Flinti.

“I already told you, he approached me. I was just sitting there, waiting for my pizza.”

“What kind of pizza?” asked Rudy.

“Pepperoni with extra cheese,” I fired back.

“And if we go to the Pizza Den and ask them about your order, they'll confirm it?” asked Officer Flinti.

“Well, I doubt the Pizza Den will remember. They were packed that night. And they're not exactly known for their great service. Plus, I was saving our table; my brother took care of the order.”

“I see,” said Rudy. “That's very interesting.”

Officer Flinti grunted and the three of them exchanged a look.

This was weird. It was like they were playing a game. Trying to intimidate me or trick me into saying something incriminating when I had absolutely nothing to hide.

In this way, I did kind of feel like I was on some crime drama, which might've been cool, if not for one simple fact: someone had kidnapped Seth Ryan. It most definitely was not me. And the longer we sat there talking, the more time the real criminals had to get away.

Meanwhile, the officers just looked at me like they were waiting for something. I felt like I had to speak up. “No offense, but I think you're wasting your time. I've told you everything I know about Seth Ryan.”

“So you say,” said Officer Guerrera. “But I think we'll be the judge of that.”

“Okay, this has gone too far,” said my mother. “We
want to help, but obviously my daughter is innocent, and she has homework—you know, since she is in the seventh grade.”

“We can't keep you here against your will,” Rudy said, throwing up his hands. “And I think we're about done here, anyway. Thank you for your time, Maggie.”

“Wait!” I said. “I've answered all of your questions, and now I have one question for you.”

The detectives all looked at one another, surprised, I guess. Maybe I wasn't supposed to question them. Okay, I'm pretty sure I wasn't, but there was something I had to know. “What did the ransom note say?” I asked.

“We never claimed there was a ransom note,” Officer Flinti said.

“You didn't tell me, but I overheard,” I admitted.

No one looked at me. They seemed embarrassed, uncomfortable.

My mom put her hand on my shoulder. “Honey, we should go. That's not the kind of information they can share with civilians.”

Just then Rudy coughed. “No, it's okay. Someone leaked it to the press, and it's going to be all over the media tomorrow morning anyway. So we can tell you.” He flipped through his notes and then read the message. “It said, ‘We have the boy. Don't bother looking. You'll never find him.'”

My mother and I didn't speak for the entire six-block walk to the subway. Nor did we say anything as we headed down the dirty concrete steps, or through the squeaky turnstile, or onto the platform. We both seemed too upset, too worried about poor Seth. That note.

As our train rumbled into the station, I decided something. I'd already tracked down stolen dogs and found a giant fortune. I couldn't think of any reason why I couldn't rescue one missing movie star.

I'd launch my own investigation, find those kidnappers, and save Seth Ryan.

In fact, I knew just where to begin.

Beatrix and Sonya were more than willing to help out, which was lucky for me. Not only did they love Seth Ryan, they also knew more about the guy than anyone I'd ever met. So first thing Saturday morning, I went straight to Sonya's house.

“Welcome to our first official emergency meeting of the Seth Ryan Fan Club,” said Sonya as I joined them on her bedroom floor. She knocked a miniature gavel on the ground. “I feel like we should make up T-shirts or something.”

“This is serious business,” said Beatrix.

“I know. I'm totally serious.” Sonya pushed her braids off her shoulders and pouted, insulted. “T-shirts don't mean ‘not serious.' It's the opposite—they're to commemorate the moments leading up to our rescuing of Seth Ryan from some evildoer.”

“You love saying ‘evildoer,' don't you?” I asked, since I'd already heard her say it three times in the past hour.

“I do,” Sonya said with a small shrug. “I can't help it.”

Both she and Beatrix were already wearing matching “I
Seth Ryan” shirts, but I didn't bother pointing this out. Instead I said, “Let's hope we track down Seth before any T-shirts would make it back from the printer.”

Sonya frowned, thinking. “Then maybe we should pre-order victory shirts.”

“My mom says I have to stop spending my allowance on Seth Ryan memorabilia,” said Beatrix. “Or, as she calls it, ‘Seth Ryan junk.' But we can figure that out later. Let's just get started. Everyone present, say ‘aye.'”

“Aye,” said Sonya.

“Aye,” said Beatrix.

“Do you two go through this every week?” I asked, since it was just the three of us on Sonya's bedroom floor.

“Just say ‘aye,' “ Beatrix told me. “We're running out of time.”

“Aye,” I repeated.

Sonya looked around the room. “Should we wait for Lucy?”