didnât see one anywhere. He knew what he was going to do anywayâhe would follow the lady to where she lived. He still had the dollar his mother had given him for the man who was playing the violin. He would get change and call his grandmother, and sheâd send a cop who would get his momâs wallet back.
Itâs a good plan, he thought to himself. In fact, he was sure of it. He had to get the wallet, and the medal that was inside. He thought of how after Mom had said that the medal wouldnât do any good, Gran had put it in her hand and said, Please give it to Tom and have faith .
The look on his grandmotherâs face had been so calm and so sure that Brian knew she was right. Once he got the medal back and they gave it to his dad, he would get well. Brian knew it.
The woman with the ponytail started to walk faster. He chased after her as she crossed one street and went to the end of another block. Then she turned right.
The street they were on now wasnât bright with decorated store windows like the one they had just left. Some places were boarded up and there was a lot of writing on the buildings and some of the streetlights were broken. A guy with a beard was sitting on the curb, clutching a bottle. He stretched out his hand to Brian as he passed him.
For the first time, Brian felt scared, but he kept his eyes on the woman. The snow was falling faster now, and the sidewalk was getting slippery. He stumbled once, but managed not to fall. He was out of breath trying to keep up with the lady. How far was she going? he wondered. Four blocks later he had his answer. She stepped into the entranceway to an old building, stuck her key in the lock, and went inside. Brian raced to catchthe door before it closed behind her, but he was too late. The door was locked.
Brian didnât know what to do next, but then through the glass he saw a man coming toward him. As the man opened the door and hurried past him, Brian managed to grab it and to duck inside before it closed again.
The hall was dark and dirty, and the smell of stale food hung in the air. Ahead of him he could hear footsteps going up the stairs. Gulping to swallow his fear, and trying to not make noise, Brian slowly began to climb to the first landing. He would see where the lady went; then he would get out of there and find a telephone. Maybe instead of calling Gran, he would dial 91l, he thought.
His mom had taught him that that was what he should do when he really needed help.
Which so far he didnât.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
âAll right, Mrs. Dornan. Describe your son to me,â the police officer said soothingly.
âHeâs seven and small for his age,â Catherine said. She could hear the shrillness in her voice. They were sitting in a squad car, parked in front of Saks, near the spot where the violinist had been playing.
She felt Michaelâs hand clutch hers reassuringly.
âWhat color hair?â the officer asked.
Michael answered, âLike mine. Kind of reddish. His eyes are blue. Heâs got freckles and one of his front teeth is missing. He has the same kind of pants Iâm wearing, and his jacket is like mine âcept itâs blue and mine is green. Heâs skinny.â
The policeman looked approvingly at Michael. âYouâre a real help, son. Now, maâam, you say your wallet is missing? Do you think you might have dropped it, or did anyone brush against you? I mean, could it have been a pickpocket?â
âI donât know,â Catherine said. âI donât care about the wallet. But when I gave the boys money for the violinist, I probably didnât push it down far enough in my purse. It was quite bulky and might have just fallen out.â
âYour son wouldnât have picked it up and decided to go shopping?â
âNo, no, no,â Catherine said with a flash of anger, shaking her head emphatically. âPlease donât waste time even