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delayed because of a minor accident. But the maid didn’t think there was anything wrong at all.”
    â€œBut the chauffeur didn’t pick him up! He hadn’t come by the time somebody kidnapped Willie.”
    She walked across the room, herding me ahead of her into the hallway. “Did you tell this story to anyone at St. Bart’s?”
    â€œNo. Ernie came, and I told him, but he didn’t believe me and wouldn’t let me stop to telephone the police—”
    â€œI shouldn’t wonder. Joey, an imagination is a wonderful thing, very entertaining, but there are limits. Nothing truly catastrophic has happened because of your tall stories, so far, but this one might result in our having to get a lawyer to keep you out of juvenile hall! Do you realize that? Have you thought what your father’s reaction would be if the police actually came here to question you?”
    I was thinking of it now. I remember he turned purple the time I set the trap to get even with Mark—after he’d destroyed some of my history papers so I had to redo them—and Father was the one who got drenched with the bucket of water when he went into Mark’s room. And that had been relatively harmless.
    For a moment I wondered wildly if maybe I had imagined the whole thing. Had I had so much practice trying to put things over on other people for the fun of it (mine) that I’d finally slipped over the edge and was believing one of my own stories?
    But no.
    I had seen Willie. I had seen the black New Yorker with the royal-looking emblem. I had seen a muscular dark-haired man grab Willie from behind and drag him into the car against his will. But everyone thought I was lying.
    So what did I do now?

Chapter Four
    â€œSooner or later,” Sophie said, “his family will know he’s been kidnapped, Joey. They probably know by now.”
    It was after dinner. We were sitting cross-legged on her frilly pink and white bedspread in her ruffled pink and white bedroom, decorated the way Mom thought was appropriate for a preteen.
    â€œHow are we going to find out?” I asked earnestly. “I’m going crazy wondering if they’ve killed him by this time.”
    â€œWhy would they kill Willie? Kidnapping is usually for ransom, isn’t it? So they’d probably send a note demanding money,” Sophie pointed out. “Or they could take him as a threat to his father—to blackmail him into doing what they want, or something like that. But most likely it’s for ransom.”
    â€œSo what do I do now?” I demanded. “Nobody will listen to me! Only you, and Pink, when I call him.”
    Sophie hesitated. “We could call again and see if Willie ever came home from school. It’s been a long time since Mom tried.”
    I knew Willie hadn’t gone home, but I didn’t know what else to do. We had to look the number up again, at the kitchen phone. Sophie was less upset than I was, so she was the one who asked for Willie.
    It was obviously a maid who answered. They must have someone who lived in, not a twice-a-week cleaning woman like Junie. Willie was not available to answer the phone, Sophie was told. So she asked for Mr. Groves.
    She listened a moment, then replaced the receiver. Her eyes were very big. “She said Mr. Groves isn’t taking any calls.”
    â€œSo what does that mean? Is Willie missing and they’re dealing with the kidnappers? Have they already reported to the police?”
    â€œMaybe,” Sophie said. “By this time they have to know there’s something wrong if Willie’s not there.”
    We didn’t know what else to do. On TV the family of someone who’s been kidnapped negotiates directly with the kidnappers, without going to the police for fear the person who’s been kidnapped will be harmed. Other times the police are in the home monitoring the phone, directing the delivery of ransom money in hopes of