We Find What Is Lost: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 1)

Part Six: The Case of the Runaway Kid; Chapter Thirty-One: Rachel, Summer, 1979

Mrs. Anderson peered up at them from where she knelt pulling weeds in her small vegetable garden. "Oh, hello, kids," she said. "What are you up to today?"

"Hi, Mrs. Anderson," Rachel said. "We were hoping you could keep Danny safe for a while."

She blinked up at them for a few seconds before asking, "Who is Danny?"

"Danny Trybek, ma'am." Rachel pulled him to her to present him. They'd all fled in through the gate in the Lawrence Street side as if reaching home base a microsecond before the ball hit the catcher's glove. This, after speeding their bikes down Ewen as if the Devil himself had been after them. They'd certainly ridden extra hard past Boyne Street in case Danny's dad was looking for him. 

Danny had ridden behind Rachel on her banana seat, the weight of the backpack and bedroll on his back threatening every now and then to make her pop a wheelie. Danny's hands had clenched harder around her waist when that happened, holding on for dear life, making her stomach tingle. For once she was glad of her donated old bike with its long seat, because Danny didn't even have a bike, and the others had those tiny seats that looked so uncomfortable, especially for the boys, and so unsuitable for a passenger. Suddenly her disadvantaged status didn't seem so disadvantaged.

Mrs. Anderson stood, removed her gardening gloves and adjusted her big sun hat. "I don't understand. What's going on here?"

The others looked down at their feet, unwilling to do the talking. What did they think would happen, Rachel wondered? That Mrs. Anderson would take in a strange boy with no questions asked? Once again, it fell to her.

"You know how we have our club? We started advertising last summer, had a couple of jobs finding lost pets and things?" she asked.

"You've mentioned a few of your exploits to me," she said with a raised eyebrow. "One of which, if I remember correctly, involved a little trickery."

Rachel didn't want to get into that with her. "Well, just today, we received a call from Danny's father, wanting to hire us to track him down and bring him home."

Mrs. Anderson looked offended now. "Why would he do such a thing? That seems like a very strange thing to do."

"Danny ran away, ma'am. He couldn't stay in the house any longer. His dad hurts him." To prove her point, she rolled up Danny's sleeves.

Mrs. Anderson recoiled at what she saw. "Dear Lord," she breathed. "We need to call the police."

"No police!" Danny said. "Please. I just need to hide out for a while."

She must have seen the fear on the boy's face, because she sighed and said, "Why don't you all come in out of the sun? I have lemonade, and I'll make you sandwiches. Then we can talk this out thoroughly."

They leaned their bikes against the outside of the house and followed Mrs. Anderson inside. Rachel's friends looked around the house in wonder; she couldn't remember the last time any of them had been in here. Of course it was nothing new for her.

"Look at all those dolls," Lauren said. She leaned in and whispered, "Creepy," in her ear.

"Are we allowed to watch TV?" Al asked.

"Just until I'm ready to serve food," Mrs. Anderson said. "Then we sit at the kitchen table."

Being a Sunday, there wasn't a whole lot on TV aside from golf and bowling. The boys watched it anyway. Rachel showed Lauren the basics of playing the piano. Mrs. Anderson heard them and chimed in from the kitchen whenever she heard an off note. It was actually kind of fun, sharing the experience of Mrs. Anderson's house with them, bringing her two worlds together. The boys seemed to behave themselves, bringing Danny into the fold with their chat. Mrs. Anderson seemed to be as fine with having six children in her house as she was with one.