”“The pickup vehicle,” surmised Mia. They were all supposed to be in it, zip-tied and helpless, with nobody knowing where they’d vanished to.�...�Okay,” said Grace. She spotted a gap and accelerated. She pulled past a pickup, across in front of it into the next lane, passed the car in front, and returned to the second lane. Seventy-five miles an hour now. “A tracker,” she persisted. “How big are they, and where can we get some?”“Radio Shack, I guess,” answered Paul.“Okay hang on...” said Mia. She. Sorry, kiddies, no dice.’ He brushes past them into the store. The two friends stand conspiring, heads close, breaths mingling in the early spring air, desperate. ‘What’re we gonna do?’ ‘I dunno.’ ‘We could go to my house and get some?’ ‘That’s fifteen blocks. We gotta get back there faster than that!’ Just as desperation is about to overcome the pair, Mr. Sittler swoops up in his huge black Galaxie 500 convertible, parks at the curb, and hops out, moving toward the front door of his store.. More

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