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Authors: John Nicholas
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instead, but it would only come monthly to such a remote place. Besides, Matthews said, he liked the small town flair.
The Statesman came weekly, so the stories were sometimes out of date. Not much had happened in the past few months. The "World" section was always in the front, fraught with stories about economic tension and wars in Uganda. Who needs it?, thought Matthews. He liked reading the sports page and the "Town" section much better.
The town section lay aside, on his desk. He'd caught one of his employees reading it earlier, and forgot to put it back in. He picked it up. On the front page was a story about three runaway children—two from family homes, one from an orphanage. Their respective guardians were pleading for their return, except for the ones named Orson—the story didn't go into detail about them.
Matthews was rudely interrupted by one of his waiters, who burst through the door with a great aura of urgency.
"Boss! You'll never believe—"
"What? Did Smith drop another serving tray?"
"No! The Town section—in the statesman!"
"Yeah, I saw you reading that earlier. You weren't supposed to look at it."
"Boss! Those runaway kids—it said they were offering a cash reward for information!"
"Yeah, so?"
"Two of them are at table nine! The third just left!"
Matthews stood up, suddenly serious. "I'll split it, fifty-fifty."
"Sixty-forty."
"Deal," Matthews said, dialing the operator.
She picked up instantly. "May I help you?"
"Connect me to the Woodsbrook Police Department."
The Woodsbrook police chief and officer Michael Warren were the only people left at the station when they got the call. It was, of course, Friday, and most people had gone home. The chief envied them, as he was stuck doing paperwork. He'd tried several times to get a secretary, but there was so much bureaucracy involved. It gave him a headache.
Officer Warren had just returned from a job in a town five miles or so out of Woodsbrook, and was putting his gear away before leaving for the night.
Warren's phone rang, and he reluctantly picked up the receiver. "Woodsbrook police department, officer Mike Warren speaking."
"Officer, my name is James Matthews. I have some information regarding the runaways."
"Runaways? Let me check," he said, leaning under his desk, exasperated that he would have to stay late. "Alexander Matthew Orson, wanted for truancy, larceny, and illegal weapon possession. Jacob Daniel Harwell, truancy and accomplice to Orson. Sarah Rebecca Jones, truancy and theft of classified records. What do you know?"
"They're all in Niagara. Two of them are in the Niagara Grill, 7471 Main Street. The other one…I'm not sure, but probably on the street someplace."
"Thank you, sir. You'll get your hundred dollars in a few days." Officer Warren hung up the phone.
"Well?" the chief said.
"I'm working late tonight. I need to get some people from the Niagara Police to find those kids."
"Niagara? That's a long way from here. They got pretty far in two weeks."
Officer Warren cursed Alex Orson as he dialed the number.
"Twenty-six bucks?" Anthony said, surprised that a kid, besides himself, would carry this much money.
"Is it enough for food?" Sarah asked, annoyed that this guy was wasting her time.
"Just enough. Let me head back to my house and see what I can do."
"Can you make it quick? I'm kind of in a hurry."
"Be patient! You can follow me if you want to."
Sarah found herself en route to the home of an unknown kid, who may or may not be screwing her over, bargaining for food, and heading for Canada on the next boat possible. What's happening to me?, she thought.
Anthony's house wasn't a long way off Main Street, on a road creatively titled Falls Avenue. She elected to wait outside, keeping an eye on the back door, in case he tried to stiff her and
The Statesman came weekly, so the stories were sometimes out of date. Not much had happened in the past few months. The "World" section was always in the front, fraught with stories about economic tension and wars in Uganda. Who needs it?, thought Matthews. He liked reading the sports page and the "Town" section much better.
The town section lay aside, on his desk. He'd caught one of his employees reading it earlier, and forgot to put it back in. He picked it up. On the front page was a story about three runaway children—two from family homes, one from an orphanage. Their respective guardians were pleading for their return, except for the ones named Orson—the story didn't go into detail about them.
Matthews was rudely interrupted by one of his waiters, who burst through the door with a great aura of urgency.
"Boss! You'll never believe—"
"What? Did Smith drop another serving tray?"
"No! The Town section—in the statesman!"
"Yeah, I saw you reading that earlier. You weren't supposed to look at it."
"Boss! Those runaway kids—it said they were offering a cash reward for information!"
"Yeah, so?"
"Two of them are at table nine! The third just left!"
Matthews stood up, suddenly serious. "I'll split it, fifty-fifty."
"Sixty-forty."
"Deal," Matthews said, dialing the operator.
She picked up instantly. "May I help you?"
"Connect me to the Woodsbrook Police Department."
The Woodsbrook police chief and officer Michael Warren were the only people left at the station when they got the call. It was, of course, Friday, and most people had gone home. The chief envied them, as he was stuck doing paperwork. He'd tried several times to get a secretary, but there was so much bureaucracy involved. It gave him a headache.
Officer Warren had just returned from a job in a town five miles or so out of Woodsbrook, and was putting his gear away before leaving for the night.
Warren's phone rang, and he reluctantly picked up the receiver. "Woodsbrook police department, officer Mike Warren speaking."
"Officer, my name is James Matthews. I have some information regarding the runaways."
"Runaways? Let me check," he said, leaning under his desk, exasperated that he would have to stay late. "Alexander Matthew Orson, wanted for truancy, larceny, and illegal weapon possession. Jacob Daniel Harwell, truancy and accomplice to Orson. Sarah Rebecca Jones, truancy and theft of classified records. What do you know?"
"They're all in Niagara. Two of them are in the Niagara Grill, 7471 Main Street. The other one…I'm not sure, but probably on the street someplace."
"Thank you, sir. You'll get your hundred dollars in a few days." Officer Warren hung up the phone.
"Well?" the chief said.
"I'm working late tonight. I need to get some people from the Niagara Police to find those kids."
"Niagara? That's a long way from here. They got pretty far in two weeks."
Officer Warren cursed Alex Orson as he dialed the number.
"Twenty-six bucks?" Anthony said, surprised that a kid, besides himself, would carry this much money.
"Is it enough for food?" Sarah asked, annoyed that this guy was wasting her time.
"Just enough. Let me head back to my house and see what I can do."
"Can you make it quick? I'm kind of in a hurry."
"Be patient! You can follow me if you want to."
Sarah found herself en route to the home of an unknown kid, who may or may not be screwing her over, bargaining for food, and heading for Canada on the next boat possible. What's happening to me?, she thought.
Anthony's house wasn't a long way off Main Street, on a road creatively titled Falls Avenue. She elected to wait outside, keeping an eye on the back door, in case he tried to stiff her and
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