Read Online Hunter Moran Hangs Out by Patricia Reilly Giff - Free Book Online

squashed, I mean,” Becca says.
    â€œKomazahere!”
Steadman screams. He runs through the dining room, into the kitchen. “Maybe he forgot the language,” he says over his shoulder. He clatters upstairs, and we clatter behind him.
    â€œFred, you’re the best dog!” Steadman cries. “Come out wherever you are.”
    I’m beginning to have terrible thoughts. Last night in the dark. Chasing the maybe-kidnapper. The bulging bag.
    Fred has been taken away in that bag.
    Fred, who never keeps quiet.
    Fred, who’d fit in a cage.
    Fred, the kidnappee!
    Not Linny, not Steadman, but still . . .
    . . . part of our family.
    Zack’s eyes bulge. He’s figured it out, too. He looksat me and shakes his head. We’re both thinking the same thing. This is the work of a madman.
    â€œFred,” Linny breathes from behind us. “Who’d want Fred?”
    Steadman opens every closet door, every dresser drawer. He’s crying so hard he can barely get the words out. “He’s a great dog. I bet he’s been kidnapped. He’s worth a hundred dollars at least.” He cries harder. “I have only three quarters and fourteen pennies to get him back.”
    â€œHunter and I are rich,” Zack says. “We have money tucked away all over the place.”
    Actually, we have less than Steadman. But we’re on our way to deal with the kidnapper. Somehow.
    â€œDon’t worry,” we tell Steadman. “We’ll come back with Fred.”

Chapter 17
    Outside it’s almost too hot to move, but we drag ourselves to the town round, whistling for Fred. Zack even tries a
“Komazahere”
or two.
    But Fred doesn’t
komazahere
.
    We try every street in town. We see a couple of dogs panting in the shade, but not one that looks like Fred, with his weasel face and his sharp teeth.
    We sink down on a bench; we’re so tired we ignore the pigeon goop. “Why did we bother to look all over the place in this heat?” Zack moans. “We know he’s been kidnapped, probably turned into hot dog meat by now.”
    I think of Steadman’s sad face, his tears. He’s such a great kid. And then I remember the bulging bag last night. We know that bag. It’s a Gussie’s Gym bag. We look at each other in horror.
    William?
    â€œOne of those bags was in William’s room,” Zack says.
    I can hardly get the words out. “William’s the kidnapper?”
    William has gone crazy.
    â€œI thought it was an old man,” I say. “All bent over and wearing that hat.”
    â€œIt could have been anyone. Almost anyone,” Zack says. “We just have to hope it wasn’t William.”
    It feels as if it’s 100 degrees; the sun is burning a hole in our heads. Still, we haul ourselves to our feet and head for Werewolf Woods. We’ll try the lookout tower next.
    The woods are shady, cooler, the insects loud. We can’t find our tree. How is that possible?
    â€œIt was this side of the pond, right?” I ask Zack.
    â€œI think so,” he says.
    We wander this way and that way, and then we circle the muck at the edge of the water. Something is floating in the center. It looks like one of Pop’s old boards.
    We glance up at the trees. A board dangles from a skinny branch. Heads back, we zig zag underneath; we step on bent nails and a couple of boards that are sinking into the weeds.
    The lookout tower is gone; the whole thing is torn apart. “I can’t believe it.” I kick at one of the boards. “Bears, maybe.”
    Zack makes a Jell-O mouth. “It wasn’t a bear. This is the work of the kidnapper. He’s afraid we’re getting too close for comfort.”
    I look around uneasily. “What’s that?” I say.
    Not far from Pop’s floating board is a bunch of brownish hair. What did Bradley the Bully say?
    â€œDead bodies,” Zack mutters.
    We stare at