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endless phone calls to raise money for her favorite charities.
    I headed for 30th St. Station and caught a train to downtown Sayerton. It was just a couple blocks to my house from there. As I passed green lawns and flower gardens bathed in the whitewash of streetlights, I felt like a ghost, traveling streets I hadn’t walked since last winter. It seemed wrong that the trees weren’t bare and the wind wasn’t icy. It seemed weird that the air didn’t carry the heavy smell of burned firewood.
    My parents must have thought I’d run away or something. I tried to imagine how they’d react when they saw me. Mom would cry and hug me so hard I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Dad rarely let his feelings show. He was always doing huge business deals with people who didn’t understand the real value of the companies they owned. It was sort of like playing poker, except the stakes were way higher and Dad was the only one who could see all the cards. He wouldn’t act surprised when he saw me, but I was pretty sure he’d be happy.
    I was half a block away from home when a car pulled to the curb across the street from my house. Nobody parks on the street around here. Everyone has a garage. And visitors park in the driveway.
    “Idiot!” I smacked my fist against my leg.
    Obviously, this was the first place I’d run to. I moved behind a tree and peeked out, hoping I was wrong. Maybe the guy in the car really was visiting someone. But he just sat there, looking at my house. I was pretty sure he wasn’t one ofthe guys with the lab coats. That was bad. It meant Bowdler had other forces he could bring in to help with the hunt.
    At least he hadn’t spotted me yet. But I was trapped. I couldn’t go in the front door. I couldn’t even risk walking away. Once I moved out from behind the tree, he might notice me. I needed a distraction.
    I glanced back the way I’d come. A dump truck loaded with gravel was rumbling down the street. All I had to do was reach out with my mind and yank the steering wheel hard to the driver’s left. The truck would swerve and ram the car. That would definitely be a distraction. But the thought of someone getting crushed made me feel sick.
    There was an easier solution. I jiggled the truck’s steering wheel back and forth, just enough to get the driver’s attention. He stopped right next to the car, hiding me from view. I turned and dashed back to the corner, walked around the block, and cut through the yard of the house behind us. I went to my back door and tapped on the glass. I wasn’t sure whether my parents were there. But if they were, I didn’t want to startle them by walking in.
    There was no answer. I risked a louder knock. Still no answer. So I pulled the dead bolt with my mind, and went inside. “Mom?” I called. “Dad?”
    Nothing.
    I checked the house, making sure I didn’t walk past the front windows. The drapes were half closed. That was a bad sign. Whenever we went on a trip, Mom would leave them that way. She didn’t want them all the way open so people could see that nobody was home, or all the way closed, sopeople would know there was nobody home. So she left them half open. Dad and I both found that kind of a funny solution, but we kept our mouths shut.
    My bedroom door was closed. All the way. I was afraid what I’d find behind the door. An empty room? I wasn’t ready to face that. I headed down the hall and went to their bedroom. Their luggage was gone. So was a bunch of clothes. I searched for clues.
    I didn’t find out where they were, but I found out where I was supposed to be. The clipping was in Dad’s desk drawer.
    For the first time in my life, I understood what people meant when they said that their flesh crawled. I could feel my skin ripple as I read the article, like ghosts were running rakes across my body. According to the paper, Edward Kenneth Thalmayer, beloved son of Corbin and Pamela Thalmayer, had died last January. There was a small, private