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moment he considered that there might be a housekeeper scheduled, so he quickened his search. It didn’t take long to find the computer desk, and the special cable on the shelf beneath. But there was no sign of the palmtop. It made no sense to have the cable but not the device, so Slocum decided that Whipple must have brought it to work with him. Just to be sure, he made a final sweep of the house, carefully checking each potential hiding place. It was nowhere to be found. He now had no choice–he’d have to come back for a face to face with Stanley Whipple. 

    ***

    For Bobby, it was a very long day. The physical weight of the palmtop was negligible, but the knowledge of what he was going to do with it was a heavy burden. When the final bell rang, he ran to the spot where he had found it and tossed the handheld computer into a nearby vacant lot. He stood and watched where it landed for several minutes, then turned and ran home. 

    ***

    When Robert Slocum again pulled up across from the Whipple residence, Bobby had already been home for several hours. Ten minutes later, Stanley’s Chevy turned into the driveway, the automatic garage door opened, and the car pulled inside. Slocum waited another twenty minutes, until he saw father and son sit down at the kitchen table. He pulled his hood latch, walked to the front of the car, and lifted the hood the rest of the way. He spent several minutes bent over the engine, occasionally pulling on a hose or wiggling a wire. He stood up, and after carefully looking in all directions, seemed to notice the Whipple residence for the first time. He purposefully strode across the street towards their house, hopped up the three concrete steps and rang the bell.
    A young face peered out from behind a curtain, and then footsteps retreated into the house. Several seconds later, the door opened a few inches.
    “Yes, can I help you?” Stanley’s large nose almost stuck out through the opening in the door. Slocum was momentarily taken aback, certain that he had seen this face before. Somewhere. He quickly regained his composure.
    “I’m terribly sorry to bother you. My car died and I can’t get it started.” He stepped back and pointed across the street at his apparently derelict auto. “I was wondering if I might use your phone to call my wife to come get me.”
    Slocum’s self-deprecating smile was the clincher.
    “Yes, I guess that would be okay. Are you from around here?” Stanley opened the door wider, letting Slocum into his living room.
    “No, I was visiting a friend and thought I’d take a short cut. I guess I got a little lost, and then my car just stopped.”
    “Bad luck. Phone’s in the kitchen.” Stanley pointed.
    Slocum nodded his thanks and walked across the room. When he was halfway there he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pistol. Stanley was just closing the front door, and Bobby saw the gun first.
    “Dad!”
    Stanley whirled around at his son’s shouted alarm.
    “I don’t want to hurt you or your son,” Slocum looked meaningfully at the boy. “I’m only here for something that belongs to me.”
    Stanley slowly reached out his hand and moved to position himself between the intruder and his son. “Just take it easy. If you want money, I don’t have much in the house, but you can take my credit card and ATM card. You can even take my car–the keys are there on the coffee table. We won’t tell anyone.”
    “I don’t want your money,” said Slocum.
    “What, then?”
    “My palmtop. You have it. I want it back.”
    His immediate reaction was puzzlement, but then Stanley smiled in relief. “Oh, that! Why didn’t you just say so? I’ve been trying to find out who that belongs to ever since my son brought it home.”
    Bobby leaned over and looked around his father at the man and the gun, then at the computer desk where the palmtop had been earlier. He swallowed hard.
    “Dad…”
    Stanley pushed him back behind him. “Not now, son.”
    “But