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By Root 502 0

Like the cow that jumped over the moon. Maybe thats where the rabbit took her in his submarine. Maybe Rabbit Island was up there somewhere, its own kind of heaven. Rhonda looked up, away from the pendulum and map, and tried to get her eyes to look right through the ceiling and roofto look somehow beyond. She sensed Warren watching her and turned toward him. He looked unspeakably sad, defeated. Rhonda reached out to him, then pulled her hand back, hesitating. But wasnt it her own hesitation that got her into this mess in the first place? Her inaction was the very reason Ernie was gone, so lost even the dowser couldnt find her. For better or worse, she reached out and took Warrens hand. He squeezed her fingers tightly, encircling her hand with his own.

ILL SAY ONEthing, Cecil Lowry mumbled as the press conference was breaking up. Cecil, the exfire chief, was a happily cranky old man who challenged everyone he met to guess how old he was, and, when people politely guessed a good ten years lower than they believed he was, would crow,Eighty-four! Can you believe it? Ha! They could believe it. All this has put Pikes Crossing on the map. Dont tell nobody I said so, but in some ways, this kidnapping is the best thing that ever happened to Pikes Crossing. And you cant tell me all business owners who are raking it in dont feel just the same.

RHONDAS HEAD WASfull of rabbits. She drew them on scraps of paper when she talked on the phone or puzzled over what little evidence they had. She scribbled out chains of rabbits, paws linked one through the other, and as she drew, she studied them for clues, thinking they might know the thing that all bunnies knew: the way to Rabbit Island. She stared down at her doodles like she half-expected the rabbits to dance off the page, doing the bunny hop all the way to Ernie Florucci. And maybe, if she was lucky enough, to Lizzy and Daniel too.

Among the rabbits, she scribbled notes on the few clues they had: Rabbit Island, Laura Lees car, the name Birdie. None of it made any sense. But the doodling calmed her.

False leads continued to pile up: a gold bug had been spotted at a motel in Lyndonville, someones bachelor uncle kept a rabbit suit in his closet, Ernie was seen buying a soda from a machine at a rest area in Massachusetts. Each time a new lead came in, a buzz of excitement swept through the Mini Mart, a jolt of hope. The police followed every one, but they were all dead ends. When word filtered back down to the Mini Mart, a hush fell over everyone. Defeated glances were exchanged. There was nothing to do but wait for the phone to ring, for the next tip to come in that would start the cycle over again.

SHIRLEY BOWES HADa friend, Marsha, a psychic. Marsha, a woman about Trudys age, whod recently moved from New York City, was called in, and held the stuffed bear. She closed her eyes and said, Im getting a picture. This woman had artfully sculpted hair, beautiful clothes, expensive perfume.

Oh, shes alive, Marsha said. To Rhonda, her Bronx accent sounded almost fake. Shes in the woods. I see tall trees. Rocks. A cave. Hes got her in a cave. Thats where she sleeps at night.

Shirley tried dowsing again, and this time her pendulum circled over the state forest not far from where Ernie was taken. The area, Rhonda knew, Peter said he was hiking in that day.

Pat called Crowley, and, although he did not believe in psychics or dowsers, he agreed to help organize a search party of cops, civilians, and park rangers to go through the forest the next day. A dozen TV news crews followed the search party, and all the local papers sent reporters. Pat called everyone she knew in townwhich amounted to essentially everyone in Pikes Crossingto help comb the forest.

The rangers and guides insisted there were no caves in the park. But then Marsha the psychic said, It might not be an actual cave, technically. Maybe a group of rocks that could give sheltersomething a little girl might call a cave.

Shirley Bowes walked through briars and along hiking trails holding a wooden Y-shaped stick,