No Place Like Home by Mary Higgins Clark

Suppose someone saw him alone and picked him up and drove off with him?
    Even in the midst of those few but seemingly endless moments, I panicked at the realization that if I didn’t find Jack immediately, I would have to call the police.
    And then, in a moment of breathtaking release, I knew where he was. Of course. He would have hurried out to visit his new pony. I ran to the door that led from the kitchen to the patio and yanked it open, then sighed with relief. The barn door was open, and I could see Jack’s small pajama-clad figure inside the barn, looking up at the pony’s stall.
    The relief was quickly followed by anger. Last night we had set the alarm after figuring out a four number code, 1023. We’d chosen those numbers because Alex and I met on October 23rd last year. But the fact that when Jack opened the door the alarm had not gone off meant that Alex had not reset it when he left this morning. If he had, I would have known that Jack was on the loose.
    Alex was trying so hard, but he still was not used to being a parent, I reminded myself as I began walking toward the barn. Trying to calm down, I forced myself to concentrate on the fact that it was a perfectly beautiful early September morning, with just a touch of coolness that hinted of an early fall. I don’t know why, but autumn has always been my favorite time of the year. Even after my father died and it was just Mother and me, I remember evenings sitting with her in the little library off the living room, the fire crackling and both of us deep in our books. I’d be propped up with my head onthe arm of the couch, close enough to her to touch her side with my toes.
    As I made my way across the backyard, a thought flashed into my mind. On that last night, Mother and I had been in the study together, and had watched a movie that ended at ten o’clock. Before we went upstairs, she had turned on the alarm. Even as a child I was a light sleeper, so it surely would have awakened me if that piercing sound had gone off. But it had not gone off, so Mother had no warning that Ted was in the house. Had that ever come up in the police investigation? Ted was an engineer, and at the time had recently opened his own small construction company. It probably wouldn’t have been difficult for him to disarm the system.
    I’ll have to start a notebook, I thought. I’ll jot down anything that comes back to me that may help me to prove that Ted broke into the house that night.
    I walked into the barn and tousled Jack’s head. “Hey, you scared me,” I told him. “I don’t want you to ever go out of the house again before I’m up. Okay?”
    Jack caught the firmness in my voice and nodded sheepishly. As I spoke I turned and looked at the stall where the pony was standing.
    â€œI just wanted to talk to Lizzie,” Jack said earnestly, then added, “Who are those people, Mom?”
    I stared at the newspaper photo that had beentaped to the post of the stall. It was a copy of a snapshot of my mother and father and me on the beach in Spring Lake. My father was holding me in one arm. His other arm was around my mother. I remember that photo because it had been taken at the end of that day when the wave had thrown Daddy and me on the shore. I had a copy of the picture and the newspaper article in my secret file.
    â€œDo you know that man and woman and that little girl?” Jack asked.
    And, of course, I had to lie: “No, Jack, I don’t.”
    â€œThen why did someone leave their picture here?”
    Why indeed? Was this another example of malicious mischief, or had somebody already recognized me? I tried to keep my voice calm. “Jack, we won’t tell Alex about the picture. He’d be very mad if he thinks anyone came here and put it up.”
    Jack looked at me with the penetrating wisdom of a child who senses something is very wrong.
    â€œIt’s our secret, Jack,” I