"Whoa."

"However, we will not be shopping in them. It's lunchtime." Richie led me to one of about a million vendors' carts that were blocking sidewalk traffic. "Two tacos, please," he said.

"Richie!" I whispered loudly. "I don't eat meat."

"Oh. Right. One vegetarian taco, one regular taco."

"Are you implying that I'm irregular?" I asked.

"I hope not."

The meatless taco turned out to be good. The sh.e.l.l was filled with lettuce, tomato, gua-camole, and cheese. I ate the entire thing, trying not to think of all the warnings I'd heard about vendor's food.

"Now for dessert," said Richie.

We crossed the street and continued down Fifth Avenue until Richie stopped in front of a store called G.o.diva. The window was filled with boxes of ...

"Chocolate?" I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

"Some of the best you'll ever taste."

"But I don't eat sweets."

"Okay. You don't have to eat a whole piece. Just try one. I promise you'll like it. I'll give the rest of the box to my mom."

Against my better judgment I found myself saying, "All right ..."

Richie bought a tiny but very fancy gold-wrapped box of candy. When we left the store, he opened the box and handed me a chocolate. Claudia would have polished off the entire contents of the box before leaving the store. But I took Richie's offering and bit into it gingerly as if it might be a bomb. Mmm. The chocolate was fabulous. I finished the piece, but Richie didn't bug me to eat any more. He put the box away.

"It is now time to see Chelsea," said Richie, and we took another bus down Fifth Avenue to 23rd Street. When we got off, Richie turned right. We walked and walked . . . and walked.

"How's your ankle holding up?" I asked.

"Okay. It likes Chelsea."

We were no longer on 23rd Street, but we were still heading west (according to Richie). The blocks began to look different. I saw fewer and fewer tall apartment buildings and more and more houses. Well, that's what Richie called them. But they didn't look like houses to me. They looked like short apartment buildings. Many of them were brick, and they were connected in long rows, with a flight of steps leading from each front door down to the street. Patches of gra.s.s actually grew in front of some.

"If you like the gra.s.s, you should see the backs of these places," said Richie. "In the middle of the blocks are amazing gardens and terraces. People have planted trees and flowers. They can sit outside on their patios or porches. I'd trade our fire escape for a garden any day."

From Chelsea, we took a couple of subways and somehow wound up in a very different neighborhood that Richie called SoHo.

"SoHo?" I repeated. "That's a funny name."

"It stands for 'south of Houston Street/ " said Richie. (And by the way, he p.r.o.nounced "Houston" the way it looks - house-tun - not like the big city in Texas.) On Houston, we wandered in and out of art galleries and stores. One store, a clothing store, was overrun with actual live animals, which was weird, since it felt a little like a jungle to begin with. You'd thumb through a rack of safari outfits and find yourself facing a tree, a large parrot perched in its branches. And dogs and sleepy-looking cats roamed everywhere. Strange.

When Richie needed a rest, he said, "How about some cappuccino?"

"Sure," I replied, so we found a restaurant with small round tables set out on the sidewalk. We sipped our cappuccino and watched the world go by.

"It's sort of like eating at a cafe in Paris," I said, and Richie grinned.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted, and I thought Richie's foot was going to fall off. We had sampled Indian food at a tiny restaurant in the East Village. We had wandered through the maze of little streets in the West Village. (Once, Richie got lost.) We even took the subway to Chinatown. When I told Richie I'd already been there, he said, "Well, have you been to Little Italy?"

"No."

We walked, like, two blocks and found ourselves in a world of Italian restaurants. A street fair was in progress and Richie urged me to sample a cannoli, even though it was filled with sugar. Hard to believe that just a few blocks away were Chinese restaurants, egg rolls, paG.o.da-shaped phone booths. . . .

"What do you think of the city?" Richie asked when we were finally heading home, our stomachs stuffed.

"It's full of food," I replied.

Richie laughed. "No, really. What did you think?"

"It's amazing. I've never seen it this way."

"I know. You've seen Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, the World Trade Center, right?"

"Right," I agreed. "And those were fun experiences. But you're the best tour guide I've ever had."

I realized that I had not been scared once all day.

Mary Anne.

Chapter 17.

O had never been to South Street Seaport and I was dying to see it. It's an area in lower Manhattan that during the 1800s was known as the "Street of Ships." It was the shipping hub of the city, a busy place, swarming with seamen, merchants, and immigrants, and a harbor crowded with all kinds of sailing vessels. Over the years, the seaport deteriorated, but it has now been restored and is an area of museums, restaurants, and shops contained in waterfront buildings from the 19th century. There are things to see: street performers and fabulous ships, as well as plenty of special events such as fireworks. You can go to the seaport to eat and shop, or you can go there to discover history.

Discovering history was what I had in mind when I suggested to Stacey that we take Alistaire and Rowena to South Street Seaport on Monday. Stacey thought that was a great idea. (Even she had only been there a couple of times, and she wanted to go back.) Then the rest of our friends decided that they wanted to come with us. Mal and Claudia couldn't, though, because of their art cla.s.ses.

"I wish Mr. Clarke would let me go with you and sketch ships, but we're probably going to have to do something like draw a statue for eight hours," said Claudia grumpily.

"Oh, chilly!" exclaimed Mallory.

Claudia glared at her so fiercely I thought flames would shoot from her eyes.

Anyway, in the end, Stacey and I, Alistaire and Rowena, and Kristy, Laine, Jessi, and Dawn traveled downtown to the seaport.

"Cool!" I cried as we stood on Fulton Street and looked around. We could have been transported to another century - except that the people were wearing blue jeans or leggings, black cowboy boots, silly T-shirts, and these green foam Statue of Liberty souvenir headdresses. On one side of us was Schermerhorn Row, an old-looking building with tall chimneys and lots of windows. Across from it stood the Fulton Market Building.

"Hey, a craft collection!" said Laine.

"A Laura Ashley store!" said Dawn.

"The Athletes Foot!" said Kristy.

"The Body Shop!" said Jessi.

"World of Nintendo!" shrieked Alistaire.

"I wonder where Benetton is," said Stacey.

"Isn't there a toy store?" asked Rowena.

"Oh, no. It's the guy in the hat," I whispered to Stacey.

"What?"

"Shhh! Don't scare anyone."

"Well, where is he?"

"He's right over there by ... Well, he was right next to that trash can."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Stacey looked worried. But finally she just said, "He's gone now. Let's try to have fun. I wonder if we can find a toy store for Rowena."

"We should really go to the museums," I said. "Expose the kids to some New York culture. Look. This pamphlet says there's a Museum Gallery here, something called the Small Craft Collection, oh, and a Children's Center. Let's go there first. We can take Rowena to FAO Schwarz any day. And we do not need to go into every store. There are stores all over New York. Not to mention the rest of the country."

Too late. Half of our group was heading into Schermerhorn Row, which is full of shops.

And Alistaire was pulling at my arm, crying, "Oh, brilliant! There's a place called Sweet's!"

"It must have sweets then," said Rowena. "Lots of them."

"You guys, this isn't exactly what I had in mind," I was saying, when Stacey suddenly elbowed me.

"There he is again!"

This time we both saw him. He was disappearing into a crowd of people.

"All right. We have to do something," I said.

"I'll handle this," Stacey replied. "Hey!" she called. "Laine! Jessi! Everyone! We're going to take the kids to the Children's Center. Let's meet back here in an hour. Then we can have lunch."

Laine waved to Stacey. "Okay!" she called.

"What are you up to?" I asked her. Then, before she could answer, I exclaimed, "Oh, my gosh! I just realized something. Have you - "

"The kids are listening," Stacey hissed.

"Buy them ice cream," I replied.

So we walked until we found a place called Minter's Ice Cream. We bought Rowena and Alistaire each a scoop in a cup. (Cones were too messy, considering the kids were not dressed in anything even approaching play clothes.) Then Rowena and Alistaire busied themselves with their treats while Stacey and I held a whispered conversation.

"Okay/' I began. "Have you noticed that we only see the guy when we're with Rowena and Alistaire? I mean, did you notice him when we went to Chinatown? Or any time we've gone out to dinner with your dad?"

"No . . ." Stacey answered.

"So obviously he's not after us. He's after the children."

"Or maybe," said Stacey, "just one of the children."

"Right. It would be easier to kidnap one child than two."

"That's not what I mean. I was thinking," Stacey said slowly, "that maybe this guy was on the plane from England with the Harring-tons. And maybe - you know, like in those spy movies - he needed to smuggle a roll of microfilm to the United States, so he dropped it into Alistaire's backpack or Rowena's tote bag or something. And now he has to get it back, so he's following the kids, waiting for just the right moment to s.n.a.t.c.h one of them and get back the microfilm - or maybe the diamonds."

"Stacey, you sound like me!" I exclaimed.

"Well, it's no wonder. You made me start thinking like this. And it is weird that the guy turns up everywhere."

We paused.

We watched Alistaire and Rowena, who were stirring their ice cream into vanilla soup, and giggling.

Then I said, "All right. If that man really is after one of the children, then we ought to find out which one."

"Okay."

"So I think we should each take a kid and split up. The guy won't be able to follow both of us. So we'll see who he does follow."

"Hey, good idea," said Stacey. "Okay, I'll take Alistaire, you take Rowena. Tell her you're going to look for a toy store. I'll tell Alistaire we're going to do something special at the Children's Center."

"Okay."

Stacey and I waited until the kids had finished their vanilla soup. Then we split up. "Meet you with the others in about half an hour," I said.

Stacey nodded. She and Alistaire went in one direction, Rowena and I in another. I tried not to look too conspicuous about keeping my eyes open for the spy/kidnapper.

"Where's the toy shop?" asked Rowena.

"I'm not sure there is one," I answered honestly. "Let's just look around. There are a lot of shops to explore."

Rowena and I wandered everywhere, up and down streets - Beekman Street, Water Street, Front Street, John Street. We pa.s.sed a boat-building shop, a museum shop, and the t.i.tanic Memorial Lighthouse. Rowena kept her eyes peeled for a toy store. I kept my eyes peeled for the guy.

I saw him twice.

Okay, I thought. He's after Rowena. How sad. She's such a little girl.

"Ow!" Rowena cried suddenly. "Mary Anne! You're hurting me."