There was a girl of about six sprawled at the foot of the stairs, half-propped against the last four risers. One hand was thrown back over her head.
Machine-cooled air puffed out. Peter felt it on his face and had time to register how nice it was, nice and cool; then Mary screamed. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom inside the building faster than his own, but he saw it a moment later. There was a girl of about six sprawled at the foot of the stairs, half-propped against the last four risers. One hand was thrown back over her head. It lay palm-up on the stairs. Her straw-colored hair had been tied in a couple of tails. Her eyes were wide open and her head was unnaturally cocked to one side. There was no question in Peter’s mind about whom the dolly lying at the foot of the RV’s steps had belonged to. FOUR HAPPY WANDERERS, it had said on the front of the RV, but that was clearly out of date in these modern times. There was no question in his mind about that, either.
“Gosh!” the cop said genially. “Forgot all about her! But you can never remember everything, can you? No matter how hard you try!”
Mary screamed again, her fingers folded down against her palms and her hands against her mouth, and tried to bolt back down the steps.
