Mr. and Mrs. Pike wandered out with the remains of their coffee then, and joined Mal and the triplets at one of the long wooden picnic tables.

Stacey sat on the grass and turned her face up to the sun. A few people glanced over at us curiously, probably wondering if we were part of the huge Pike family. I scanned the two picnic tables then, and something seemed out of place. What was wrong?

I did a quick head count. And came up with eleven. Eleven? There should be twelve of us.

The eight Pike kids, Mr. and Mrs. Pike, Stacey and me.

"Ohmigosh/' I muttered under my breath.

"What's up?" Stacey asked lazily. She was stretched out like a cat, enjoying the warm sun.

"Stacey," I said, not taking my eyes off the kids, "we're missing somebody."

She sat up fast. "Are you sure?" She did her own head count, without waiting for my answer.

"I'm sure." I gulped. "There are the triplets and Mal and Vanessa and Nicky and — " And no Claire, I added silently.

"Where's Claire?" Mrs. Pike said loudly.

"I was just wondering the same thing," I said, as Stacey scrambled to her feet. "Have you kids seen her?" The triplets solemnly shook their heads, and Mrs. Pike glanced nervously at the parking lot.

"Maybe she went back to the car," she said a little breathlessly. I know she was really worried, even though she was trying not to show it.

Mr. Pike stood up. "I'll check the car. Stacey, why don't you look around the play area." (There were a couple of swing sets at the far side of the parking lot.)

"I'll  go  back  inside,"  I  said  suddenly.

"Maybe she had to go to the bathroom."

Mr. Pike nodded and hurried off, his expression tense. Claire is only five years old, and at that age, kids shouldn't be out of your sight for even a minute.