"Lucy-Goose," I said, and Lucy strained her neck back to see me. She answers to that name as well as to Lucy and Lucy Jane, which is her full name. "Lucy Goose, let's go get the mail. I'm tired of this." And I'm afraid, I thought. I'm afraid that someone will find Tigger - dead.

Getting the mail is the highlight of any day for me, and I felt I needed the highlight just then. So I wheeled Lucy around to the front of my house and down the driveway. I opened the box. I looked inside. Stuffed! I absolutely adore a stuffed mailbox. I listened to the cries and shouts of Jamie, Myriah, and Gabbie while I struggled to pull everything out of the box. Then I pushed Lucy up to our front stoop, where I sat down and dropped the mail into my lap. There was so much it overflowed and fell on the ground. Lucy laughed as I tried to pick it up.

At last it was stacked neatly next to me. I sorted it into piles: bills for Dad, letters for Dad, magazines, catalogues, stuff we could probably throw out, letter for me. . . . Wait a sec. A letter for me?! I hardly ever get letters.

I picked up the envelope. It must be from Stacey, I thought. But, no, the address wasn't in her handwriting. Ooh, very exciting. A mystery letter! "Now this," I told Lucy, "is why I like getting the mail. You never know what you might find. I can't wait to see who this letter's from." Lucy blew me a raspberry, then smiled angelically.

I opened the envelope.

What I found inside gave me goose bumps.

"On, no," I cried softly.

Written in big, messy writing was a short message: If yoo want to see your cat alive again leave $160 in an envelope on The biq rocK in Brenner Field this aftrnoon.

A picture of Tigger was taped to the bottom of the page. It had been cut from one of the posters we'd made.

I swallowed, feeling sick. So Tigger had been kidnapped? But why? Because someone needed a hundred dollars?