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Her mother is both surprised and glad. The surprise is to see me, a stranger at the door asking if Jamie is home. Not many people come here and no one for Jamie. She is glad for that - me being there to see Jamie. Jamie needs friends, she says.
I introduce myself as the neighbor next door, which I am. I do not mention that I am a policewoman. There is no need for that. I do not want to freak the grandmother out. There is nothing sinister in my visit, only my curiosity. I need to meet Jamie. I need to know how she knew what she knew. I need to know how in the world she knew Mr. Dander put his wife's finger in the margarine tub.
I am astonished to find that Jamie is a very small little girl. I find out she nearly four years old (her birthday is next month). There must be some mistake, I think.
"I knew you were coming," she says with a small child's certainty, "so I set another place for you."
"Thank you," I say politely trying not to show my utter bewilderment. How could she know I was coming when I didn't even know I was coming. She leads me to the kitchen where the table is set for six people. Jamie is sitting on one end, I am sitting on the other and between us there is a stuffed bear, a stuffed Sponge Bob, a large doll, and one empty chair.
"Who is that chair for ?" I ask.
"Mr. Pickles." is the quick response. "He is already here."
"Is that the Mr. Pickles that sent me this note ?" I ask holding up the red envelope.
"Oh, no," she says, "I sent you that note. Mr. Pickles wrote it."
I introduce myself as the neighbor next door, which I am. I do not mention that I am a policewoman. There is no need for that. I do not want to freak the grandmother out. There is nothing sinister in my visit, only my curiosity. I need to meet Jamie. I need to know how she knew what she knew. I need to know how in the world she knew Mr. Dander put his wife's finger in the margarine tub.
I am astonished to find that Jamie is a very small little girl. I find out she nearly four years old (her birthday is next month). There must be some mistake, I think.
"I knew you were coming," she says with a small child's certainty, "so I set another place for you."
"Thank you," I say politely trying not to show my utter bewilderment. How could she know I was coming when I didn't even know I was coming. She leads me to the kitchen where the table is set for six people. Jamie is sitting on one end, I am sitting on the other and between us there is a stuffed bear, a stuffed Sponge Bob, a large doll, and one empty chair.
"Who is that chair for ?" I ask.
"Mr. Pickles." is the quick response. "He is already here."
"Is that the Mr. Pickles that sent me this note ?" I ask holding up the red envelope.
"Oh, no," she says, "I sent you that note. Mr. Pickles wrote it."
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