Stacey and the Mystery at the Empty House

  “It sounds like fun to me,” Shannon said now, talking about the sleigh ride. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  “I wonder what you wear on a sleigh ride?” asked Claudia. “I mean, you want to be warm, but you want to look good, too….” She gazed over at her closet. As usual, she was already planning her outfit.

  As vice-president of the BSC, Claud doesn’t have many official duties. She’s v.p. because we meet in her room, and we meet in her room because she’s the only member with her own phone line. She has to answer any BSC calls that come in when we’re not meeting, but that’s about it. She does take it upon herself to have snacks on hand for every meeting — that day she had passed around chocolate-covered graham crackers (and Frookies for me) — but that’s not an official duty.

  As treasurer of the club, I do have official duties. I keep track of the money we each earn, just so we have a record. Each of us keeps her (or his) own earnings, of course. That is, except for what we pay in dues. I collect dues every Monday (I’d done it at the beginning of that day’s meeting), and keep careful accounts of how much money we have in the club treasury. We use the money for things like Claudia’s phone bill and Kristy’s transportation costs (we pay her brother Charlie to drive her to meetings, now that she lives too far away to walk), and for buying markers and things for our Kid-Kits.

  What are Kid-Kits? They’re another of Kristy’s great ideas. Remember how, when you were little, you’d go over to another kid’s house and their toys would be just fascinating, even if they weren’t brand new? Well, that’s the idea behind Kid-Kits. They’re boxes we’ve stuffed with hand-me-down toys, books, and games. Plus we add some new things, like markers and stickers. Then we decorate the boxes to look cool. (Claudia is always changing hers. Last month it looked like a pirate ship, and now it looks like a jeweled handbag.) The kids we sit for go wild when they see us arriving with our Kid-Kits.

  As I listened to the others talk about the sleigh ride, I was scribbling in the club notebook, writing up a job I’d had that afternoon. I had been sitting for Jamie Newton, who is one of our favorite charges, and I was making some notes about the cold he’s had lately. The club notebook is another of Kristy’s ideas. We write about our jobs, and then we read what everyone else has written. The extra work is kind of a pain, but it’s worth it, because it means we’re totally caught up with what’s going on with our clients. I think the parents really appreciate having sitters who are so well-informed.

  I finished my notes and passed the notebook to Jessi, who had asked for it earlier. Jessi Ramsey is one of our two junior officers; her best friend Mallory Pike is the other. Unlike the rest of us, who are thirteen and in the eighth grade, Jessi and Mal are eleven and in the sixth. They take a lot of afternoon sitting jobs, since their parents have decreed that they are too young to sit at night for anyone except their own siblings.

  According to Jessi and Mal, their parents think they are too young for a lot of things. Such as contacts for Mal, who hates her glasses. Or miniskirts for Jessi, who wouldn’t mind showing off her beautiful legs.

  Jessi’s a serious ballet student. She’s been studying forever, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see her dancing at Lincoln Center someday. (That’s the main place to see ballet in New York City.) She’s African American, and has a close, loving family: her parents, her younger sister Becca, her baby brother Squirt (actual name: John Philip Ramsey, Jr.), and her aunt Cecelia, who lives with the family.

  Mallory, who has reddish, curly hair, has a close family, too, but it’s a lot bigger than Jessi’s. In fact, it’s bigger than anyone’s. Mal has seven brothers and sisters, all younger than she is. After Mal come Adam, Jordan, and Byron, who are identical triplets. Then there’s Vanessa, Nicky, Margo, and Claire, the baby of the family. Life at the Pike house is pretty hectic, most of the time. Mal maintains her peace of mind by escaping to her room to read, write, and sketch. Both she and Jessi love to read, and Mal hopes someday to be a children’s book author and illustrator.

  Jessi wrote a few sentences in the notebook, and passed it to Mal, who was sitting next to her on the floor. Then she straightened out her legs and leaned her body over them in an impossible-looking ballet stretch. “I’d love to go on a sleigh ride,” she said, her voice muffled because of the way her face was pressed against her knees. “It sounds like fun. Can’t you just hear the sleigh bells ringing?”

  As if to echo Jessi’s question, the phone suddenly started to ring. It rang about six more times before our meeting was over, all calls from parents who wanted to set up jobs. The holiday season is a busy time for us, and I could see that this year would be no exception. But I like being busy: that’s what being a member of the BSC is all about. I never understand it when other kids at school complain about being bored. When I listen to them, I realize how lucky I am to have the BSC in my life. Being a member of this club means spending lots of time with a bunch of good friends. It means hanging out with little kids, which is something I adore. It means earning my own spending money. And it means I’m never bored!

  “Have fun with Zucchini!”

  “Robert!” I said, giggling. “You know his name is Carrot.”

  “Carrot, Zucchini, what’s the difference?” asked Robert. “Why not Rutabaga?”

  I giggled some more and gave Robert a little shove. He shoved me back, and our shoving match turned into a brief hug. “Anyway, have fun,” he said. It was Tuesday afternoon, and school had just let out. I was about to head to the Johanssens’ for my first day of dog-walking and house-sitting. The Johanssens had left that morning.

  “You, too,” I answered. “Make a lot of baskets for me.”

  “Sure,” he said. Then he loped off toward his basketball game.

  I stood watching him. I like to watch Robert run; he’s an excellent athlete, and he looks great when he’s in motion. Robert is my boyfriend, and I may be biased, but I think he’s about the nicest guy at SMS. He’s cute, too. He’s tall, with dark brown hair and deep, dark eyes and this killer smile that makes your knees weak. Or, at least, it makes my knees weak.

  When I first met him, Robert was a star player on the SMS basketball team. I got to know him during a time when I thought I might want to be a cheerleader. I even tried out for the squad. As it turned out, I didn’t make the cut, for some pretty creepy reasons. That was the last straw for Robert, who had been feeling more and more fed up with the way athletes and cheerleaders are treated at our school. They are looked up to so much, and both teachers and students treat them as if they are something ultra-special. Anyway, Robert decided he’d had enough, and he quit the basketball team, to the dismay of his coach and his teammates.

  Robert and I have been going out ever since then. We’ve gone through some rocky times — this past summer, for example, when I went a little overboard in my efforts to spend time with him — but we’re pretty solid these days. We don’t spend tons of time together, though, since we’re both very busy. I have BSC meetings and baby-sitting jobs almost every day, and Robert plays basketball regularly with a bunch of guys at the town gym. (That’s where he was going that afternoon.) They’re planning to start a league, and they’re also thinking of sponsoring and coaching a league for younger kids. Robert would be great at that. He’s so patient, and he’s a good teacher.

  Anyway, with all our activities, we mainly see each other when we can grab a few minutes during school, plus we usually go on one date a week, on Friday or Saturday night. Sometimes I wish we could be together more, but I have a feeling it’s better this way.

  Robert disappeared around the corner, and I turned and headed for the Johanssens’. “Rutabaga awaits!” I said, making myself laugh out loud. Fortunately, nobody saw me. I must have looked pretty silly, talking and laughing as I walked along all by myself.

  As soon as I turned onto Kimball Street, I could see the Johanssens’ house looking tidy, as always. It sits squarely on its corner lot, with a crabapple tree in its front yard and a
welcoming dried-flower wreath on the front door. Looking at the house, I decided that nobody would be able to tell, at a glance, that the Johanssens were away. The curtains were only partly drawn, as always, so the house didn’t look shut up. Also, the Johanssens had left their car in the driveway. “To help make it look like somebody’s home,” Dr. Johanssen had explained to me. “Anyway, it’s cheaper to take the train to the airport than it would be to pay for parking there the whole time we’ll be gone.”

  I stopped at the head of the flagstone walk and stuck my hand into the mailbox, which is red, with a painting of a white goose on it. Sure enough, there was a pile of mail sitting inside it. I took it out and carried it up to the front porch, but then I had to set it down on the little bench to the right of the door. Why? Because I’d suddenly remembered that I’d need a key to open the door.

  I patted my pockets, trying to remember which one the key was in. As I searched, I began to hear barking from inside, and I knew Carrot had heard me. The barking grew louder and louder as Carrot ran toward the door. “It’s okay, Carrot,” I called. “It’s me, Stacey. I just have to find the key.” I looked over my shoulder, to make sure nobody had heard me talking to a dog. I was setting a record for silliness that afternoon.

  Finally I found the key, in the inside pocket of my jacket. I stuck it into the lock and turned it, but the door didn’t open. I could hear Carrot snuffling and whining a little. I tried the key again, and this time it worked. I pushed the door open and Carrot bounded forward to greet me.

  He was really wound up. I didn’t know why. After all, I figured, he should be used to being by himself all day long, with Dr. Johanssen and her husband at work, and Charlotte at school. (Later, Dr. Johanssen explained that seeing all their suitcases had seemed to set Carrot off. “He always knows when something’s up,” she said. “He probably thought we were leaving forever and he’d never see another human again.”)

  Anyway, Carrot was jumping around in circles and making this little crying sound. Every so often he’d jump up on me and try to lick my face. “Hi, Carrot,” I said, patting him, “Hi, there, boy. Were you a good dog today?”

  I’ve never had a dog, myself, but I’ve heard dog owners — Kristy, for example — talk to their dogs, and that’s the kind of thing they always say. Carrot seemed to respond well to it, so I kept it up. “Good boy, Carrot,” I said. He was still leaping around. “Want to go for a walk?” Carrot ran toward the kitchen and reappeared seconds later with a brown leather leash in his mouth. He trotted over to me and dropped the leash at my feet. Then he sat down, wagged his stubby little tail, and looked at me intently.

  I should stop here and describe Carrot. He’s a medium-sized gray schnauzer. His coarse hair is short all over, except for on his face, where it’s long and stiff, kind of like a big bushy beard and mustache with hair gel in it. He has these funny, spiky eyebrows, too. Carrot is a muscular dog. That’s the only word I can think of to describe his body. He moves as if he has springs inside, all tightly wound. He’s not a relaxed, lazy-looking dog like Pow, this basset hound I know. But Carrot has a great personality. He always seems happy and excited, and he loves any kind of attention from people.

  I clipped the leash onto Carrot’s collar and brought him outside, closing the front door behind me and using the key to lock it again. Then the two of us walked across Kimball Street to this empty lot where the Johanssens always take Carrot to “do his business,” as Charlotte says.

  He “did his business” pretty quickly, and afterward I walked him around the block, passing the house where I lived for a while when I first moved to Stoneybrook. (My whole family first moved here from New York when my dad was transferred, and then we moved back to the city when my dad was transferred again. Then, after the divorce, my mom decided she wanted to return to Stoneybrook, and I came with her — but we moved into a different house.) Now Jessi and her family live in our first house, which is on Fawcett Avenue, around the corner from Kimball. Actually, you can see the back of Jessi’s house from the back of the Johanssens’.

  I looked at the house as I went by. Jessi wasn’t home; I knew she had a sitting job that afternoon. I thought I might see her sister Becca playing in the yard, but the yard was empty. I realized Becca must feel a little lonely without Charlotte around; the two of them are best friends.

  Carrot began to pull on the leash as soon as we got past the Ramseys’ house, and I had to trot to keep up with him. “I guess you’re ready for your dinner, huh, Carrot?” I asked. He wagged his little tail some more and walked even more quickly. We were back at the Johanssens’ in no time, and the minute I unlocked the door, Carrot headed straight for the kitchen and stood waiting near his dog dish.

  I checked the page of notes Dr. Johanssen had left me, which was posted on the fridge. “Fill dish three-quarters full,” I read. “Add protein powder and water, and stir.” I followed the directions, with Carrot watching me hungrily every step of the way. Then I put down his bowl and he started to eat as if he’d never seen food before. I guess dogs are just always hungry.

  I wandered around the kitchen for a minute. It’s small but very efficient-looking, with everything stowed away just so. Then, since Carrot still wasn’t done, I headed into the living room to wait for him. I planned to hang out with Carrot for a little while, so he wouldn’t feel quite so abandoned. Besides, I’d promised Charlotte I would play with him every day.

  To reach the Johanssens’ living room, you walk out of the kitchen and through the dining room, turn right, go past the front door and center hallway (where the stairs leading to the second floor are), and turn right again into the living room. All the rooms have white walls and pretty wood floors with richly colored Oriental rugs here and there (except for the kitchen, which has a dark-blue tiled floor). None of the rooms is very big, but they’re all cozy and set up very comfortably. The living room, for example, has two overstuffed couches and a comfy chair that face both the fireplace and this gorgeous cabinet next to it that holds the TV and stereo. (Charlotte’s Uncle Jerry made it. He must be an excellent furniture maker.)

  I sat down on one of the couches to wait for Carrot. Then I popped up, opened the doors of the cabinet, and snapped on the radio. (Dr. Johanssen had told me it was fine to do that.) The house had suddenly begun to feel so quiet it was almost creepy, and I thought it would help to hear another human voice. Sure enough, as soon as I tuned in the local station, WSTO, and heard the afternoon DJ (a guy named Wild Bill), I felt better.

  Carrot came trotting in as soon as I sat down again, and I clapped my hands and called him over to me. “Where’s your toy, Carrot?” I asked, as Charlotte had instructed me to. “Where’s Mister Manny-Man?” Mister Manny-Man is what the Johanssens have named Carrot’s favorite toy: a soft white fuzzy doll he loves to chew on and carry around. He even sleeps with it, like a kid with a teddy bear.

  Carrot ran to find the toy behind the easy chair. Then he brought it over to me, looking so proud of himself that I almost burst out laughing. “Good boy,” I said. “Now, can you say your prayers?”

  Carrot put his paws onto my lap and laid his head on top of them. Then he looked up at me with the sweetest expression. This time I did burst out laughing. I don’t know who taught Carrot to do that, but it’s the best dog trick I’ve ever seen.

  Then, in the middle of my laughing fit, I heard something on the radio that made my giggles dry right up. “… medium build, red hair … be on the alert…. may be armed and dangerous.” Wild Bill was reading an emergency news bulletin about a convict who had escaped from a nearby prison.

  I’ll tell you right now that it didn’t take me long to finish up my games with Carrot and get out of that empty house, making sure, of course, that I locked everything up tightly behind me.

  Back at home, I discovered that my mom had gone out for a business dinner. I called my friends to tell them the news I’d heard, and then I spent an uneasy evening alone in my empty house — after checking to make sure it was locked
up tightly, too. I definitely wasn’t interested in any uninvited company!

  I woke to bright sunshine on Wednesday morning, and immediately felt a little silly about my nervousness the night before. After all, it was ridiculous to think that an escaped prisoner was going to make a beeline for me, Stacey McGill. As I looked out at the sparkling day (the sky was so clear and blue it almost hurt my eyes) I realized that, chances were, the guy had already been caught.

  I checked the thermometer outside my window. “All right!” I said to myself, when I saw how cold it was. Finally, I was going to be able to wear my new winter coat. It’s stunning, the nicest coat I’ve ever owned. But I haven’t had the chance to wear it yet this year; it’s a really warm coat, and the weather just hasn’t been that cold.

  I bounded down the stairs for breakfast, and found my mother frowning over the morning paper. “They haven’t caught that prisoner yet,” she said, after I’d stopped to kiss her good morning.

  “No?” I said, opening the fridge to find milk for my Shredded Wheat.

  “I was stopped at a police blockade last night, on my way home,” my mom said. “They’re working hard to capture this guy. He must be dangerous.”