Stacey and the Mystery at the Empty House

  “I’m starting to think you like old Eggplant more than you like me.”

  “Robert! I do not. And for the thousandth time, his name’s Carrot.” I giggled into the phone. Robert was pretending to sulk because I was canceling a date we’d planned for that night, so I could sleep over at Jessi’s. I knew he didn’t really mind, because he’d already told me about an “awesome” basketball game he was dying to watch that night.

  I hadn’t told Robert anything about the mystery at the Johanssens’. Somehow, I just wanted to solve it myself — or, rather, with the help of my friends. I’ve never been the type to want her boyfriend to jump in and rescue her. Plus, I knew Robert would worry if he thought I might be in any kind of danger. (For that same reason, I hadn’t said a word to my mom.)

  Anyway, things had seemed fairly normal at the Johanssens’ the last few times I’d been there. That Saturday morning, Jessi and Mal had accompanied me over there, and we hadn’t noticed a thing out of place. Still, we were planning to go ahead with our sleepover/stakeout.

  While we were at the Johanssens’, Jessi had come up with a wild idea for a new kind of surveillance. “Hey, we have that same phone machine at my house,” she’d said, pointing at the one on the kitchen counter.

  “It’s easy to use, isn’t it?” I said. I had been checking the machine for the Johanssens, playing any messages that came in and copying them down on a small notepad.

  She nodded. “It has a lot of neat features, too,” she said. Then her eyes lit up. “Hey! I just thought of something awesome. You know what this machine can do? You can call it from another phone and make it ‘listen’ to what’s going on in your house.”

  “Huh?” I asked. Mal looked puzzled, too.

  “It’s called ‘monitoring room noise,’ ” said Jessi. We can call here from my house tonight, punch in the machine’s special code, and listen to what’s going on over here.”

  “Whoa!” I said. Suddenly I understood what she was talking about. This would add a whole new dimension to our stakeout.

  “Cool idea. But how do you find out what the code is?” Mal asked.

  Jessi didn’t blink an eye. Instead, she picked up the answering machine and turned it over. “It’s right here,” she said, pointing to a sticker. “See? The number is one-four-three. That’s easy to remember. My family uses that as a code to say ‘I love you.’ You know, because each number represents the number of letters in those words?”

  “One-four-three,” I echoed. “I can’t wait to try it.”

  * * *

  That evening, Mary Anne came to the Johanssens’ with me. We were loaded down with our overnight bags, since we planned to head straight to Jessi’s as soon as we had finished with Carrot. I showed Mary Anne the answering machine code and told her about Jessi’s idea.

  “That sounds really sneaky,” said Mary Anne. “Are you sure it’s legal?”

  “Sure, why not?” I asked. “I mean, I can come to this house anytime I want. This is just like letting my ears come over here, without my body showing up. What could be wrong with that?” I patted Carrot on the head. “Right, Carrot?” I asked. He pressed his nose into my hand, which I understood to mean, “Right, Stacey.”

  After a short visit with Carrot, Mary Anne and I headed over to Jessi’s. Everybody else was already there, and they were gathered in the kitchen. Kristy was making popcorn in the microwave, Claudia and Mal were stirring up dip and putting chips into bowls, Shannon was pouring soda for everyone, and Jessi was heaping a plate with brownies she’d just taken out of the oven.

  “Ahem,” I said. “Is this a stakeout — or a pig-out?” Everybody cracked up. I laughed, too, and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

  As soon as the food was ready, we sat down around the kitchen table to eat and plan our night.

  “We’re in luck,” Jessi said. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s nice and quiet here tonight. Becca’s over at Haley’s for the night, Aunt Cecelia went to a double feature, and my parents are holing up in the den with a pile of movies to watch on the VCR.”

  “Great,” said Claudia. “That means we can spy on the Johanssens without anybody spying on us.”

  “What’s our plan?” asked Mary Anne.

  “Total surveillance,” said Kristy, sounding like somebody in one of those action movies. She held up a pair of binoculars. “These are Watson’s. He uses them for bird-watching, and they’re really high-powered.”

  “I brought some, too,” said Mal, leaning over to rummage around in her backpack. “But I don’t really know how to use them. How do you focus these things?”

  “I’ll show you,” said Kristy, taking one last bite of brownie and moving over to sit next to Mal. Shannon and Mary Anne leaned over their shoulders so they could hear what Kristy was saying.

  “Meanwhile, what about that phone thing?” I asked Jessi.

  “We can try it anytime,” she said.

  “Are you sure it’ll work?” Claudia asked.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Jessi answered with a grin. She reached for the phone. “What’s the number?”

  I told her, and she punched it in. Then she waited a few seconds.

  I was holding my breath. What if something horrible happened? What if there were an intruder in the house? Suppose he happened to answer the phone. What would we do?

  “There goes the beep,” Jessi said. Quickly, she punched in a few more numbers. Then she listened intently.

  “What do you hear?” I asked. “Is somebody over there?”

  “Are there footsteps?” asked Claud.

  Jessi shook her head, and passed the phone to Claudia, who was next to her.

  “Do you hear that tinkling noise?” asked Jessi. “That’s the only suspicious sound I can make out.”

  Claudia listened for a moment and shook her head. Then she passed the phone to me. “I hear the noise,” she said to Jessi. “But I can’t figure out what it is. It does sound suspicious, though. I wonder if we should hang up and call the police.”

  I put my hand over my right ear and pressed the left one to the phone, trying hard to hear what they were talking about. At first, I couldn’t hear a thing. Then, suddenly, I heard it. I burst out laughing. “You guys,” I said. “It’s Carrot! That’s the sound of his collar tags jingling while he walks around.” I reached over and hung up the phone, still laughing. Claudia and Jessi looked sheepish.

  Meanwhile, everyone else was clustered by the window. They were passing the binoculars back and forth and peering at the Johanssens’ house.

  “Whoa!” said Kristy suddenly, stepping back from the window. “Did you see that?”

  “What? What?” asked Claudia. “Is somebody in there?”

  Kristy looked white. “I think so,” she said. “I just saw a light go on in one of the upstairs rooms.”

  “I saw it, too!” said Mary Anne.

  “Claud, dial the police!” cried Kristy, focusing her binoculars on the house once more. “Tell them to get right over to — what’s the exact address, Stacey?”

  “Hold on, hold on,” I said. “Claudia, put down the phone. You guys are really jumping the gun. That light went on because it’s on a timer.”

  Kristy put down the binoculars and looked around at me, embarrassed. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to lighten things up. “Let’s enjoy ourselves. We can still stake out the Johanssens’, but we don’t have to do it full time. We can just keep checking up with the binoculars and the phone.”

  “Great idea,” said Claud, sitting down at the table and helping herself to another brownie. “I brought Pictionary. How about if we play while we’re hanging around?”

  And for the next hour or so, that’s what we did. We stuffed our faces while we played, and every so often one of us would pop up to take a look at the Johanssens’ through the binoculars. We also called the answering machine regularly.

  By the time we finished our game (Claudia’s team won, as alwa
ys, since she’s the best at drawing), it was becoming obvious that nothing much was happening over at the Johanssens’. If there had been an intruder over there, he was definitely staying away that Saturday night. “Looks like our stakeout is a bust,” I said.

  Kristy, who was taking one last look out the window, suddenly gave a loud whoop.

  “What is it?” I asked. Everybody rushed over to the window.

  “Snow!” said Kristy. “It’s snowing!” She did a little dance in the middle of the kitchen floor. “All right!” she said, pumping her fist. “I heard on the radio this morning that if we did get snow tonight that would probably mean lots more is on its way.”

  “So the kids might have their sleigh ride after all,” said Mary Anne. “That’s great.”

  “Hey, there’s another good thing about snow,” Claud said thoughtfully. “It’s great for when you’re tracking people. We could check for footprints around the Johanssens’ now.”

  We thought that was a perfect idea. (I think we were happy for any excuse to go out in the snow and catch snowflakes on our tongues.) And at the last minute, I remembered that the vase I’d bought was over at Claud’s, so we went to her house and picked it up.

  It was beautiful outside, with these big soft snowflakes swirling gently down. And since it had been a little colder for the past few days, the snow was already sticking to the ground.

  Over at the Johanssens’, there wasn’t a track to be found. I let Carrot out for a second, and he rolled around in the snow looking perfectly thrilled to be outside. Then Claud and I headed inside to take the vase upstairs while the others waited on the front porch. We pulled off our boots, left them on the front doormat, and headed up the stairs with Carrot following behind.

  “Now that’s creepy!” Claudia said a second later.

  All I could do was nod. We were standing in front of the little hall table. And sitting on top of it was — you won’t believe this — a perfectly uncracked blue glass vase, just like the one I held in my hands.

  I didn’t sleep too well that night. Long after the last brownie disappeared, long after we’d finished watching the last video, I lay awake in the little sleeping bag nest I’d made on one of the Ramseys’ living-room couches.

  I just couldn’t turn off my mind. I kept thinking about all the strange things that had happened at the Johanssens’ during the last two weeks, but no matter how many times I went over the list, I couldn’t make sense of it. It didn’t help that the list had been topped off only hours earlier when I discovered that blue vase sitting on the hall table.

  The Johanssens would be back the next day, and I knew they had no idea how happy I’d be to see them. As long as — I crossed my fingers — nothing else happened in the next few hours, they’d never have to know what I’d gone through in their absence. If there had been an intruder, he’d never try to get into the house once they were home. Still, I knew I should probably tell them anyway.

  “Stace?” Suddenly I heard a whisper coming from the other couch. “Stacey, are you awake?”

  “Uh-huh,” I answered. “What’s up, Claud?”

  “I just keep thinking about that vase,” Claudia whispered. “Promise me you won’t go over there alone tomorrow morning, okay? I want to come with you.”

  “Sure,” I said, yawning. I checked my watch. It was four A.M. Morning wasn’t too far off.

  I must have fallen asleep for at least a few minutes, because the next thing I knew, Claudia was waking me up. “Stacey,” she was saying. “It’s already after nine. We’d better head over to the Johanssens’.”

  I rushed into my clothes, and Claud and I tiptoed out the door, leaving the rest of our friends still asleep. We hurried over to the Johanssens’, kicking through the fluffy snow that covered the sidewalks. “We must have gotten four inches already,” said Claudia, “and it’s still coming down.” She stuck out her mitten to catch a snowflake.

  I looked ahead as we turned the corner to the Johanssens’, and saw something that made me blink and look again. “Claudia,” I hissed. “Check it out! Footprints.” I pointed to the Johanssens’ front walk. The snow had been kicked up, and while you couldn’t see distinct treadmarks, it was obvious that someone had been into — or out of — the house.

  We stepped carefully up the walk, trying to avoid disturbing the prints. (Claudia said the police might need to photograph them.) Then, as I was searching for my key, Claud gave a little snort and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see what had made her laugh, and there on the porch was the Johanssens’ paper, neatly folded and waiting to be picked up.

  I sighed. Once again I’d gotten nervous about nothing. The tracks had obviously been made by the delivery person.

  “Okay,” I said to Claudia. “So much for jumping to conclusions. Let’s stay calm from here on in, okay? All we have to do is make it through this one last morning.”

  “Got it,” said Claud, giving me a little salute. “Calm is the word.”

  We grinned at each other and I opened the front door. Carrot came trotting up to greet us, and I bent down to pat him. “Good boy, Carrot,” I said, rubbing his ears. “I’ll miss taking care of you.” He gave me one of his patented sloppy kisses. Then he ran to find his leash.

  Claud and I took Carrot on a quick walk, first across the street and then around the block. “Do you know your family is coming home today?” Claud asked him. “Bet you can’t wait to see Charlotte.” Carrot wagged his tail and grinned, almost as if he understood her.

  Back at the house, I mixed up Carrot’s breakfast and served it to him. Then Claudia and I wandered through the house, checking one last time to make sure everything was in order for the Johanssens’ return. Everything was. Including that blue vase, still sitting on its table. The one I’d bought, its twin, was over at Jessi’s. I planned to return it to the store. I didn’t understand how or why that other one had appeared, but I couldn’t see any reason for me to waste my money replacing a vase that wasn’t cracked!

  Claudia and I headed back downstairs to say a final good-bye to Carrot. As I walked into the kitchen, the answering machine caught my eye and I checked to see that there were no blinking lights on it. The machine was fine, but what sat next to it on the counter made my heart begin to race. “Claudia!” I called, my voice cracking a little. “Come here!”

  “What?” she called from the dining room, where she was straightening up the big pile of mail that was waiting for the Johanssens.

  “This message pad,” I said, “It’s — it’s not like I left it.”

  “What changed?” asked Claud, coming into the kitchen.

  “The pages I wrote on have been folded back,” I said. “And the new top page has a phone number written on it — in handwriting I don’t recognize!”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t there before?” asked Claudia, walking over to look at the pad.

  “Positive,” I said. We stared at the number for a few seconds. Then I reached for the phone.

  “What are you doing?” asked Claudia.

  “I’m calling this number,” I said calmly. That’s how I felt: calm. Suddenly I had a feeling that I was going to solve the mystery after all. The phone rang four times and then, with a strange click, it was answered. I put my hand over the receiver. I wasn’t sure yet what I would do when I heard the person on the other end.

  As it turned out, there was no person. The phone was answered with a recording. I listened for a few minutes, and then I hung up.

  “Claud, let’s go round up the others,” I said firmly. “We’re going to the train station.”

  “What — why —?” Claud began to ask questions, but I just grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. We ran back to Jessi’s and found the other members of the BSC, still in their pajamas, chowing down on waffles that Mr. Ramsey had made.

  “Listen, everybody,” I said quickly. “How fast can you all get moving? I have this hunch …” I explained about the phone number on the Johanssens’ message pad, and how whe
n I’d called it, I’d heard a recording about train schedules. I told them that if we were ever going to find out who our red-headed intruder was, the time was now. “He’s going to be at the station this morning,” I said. “I just know it.”

  My friends left the table — without even finishing their waffles — and got dressed in no time. Half an hour later, we were at the train station.

  Since it was a Sunday morning, there weren’t too many people in the waiting room. And out by the tracks, there were only three or four little groups of people, waiting for a train from New York that was due any minute, according to the announcements being made over the loudspeakers. My friends scattered, in order to “cover” the whole station. Claudia stood next to me as I scanned the area, disappointed at not having spotted anyone with red hair.

  Suddenly, I felt a jab in the ribs. “That must be him!” hissed Claud. “Back by the newspaper machines.” I turned to look, and saw a man in a long, dark coat bending over a newspaper vending machine. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his hair was red. Bright, flaming red.

  I stared at him as he pulled a newspaper out of the machine and straightened up. He turned suddenly, and I looked away so he wouldn’t catch me staring. But he was paying no attention to me. He was looking past me, down the track at a train that was pulling into the station. He walked quickly toward the boarding area, and Claud and I followed right behind him.

  “His hair is the exact same shade as the hair in the brush,” Claudia whispered, as we hurried along. “I can’t believe it. Where do you think he’s headed? Do you think he stole anything — like papers or jewelry — from the Johanssens? He’s not carrying a suitcase, so it would have to be small stuff. Maybe I should call the police before he gets away —”