Karen''s New Bike

  I stepped up to the town official. Her name tag said Brenda Miller.

  “Please bring your bike to the white line,” she said. “I will inspect it for safety. Then I will copy down the manufacturer’s registration number.”

  “It is very safe,” I said. “I just got it. It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Some people are friendlier than others. Ms. Miller was not as friendly as Mr. Quinn. I was waiting for her to tell me my bike was excellent. But she did not.

  She checked the brakes, squeezed the tires, and copied the manufacturer’s registration number onto a form.

  “The manufacturer’s number is stamped right here on this bar,” said Ms. Miller. “It is an important number to know in case you ever need to identify your bike.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  My number was six-three-four-two. I liked it.

  Next Ms. Miller wrote down the name of my bike. Cougar Cat. And the colors. Pink and purple. She wrote down how long I had owned it. One week. She asked for the exact spelling of my name, my date of birth, my address, and my phone number. She wrote another number on the top of the form and copied it onto a yellow sticker. She handed the sticker to me.

  “Your registration number is two-eight-nine-two. Use that number if you ever have a question about your registration,” Ms. Miller said. “Next!”

  “Is that it? Am I registered?” I asked.

  “That is it,” said Ms. Miller. “Next!”

  I did it. I had registered my bike at Town Hall. I felt very grown-up.

  When I got back to the big house, I checked on Sam. He was in the backyard working on my old bike.

  “It does not look so old anymore,” I said.

  The spoke on the back wheel was fixed. And a fresh coat of white paint was on it.

  “Are you going to leave it white?” I asked.

  “No. This is the undercoat,” said Sam. “What color would you like it to be?”

  “I think red would be nice. With white trim,” I said.

  “Consider it done,” replied Sam.

  After lunch I called Hannie, then Nancy. We talked about the test and about registering our bikes.

  Then we made a plan for Sunday. We were going to pack a picnic lunch and ride our bikes to the playground again.

  “We are officially registered bike riders in the town of Stoneybrook,” I said to Hannie. “This will be our celebration picnic.”

  Missing!

  Hannie and Nancy arrived at the big house at eleven o’clock sharp on Sunday. It was a beautiful day for a picnic.

  Nannie helped me make sandwiches. Hannie brought fruit and juice. Nancy brought dessert.

  “You have quite a feast here,” said Nannie. “Have a very good time. And remember to ride safely.”

  We put on our helmets. We rolled up the cuffs of our pants. Then we walked our bikes down the driveway, looked both ways, and rode to the playground.

  The bike racks were pretty full. We found three spots near each other and locked up our bikes. Then we looked for a place to set up our picnic.

  “Are we hungry yet?” I asked.

  None of us was hungry. So we played awhile. First we rode on the swings. Then we jumped rope. Then we took turns on the seesaw.

  “Is anyone hungry now?” asked Hannie.

  By then we were all hungry. It was time for our picnic. We sat down on our blanket and filled our plastic cups with apple juice. I lifted mine up the way grown-ups do when they want to say something important.

  “Happy bike registration!” I said.

  “To our bikes!” said Nancy.

  “To the Three Musketeers!” said Hannie. “Long may we ride.”

  We tapped our cups together and drank our apple juice.

  The picnic was lots of fun. We thought about the places we would ride our bikes to together. When we finished eating we played some more. We joined a game of freeze tag. Then we played spud. Then we rode on the swings again. It was the best day.

  “I have to go home soon,” said Nancy. “I promised not to be back too late.”

  We packed up our picnic things, then went back to our bikes. Hannie’s bike was there. Nancy’s bike was there.

  “Does anyone see my bike?” I asked.

  My stomach was doing flip-flops. My bike was not where I thought I had left it. Maybe I was just looking in the wrong place.

  “It was right here,” said Nancy. “It was next to ours.”

  We looked up and down the rack. My bike was not there. I was sure I had locked it up. But the lock I had used was old and rusty and not very strong. Now my brand new Cougar Cat was missing.

  “Someone must have stolen it,” said Nancy.

  “Maybe someone just took it for a ride and brought it back to the playground,” I said. “Come look with me.”

  We looked and looked. But we could not find my bike. I burst into tears.

  Nancy put her arm around me. “Come on,” she said. “We will walk home together.”

  “You have to call the police right away,” said Hannie.

  Hannie and Nancy walked their bikes home with me. I wished one of them could have given me a ride. It would have been faster. But taking passengers is against the rules. The walk home seemed to last forever.

  I found Daddy working in the garden. The minute I saw him, I burst into tears again. He jumped up and ran to me.

  “Karen, honey, what happened?” he asked.

  I told Daddy the whole sad story.

  The Police

  “We will go right to the police station to report your missing bike,” said Daddy. “We will bring a copy of your bike registration form with us.”

  I said good-bye to Hannie and Nancy. (Nancy was going to Hannie’s house to wait for her mommy to pick her up.) Then Daddy and I drove to the police station.

  Officer Benitez was on duty. She helped me once before when I turned in a wallet I had found on the street.

  “Hi, Officer Benitez,” I said. “Remember me?”

  “Yes, I do. Your name is Karen,” she replied. “How can I help you today?”

  “Well, this time I did not find something. I lost something,” I said. “I lost my brand-new Cougar Cat bike. I guess it was stolen.”

  “We have the bike registration papers here,” said Daddy.

  “I am sorry to hear about your bike,” said Officer Benitez. “There has been a rash of stolen bicycles. It is very good that you have the registration form. It will make your bike easy to identify if any of the stolen bikes turns up.”

  Officer Benitez left to make a copy of the registration form. When she came back, she said, “We will be looking into this problem. I promise to keep you informed about our investigation.”

  We thanked Officer Benitez. I knew she would keep her promise and call if my bike was found. But I did not really expect to hear from her. I was sure the police had more important things to do than look for my stolen Cougar Cat.

  On the way back to the big house I saw kids riding around on their bikes. I missed mine. I wished I could go back to bed and start the day over. I would watch my bike every second to make sure it did not get stolen.

  When I got home I called Mommy and Seth to tell them what happened. They were both very sorry. Mommy said I should try my best to be patient. She said the police might find my bike after all. But I did not think so.

  The next thing I did was plop down in the TV room. I did not even turn on the TV. I just sat and moped. Kristy and Sam tried to keep me company.

  “I am really sorry about your bike,” said Kristy. “It was brand new and I know how much you loved it.”

  “I miss it,” I said. “But that is not the only bad thing. I was supposed to ride it in the bike-a-thon. I signed up a lot of sponsors. How am I supposed to ride in it now?”

  “You do not have to worry about that,” said Sam. “I promise to have your old bike ready in time. It is almost ready now. I discovered a small problem with the brakes. But I will have them working like new
very soon.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  The news made me feel only a little better. At least I could ride in the bike-a-thon. But I would not be riding my great new bike. Boo.

  Detectives

  On Monday I told everyone at school about my missing bike. They all felt gigundoly sorry for me. Even Pamela, my best enemy, said she felt bad.

  By the end of the day, I had thought of a plan. I told Hannie about it on the way home from school.

  “The police are very busy with other important cases. If I am going to get my bike back there have to be more detectives looking for it. Will you help me find my bike?” I asked.

  “Sure,” said Hannie. “I can start this afternoon.”

  Hannie went home to drop off her books and change her clothes. She came over to the big house with her bike and helmet. By then I had asked David Michael to help.

  “I asked Linny, too,” said Hannie. “But he is going to play softball with some other kids.”

  “There must be someone else who wants to be an important detective,” I said.

  We saw Callie and Keith. They were too little.

  I saw Melody and Bill Korman. They had already promised Linny they would play softball.

  Then Timmy and Scott Hsu came running toward us.

  “I hear you are looking for detectives,” said Timmy. “My bike was stolen yesterday. You can count me in.”

  “You can count me in, too. Maybe we will find both bikes,” said Scott.

  That made five detectives. It was a good team.

  “We are looking for a pink and purple Cougar Cat bike,” I said to Timmy and Scott.

  “I know,” said Timmy. “I saw you riding it over the weekend. My bike is a blue and green Ross.”

  “Okay, team. We should meet again here at five o’clock sharp,” I said. “I hope we will have found our bikes by then. This is an important mission. Good luck.”

  Scott and Timmy were going to investigate on foot. David Michael decided to go with them. I wanted to stick with Hannie. She was going to ride her bike. I knew we could cover more ground if we rode.

  “Maybe Maria will lend me her bike,” I said. “I will ask her.”

  Maria Kilbourne lives next door to Hannie. She could not investigate with us. But she was happy to lend me her bike. I walked it home and found my helmet. I also found a magnifying glass in the playroom. I could use it to search for clues.

  “I am ready,” I said. “Keep your eyes open for tire tracks and other suspicious clues.”

  There was nothing suspicious on our street. So we rode up and down the next street. And the next. We were halfway down the third street when I noticed something.

  “Psst! Look. I see tire tracks over there,” I said.

  I pulled out my magnifying glass. I did not want to risk losing the tracks. We followed them up the street and into a yard.

  At the end of the tracks was a bike. But it was not my bike. This one was black and silver. It was propped against a tree. A boy was leaning against the tree reading a book.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” I replied. “We are looking for a couple of missing bikes. Have you seen any lately?”

  I described the bikes. The boy had not seen them.

  “Thanks, anyway,” I said.

  We went back to the street. I stopped to poke through a garbage can. Yuck. It was a dirty job. But someone had to do it.

  “What are you looking for? I do not think a bike could fit in there,” said Hannie.

  “I know that,” I replied. “Maybe I will find my streamers or my horn. At least I would know my bike had been here.”

  I did not find any clues in the garbage can.

  It was almost five o’clock so we went back to our meeting place. No one had any leads. We planned to try again the next day after school.

  You Are Under Arrest

  The next afternoon I borrowed Maria’s bike again, and Timmy borrowed Bill Korman’s. We borrowed locks, too. We did not want any more bikes to be stolen.

  “We should go to the playground,” I said to my fellow detectives. “That was the scene of the crime. There are bound to be clues or suspicious characters lurking around there.”

  Everyone agreed that this was a good plan. We rode to the playground in single file. We made sure to follow the traffic rules and to signal whenever we had to.

  When we got there we locked our bikes in the bike rack.

  “Meet back here in twenty minutes,” I said.

  We marched into the playground together. Then each of us went in a different direction to investigate.

  Some kids were sitting on a bench eating ice cream and talking. I sat down near them. I thought they might be talking about where they stashed the bikes. They were not. They were talking about a birthday party they had been to.

  Then I saw a very suspicious thing. Something bright yellow was hanging out of the pocket of a boy on a swing. From where I was sitting, it looked like one of my streamers. I moved closer to get a better look. It was not a streamer. It was the boy’s handkerchief. I hoped the other detectives were having better luck than I was.

  The next thing I knew a girl was riding by the playground on a bike. A pink and purple bike. It looked like my pink and purple bike.

  “Stop in the name of the law!” I called.

  I ran out of the playground and caught up to her.

  “You are under arrest,” I said. “Take your feet off the pedals and put your hands in the air!”

  “I cannot do that,” said the girl. “I will fall off my bike if I do.”

  “You mean you will fall off my bike,” I said. “That is my bike and I want it back right now.”

  “I do not know why you think this is your bike. I got it for my birthday last week,” said the girl.

  “Prove it,” I said.

  The girl showed me a license plate on the back. Her name was on it. Her name was Susan.

  “Well, Susan,” I said. “You could have stolen my bike and then put your name plate on.”

  “I could have. But I did not,” Susan replied.

  I remembered what Ms. Miller said when I registered my bike. She said I might need the manufacturer’s registration number to identify my bike some day. I asked if I could look for the number.

  “Go ahead. See for yourself,” said Susan. “This is not your bike.”

  I looked on the bar for a number. I found one. Oops. It was not my number. My number was six-three-four-two. This number was nine-three-three-one.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It really looks just like my bike. My bike was stolen on Sunday.”

  “I am sorry your bike was stolen. But you should be more careful the next time you try arresting someone,” said Susan.

  She rode away on her bike. It really did look just like mine.

  I was a very embarrassed detective.

  Found!

  I decided to search for my bike again on Wednesday. I was rounding up my detectives when I ran into Bill Korman.

  “Are you looking for more detectives? My bike was just stolen, too,” he said.

  “Come on,” I said. “We are going on a bike hunt right now.”

  Then Melody Korman said she wanted to come. And Maria Kilbourne. And Linny. That made nine detectives. If this topnotch team could not succeed, no one could.

  We were able to borrow enough bikes for everyone to ride. This time we broke up into groups of two or three. My partner was Bill. This was good. Bill is a little older than I am. So he is allowed to ride farther from home than I can by myself.

  “Follow me,” said Bill.

  “I will be right behind you all the way,” I replied.

  We rode up one street and down another. Up one, down another. Soon we were in a neighborhood I did not know. It looked a little run-down.

  There were bikes all over the place, some with riders, some parked in driveways. Most of them were old. But I saw a few new ones, too. In fact, I saw a girl riding down the street on a new bike t
hat looked just like mine.

  I had found my bike. I was absolutely, totally, positively, one hundred percent sure. (I think.)

  My stomach started doing flip-flops. I wanted to chase the girl. But after yesterday, I thought this might not be such a good idea.

  “Bill, wait up!” I said. “I see my bike!”

  Bill signaled that he was going to stop. Then he pulled his bike onto the sidewalk.

  “It is over there,” I said.

  The girl had just parked the bike in the driveway of a run-down house.

  “It sure does look like your bike,” said Bill. “We will have to investigate.”

  “We better be careful. The people who live there might not like us snooping around their house,” I said.

  “Do not worry. I will check it out. But how will we know if it is really your bike?” asked Bill.

  “The manufacturer’s registration number should be on the cross bar,” I said. “The number is six-three-four-two.”

  “You stay here and keep an eye on the house. If anyone comes out, blow the horn to let me know. I will check the registration number,” said Bill.

  Bill crept up the driveway. I kept my eye on the house to make sure no one came out.

  Then Bill came running back.

  “It is your bike,” he said. “We found it!”

  “We have to go home and report this right away!” I said.

  We memorized the address so we could tell the police. Then we jumped on our bikes and raced home.

  I was extra excited. We had found my bike. Thank goodness it looked okay. I could hardly wait to ride it again.

  Hooray!

  Bill and I reached the big house just as Daddy was getting home from a meeting.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” I called. “Guess what! We found my bike.”

  I told him the story. He went straight inside to call Officer Benitez. She took down the information and promised to call us back.

  That night we were having Nannie’s excellent homemade lasagna with salad for dinner. But I could hardly eat a bite. I was too busy listening for the phone to ring.

  Finally it did! I raced to answer it. It was for Kristy.