Baby-Sitters Beware (9 page)

"Sounds like a good idea," said the secretary. "Let me get you our membership list."

"You have a list?" I asked, surprised. "I mean, one that we can look at?"

"Better than that, I'll make you a copy," said the secretary. He took a file out of one of his lower desk drawers. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back with this."

"Wow," Jessi said softly after he'd left. "That was easy."

The secretary returned and handed Kristy four sheets of paper stapled together. "Here's the list of our member businesses."

"Thanks," said Kristy, folding it carefully and putting it in her pack.

"Let us know if we can be of any further help," said the secretary. "And good luck with that report."

"Thanks," Kristy replied. We turned and walked casually toward the door. We had almost reached it when the secretary cried, "Stop!"

I froze.

Kristy turned.

The secretary hurried toward her with another set of sheets. "I'm sorry," he said. "I gave you last year's list. Here's one that is more up-to-date. I have extra copies of this one on hand."

"Oh," said Kristy. "Do you mind if I keep both lists?"

"Be my guest," said the secretary. The phone began to ring and he hurried back to his desk.

Later, at the BSC meeting, Stacey reported that Mr. Seger had come home early that afternoon, while she was sitting for the Rodowskys, then left. Noah, who obviously had left the house after Stacey had gone to school, had come home and gone inside, slamming the door. Mr. Seger had then returned and gone inside. The two had emerged a short time later. They'd left, in Mr. Seger's car, and hadn't returned by the time the Rodowskys had come home.

"You know, for only two people, they come and go almost as much as my whole family," I commented.

Kristy studied the list, then handed it around. "Mr. Seger's there on both lists, a member in good standing," she said. "But it doesn't say what he does. It just says, 'Seger Associates.' "

"Whatever he does, he keeps his own hours. And if the business is named after him, he must be the boss," said Stacey.

"Maybe he's an embezzler!" Claudia exclaimed. "Maybe he has stacks and stacks of embezzled money around his house and that’s why he didn't want the police to come in. And maybe that’s why he can't report it stolen — because he stole it first!"

We all liked that idea. It seemed to make sense.

But would Mr. Seger embezzle money from his own business? And why?

I sighed. I settled back on the floor by the corner of Claudia's bed and ate some chips. We had a lot more dues.

And the mystery was more mysterious than ever.

Chapter 10.

Stacey.

Hello?" I said.

"You're next," a voice whispered.

I slammed down the phone.

My hands started to shake. With trembling fingers I picked up the phone and called Claudia's house.

Call me absentminded. Call me a space cadet. I'd actually forgotten about the hangup phone calls. With two days to go before we left for Shadow Lake, I'd had a lot on my mind.

Such as what to wear. And how to act with Sam. And whether it would snow. I've only been skiing a couple of times, but I couldn't wait to get out there on the bunny slopes again. I was psyched for the trip. In fact, I was staring at my clothes — which were spread out on my bed and on the chair in my room — making very important clothing decisions when he (or she) called.

I forgot about my clothes as I listened to the phone ring. Then I thought suddenly, what if Claudia is there by herself? What if he's got her? What if she's tied up at this very moment, sitting there helplessly, listening to the phone . . .

"Hello?" Claud answered in a very un-Claudlike, cautious way.

"He's back," I gasped. "He called me. And he spoke again."

"He said, 'You're next.' Right?"

"How did you know?" I said. I heard my voice go up and thought, Get a grip, McGill. Then I said, "He's called you, too!"

"Yup. We're part of his little phone terrorist circle."

I said, "Maybe it is Cokie. Or Cary. I mean, maybe they heard about the graffiti on Kristy’s door and they're calling us to freak us out."

"Maybe. But I don't think so." Claudia sighed. "What do we do?"

"Answer the phone very, very carefully," I said. Then I added, "I'm going to call Kristy and let her know."

"I'll call Mary Anne," said Claudia.

"Good," I said. "And call me back if anything else happens."

"Don't worry, I will," said Claudia fervently.

Kristy took the news calmly. She said, "I'll check and see if anyone else has gotten phone calls. But I think it is just limited to the four of us, because whoever it is found our names in that newspaper article."

"Are you home alone?" I asked.

"Nah," said Kristy. "Nannie's here. And Emily Michelle. It looks as if Emily Michelle is coming down with a cold."

"I'm glad you're not alone," I said. "If someone called me while I was home alone, I'd totally freak."

"I might, too," Kristy admitted.

What we didn't know then was that Mary Anne was home alone.

And she was about to have a very unpleasant visit.

Claudia called Mary Anne the moment she hung up after talking with me.

When Mary Anne answered the phone, her voice was somber.

"He called you, too?" asked Claudia.

"No. But I found another note today. It was in my locker after school. And it doesn't make any sense either. Listen: 'Why Do You Do the Things You Do?' What things? What is it I'm doing? Why doesn't Logan just tell me? If it is Logan, I mean."

"Oh. The notes that Logan is sending you. I thought it was something, ah, worse."

"Worse? What could be worse than your boyfriend sending you weird notes? And you know what? I think he's starting to act weird, too. I mean, if he has a problem with what I'm doing . . ." Mary Anne stopped. "Of course, it just looks like his handwriting. I mean, it probably isn't Logan. It’s probably a bad joke. An extremely bad joke."

"Mary Anne?" Claudia said gently. "Uh, Stacey and I have had more phone calls. We wanted to warn you. Stacey is calling Kristy. And the guy talked again."

Mary Anne's voice changed. "The anonymous phone caller? He talked? What did he say?"

"The same thing he said before: 'You're next.' "

Mary Anne said, "That’s it. I'm not answering the phone anymore tonight. Not till Dad and Sharon come home."

Mary Anne told me later that after we hung up the phone, she looked at her watch. Her father and stepmother weren't due home for another hour. The house suddenly seemed very quiet.

In spite of herself, Mary Anne was drawn to the window. She stood to one side of it, pushed the edge of the curtain aside and peered out.

Nobody was out there. All was quiet and still. With a sigh of relief, Mary Anne turned around. She decided to go down to the kitchen and make some hot chocolate — and to check on the doors to make sure they were locked.

A few minutes later she was sitting at the kitchen table drinking hot chocolate when the cat door flipped open and Tigger slid through.

"Tigger," said Mary Anne. "It’s cold outside! Aren't you freezing?"

Tigger wove himself in and out among the table legs, purring a giant purr.

"How about some warm milk?" Mary Anne suggested.

Her kitten purred even louder.

Mary Anne tilted the last bit of milk from the saucepan on the stove into a saucer. She put the saucer down for Tigger.

That was when she saw it.

Something white was attached to Tigger's collar. It had been taped to the tag with his name and address and phone number on it.

Surprised, Mary Anne picked Tigger up. He meowed protestingly and struggled to get back to his milk. She unfastened the piece of paper and put him back down.

It was a tightly folded square, like the notes kids pass at school. She unfolded it.

And gave a little scream.

It was a note, written with letters cut from the newspaper.

It said, "YOU'RE NEXT."

That freaked us all out. But it was, as Kristy pointed out, "hard evidence." She convinced Mary Anne to put the note in an envelope,

"in case there were any fingerprints left," and to bring it to the BSC meeting the next day.

I was thinking about the note as I walked to Claudia's that Friday afternoon. I was also thinking about the crank calls, and yes, Shadow Lake.

It was late afternoon, one of those gloomy, shadowy, cold days that are completely depressing unless you're thinking, as I was, Hmmm, looks like it might snow.

I peered up at the sky. I stepped off the curb.

The car came out of nowhere.

I turned. It was heading toward me, picking up speed as it approached. It was a huge car, shiny and red and powerful-looking. The motor sounded like the roar of the subway, bearing down on me.

I froze.

I put my hands out as if that would stop the car, as if that would keep it from running right over me, from killing me.

This is it, I thought. I'm going to die.

I screamed and closed my eyes, and waited for the car to hit me. I had time to wonder if it would hurt.

The driver must have braked at the last minute. I heard the screech of tires as it swerved,

and I opened my eyes as it hurtled past, inches away. I felt the wind brush my hands as the car sped by me.

I turned to watch it go. It careened crazily down the street and around the corner with another scream of tires.

I realized that I was standing in the street with my hands raised. I lowered them.

I hadn't been able to see the license plate number, although I'd seen that it was a Connecticut plate. But I'd recognized the Mercedes symbol on the hood. And I'd also recognized the blue hexagonal sticker on the rear bumper.

Whoever had almost run over me was a lousy driver in a very good car. And he — or she — was also a member of the Stoneybrook Business Bureau.

I don't remember the rest of the walk to the BSC meeting, or what I thought about, except one thing: I could hardly wait to get out of Stoneybrook. Things here were way, way out of control.

The meeting was as much about the mystery as about baby-sitting, especially after Stacey came crashing through my bedroom door looking as if she'd seen a ghost.

When she told us what had happened, we were all freaked. I gave Stacey a glass of water and Mary Anne made her sit in a chair.

"It was an accident," Stacey said over and over.

"Even if it was an accident," I said, "you should report it to the police. That person could have killed you!"

Abby said, "And maybe it wasn't an accident."

Stacey managed a faint smile. "Well, it wasn't, technically. I mean, whoever it was swerved at the last minute and missed me. So I don't think the police could do anything, anyway."

"Could it be the man with the blue tattoo?" said Jessi suddenly.

Stacey's eyes widened. "You don't really think he's come back, do you?"

"Maybe," Kristy said. "I still think it’s possible that this is all connected to those robbers we saw running out of Mr. Seger's house. I think we should include it in the mystery notebook."

"Right," I said. "Now. Who do we know who owns a red Mercedes?"

Silence fell. Then Mary Anne said, "That’s easy — no one."

"Mr. Seger?" Mal wondered.

"Old blue Volvo," said Abby. "But well maintained."

Stacey said, "The blue sticker on the Mercedes was the same as the blue Business Bureau sticker on Mr. Seger's car, though."

Logan and Shannon had come to the meeting, because with four BSC members out of town, we would probably need their help this weekend. Logan, who was sitting next to Mary Anne, said, "We can keep an eye out for the red Mercedes this weekend." He nudged Mary Anne. "Can't we?"

Mary Anne asked, "Did you put the anonymous note I got with the other mystery dues, Mal?" She gave Logan a long, hard look.

Was it my imagination, or did Logan suddenly look uncomfortable?

Mal said, "I did."

"We'll all keep an eye on things," Shannon promised. "I'll even take Astrid for some nice long walks this weekend, and we'll check out Mr. Seger's house."

Then the phone rang, and dub business occupied our attention for the next twenty minutes. By the time the phone stopped ringing, both Logan and Shannon had sitting jobs over the weekend.

When the phone was silent, Kristy said, "Speaking of snow ..."

"It will snow," Abby said firmly. She held up her arms in a goal sign. "Ski Shadow Lake!"

I didn't say anything. It was weird to listen to Abby bragging about her skiing.

Stacey asked, very casually, "So, Kristy, how's Sam doing?"

"Cross as two sticks," said Kristy promptly. "He's the one who did the breaking up, but I don't think that makes him feel any better. Especially since she won't speak to him right