Kristy and the Cat Burglar Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgment

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Copyright

  “My — mother — said — to — pick — the — very — next — ONE!” Karen tapped David Michael’s fist with her own. “You’re ‘it.’ Remember, you have to count to a hundred and fifty by fives before you can start looking for us.”

  “I know, I know,” said David Michael, my younger brother. He and Karen Brewer, our stepsister, are the same age (seven), but Karen can be bossy.

  The three of us (I’m Kristy Thomas) were in our backyard. It was one of those warm, lazy late-summer afternoons, and the sun was just starting to sink. It had been a beautiful day, and we’d spent most of it outdoors. When Karen had suggested a game of hide-and-seek, David Michael and I agreed right away. None of us was in any hurry to go inside. We had plenty of time before supper.

  “Okay, here I go!” David Michael cried. He leaned against a tree, hiding his face in his arms. Then he began to count, “Five, ten, fifteen —”

  Karen and I grinned at each other, then took off in opposite directions. I glanced back once, in time to see her diving behind a giant fern. Good spot, I thought. Now, where am I going to hide? I ran toward a huge, old tree trunk. That’ll do, I said to myself. By then, David Michael was up to ninety-five. Not a moment to waste. I ducked behind the tree and crouched down.

  I listened to David Michael counting and thought about all the games of hide-and-seek I’ve played over the years. Long ago, it was just me and my older brothers, Charlie and Sam. They were the ones who taught me all the important kid games. Then David Michael was born, and not long after that everything changed. My dad walked out on our family, and the fun times were over for a while.

  But my mom, otherwise known as Super-woman (secret identity: Elizabeth Thomas), held our family together. She was amazing. She made sure we always had food to eat and clothes to wear. She also taught us to enjoy life and to go for whatever we want out of it.

  Mom deserves the best, and she found it when she met Watson Brewer, who is now my stepdad. He’s an awesome guy, though I’ll admit that I didn’t recognize that right away. Sweet, funny, caring — you couldn’t ask for a nicer man. And on top of it all, he’s an actual millionaire.

  Karen is Watson’s daughter from his first marriage. I adore having a little sister, so I’m lucky to have two! Besides Karen, there’s Emily Michelle, who’s just a toddler. She was born in Vietnam. Mom and Watson adopted her not long after they were married. (Soon after Emily arrived, my grandmother Nannie moved in with us, to help out.)

  Watson also has a son, a four-year-old named Andrew. He’s a great kid, and I miss him a lot. Right now he’s living with his mom and stepdad in Chicago. They’re spending six months there. He and Karen used to split their time between their mom and Watson. Now (temporarily) Andrew’s mostly with his mom, and Karen’s mostly with us.

  We all live in Watson’s gigantic mansion, which is way across town from where I grew up. (“Town” is Stoneybrook, Connecticut, where I’ve lived all my life.) I’m thirteen now and in the eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. Most of my friends still live in my old neighborhood, but I see them pretty often, since I’m over there three times a week for BSC meetings. The BSC is the Baby-sitters Club, and I never miss a meeting because I happen to be president. But more about that later.

  David Michael finished counting. Then he hollered, “Ready or not, here I come!” and started to run around the yard, looking for me and Karen. I hunkered down, hiding as well as I could. If he didn’t find me after a reasonable amount of time, I’d give him a little clue by coughing or rustling leaves. Sometimes kids can become frustrated if the game is too hard. I wanted the day to end on a fun note, not with tears.

  “Boo!”

  I almost jumped out of my skin. I’d been keeping an eye on David Michael’s progress, so I hadn’t even noticed someone else creeping up behind me.

  “Cary!” I said. “What are you doing here?” It was Cary Retlin, who’s in my class at school. He’s a practical joker extraordinaire, and I’ve learned to watch out for his tricks. Cary’s always up to something, and it pays to be on the alert when you’re around him. The BSC has had more than one run-in with Cary. One time he even challenged us to a mystery war. I can’t say who won, since it never exactly ended.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Cary said, lifting an eyebrow.

  Suddenly I felt foolish. There I was, squatting in the dirt, while Cary stood, looking down at me. Normally, I’m a confident person. I’m sure of myself and don’t hesitate to offer my opinions. Like Karen, I am even bossy at times. But something about Cary Retlin makes me feel awkward. I stood up. “I guess that was a silly question,” I said. Our yard backs up to a wooded area that runs past Cary’s house too.

  “I guess so,” he agreed.

  By then, Karen and David Michael had abandoned the game and joined us.

  “What are those for?” asked Karen, pointing to the binoculars that hung from a strap around Cary’s neck.

  Aren’t kids great? If they’re curious about something, they just ask. I’d been wondering about the binoculars myself.

  “I’m bird-watching,” said Cary, lifting that eyebrow again. He shrugged off the backpack he carried and, unzipping it, pulled out a book. “Today I saw one of these,” he said, riffling through the pages to find a picture of a nondescript brown bird, “and a couple of these.” He pointed to another picture that looked almost the same to me.

  “Cool,” said David Michael.

  “I didn’t know you were so interested in nature,” I said to Cary.

  “Oh, I’m a regular Audubon,” he replied with a smirk.

  Hmm. Cary is full of surprises. Just then, Karen tugged on my hand. I looked down at her. “Is it your turn to be ‘it’?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to play anymore,” she said. “Let’s explore the woods.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “See you, Cary.”

  “Not if I see you first,” he said, making a little pistol out of his hand and pointing it at me.

  What a wise guy. He always has to have the last word.

  With Karen leading the way (she’s fearless and loves the woods), the three of us pushed on. “Let’s go check out the spooky house,” she said.

  “The what?” I asked.

  “You know, that big old house in the middle of the woods. It looks like nobody lives there, but Hannie’s dad says somebody does.” (Hannie is Hannie Papadakis, a seven-year-old neighbor who is one of Karen’s best friends.)

  I knew what Karen was talking about. “Oh, the place with the stone walls?” I asked.

  “And the cool windows,” added David Michael.

  We emerged from the woods onto a narrow road. This was the private road the “spooky house” is on. There are only a few houses along it. Since there was very little traffic, it was safe to walk right down the middle of the road, as if it were our own private path.

  “Car!” Karen sang out. We all moved over to the left-hand side of the road. A white car cruised slowly past, and I saw that it was from the Stoneybrook Police Department. I realized that the driver was someone I know: Sergeant Johnson. He’s a detective and a good frien
d to the BSC. I waved, but I guess he didn’t see me, because he didn’t wave back.

  “There’s the wall!” shouted Karen as she ran toward a driveway off to the right.

  Sure enough, a stone wall, taller than I am, ran along the side of the road, outlining the entrance to the driveway. Near the entrance was a black mailbox. I didn’t even have time to stop and check for a name, because Karen was pulling me along.

  “Let’s go see the mansion,” said Karen. “Can we?” She tugged on my arm.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I have a feeling this wall means we’re not supposed to go in there.”

  “But there’s no gate across the driveway,” David Michael pointed out. He and Karen were already in motion, making their way toward the mansion.

  “It’s somebody’s private property all the same,” I protested. But my heart wasn’t in it. I was just as curious as David Michael and Karen. And I couldn’t help following them down the driveway — just for a little peek, I told myself. I’d seen the mansion before, but I hadn’t been there for a long time.

  We walked down the driveway, which wound through the woods. Suddenly, it opened out into a large clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood an impressive stone house. It looked almost like an old castle, with ivy crawling all over it and dozens of leaded-glass windows. Nobody was stirring, and I didn’t see any cars or other signs of life. There was something almost creepy about the place, especially at this hour of the day.

  “Okay, we’ve seen it,” I said. “Now it’s time to go home.”

  “But —” Karen began.

  Just then, a shot rang out.

  Really! I know it sounds dramatic, but that’s exactly what happened. And even though I haven’t heard too many actual gunshots, somehow I was pretty sure that’s what I had just heard.

  “Let’s go!” I said. “Now!” I grabbed Karen with one hand and David Michael with the other, and we started to run toward the road. Fast.

  A loud siren began to wail. I ran even faster. Something was happening at that house, and I didn’t want to be any part of it. Was the alarm going off because we’d walked too near the house? Or was it something more serious?

  Then I heard another high wail — the sound of police sirens. They were coming closer by the second. And then they stopped. I heard slamming doors and voices. I tightened my hold on Karen and David Michael and pulled them down the driveway. All I wanted was to get out of there.

  We were nearing the stone wall, the road beyond it, and safety. We passed the mailbox, and I had just begun to loosen my grip, when suddenly a male voice rang out behind us.

  “DON’T MOVE!”

  I froze, and made sure David Michael and Karen froze too. My heart was thudding in my chest. Who was behind us? Was he holding a gun? More than anything, I wanted to be somewhere else. Where? I didn’t care. Algebra class. The North Pole. Anywhere except in the driveway of a spooky house where a gun had just been shot off.

  “Kristy?”

  I turned and heaved a huge sigh of relief. A tall, black-haired man was standing behind me. It was Sergeant Johnson.

  “Oh, man, am I glad to see you.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I can’t say the feeling is mutual,” he said sternly. “I like you, Kristy, but I’m sorry to see you here. A baby-sitter and two kids do not belong at a crime scene.”

  “Crime scene?” repeated David Michael. “Cool!”

  Sergeant Johnson shook his head. “Not cool,” he said. “That alarm you heard could mean that there’s a burglar nearby — and he could be armed.”

  “So what if he has arms?” asked Karen. “Everybody has arms.” She waved hers around for emphasis.

  “He means the guy might have a gun,” hissed David Michael. “Don’t you know anything?”

  I thought of mentioning the shot I had heard, but Sergeant Johnson was in a hurry.

  “Follow me,” he ordered. He led the way to his squad car, which was parked just out of sight in a little turnaround area down the driveway. He opened the back door and ushered us inside. “I want you all to sit tight until I come for you,” he said, closing the car door behind us. Just then, another squad car pulled up and a policewoman climbed out. I didn’t recognize her and figured she must be new to the force. She had dark hair and a small, pale, round face, and she looked very serious as she asked Sergeant Johnson a few questions about what was going on.

  After they’d spoken for a moment, Sergeant Johnson leaned down to talk to me through the open window. He gave me a quick introduction to the policewoman, whose name was Officer Hopkins, and sure enough, she was new to Stoneybrook. “We’re going to check out the house,” he said. “Stay right here.”

  I nodded. No way was I moving, not if some criminal was running around with a gun. I had two young kids with me, kids I was responsible for. I was more than happy to obey Sergeant Johnson’s orders.

  Within a few minutes, Sergeant Johnson and the other officer were back. Sergeant Johnson climbed into the front seat and started talking into the radio. Most of what he said was in numbers. You know what I mean. Like on the cop shows, when the police officer says, “We have a twelve forty-eight here with multiple sixties and a four twenty-nine.”

  After he finished, Sergeant Johnson turned to look at us. “I just called for more officers,” he explained. “There’s definitely been some sort of break-in. Nobody’s home, but the back door is open. We’ll have to check it out more thoroughly.”

  Just then, another car pulled up. It wasn’t a police car though. Just a little red sedan. A man in a dark blue uniform jumped out. “What’s going on?” he asked. “My name’s Jack Fenton. I’m the security guard for this place.” He showed Officer Hopkins some ID. “Has there been a break-in?”

  “It seems as if there has,” said Officer Hopkins. “Were you on duty today?”

  He nodded, looking terrified. “Yes,” he said. “I usually check the place out three times a day. But just as I was starting my rounds here today I had an emergency call about my wife being taken to the hospital. So I took off. Oh, man, I don’t believe this!”

  “That’s interesting,” said Sergeant Johnson, who had climbed out of his car by then. “I had a call right around that time too. An anonymous call, telling me to check out this house.”

  Have I mentioned that Sergeant Johnson has the clearest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen? Well, he does. But at that moment, they looked clouded, almost gray. There was something about that phone call that bothered him.

  The security guard groaned. “I’m going to be out of a job,” he said. “What was stolen? Have you checked the vault yet?”

  “Vault?” asked Officer Hopkins. She exchanged a look with Sergeant Johnson. “Maybe you’d better show us where that is. We were just about to do a more complete check of the place. Our backup should be here any minute.”

  After making one more number-filled radio call, Sergeant Johnson and the other two took off toward the house, but not before he warned me again to stay in the car.

  They returned a few minutes later, just as another squad car was pulling up. A short, balding officer jumped out of the car and approached the group. I didn’t recognize him either. Another new addition to the Stoneybrook police? He nodded at Sergeant Johnson and Officer Hopkins. “I’m Sergeant Winters,” he said to Jack Fenton. “What’s going on here? And who are these kids?” He frowned at me.

  Officer Hopkins jumped in to update Sergeant Winters. She introduced Jack Fenton, and explained why “those kids” were in Sergeant Johnson’s car. She explained about the two phone calls and the break-in. Then she told him that Jack Fenton had wanted to check out a vault he knew about.

  “And?” asked Sergeant Winters.

  “The diamonds are missing,” reported Jack Fenton. He looked miserable. “Mr. Golem — that’s Reinhart Golem, the owner of this place — has been keeping a bag of extremely valuable diamonds in a vault. He felt they were much safer here than they would be in a bank, since this house is s
o out-of-the-way.”

  I gasped, and so did Karen and David Michael. Diamonds? This was getting more interesting by the minute.

  “We told him to put them in a bank.” Jack Fenton was still talking. “My boss told him it was a mistake to have them here. But would he listen? No, he said he knew best. But who’s going to be in trouble now? Not Reinhart Golem, that’s for sure. No, it’s going to be my —”

  Sergeant Winters interrupted him. “Has the crime scene been secured?” he asked sharply, turning to the other police officers. “Have you dusted for fingerprints?”

  Sergeant Johnson and Officer Hopkins admitted that they hadn’t.

  “Let’s do this right, shall we?” asked Sergeant Winters. “A crime of this magnitude needs to be handled with organization and correct police procedure. Sergeant Johnson, have you begun to fill out a report?”

  Sergeant Johnson shook his head. “Not yet. I was just about to.” He opened the car door and reached in for a clipboard that was sitting on the front passenger seat. “Grandstanding as usual,” he muttered.

  I knew he was talking about Sergeant Winters, but I wasn’t sure what he meant. Was it “grandstanding” to act as if you were the only person who knew how to do things right and to walk into the middle of an event and start criticizing everyone? If so, I had to agree with Sergeant Johnson. Sergeant Winters was definitely grandstanding.

  Sergeant Johnson perched on the seat of his car and began to fill out a form.

  “Has the owner of the house been contacted?” Sergeant Winters asked.

  “Not yet,” answered Officer Hopkins. “I suggested that we do that, but Sergeant Johnson said to wait.”

  “Only until we returned to the car,” said Sergeant Johnson, clearly exasperated. “I said I’d call when we were back at my radio.” He frowned at Officer Hopkins, and I did too. Why was she trying to make him look bad in front of Officer Winters?

  Jack Fenton stepped forward. “I have a number for Reinhart Golem,” he said. He held out a slip of paper he’d taken from his wallet. “I’ve never even met the guy. He spends most of his time over in Europe or somewhere. But this is supposedly the number where he can be reached in an emergency.” He handed the paper to Sergeant Johnson.