Baby-Sitters' Haunted House Read online

  Lionel gulped from his bottle. “It’s a long role,” he told me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I can handle it.” He gave his brother a friendly punch on the arm. “Way to go, right, buddy?”

  When Jason went running off to the kitchen for a snack, Lionel told me, “This’ll work out great. Playing softball will help keep me in shape, which is very important in acting. And I’ll still be free at night to work at the theater.” I had a feeling Lionel wasn’t going to be bored in Reese after all.

  During the next half hour everyone returned home and congregated on the veranda. We admired Claud’s face paintings. Then, Lionel, who’d showered and changed back into his white linen trousers, left for the theater. The parents took the rest of the kids for a late afternoon walk along the beach. The Coopers were out buying groceries. So the four baby-sitters were finally alone at the mansion.

  I asked Kristy if they’d identified the woman with the accent at the mini-fair. I knew they’d planned to do a little sleuthing while they were there.

  “The woman?!” Kristy exclaimed. “We found a dozen women with accents.” She explained that some of the wealthy people who summer in Reese have European nannies, who speak English with an accent.

  “And a tour group of women from England were at the fair,” Claud added. “They all have heavy British accents.”

  “And don’t forget the two French families who are here for the summer,” Mary Anne said.

  “The result of the BSC Mini-Fair Spy Operation,” Kristy concluded, “was that we looked pretty foolish. Even Andrew noticed.”

  “Well, I have a plan,” I said. “Since everyone is gone, this is the perfect opportunity to check out that dumbwaiter. I think it’s an important clue.”

  We went to the kitchen together. Mary Anne looked around the room. “The dumbwaiter should be next to the pantry,” she whispered. “I bet it’s behind that painting.”

  It took two of us to lift the big painting off the wall. And sure enough, under the painting was a pair of wooden doors.

  “Who’s going to open them?” Mary Anne asked nervously.

  “I’ll do it,” I volunteered. I put my hands on the metal handles.

  “Mary Anne and I will stand guard and warn you if anyone is coming,” Kristy said. She stood near the door that led from the kitchen to the outside. Mary Anne watched at the door to the dining room in case someone came in through the veranda.

  “Be careful,” Mary Anne told me. “Don’t do anything dangerous.”

  “Here goes,” I whispered to Claud as I slowly turned the handles and pulled the doors open.

  We faced a large opening, with pulley ropes to our right and left. We leaned inside and looked up. “The shelves must be up there someplace,” Claud said. “Let’s pull.”

  As I pulled on the rope we heard an awful squeaking noise. “That’s one of the noises I’ve been hearing in my wall,” I told Claud. Looking up, I could see the bottom of the dumbwaiter coming down toward us. “Whoever is trying to scare us has been pulling the dumbwaiter up and down to make that noise . . .”

  Suddenly Claud screamed, “Watch out!”

  Instinctively I ducked. Something jumped out of the dumbwaiter and sailed over my head.

  “It’s okay, Dawn,” Claud said. “It was the cat.”

  Kristy jumped out of Spooky’s way as he streaked by her and flew out of the kitchen. “How did he get in there?” she asked.

  I pulled the rope to send the dumbwaiter up again. “I heard something fall down here when Spooky jumped out,” I told Claud. We leaned into the space and looked down to the bottom of the shaft.

  “I see something,” Claud said. I saw it, too. It was the size of a paperback book, but that’s all I could tell in the darkness. “It might be important,” I told Claud. “I’m going to go in there and get it.”

  “No,” Mary Anne said. “Dawn, don’t.” She wanted to grab me away from the dumbwaiter, but she wouldn’t leave her post. “Please,” she pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

  “It’s so dark down there,” Claud said. “And what if someone comes?” She sounded as frightened as I was feeling.

  I knew if I thought about it any longer I wouldn’t do it, so I climbed in and dropped about four feet down to the floor of the shaft. Above me I could see the bottom of the dumbwaiter shelves, and Claud peering anxiously down at me. The place gave me the creeps. I wished I had listened to Mary Anne. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  I bent over and picked up the object I’d seen. “It’s a tape recorder,” I called up to Claud.

  “We should put it back in the dumbwaiter,” she said. “We don’t want to leave any evidence that we’ve been here.”

  I was feeling more claustrophobic by the second. “Hand me a chair,” I told Claud, “so I can climb out.”

  Just then I heard Kristy hiss, “You guys, the Coopers are coming.”

  Claud’s face registered total panic. And I was terrified of being closed in that damp, dark hole but I still told Claud, “Shut the doors.”

  Claud whispered, “We’ll come back as soon as we can,” and closed me in.

  I was in total darkness.

  I heard the scraping noise of the painting being replaced on its hook. The next things I heard were footsteps above me and Elton Cooper cheerfully greeting my friends: “Good afternoon, girls. What are you all doing indoors on such a pretty day? . . . Oh, you aren’t all here. One of you is missing.”

  “Dawn went to town,” Kristy said quickly.

  “Funny, we didn’t pass her on the road,” Elton said. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears.

  “She caught a ride,” Claudia put in.

  “And we’re getting a snack,” Kristy said. I heard the refrigerator door close. “Snacks for the hungry baby-sitters.”

  “Can we help you with anything?” Mary Anne asked. I could hear the tremor in her voice. Could Mr. Cooper?

  “You could bring the rest of the grocery bags from the back of the car,” he said.

  I heard my friends hurry outside.

  Oh, no. They were leaving me alone with the Coopers! What if the Coopers didn’t leave the kitchen until after dinner? What if I had to stay in this dark, hot hole for hours and hours? What if I ran out of oxygen and fainted — or worse? If they opened the dumbwaiter and found me, what would they do?

  “Did you remember to buy the sausage for the meatballs?” I heard Elton ask.

  A woman’s voice answered, “You told me to, didn’t you?”

  “You shush, Maggie,” Mr. Cooper scolded. “Those girls will be right back.”

  I thought, Maggie is a nickname for Margaret. The hair rose on the back of my neck.

  A minute later I heard the thumps of grocery bags being set on counters and Kristy saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, you’ve been cooking us such great meals and everything. We want to do something for you for a change. So Mary Anne is going to serve you afternoon tea on the veranda while Claudia and I put the groceries away.”

  Please, I prayed. Please say yes.

  Elton protested that it was their job to serve us tea. I held my breath. But finally he said, “Well, I was just thinking that Margaret could use a break.”

  “And you’ll take the break with her,” Kristy insisted.

  “Thank you,” Elton said. “I will.”

  Thank you, Kristy. Thank you.

  I heard the departing footsteps of the Coopers, then the sound of the painting being taken down. Finally the doors of the dumbwaiter opened and I could see Claud’s face above me. She handed me a chair. “Hurry,” she whispered. I stood on the chair and climbed out of my prison. Claud leaned over and pulled up the chair. We quickly drew the shelves down and replaced the tape recorder on the middle shelf. “I bet if we played the tape we’d hear a woman’s scream,” Claud said.

  When we’d raised the shelves again, we latched the dumbwaiter closed and put the painting back. Meanwhile, Mary Anne was practically having a heart attack, while Kristy made t
ea for the Coopers.

  “Dawn, you better get out of here,” Mary Anne whispered. “In case they come back.”

  Before I left the kitchen I told my fellow BSC detectives the most important thing I learned in the bottom of the dumbwaiter shaft: “You guys,” I whispered, “Mrs. Cooper can talk.”

  “Thank you so much, Mary Anne,” said Mr. Cooper. “Doesn’t that tea tray look splendid.”

  I was walking across the veranda with a tray of tea, pound cake, and sliced peaches.

  “Mrs. Cooper thanks you, too,” Mr. Cooper added. When Mrs. Cooper flashed me a smile it gave me the creeps. I thought, she could thank me herself. She can speak.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. I could hear my voice shaking. I placed the tray on the wicker coffee table in front of the Coopers.

  Back in the kitchen, I told Claudia, “I think it’s time to ask the Tronos some more questions.” She agreed, and called them to see if it was okay if she dropped by for a visit and brought a friend. Dinner was scheduled for eight o’clock. If we hurried, we could spend half an hour with the Tronos and be back before we were missed. Kristy and Dawn said they’d stay behind to keep an eye on the Coopers.

  “Be careful,” I warned them.

  “You, too,” Kristy said.

  I reminded her that the Tronos weren’t suspects.

  “But their grandson is,” Dawn replied. I saw Claudia frown. She had been spending a lot of time with Georgio.

  “We’ll be careful,” I told Kristy and Dawn.

  As we hurried through the streets, I asked Claudia, “What if Georgio’s at his grandparents’?”

  “He went into New Hampshire to buy some special paint for the float. He won’t be back for ages.”

  The Tronos were just as sweet and nice as Claudia had described them. We talked about Founders’ Day and enjoyed a glass of iced tea before we peppered them with questions.

  I began with, “Do you know the Coopers very well?”

  Mrs. Trono looked at me quizzically and asked, “The Coopers?”

  “Margaret and Elton Cooper,” Claudia said. “The new caretakers at the Randolph estate.”

  “We met them once,” Mrs. Trono replied, “when we gave them our keys. Poor Mrs. Cooper can’t talk. I remember that.”

  “I always think of everybody knowing each other in a small town like Reese,” I commented.

  “But the Coopers aren’t from Reese, dear,” Mrs. Trono said. “I’ve lived in Reese all my life. I would have known them if they were.”

  So the Coopers had lied to the Menderses about where they were from. I didn’t want to alarm the Tronos, so I changed the subject.

  “Was there a key to the fourth-floor staircase in the set of keys you gave to the Coopers?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” Mr. Trono answered. “I gave them a complete set. On my own keyring.”

  “I suppose a key could have fallen off,” Claud suggested.

  “Not from that keyring,” Mrs. Trono said. “It’s a fine old thing. When you’re a caretaker, your set of keys must be secure on their ring. You live by your keys.”

  “Georgio asked about our key to the fourth floor, too,” Mrs. Trono said. “Is everything all right at the mansion?”

  I didn’t want to worry these nice people. They’d have enough to worry about if Georgio were our culprit. So I said, “We’ve been doing some research on the mansion. About its history and everything.”

  “Like the story about Lydia Randolph,” Claud added. She asked the Tronos if they’d heard the tragic tale of Lydia Randolph and George.

  “Well,” Mr. Trono said when Claudia had finished the story, “I’ve never heard such an outlandish bit of nonsense in all my life. That sounds like the kind of silliness Millicent Ellsworth would come up with. It’s probably in that book of hers.”

  Mrs. Trono added, “You girls should know that the Randolph family have been outstanding citizens and benefactors of this town since its founding two hundred and fifty years ago. They loved their children and would want nothing but their happiness. They would never imprison their own daughter.”

  We left soon after that. As we were walking up the gravel driveway to the mansion, Claud asked me, “Do you think Georgio is trying to help us or scare us?”

  “I think maybe he’s been trying to help us,” I said. Claudia smiled at that. “I think it’s just the Coopers we have to be afraid of,” I added. “I don’t trust them one bit.”

  “Me, either,” Claud said. “But I’m not afraid of Georgio anymore. My gut feeling is that he’s a good person. I really don’t believe he’d want to do anything to frighten me — I mean us.”

  By then we’d reached the mansion. I went upstairs to clean up for dinner and to write in our vacation notebook. Later, downstairs, I found dinner laid out buffet-style on the veranda. The children were happy but tired after the mini-fair and the beach outing with their parents. When we’d all sat down to eat, Mr. Menders tapped his glass with a spoon and asked for our attention. He said if it was all right with the sitters, the adults would go to Boston the next day.

  “But we’ll be back tomorrow night,” Mrs. Menders added. “And we’ll all spend Founders’ Day together.”

  Mr. Menders continued, “Our plan for the trip to Boston is to check out some wholesale sources for health foods.” He looked at each of his children as he spoke their names. “Lionel. Jill. Jason. Martha. You should know that your mother and I are thinking very seriously of a permanent move to Reese. But, as I promised, I want to hear what each of you thinks about living here. So speak up.”

  Lionel spoke up first. “I like it here better than I did at first.”

  “Me, too,” Jason said.

  “How about you, Martha?” Mrs. Menders asked.

  Martha answered by asking, “Can Jody come for a sleepover some time?” Mr. and Mrs. Menders exchanged a smile. Martha was doing just fine.

  “Can Dawn and her whole family come live with us?” Jill asked. “We have lots of room.”

  I pretended to cough into my napkin so Jill wouldn’t see me laughing. I noticed that Kristy was doing the same thing.

  “Well, I guess it’s just about settled then. We’ll ask our lawyer to notify my cousin about our decision.”

  “I didn’t know you had a cousin,” Jason said. “How come we’ve never met him?”

  “I haven’t seen Charles Randolph myself since we were both about four years old,” Mr. Menders explained. “I remember my uncle saying years later that Charles had moved to Europe. Scotland, I think.”

  “Why do you have to let this cousin know whether we decide to live here?” Lionel asked.

  “Because the will stipulates that I inherit this mansion only if we live here full-time,” Mr. Menders answered. “Otherwise it goes to my cousin Charles.”

  “Dad, why didn’t you tell us this before?” Lionel asked. “It’s a pretty important detail.”

  I wondered the same thing.

  “We didn’t want to put that extra pressure on you,” Mrs. Menders explained. “This is a hard decision to make to begin with. We wanted to give you every advantage in adjusting to life here. If you were miserable we would turn down the offer of the estate and go on with our lives as they were. But as we see it, you’re beginning to adjust very nicely.”

  All of the Menders kids admitted they liked Reese and living in the mansion, even Jill. I was glad — but I was also more than a little nervous about it.

  Dawn whispered to me, “I just remembered. Margaret Cooper spoke with an accent.”

  “From what country?” I whispered back.

  Dawn answered by shrugging her shoulders.

  After dinner, Lionel said he was going to the theater, and asked if any of us wanted to go with him. We all said no. (He was doing great on his own, and we had some sleuthing to do.) But I had an idea. “We’ll walk you to the gate,” I said, “if you’ll play the accent game with us again.”

  I was hoping Dawn would recognize what country Mrs. Co
oper’s accent was from by listening to Lionel’s repertoire of accents.

  “Only this time,” I told Lionel as we escorted him down the drive, “let’s see if you can say the same short sentence with each of the accents. That’ll make it harder for you and for us. Okay?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I can do that.”

  Dawn had caught on. She told him to use the sentence, “You told me to, didn’t you?”

  Lionel began. We identified a French accent and a Swedish accent. Both times Dawn shook her head no, meaning that wasn’t the way Mrs. Cooper had spoken.

  Then Lionel said, “Ye told me toe, didn’t ye?”

  Dawn asked him to say it again.

  He did.

  Dawn whispered, “That’s it.”

  “So what country is it?” Lionel asked.

  “Scotland — it’s Scottish,” Kristy said.

  Lionel said she was right.

  I felt a chill course through my body. Looking around at my friends, I could tell we were all thinking the same thing. If Mrs. Cooper had a Scottish accent, then . . .

  We said a quick good-bye to Lionel and raced back to the house. We practically ran up the stairs, and straight to my room. As soon as the door was closed, Dawn blurted out, “Elton Cooper must be Tom Menders’ cousin!”

  “And Margaret is his Scottish wife,” I added.

  “And they’re trying to scare us — and the kids — because they want the mansion for themselves,” Claud concluded.

  “But we still have to prove it, you guys,” Kristy said. “We need more evidence.”

  We decided that the next day we’d gather as much evidence as we could to prove our suspicions that Mr. “Cooper” was really Charles Randolph. Then, when the Menderses returned from Boston we would tell them the whole story.

  That night I slept in Kristy’s room again. When we heard footsteps on the top floor I was more frightened than I had been when I’d thought ghosts might be up there. Ghosts would be easier to deal with, I thought, than the deceitful Coopers. They wanted the mansion badly enough to come to America, impersonate caretakers, and do all the things they’d done to scare us and the kids. What else would they do? I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.