Karen's Big City Mystery Read online

  We followed the signs to the laundry room. Along the halls were other doors, which were locked. They were just for the super.

  Inside the laundry room were more washing machines and dryers than I had ever seen in one place. The washers were in two rows in the middle of the room. The dryers were around the walls of the room. The dryers were so huge that I bet Hannie and Nancy and I could all fit inside one of them!

  There was also a change machine and a soda machine, long tables to fold laundry on, and a small round table with chairs, in case you wanted to sit and wait for your clothes to wash. Everything smelled like detergent and dryer sheets and fabric softener and warm clothes.

  I loved the laundry room.

  Mommy sorted the laundry and put four loads into four different machines all at the same time. “They should be done in about half an hour,” she said, looking at her watch. “Then we will put them into two dryers. This is where we put the quarters.” She showed me the money slots.

  “I get it,” I said, nodding. “I can do it.”

  “Okay,” said Mommy, and we went back to our apartment.

  After half an hour, I left our apartment. “Back, Rocky,” I said, shooing him away with my foot. I went down the hall to the elevator and pressed the B button. I felt so, so important. I bet people were surprised to see that I was old enough to do laundry all by myself.

  In the basement I walked straight to the laundry room. Other people were there, folding clothes or taking clothes out of the dryers. I opened our washers, pulled out the wet clothes, and put them into two dryers. Then I dug some quarters out of my pocket and put them into the money slots. I pressed a button. Like magic, the wet clothes started flopping around in a big circle.

  I turned and went back upstairs. Another job well done.

  Rocky Escapes!

  Over the next week, I explored the rest of the apartment building. I could go all over it, as long as I stayed inside and did not go into any apartments.

  All of the floors looked pretty much the same. Everyone’s front door was painted black. On every floor was a trash chute where you could throw your trash down to the basement. Sometimes people put interesting things, such as old lamps or broken chairs, by the trash chute. (Back in Stoneybrook, we just put our trash in a plastic can and set the can by the street. Borrrring.)

  Sometimes I could hear people talking inside their apartments, but I did not stay to listen. That is not polite. Mostly I stayed in the lobby. The lobby was a very interesting place. People were always coming and going. Donald, the doorman, opened the door for them, and he also took packages from the Fed Ex man and another deliveryman, whose name was Fred. Sometimes I saw the mail carrier come to deliver all the mail. With one key, she opened a whole wall of mailboxes! Then she sorted the mail into the boxes inside and locked the wall up again. I started to think that maybe I would like to be a mail carrier in a big city someday.

  I also liked to watch people taking their dogs on walks. Midgie knew a lot of these dogs. She had her own dog friends in our building. After a while, I got to know them too.

  Then, on Thursday, it happened. Mommy went downstairs to see if a jewelry-making catalog had arrived in the mail. When she came back into the apartment, Rocky shot out between her feet!

  “Karen! Help!” cried Mommy.

  I dashed to the front door in time to see Rocky fling himself around a corner and race upstairs to the sixth floor.

  “I will get him!” I shouted, and pounded after him.

  Well. If you have never chased a galloping cat, you might not know that they are very, very, very fast. Rocky was running down the sixth-floor hall before I even made it to the top of the steps. I chased after him.

  When he reached the end of the hall, he realized he was trapped — almost. Before I knew what he was planning, he turned and ran right past me, toward the stairs again! I leaped for him, but he flashed past too quickly.

  “No, Rocky!” I called. “Come back here!”

  But he was already padding silently down the stairs.

  I grabbed the banister and raced after him. One flight of stairs, two flights. I ran as fast as I could, but Rocky was always faster. Then I had a bad thought: What if he made it to the lobby, and the front door was open? He might run out in the street! He might get hit by a car.

  “Catch that cat!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Do not let that cat escape!”

  In the lobby, Donald saw me run down the last stairs. “He went that-a-way,” he said, pointing toward the mail area.

  I slowed down. I could hardly breathe. Very, very quietly, I snuck over to the little alcove with the mailboxes. I peeped around the corner. There, looking scared, was Rocky.

  I got down on my hands and knees and crawled very slowly and calmly around the corner. “Hi, Rocky,” I said softly. I tried to act casual, as though I found him in the lobby every day of my life.

  “Hey, boy. What are you doing down here?”

  Rocky began to look less scared. I crept toward him, holding my breath.

  “Come on, now,” I said. “Mommy is waiting for us upstairs. It is almost time for lunch. Okay? Can I pick you up?”

  Rocky did not move. He seemed almost glad to see me. I do not think he had ever been in the lobby before.

  I put my hands around his tummy and gently picked him up. I cradled him against my shoulder and supported his feet.

  “Good boy,” I said, slowly standing up.

  Donald smiled and gave me the thumbs-up sign as I walked to the elevator, holding Rocky. Rocky had calmed down and was washing one paw over my shoulder.

  Two other people were in the elevator. “Five, please,” I said politely. A man pushed the button for me.

  I got off at five and began to walk to our apartment. Suddenly an alarm sounded! Rocky almost leaped from my arms again, but I held him very tightly. There was a loud clanging in our ears. Ahead of us, Mommy opened the front door, looking worried.

  “Mommy, Mommy!” I said. “Is it a fire?”

  Not a Fire

  “I do not know, Karen,” said Mommy. “Please come inside and I will call Donald.”

  Donald always knew what was going on.

  Mommy picked up the small phone by the front door and spoke into it. “Yes,” she said. “I understand. Thank you.”

  Mommy turned back to me. (I had let Rocky go. He was eating a snack by the kitchen sink.) “It is not a fire,” she said. “It is a burglar alarm. There has been a robbery in the building.”

  I gasped. “You are kidding! Where?”

  “I am not sure,” said Mommy. “But the police are on their way.”

  I headed for the front door. “I have to go ask Donald what happened,” I said.

  “Wait, please, Karen,” said Mommy. “I would like you to stay in our apartment while the police are trying to do their job. We do not know where the burglar is or what happened.” She hurried to double-lock our door. A shiver went down my spine.

  Since I could not go out, I ran to the living room window and looked down. It was not long before two police cars drove up and parked quickly. Three policemen and one policewoman got out of the cars and raced into our building. I was dying to go down to the lobby, but I knew Mommy was right. We should stay safely inside.

  Once the police were in our building, I could not see them anymore. I listened carefully, but I could not hear anything. No yelling or running. I felt sorry for Andrew, who was at preschool. He would be upset that he had missed all the excitement. Then I remembered my little camera. At least I could take pictures for Andrew. I got it from my room, then opened the living room window. (There are safety bars on it so I could not fall out.) I put my camera through the bars and took pictures of the police cars below.

  For almost an hour nothing happened. I did not move from my spot. Rocky sat next to me. I think he was trying to apologize for making me chase all over the building after him. Then I gasped again. I had been all over the building that morning, chasing Rocky! Maybe I had s
een the burglar!

  I thought and thought, but could not remember a single suspicious person. No one had been dressed all in black, holding a tool bag and carrying a flashlight. No one had been wearing a black mask. I was disappointed. If I had seen someone, I could have been the star witness for the police. I would have been famous.

  Finally the police cars drove away, and Mommy said I could ask Donald what had happened. I shot out the door so fast that Rocky never even had a chance to follow me. I raced down the five flights of stairs. (The elevator would have taken too long.) Several other people were in the lobby, crowded around Donald. I wormed my way to the front.

  “Donald! Donald!” I said. “What happened?”

  Donald looked concerned. “Nothing like this has ever happened in this building before,” he said. “But apartment number forty-seven was broken into this morning. Several valuable paintings were taken.”

  An older woman said, “Oh, no!”

  “No one was hurt,” said Donald quickly. “The apartment was empty at the time. And the police have determined that the thief is not hiding anywhere in the building. We are perfectly safe.”

  “But how did someone get in?” asked Mr. Beakins. (He lives on the sixth floor.)

  “We are not sure,” said Donald. “I was on duty all morning, and did not see anyone suspicious. The basement doors and windows are locked and barred. Even the door to the roof is locked. It is a mystery. But I am sure the police will solve it soon.”

  I wandered back toward the elevator, my head buzzing with ideas. A robbery! Right here in our building!

  The Mystery

  Apartment forty-seven was on the floor below ours. I decided Mommy would probably not mind if I just looked at its door. That would not be dangerous. So I got off the elevator on the fourth floor.

  Right away I could spot apartment forty-seven. The policewoman was still standing in the doorway, making notes for her report.

  “Excuse me,” I said politely to her. “I do not mean to bother you. But have you cracked the case yet?” (“Cracked the case” is what detectives say. It means “solved the crime.”)

  The police officer looked at me and smiled. “No, I am afraid not. We are still gathering information.”

  “What kind of information?” I asked eagerly. I am probably the most curious person I know. Not knowing things makes me crazy.

  “I am sorry, but our report is confidential,” the officer said kindly. “Unless you have anything you would like to add to our report. Did you see or hear anything?”

  I was dying to be able to say, “Yes! I saw the whole thing!” But I could not. That would be fibbing. Fibbing to a police officer is very, very bad.

  I had to shake my head. “No,” I admitted sadly. “I did not see a thing. Even though I was chasing my cat all over the building.”

  “Oh, too bad,” said the officer. She finished writing her report, then spoke into her walkie-talkie. “Good-bye,” she said to me.

  “Good-bye,” I said.

  I watched her get into the elevator. Then I looked at the front door of apartment forty-seven. It was closed. There was gray dust on it because the police had dusted for fingerprints.

  Suddenly I felt someone watching me. A shiver went up my spine. Slowly I turned. What if the burglar had come back?

  “Do you need something?” asked a boy.

  He looked like he might be my age. He had dark brown hair cut short above his ears. He had brown eyes.

  I was very relieved. He could not be the burglar. Then I remembered the first rule about solving a mystery: Everyone is a suspect.

  “Nothing you could help me with,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “I live here,” he said.

  “In number forty-seven?”

  “Yes. It is my grandmother’s apartment. My mother and I are visiting her for a month.”

  I felt a tingle of excitement. This boy could be an important source of information!

  “Were you here when the apartment was broken into?” I asked. “Do you, your mother, and your grandmother have alibis? And what is your name? You do not have a criminal record, do you?”

  “My name is Matt Dilley,” he said. “Of course I do not have a criminal record! And my mother and grandmother and I were all out doing errands this morning. Not that it is any of your business.”

  “It is my business because I live in this building,” I said. “Was anything besides the paintings stolen?”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Just the dumb old paintings.”

  “Are there any suspects?” I asked.

  Matt rolled his eyes again. He was being a pain. “No, of course not. The police just started working on this case.”

  My eyes narrowed. Mr. Smarty-pants Matt might think it was none of my business, but I knew better. I knew this was a case for Detective Karen Brewer. I would be in Chicago for another two and a half weeks. I knew I could solve the mystery by then.

  “Excuse me. I have to go now,” I said.

  “What is your name, anyway?” asked Matt.

  “Karen Brewer,” I said. “I live in apartment fifty-one. Just for this month.”

  Then I turned and walked up the stairs. I could feel Matt watching me leave.

  * * *

  Rocky’s Second Great Escape

  I finally took the last two pictures on my roll of film. (One picture was of Midgie and Rocky snuggled up together on the living room rug. The other was of Andrew toasting me with chocolate milk.)

  Mommy and I took the pictures to the drugstore to get them developed. It would take two whole days. I was very disappointed. Two days is a gigundoly long time when you are on a case.

  In the meantime, I kept up with my notes. I managed to interview the Petersons, who live next door to apartment forty-seven. They had not heard or seen anything out of the ordinary on the day of the burglary. I was getting a little discouraged, to tell you the truth. I have solved mysteries before. But it has never taken so long to get one measly clue.

  It was time to search the building for the missing paintings. Starting on the top floor and working my way down was the best plan. I climbed the staircase to the sixth floor. There was the door that led to the rooftop, but I was not allowed to open it. Mommy had said I must never, ever go out onto the roof without her. Sometimes it is hard being a seven-year-old detective. If I were a grown-up detective, I could go out on the roof with no problem. If the paintings were up there, I was out of luck.

  Anyway, I searched every inch of the sixth-floor hallway. There was not even one single solitary place that someone could have hidden a painting. I even looked by the trash chute and behind the table by the elevator. Nothing.

  My plan was to keep searching after lunch. And when Andrew came home, he could help me. Or at least keep me company while I looked. But it did not work out that way.

  * * *

  I returned to our apartment, my head hanging low. My notebook and pen were tucked into the waistband of my shorts. I guess I was not really paying attention when I took my door key from its chain around my neck and unlocked our apartment.

  “Karen, watch out!” called Mommy.

  I jumped back, but it was too late. Rocky shot out the door between my feet and raced down the hall. “I will get him!” I yelled. Then I dropped my notebook and pen by the door and tore after our cat.

  I think Rocky had learned his way around the building the last time he escaped. Because he headed right for the elevator doors. And this time they were open!

  “Do not let that cat in the elevator!” I cried. “He is not allowed!” But Rocky managed to leap inside just as the doors swished shut. I skidded to the elevator, only to see the closed doors staring me in the face. Quickly I looked at the lighted numbers above the doors. The elevator was heading down.

  “Oh, please, not the lobby again,” I muttered. I turned and started pounding down the steps. On each floor I poked my head around the corner to see if
the elevator had stopped there. It had not. It did not even stop at the lobby. Rocky was headed for the basement!

  I yanked open the basement door and ran down the steps. I got there just as Rocky sauntered out of the elevator behind Mr. Rajid, who was carrying a duffel bag of laundry.

  “Rocky!” I called. “Come here, boy!”

  That naughty cat. As soon as he heard my voice, he tucked his tail between his legs and started galloping toward the laundry room. I sighed and ran after him.

  Well. There were a million places for a cat to hide in that basement. Finally, after about half an hour, I saw Rocky disappear into a dark doorway, where the janitors kept extra mops and brooms. I ran after him and flicked on the light.

  The first thing I saw was a pair of scuffed red sneakers with holes over the pinkie toes.

  Rocky was winding his way around a pair of jean-covered legs. Slowly I looked up, and saw … Matt Dilley! My eyes narrowed. He was wearing a small tan trenchcoat and sunglasses. And here he was hiding in a dark room. Talk about suspicious behavior.

  “You!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nothing,” said Matt, trying to look casual. “Just hanging out.”

  “In a broom closet? In the basement? In the dark?”

  Matt shrugged. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Getting my cat.” I leaned over and scooped up Rocky, who seemed worn-out from all the running.

  “Suuuure,” said Matt, sounding just as suspicious as I.

  “Well, here he is!” I said, holding Rocky up. “Do you think I am making it up?”

  Matt looked unconvinced. “Maybe you and the cat are working together.”