Stacey and the Mystery of Stoneybrook Page 2

  So Dawn and Mary Anne are now stepsisters! And I can’t say that the transition from friends to relatives was an easy one for them. When Mary Anne, her father, and Tigger first moved into Dawn’s house, things were more than a little rocky for awhile. But it seems as if they’re all getting along much better now.

  Okay, there are still two more members of the club, our junior officers, Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey. They were both asked to join while I was away in New York last year and the other members couldn’t quite keep up with all the jobs they were offered. Of course, they’re still members even though I’m back now. They’re called junior officers because they’re two years younger than the rest of us — they’re in sixth grade — and aren’t allowed to sit at night, except for their own brothers and sisters. But there are plenty of day jobs to keep them busy. Mallory and Jessi are both great sitters, and we were lucky to get them for the club.

  Mallory’s a good sitter partly because she comes from a huge family. She has seven younger sisters and brothers! The Pikes have always been major clients of ours — Mal is actually someone we used to sit for. But she was a big help even then, and now she’s grown up a lot. She knows just about everything about kids — she’s seen it all!

  Mal loves to read and write — in fact, she’s thinking of becoming a children’s book author someday. Her favorite books to read are horse stories. I think she’s read Misty of Chincoteague something like seventy-six times!

  Mal’s main problem is being eleven. That’s right, being eleven. She feels more grown-up than her parents are ready to let her be. (That’s a funny way to put it, but you know what I mean.) She wants to get contacts, instead of wearing glasses, and she hates her braces with a passion. At least her parents finally let her get her hair cut and her ears pierced. As for the rest, I guess she’ll just have to be patient. That’s easy to say, but I know how hard that can be.

  Mallory’s best friend is, guess who, Jessi Ramsey. They became best friends almost right away, when Jessi’s family moved here last year. I guess Mal really needed somebody right then, and I know Jessi did. Her family had a hard time when they first moved to Stoneybrook. Why? Because they’re black, and there are hardly any other black families in town. I know, it shouldn’t make a difference what color someone is, but it did to a lot of people. It was so unfair! I think things are better for the Ramseys now. Jessi’s little sister, Becca (short for Rebecca), has a best friend, and her baby brother, Squirt (his real name is John Philip Ramsey, Jr., but Squirt fits him much better), would be happy anywhere. Plus, the neighbors have seen that the Ramseys are simply a very nice family. By the way, guess where Jessi lives — in my old house!

  Jessi loves horse stories, too, but her real passion is ballet. Jessi’s a really talented dancer, and she puts a ton of work into practicing. She takes lessons twice a week in Stamford, and believe me, they’re serious lessons.

  So, that’s everyone. Oops! I almost forgot to mention our two associate members, Logan Bruno (Mary Anne’s boyfriend) and Shannon Kilbourne, a friend of Kristy’s from her new neighborhood. They don’t come to meetings, but they are available to fill in for us when we have too many jobs to handle ourselves.

  Whew! I think that’s really everyone. What a crew! As I wheeled my bike into Claud’s driveway, I glanced at my watch. Only minutes to spare. I would make it on time after all.

  I pounded up the stairs, out of breath. Had I made it? Just as I got to the door of Claud’s room, I heard Kristy’s voice.

  “And then, on top of everything, Shannon got into the garbage. I walk into the kitchen and I see coffee grounds and chicken bones all over the floor!”

  “Ew! You’re kidding! Oh, ew.” That was Mary Anne. I had a feeling that Kristy was talking about Shannon the puppy, not Shannon the Associate Member of the Baby-sitters Club.

  Club meetings always start at five-thirty on the dot, as soon as Claud’s digital clock flips over from five twenty-nine. The clock read five twenty-eight, so I had arrived in plenty of time. I settled onto Claud’s bed next to Mary Anne, who was talking to Dawn. (Dawn was sitting backward in Claud’s desk chair.) They were in the middle of an intense discussion regarding the exact color of Cam Geary’s eyes, Cam Geary being Mary Anne’s favorite star.

  Most of Claudia was inside her closet. She was poking her hand into every compartment of her shoe bag. I had an idea of what she might be looking for, and sure enough, when she finally backed out of the closet, she was gripping a bag of M&M’s in one hand and a package of Twinkies in the other. Plus she had a Twix bar clenched between her teeth. Claudia’s parents, as you might guess, don’t exactly approve of her junk-food habit, so she has to stash the stuff all over her room.

  I was bursting with all the things I’d done on the weekend. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone about how I’d spotted Gary Rockman, but Mallory grabbed their attention first.

  “Did you guys see that old house at the end of Elm Street? They’re tearing it down!”

  That was my street. She must mean the other end, though, away from Claudia’s house. There weren’t all that many really old houses down at this end. But what was the big deal about a house being torn down? I started to say something about Gary Rockman, but Claud interrupted me.

  “You’re kidding! They’re demolishing that old place? I thought it was some kind of historical landmark. I thought they couldn’t tear it down.”

  “I heard that some company wants to build condos there and got around that rule somehow,” chimed in Mary Anne. “That house is the only one still standing in that whole area, and they’re not about to let it get in their way.”

  I couldn’t believe how fascinated everyone was with the “news” about some dumb old house. I guess that’s what happens when you live in Stoneybrook all your life. Anything seems exciting.

  “Order,” said Kristy just then, making all of us jump. I looked at the clock. Sure enough. Five-thirty had just clicked into place. Kristy sat, as usual, in the director’s chair. She wore her visor (I guess it makes her feel presidential), and she had a pencil stuck over her ear.

  Kristy does a great job as president of the club, I must say. Dawn’s always kind of wishing that Kristy would miss a meeting sometime — then, as alternate officer, Dawn would get to be president-for-a-day. But it’s never happened yet. It’s hard to imagine Kristy missing a meeting, and it’s even harder to imagine anyone else as president.

  “Has everyone read the club notebook?” Kristy asked. We all groaned.

  “I thought you promised not to ask us that anymore,” said Claud. “I thought you were going to have some trust in your best friends!”

  The club notebook is kind of like a diary of the jobs we’ve been on. We’re all supposed to write in it after every job and read it once a week or so. It’s not really a bad idea — often it’s pretty interesting to read and lots of times there’s information in it that’s helpful to us. But there’s something about that notebook…. Sometimes it’s almost like homework — and Kristy’s the teacher.

  Anyway, we all said we’d read it. It’s a habit by now.

  “M&M’s?” offered Claud, passing them around. Everyone except for Dawn and me shook out a few. I’m really glad Dawn’s a health-food freak because then I’m not the only one always turning down Claud’s treats.

  “Oh, sorry, Stace — sorry, Dawn. Here, let me find …” Claud rummaged around in a box under her bed marked CHARCAOLS. (I told you she hates to study. She’s an awful speller.) She came up with a box of whole wheat crackers and tossed it to me. I caught it but handed it right over to Dawn without even opening it. Dawn gave me a curious look, which I pretended not to notice. I didn’t really want to call any attention to the fact that my diabetes seemed harder than ever to control.

  “Ahem,” said Kristy. “Are we all settled? May we proceed with the business at hand?”

  Where’d she learn to talk like that? We all looked at each other and started to giggle. Kristy looked a little ticked off at first, but
then she cracked up, too.

  Just then, the phone rang. The first call! Kristy grabbed the phone. “Baby-sitters Club. Can I help you?” She listened for a moment.

  “No problem, Mrs. Newton. We’ll get right back to you.” Kristy hung up and turned to Mary Anne. “How does the schedule look for tomorrow afternoon?” she asked. “Mrs. Newton needs someone to watch Jamie while she takes Lucy to the pediatrician for a checkup.”

  I’d have liked the job — Jamie’s a great kid, and we all like to sit for him — but Mary Anne looked in the record book and reminded me that I already had a job, sitting at the Pikes’ with Mallory. (The Pikes are always a two-sitter job.)

  “And Jessi has ballet, and Dawn is staying late at school tomorrow, and Claud, you have art class. That leaves you and me, Kristy,” Mary Anne continued. She’s incredible, the way she keeps the record book up-to-date with all of our activities. Not only that, she’s also on top of all the other stuff in the record book, like our rates and customers’ addresses and phone numbers. She even has a list of the names of all their pets.

  “You take it, Mary Anne. I promised I’d help David Michael give Shannon a bath.” Kristy went ahead and called Mrs. Newton to let her know Mary Anne would be there. That’s generally the way our club works. We rarely squabble over jobs, because there’s always enough to go around.

  “Don’t forget your Kid-Kit, Mary Anne. I hear it’s supposed to rain, and you know how Jamie can be when he’s stuck inside,” Dawn said.

  Kid-Kits are another of Kristy’s great ideas. They’ve been lifesavers more times than I can count, especially on rainy days or when kids miss their parents and need to be distracted. Kid-Kits are boxes filled with toys, books, and games. (We each made our own, decorating them with scraps of cloth, sequins, or whatever else we could find in Claudia’s MISSELANIUS carton of supplies. The Kid-Kits don’t have all new stuff, but it’s new to the kids we sit for, and it really keeps them occupied.)

  “Speaking of Kid-Kits, how’s the treasury? Can we afford some new Colorforms? Mine don’t stick anymore, they’ve been used so much.” Kristy looked over at me.

  I checked the manila envelope to see how much dues money we had. We each get to keep all the money we earn on every job, but we pay dues weekly to cover incidentals for the Kid-Kits. We also use money from the treasury to pay Kristy’s big brother Charlie to drive her to meetings — it’s too far to walk since she moved to Watson’s — and for the occasional pizza bash, and to help Claud pay her phone bill. It only took me a second to count the money (that’s why I’m treasurer).

  “There’s plenty for Colorforms,” I said when I was done. “Anyone else need supplies?”

  Everybody started to talk at once, but the phone began to ring. There were four or five calls in a row, but we handled each one quickly. Then, just as Kristy was getting ready to adjourn the meeting, the phone rang one more time.

  Kristy answered it. She talked forever. I could tell she was talking to Dr. Johanssen, who is the mother of my favorite baby-sitting charge, Charlotte. But I couldn’t figure out what Dr. Johanssen wanted. It sounded complicated.

  When she hung up, Kristy pushed back her visor. “Okay, guys, here’s the story. Mr. Johanssen’s father has to have surgery, and the Johanssens want to be there with him. Dr. Johanssen said her father-in-law isn’t in any real danger — but he’s pretty old, so the operation could be hard on him. So they have to leave town for about a week, but they don’t want to make Charlotte miss school.”

  I couldn’t imagine how they could avoid that. It’s not as if Charlotte’s other grandparents live here in town. In fact, the Johanssens have no family at all in Stoneybrook.

  “So she was wondering if Charlotte could stay with either Jessi’s family or with you, Stace,” Kristy finished. “She said she’s willing to pay well for all the time they’d be away.”

  This was really something new! No BSC member had ever had this kind of job before.

  Right away, Jessi said she couldn’t do it. “Too bad. Becca would be so thrilled to have her best friend sleep over for a whole week! But we’re going to New Jersey this weekend to see my cousins.”

  “Let me have the phone, Kristy,” I said. “I bet my mom will say it’s okay for Charlotte to stay with us.” Mom is looking for a job right now (she hasn’t worked full-time for years, but now that we’re on our own she wants a job), and I knew she’d be glad to watch Charlotte any time I couldn’t. Sure enough, she said it was fine, as long as she could have a talk with the Johanssens first.

  I called Dr. Johanssen back and told her the good news. She said she’d call my mom right away. I was so excited. I couldn’t believe it! I’ve always wanted a little brother or sister, and having Charlotte around for an entire week would be so much fun. I started to think about all the things we’d do. Where would she sleep? I thought of the guest bedroom, and how nicely I could fix it up for her. I’d use those special sheets Mom had found at a garage sale, and —

  “Meeting adjourned,” Kristy said. It was six o’clock. I left Claud’s house without really even saying good-bye to everyone and biked home. My head was full of plans.

  By Thursday, I’d gotten the guest room all fixed up. I’d made the bed with these great Raggedy Ann sheets my mom had found. I knew Charlotte would love them. My old teddy bear, Goobaw, leaned against the pillow. He was missing one eye and most of his fur was rubbed bare, but he’d always been a comfort to me. I had filled a shelf with some other old dolls and toys that I thought an eight-year-old might like. There were a couple of books on the bedside table: Charlotte’s Web and The Long Winter, two of Charlotte’s favorites. I’d even picked some flowers and put them in a little vase on the windowsill.

  I stood in the doorway, surveying the room. It looked great. I was sure Charlotte would feel right at home. I walked over to smooth the sheets one more time, but just then I heard a car honking in the driveway. I ran to the window and looked out. It was the Johanssens! I ran downstairs and out the door. My mom came out behind me.

  Charlotte was struggling to get out of the backseat, which was piled high with suitcases and shopping bags. A suit of Mr. Johanssen’s was hanging on one side of the car, and several of Dr. Johanssen’s blouses were on the other. Finally Charlotte landed in the driveway. She was clutching a loaded shopping bag and a pillow. Her father pulled a small suitcase out of the space between the front and back seats.

  “Is that everything, honey?” he asked.

  Charlotte was looking down at the ground. She nodded without saying anything. Suddenly I realized that she was about to cry. I think my mom noticed, too.

  “Charlotte, we’re so happy to have you visit,” she said. “Stacey tells me that spaghetti and meatballs is your favorite supper, and guess what? That’s what we’re having tonight.”

  Charlotte managed a tiny smile. I put my arm around her. “What did you bring, Char? Is this shopping bag full of your special stuff?” I asked.

  She drew back from me and ran to her father’s side. She grabbed him around the waist, and the tears began. “Daddy, please don’t go! I’m going to be so lonely,” she cried.

  I was surprised, and even though I knew I shouldn’t take it personally, I was a little hurt. This was the old Charlotte, the shy, clingy girl she’d been when we first met. But she’d come so far since then. The Charlotte I knew now was confident, talkative, and friendly. She was independent, too — after all, she’d been separated from her parents for two whole weeks when we’d all gone off to Camp Mohawk.

  Also, I don’t mean to sound conceited, but Charlotte really loves me. I’ve always been her favorite sitter, but it’s even more than that. I think she thinks of me as kind of a big sister. She was heartbroken when I moved away from Stoneybrook and thrilled when I came back.

  I guess Dr. Johanssen noticed that I was looking a little crestfallen. She took me aside and told me not to feel too bad.

  “Charlotte’s having an especially hard time with this separation, Stacey. She
’s really worried about her grandfather — she loves him so much. And even though we’ve told her that he’s going to be fine, she’s still afraid. I think she’ll be okay once she settles in with you. We are so grateful that she can stay here where we’ll know she’s safe,” she said.

  Then she walked over to give Charlotte a hug. Charlotte really started crying then, but after both her parents had held her and said their good-byes, they had to leave. I held her hand as they pulled out of the driveway, and we waved until the car was out of sight. As we walked into the house and up the stairs, carrying all the stuff she’d brought, her sobs died down into sniffles interspersed with hiccuppy sighs.

  When I opened the door of the guest room, Charlotte really stopped crying for the first time since she’d gotten out of the car.

  “Oh, Stacey, this is so neat!” she said. She walked around the room, and I could tell that she was noticing all the little things I’d done to make her feel at home. Charlotte’s a pretty thoughtful kid herself, so I knew she’d appreciate my efforts.

  She sat on the bed and picked up Goobaw. “My grandpa’s very sick,” she told him. “He might die.”

  “Oh, Charlotte, he’s not going to die,” I said. “He’s going to be just fine. And having your parents there with him will help him get better even faster.”

  I sat next to her on the bed, and this time when I put my arms around her she hugged me right back. “I’m scared, Stacey,” she said.

  “Of course you are. But everything will be all right, and we’ll have lots of fun while you’re here. Tell you what: How about a game of Clue before dinner?” I asked. “You can be Miss Scarlet.”

  We played and talked until Mom called to us that dinner was ready. By then I thought Charlotte had begun to feel at home. She still sniffed once in awhile, and she kept asking questions about her grandpa’s operation (“Does it hurt him when they cut him open?” “But if he’s asleep, what if he has a bad dream?”), but she seemed much calmer. (Obviously, Dr. Johanssen hadn’t had time to explain the details of the operation to her.)