Kristy listened carefully, interrupting with a few questions, as I told her about my phone call to Sergeant Johnson. She seemed as frustrated as I was about the fact that Mr. Finch’s license had come up clear, and that Sergeant Johnson refused to see how serious we were.
Then I told her what I’d seen just before I fell asleep. Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding,” she said when I described Mr. Finch’s behavior. She smacked a fist into her open hand. “He must be burning evidence. Maybe he knows someone’s on to him!”
“How could he know?” I asked. I’d been very careful when I was spying, and I knew Mr. Finch had never seen me or my binoculars.
“I don’t know,” said Kristy. “Maybe he’s just nervous. Maybe his guilty conscience won’t leave him alone.” She was pacing. “So, go on. What happened next?”
I told her about calling Amy Shapiro.
“Excellent,” said Kristy. “Great. How long did she say it would take them to respond?”
“Um,” I said, trying to remember. The call was a little hazy. My mind was still very foggy. “I don’t think she said.”
“So it may be awhile,” Kristy muttered, almost to herself. “That means we’re the only ones on the case for now.” She was still pacing. I lay on my bed, too exhausted to move my head back and forth to follow her.
“What if he’s preparing to skip town?” Kristy wondered aloud. “What if he disappears before they can catch him?” She smacked her fist into her hand again. “We have to do something.”
“Like what?” I asked. I was way too tired to come up with any fancy plans.
“Like …” Kristy paced a little faster. “Like, okay, first, we make sure he’s not at home.” She began to talk faster and faster, as if her mouth could hardly keep up with her brain. “Then, I run over to his house and do some snooping. I won’t go in or anything. That would be illegal and could be dangerous. I’ll just look into the kitchen windows and check the names on those drawings. If they’re signed Patty and Joseph, we’ll know we’re right. And Sergeant Johnson will have to believe us.”
“Kristy!” I gasped. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
She shrugged. “Do you have a better one?”
I shook my head. “I guess not.” My foggy brain was trying to tell me something, and finally it came through. “But — but how are we going to make sure he’s not at home?”
“Piece of cake,” said Kristy. “I rented Rear Window last night. In the movie they want to check out the guy’s apartment. So what do they do?”
I thought for a second, foggily. Then a little light went on. “They call him!” I said. “They don’t say who they are, but they tell him to meet them at some bar or something.”
“Right,” said Kristy. “And their mistake was that they let him know they were on to him. We won’t do that. We’ll just pretend we’re calling from the library or something.”
“You mean you’re going to —” I was having a hard time keeping up with Kristy’s thought process.
By the time I’d finished my sentence, Kristy had ducked out into the hall and returned to my room, carrying the cordless phone and a phone book. She looked up Otto Finch’s number in the book and punched it in, reciting the numbers out loud as she did.
I watched, paralyzed, as she calmly waited for him to pick up. When he did, she put on a very adult-sounding, nasal voice. “Mr. Finch?” she asked. “I’m calling from the phone company. We’re having some trouble with your bill — a matter of some calls to Iowa?”
I drew in a breath. Kristy just grinned at me. She was on a roll. “Perhaps we could work it out most easily if you were to come down to the office,” she suggested smoothly. “I’m available right now. Just ask for Ms. Purdy.” She gave directions to the phone company building, which is in downtown Stoneybrook. “Wonderful,” she said, maintaining that voice perfectly. “I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes, then.” She hung up and thrust a fist into the air. “Yesss!” she cried. “He bought it — totally.”
I was speechless. I couldn’t believe Kristy was doing this. “I thought you hated prank phone calls,” I said.
“Sure, when somebody’s ordering pizzas to be delivered to unsuspecting people,” she agreed. “But this is different. This is all in the name of justice.” She grabbed the binoculars and trained them on Mr. Finch’s house. “He’s looking for his car keys!” she crowed.
Then she turned to me. “Okay, we don’t have long. It will only take him about fifteen minutes or so to drive down there and find out there’s no such person as Ms. Purdy.” She checked her watch. “So, what we need to do is figure out a secret signal. Something you can do to let me know he’s on his way back, if you see his car coming down the street.”
“Should we stick with the harmonica idea we used last time?” I asked.
Kristy nodded. “That’ll work,” she said. “Just be loud.”
“Like this?” I asked, before blowing with all my might.
It was really loud. Kristy covered her ears. “That should be fine,” she mumbled. Then she glanced out the window. “He’s leaving!”
I heard the slam of a car door and a motor starting.
“That’s it,” said Kristy. “I’m out of here.” She grinned and gave me the thumbs-up. “Wish me luck,” she said.
I tried to grin back. “Good luck,” I replied.
She was out the door before I could say another word. For a moment, I wondered if I should follow her. I wasn’t at all convinced that she was doing the right thing, but still, should she be doing it on her own? I stood up — and started wheezing a little. “Oh, great,” I said between breaths. “An asthma attack. That’s all I need.” It wasn’t a bad one, but I needed my inhaler. I headed to the bathroom to find it, but when I got there, I felt better — no inhaler needed. By the time I returned to the window, Kristy was already in Mr. Finch’s yard.
She was creeping carefully across that perfectly trimmed lawn, looking to the right and left and checking behind her every few steps. From where I stood, even without the binoculars, I could tell she was nervous. And excited. Kristy was on a mission.
I just hoped it wasn’t Mission Impossible.
I picked up the binoculars for a better look and tracked Kristy’s progress across the lawn. Within seconds, she’d reached the patio. I saw her lean down to check on the book Mr. Finch had left near his lounge chair — nosy thing! — then continue past the sliding glass doors that led to the living room.
Finally, she reached the kitchen window. She turned and waved at me, and I waved back, even though I was unsure if she could see me. Then she stood on her tiptoes and, making a tunnel with both hands around her face, peeked inside.
Just then, I heard a car. My heart began to thud, and I swung the binoculars around to see who was coming. Was Mr. Finch a faster driver than we’d thought? Was he coming home already?
No. I caught sight of the car and saw that it was a blue minivan, not a white sedan like Mr. Finch’s. My heart began to slow a little.
Then I swept the binoculars back to check on Kristy. She was standing in front of the window, her back to it so she was facing me. And she was beaming. She nodded and grinned.
I knew what that meant. Those pictures had the signatures we were looking for.
I grinned back, and then motioned to her to keep moving. Now that we knew for sure that Mr. Finch was Mr. Maguire, it was time for Kristy to head back to my house. The sooner she was out of that yard, the better. As she started to walk, I felt a wave of relief roll over me. Then I started wheezing again. Auggh! Back to the bathroom for the inhaler, which I’d left there.
In my room again, I looked out the window, expecting to see Kristy crossing my lawn on her way back to my house. Instead, she was still in Mr. Finch’s yard. She was standing with her back to me, bent over something near the end of the patio. When she stood up, I saw what it was. A garbage can. Kristy was going through Mr. Finch’s garbage!
Then she held up something. At first I
couldn’t tell what it was. Then I focused my binoculars on it. “Oh, excellent,” I whispered. It was more evidence; a partially burnt photo. Yes!
Just then, I heard another car. And I didn’t even have to swing around my binoculars to see who it was.
It was Mr. Finch, pulling into his driveway.
I opened the window, then grabbed for the harmonica and started blowing like mad at Kristy. The good news was that she heard the harmonica … and the car. The bad news? I was a little too late. She was stuck. There was no way she could make it out of Mr. Finch’s backyard without his seeing her. He’d already climbed out of his car, and he was heading for the back door.
“Kristy!” I croaked. My throat had gone completely dry. “Oh my lord.” I couldn’t believe my eyes. Kristy was standing there like a deer caught in headlights as Mr. Finch walked toward her. He hadn’t seen her yet, but he would — at any moment. Why, oh why couldn’t he use his front door? Or even his side door, the one he was just about to walk past? Why did he insist on using that back door?
Kristy looked paralyzed, and I couldn’t blame her. I don’t know what I would have done in that situation. If she ran, he’d know she had been up to no good. If she stayed, she’d have to explain herself. And what could she possibly say?
Oh, what a mess. I was going to have to stand there at my window and watch one of my best friends come face-to-face with a criminal. And just because he wasn’t wanted for murder or some other violent crime didn’t mean he wasn’t a bad guy. Who knew what he would do if he thought he was cornered? After all, this was a man who’d abandoned his family.
All of these thoughts came to me in about one and a half seconds, the time it took for Mr. Finch to cross part of the distance between his car and Kristy. Then, just in time, one more thought entered my groggy brain.
I jumped up and spun around. Sure enough, the phone was still lying on my bed. I grabbed it and hit the redial button. The phone would automatically dial the number Kristy had entered less than half an hour earlier.
I picked up the binoculars again and watched. Kristy’s face still showed how terrified she felt. Mr. Finch’s face was a blank — until he heard something. Then his eyes shifted toward the house and I could almost hear his thoughts. Phone’s ringing. Better answer it. Guess I’ll use the side door.
He reached out for the knob on the side door, which led through the garage to the house. Then he turned it and went inside. I almost melted with relief. I aimed the binoculars at Kristy and saw the panic disappear, replaced by a sly glance at my window, a little grin, and a thumbs-up sign. She waved the burned photo she’d found. Then she started to run — toward the other side of Mr. Finch’s house.
“Hello?”
I almost dropped the phone. I’d forgotten I’d dialed it, and now Mr. Finch had answered. And he expected to hear someone on the other end. What was I going to say? I couldn’t impersonate a phone company employee again. I had the feeling that Mr. Finch was probably already suspicious enough after that last phone call and the wild goose chase it had sent him on.
“Hello?” he asked again.
Almost on its own, my thumb snuck up and pressed the OFF button. The phone went dead.
I was still watching through the binoculars, so I could see the look on Mr. Finch’s face. He looked — I guess bewildered would be the word. But not overly upset. He just put the phone back into its cradle and walked away, shaking his head.
Then he headed out the sliding doors onto the patio and looked around for a moment. Maybe he sensed something in the air, had some suspicion that all was not right. I don’t know, and I never will. I watched his face closely through the binoculars, and when I saw his glance stop suddenly at one point, I swept them around to see what he was looking at.
Oops.
Kristy had left the lid off the garbage can.
What would Mr. Finch make of that? I watched as he replaced the lid, after just a quick glance inside the can. After that, he looked around one more time — I pulled away from the window, just in case — and headed back inside. Had he noticed that one of the burned photos was missing from his garbage can? I crossed my fingers, hoping with all my heart that he had not.
Bang! The screen door downstairs slammed, and I jumped. I listened to the footsteps thumping up the stairs.
“Abby?”
“Right here,” I said.
“Do you think he saw me?” Kristy asked with a smile. She was still breathing hard. “I took the long way around, just in case. I didn’t want him to see me crossing your yard.”
“Good plan,” I said. “And no, I don’t think he spotted you.”
“That was you on the phone, wasn’t it?” she asked. “That was brilliant.”
I blushed again. “I can’t believe it worked,” I said. “But now he’s more suspicious than ever.”
“Well, he may be suspicious, but we’re beyond that. We’re sure now,” she said, thrusting the partially burned picture into my hand.
I looked down at it. The edges were charred, but I could still see the image of a woman standing on a dock, with sunlight glinting off the water. She was tall, with curly blonde hair and a pleasant, smiling face. The same face I’d seen over and over again as I watched the Mystery Trackers video. It was Arthur Maguire’s wife, the one who’d been featured in several photos that had flashed across the screen, as well as in the birthday party video. There was no question about it.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” I asked. “Mrs. Maguire.”
“Definitely,” said Kristy. “And those drawings? The one of a house was signed Patty. And the rocket ship —”
“— was by Joseph,” I finished.
She nodded. “They were both signed in big, fat grade-school handwriting. I could read it perfectly from the window.”
“Wow,” I murmured. “It’s really him.”
“It really is,” she agreed. “This is awesome.”
“It’s only awesome if they catch him,” I reminded her. “I think it’s time for another call to Sergeant Johnson.”
Kristy agreed. “Let’s do it now.” She grabbed the phone from my bed and handed it to me.
I dialed and asked for Sergeant Johnson. I was connected right away. “Hi, it’s Abby again,” I said. “Please don’t hang up!”
Sergeant Johnson laughed. “I wasn’t about to,” he said. “But I am pretty busy. What’s up?”
“I know you told me you were on the case. But I just wanted to add one thing. Well, two.” I explained as quickly as I could about the names on the drawings. Then I went on, barely stopping for breath. “And second, there were these pictures he was burning in the sink, and we — um — we got our hands on one of them,” I glanced at Kristy, “and it was of a woman. A woman who looks exactly like the pictures and video of Arthur Maguire’s wife.” I didn’t mean to sound so dramatic, but that’s how it came out.
“Okay, Abby,” said Sergeant Johnson. “You know I appreciate the information. And I’ve already been in touch with the Des Moines police. They’re faxing some photos over, and I may be paying a visit to your neighbor one day soon. But do me a favor. Keep this to yourselves for now. Understand?”
I nodded vigorously, then realized he couldn’t see that over the phone. “I do,” I said. “I promise. We won’t tell a soul.”
“And, Abby?” he asked. “I don’t know how you got those photos, and I’m not going to ask right now. But stay away from Mr. Finch. I mean that.”
“I know,” I said. “And I will. So will Kristy.”
“This is in our hands now,” he went on. “If you just lie low for a couple of days, everything will be taken care of.”
I didn’t go to the go-cart races on Tuesday afternoon, partly because I was still feeling pretty tired and partly — yes, I admit it — because I wanted to keep an eye on Mr. Finch. I was keeping my promise to Sergeant Johnson. I wasn’t going anywhere near Mr. Finch’s house. But I couldn’t resist watching him through my binoculars. It had become a habit.
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So I had to find out about the races from my friends and from reading Claudia’s entry in the club notebook. On the afternoon of the race, she was sitting for Jamie and Lucy Newton, two of our favorite charges. Jamie’s four, very smart and very sweet. His baby sister, Lucy, is a charmer too. She can deliver a beautiful smile even though all her teeth aren’t in yet.
“Claudee!” Jamie shouted as Claudia hurried up the Newtons’ front walk. He flung himself into her arms. “I’ve been waiting for you. Can we go see the races? Please? Mommy says it’s okay, as long as you want to go. Do you want to go? Do you?” Jamie was tugging on Claudia’s pant leg. (She was wearing a super-baggy pair of painter’s pants, customized with wild embroidery she’d done herself.)
Claudia laughed, and as soon as Jamie stopped for a breath she told him she’d be glad to take him and his little sister.
“Yay!” he yelled. “I want to ride my bike, okay? And Lucy can go in her stroller.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Claudia. “Should we make your bike and her stroller look extra fancy for the occasion?”
Jamie was thrilled at this idea and could hardly contain himself. Just then, Mrs. Newton stepped onto the porch, holding Lucy. “I hope you don’t mind taking them to the races,” she told Claudia, apologetically, as she handed over the baby.
“No problem,” said Claudia. “I was hoping to go anyway.”
As soon as Mrs. Newton had driven away, Claudia sat Lucy in her baby seat and began to take things out of her Kid-Kit. “We can use some of this construction paper and a few of these stickers,” she told Jamie. “Your bike will look totally cool.”
Once the bike and stroller were decorated (an activity Claudia had suggested in order to use up some time, since she knew the race didn’t start until four-thirty), it was time to head out. The race route was on the part of Burnt Hill Road that swoops past Carle Playground, one of Jamie’s favorite spots to play.
Claudia pushed the stroller while Jamie rode his bike (which is still equipped with training wheels) slowly down the sidewalk. As they approached the playground, they could see that quite a crowd had gathered near the starting line, at the top of the hill. A police car with its lights flashing stood near the starting line, blocking traffic from going down the hill.