Kristy handed the book over.
“Now,” said Mary Anne. “Let’s take care of the Pikes. Claudia, you’re not down for any jobs tomorrow.”
“No, but I have my art class.”
“Oh, right.”
“I could skip it,” I said reluctantly.
“No, I’ll take your job, Mary Anne,” said Stacey.
“But you’re down for Charlotte.”
“Oh, not anymore. Dr. Johanssen called last night to cancel. I didn’t have a chance to change the book.”
“Great. Okay, the Pikes are taken care of. That leaves Charlotte on Saturday. How come Dr. Johanssen canceled tomorrow? Maybe she’ll cancel Saturday, too.”
“I don’t think so,” said Stacey. “It was just that some meeting was called off tomorrow. It’s not going to affect Saturday.”
Mary Anne sighed. She looked at the book again. “Claudia?” she asked.
“Sure, I’ll watch Charlotte.”
Mary Anne snapped the book shut. “I’ve been thinking,” she said firmly. “I shouldn’t be part of the Baby-sitters Club anymore.”
“What?” Kristy and Stacey and I cried.
“It’s not fair,” Mary Anne went on. “Who knows how long it’ll be before the Phantom is caught. Dad could keep me on baby-sitting probation for years.”
“But—but—” said Kristy.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea!” I cried. “Why don’t you stay on as secretary of the club? You keep all our records and appointments so neatly. Nobody else will do as good a job.”
“Well …” said Mary Anne. “But I’m not going to be earning any money. I might not be able to pay my club dues.”
“Let’s not worry about that now,” said Kristy.
“Right,” I added. “Us baby-sitters have to stick together. Through thick and thin.”
“Through Phantoms and power failures,” said Stacey.
“Through fires and floods,” said Kristy. We put our arms around each other and headed into the school building just as the bell rang.
Late that afternoon, Kristy and I began one of our most terrifying baby-sitting experiences ever. Jamie Newton’s mother had called two weeks earlier needing a sitter for that evening. There was one hitch: Jamie would not be the only child at the Newtons’. His wild cousins would be there, too. I’d baby-sat for them once before—by myself—and based on that experience, I told Mrs. Newton she would need two sitters the second time, especially since the job was over the dinner hour and the kids would need to be fed.
Jamie’s cousins were Rob, Brenda, and Rosie. Rob, the oldest, was eight; Brenda was five; and Rosie was three. And they were tough to handle. Rob hated girls (including girl baby-sitters), Brenda was fussy, and Rosie was noisy. Well, they were all noisy. The other time I had sat for them, they jumped and ran around the living room and disobeyed practically everything I said. I had finally managed to calm them down, but I still wasn’t looking forward to the evening, although it was bound to be different with Kristy there.
We arrived at the Newtons’ at five o’clock and found the place already in chaos. The adults, Jamie’s parents and Mr. and Mrs. Feldman (the parents of Rob, Brenda, and Rosie), were trying to get ready to leave, but three of the four kids (all but Rob) were crying, Mrs. Feldman couldn’t find the sandwiches she’d brought for our supper, and Mrs. Newton suddenly discovered that her good coat wouldn’t button around her middle anymore.
“Darn,” she said. “I wore this coat the entire time I was pregnant with Jamie. I just don’t understand it.”
“Sis?” called Mrs. Feldman from the kitchen. “The sandwiches absolutely are not in the refrigerator. If they are, they’re invisible…. Rosie, stop it. I don’t know why Brenda hit you.”
“Not that refrigerator. I put them in the one in the basement,” Mrs. Newton called back. “Get Jamie to show you…. What am I going to wear tonight? I can’t wear that awful maternity coat, not to this cocktail party…. Roger?” she shouted upstairs to Mr. Newton.
“Mommy.” Jamie came sniffling into the hall and pulled on his mother’s hand. “I don’t want to go in the basement with Aunt Diane.”
“Never mind, Sis. I found them…. Brenda, stop it. You’re pestering your sister.”
Well, things went on that way for about five more minutes, but finally, Mrs. Newton found a shawl to wear instead of the coat, and, miraculously, Jamie, Brenda, and Rosie stopped crying.
The adults left.
Kristy and I looked at each other, then at the living room, where the four kids were standing.
They eyed us and we eyed them. Rob gathered his sisters in a huddle while Jamie looked on.
Suddenly, the huddle broke and the Feldmans began tearing and screaming and jumping around, just as they had done when I sat for them before. That time I had ignored them, and after a while they’d quieted down.
But Kristy had a different idea. You have to remember that even though she’s small for her age, she’s a tomboy, and she’s used to boys and a big family.
The Feldmans hadn’t been screeching and tearing through the living room for more than three seconds when Kristy put her fingers in her mouth and blew—hard. An ear-piercing whistle screamed from her lips.
The Feldmans stopped cold.
“Now hear this!” shouted Kristy. “No yelling, no running, and no jumping inside this house—and I mean it.” She saw that Rob was about to say something, so she added, “One false move and I’ll punch your lights out. That goes for all of you. Do you hear me?”
The Feldmans nodded.
Jamie was wide-eyed with disbelief at what his beloved Kristy had just said.
“Do you understand me?” she went on.
The Feldmans nodded.
“Any questions?”
Rob started to open his mouth again, then thought better of it and raised his hand instead.
“Yes?” said Kristy.
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Whistle with your fingers.”
“Oh. Here, I’ll show you. But if you learn how to do it, remember that this is usually an outdoor whistle, not an indoor one. Got it?”
“Yes.”
Kristy took Rob into the basement for whistle practice, and I led the three younger children into the rec room. I had just settled them into one of Jamie’s favorite activities—coloring pictures of monsters—when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” I called down to Kristy. I dashed into the kitchen. “Hello, Newton residence.”
Nothing. I couldn’t hear a sound.
“H-hello?” I tried again.
It’s funny how sometimes you can be just as scared by nothing as by something. My hands were shaking as I hung up the receiver.
“Who was it?” called Kristy.
“Wrong number,” I replied uneasily. I didn’t want to frighten any of the kids, but considering what had happened to the Goldmans the night before, I suddenly thought I had good reason to be nervous.
As soon as possible, I would tell Kristy about the call in private. A half hour later, just as I was beginning to think about supper, the phone rang again.
Kristy was coming up the stairs with Rob, who looked very proud of himself. “I’ll get the phone this time,” she said.
I nodded and followed her into the kitchen.
“Hello?” she said. “Hello?”
I could tell immediately that it was another one of those calls.
Kristy hung up the phone, looking nervous. I glanced into the rec room to make sure all the kids were busy. “No one there?” I asked Kristy.
She shook her head.
“The first call was like that, too. It wasn’t really a wrong number.”
Kristy bit her lip. “What do you think?” she whispered. “Is it time for the Phantom to strike again?”
I shrugged. “Do you think it could be Sam goof-calling?” Kristy’s brother had quite a reputation. And he liked to give the Baby-sitters Club a hard time every
now and then.
“It’s possible,” said Kristy thoughtfully. “He’s pretty interested in this Phantom business, but it’s not like Sam to call and not say anything. He kind of likes to leave his mark, if you know what I mean. It’d be more like him to get on the phone and say in a really spooky voice, ‘Woooo, Kristeee. Phantom here. Woooo, you better hide your plastic ring and your charm necklace, because I’m on my way over….’”
I smiled in spite of things. “Well, look. If it is the Phantom, we’re safe because he probably won’t rob the house if someone’s in it.”
“He might. He has before. Besides, we’re just kids. Maybe he figures—”
“He can’t figure anything. He doesn’t know whether any adults are home. Just because we answered the phone doesn’t mean—”
And at that wonderful moment, the phone rang a third time. I snatched it up, saying, “Hello? … Hello?” Then on inspiration, I shouted into the kitchen, “Hey, Dad, it’s another funny call. I think—”
The caller hung up before I could finish saying, “I think we better phone the police.” I smiled nervously at Kristy as I put the receiver down. She smiled nervously back at me.
“Well,” she said briskly, “let’s start supper. I bet the kids are hungry.”
“Anyone want dinner?” I called into the rec room. Peace was still reigning there. I almost hated to disrupt it. But one of our responsibilities as baby-sitters that night was to feed Jamie and the Feldmans.
“Starving!” Rob shouted, jumping up.
“Yes!” chorused the others. They dropped their crayons and ran.
“Whoa,” I said. “Everybody back in the rec room and put the crayons and paper away.”
“I wasn’t coloring,” said Rob.
“You can set the table then,” I told him.
“All right,” he agreed cheerfully.
A little while later, the table was set. Mrs. Feldman’s sandwiches were stacked on a plate in the middle, the glasses were filled with milk, and Kristy and I were passing around apples and oranges. It was a simple dinner, and everyone, including Kristy and me, seemed happy with it.
In fact, we were so happy that for a few minutes we ate in silence. All I could hear were crunchings and munchings and Jamie gulping his milk.
And a little bang from outside.
My eyes met Kristy’s over the tops of our tuna fish sandwiches. Did you hear anything? I asked her silently.
“Did you hear something?” Rob asked at that moment.
“Oh, probably just the wind,” I replied, but my voice was shaking.
“There’s no wind tonight,” he said.
Another bang, not too loud.
“There it is again,” he said.
“Maybe some dog is in one of the trash cans,” suggested Kristy.
“Uncle Roger’s trash cans are plastic.”
“Well,” I said bravely, “I’ll just go check things.” But I hadn’t gotten any farther than the living room (with Kristy and Rob at my heels) when we distinctly heard noises at one of the front windows and saw a shadow dart away into the falling darkness.
“That does it,” I said, suddenly more angry than frightened. “I’m going to call the police.” And I did.
The woman who answered the phone when I dialed 911 was very nice and very helpful. Obviously, she’d been trained to calm down people who were upset.
“Hello, hello!” I said, wishing it were possible to whisper and scream at the same time.
“Yes?” said the woman. “May I help you?”
“I’m baby-sitting,” I whispered, “and there’s a prowler outside. He was at the front window. We’ve been getting funny phone calls, too. The kind where the caller hangs up as soon as you answer.”
“Okay,” she said. “It’s a good thing you called. What’s your name?”
“Claudia Kishi,” I replied.
“And what’s the address of the house where you’re baby-sitting?”
Thanks to Kristy, I was armed with that information. It was one of her new safety rules about baby-sitting: Always memorize the address and phone number of your client.
I gave her the address. “Thank you,” she said, “and your phone number, too, just in case I need to call you back.”
I gave her the number. “Very good. A car is already on its way over. It’s just a few streets away and should reach you shortly. In the case of a prowler, though, we don’t want to scare him off, so the squad car will park a little distance down the street. Then one officer will search the yard quietly, while the other will come to the door to talk to you.”
“Okay,” I said, glancing uncertainly outside. It was pretty dark out there. “How will I know it’s a policeman at the door?”
“That’s a good question. I can tell you’re a smart baby-sitter. When the bell rings, ask who’s there. The man will identify himself as an officer. Does the door have a chain lock?”
“Yes.”
“Slide it shut right now—”
“Kristy, go put the chain on the front door,” I hissed. She ran off.
“—and after the officer has identified himself, open the door just wide enough to see the badge he’ll be holding out, okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you. Oh, there’s the doorbell. Thanks, thanks,” I said hurriedly. I hung up.
Kristy was about to open the door. “Wait,” I said, “let me take care of this. The lady told me what to do.”
I dashed to the door, aware that Kristy, Rob, Brenda, Rosie, and Jamie had crowded behind me. I was glad. I needed their company.
“Who’s there?” I called.
“It’s Officer Drew.”
After checking to make sure the chain lock was in place, I opened the door a crack. On the Newtons’ stoop, bald head glistening under the porch light, stood an elderly man in a cop’s uniform. He looked very nice, kind of like a grandfather, and very official, but he did not look like a policeman. At least, he did not look like my idea of a policeman. However, he was holding out his badge and some kind of ID, plain as day. I glanced over my shoulder at Kristy. “Psst. Check him out,” I whispered. I moved aside, and Kristy peered through the crack.
“Who phoned in this—this complaint?” she asked, very businesslike.
“A Claudia Kishi,” the man said patiently. “Would that be you?”
“No, it’s me,” I said from behind Kristy. “It’s all right then, Kristy. Let him in.”
We opened the door.
And I got the biggest surprise of my life.
With the door opened wide, I could see that two people were standing on the walk below Officer Drew. One was another cop in uniform.
The other was Alan Gray!
Kristy gasped.
“Who’s that?” asked Rob.
Kristy got over her surprise fast and got ready to battle Alan. After all, they’re old enemies. “Alan Gray, you darn, sneaking, rotten—”
“You know this young man?” asked Officer Drew, a smile playing on his lips.
“You bet I do!” cried Kristy. “His name is Alan Gray. He lives on Rockville Court, he’s in seventh grade at Stoneybrook Middle School, and he’s a—”
Alan’s face was falling faster than a ruined soufflé.
“That’s all right, young lady,” said Officer Drew. “I get the general idea.”
“Where’d you find him?” I asked.
“Behind the rhododendron bush at the side of the house,” replied the other policeman. “By the way, I’m Officer Stanton.”
“Hi,” said Kristy, Rob, Rosie, Brenda, and I.
“Can I wear your hat?” Jamie asked Officer Drew.
Officer Drew smiled and handed his hat to Jamie. “Could we come in for a minute? I think we have a few things to discuss.”
I glanced at Kristy. She was fuming. Her eyes probably could have burned holes right through Alan. “Sure,” I said.
Kristy made a face at me.
“Well, I have to let them in. They’re the police,??
? I whispered to her as Jamie and the Feldmans stepped aside to make room for the others.
We all sat down in the living room. “Hey, you guys,” I said to our baby-sitting charges, “if you go back in the kitchen now and finish your supper quietly, I’ll let you have Cookie Surprises for dessert.”
“What are Cookie Surprises?” asked Rob suspiciously.
“If I tell you, they won’t be surprises. But you’ll find out if you finish your dinner—and stay in the kitchen,” I added.
The kids ran back to the kitchen.
Alan, the policemen, Kristy, and I looked at each other.
Officer Drew was about to say something when Kristy let her mouth take over. “Okay, Alan, spill it,” she said. “Was that you at the front window?”
I saw a mischievous glint in Alan’s eye, indicating that he was about to say no. Then he glanced up and found Officer Drew and Officer Stanton glaring ferociously at him.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Did you call here three times this afternoon and hang up when Kristy or I answered the phone?” I asked.
Alan dropped his eyes. “Yes.”
“You wouldn’t, by any chance, have called me once when I was baby-sitting over on McLelland, would you have?” (That was Watson’s house.)
“Yes,” he mumbled.
“And a few times here on other days, and maybe once or twice when I was sitting on Rosedale Road?”
“Yes.” Alan was whispering by then.
“But how did you know I was going to be at all those places?”
“And why were you harassing this young lady?” said Officer Drew in a tone so stern I practically saluted him. I think he was just trying to frighten Alan a little.
“Well … um … which question should I answer first?” Alan cautiously asked the policemen.
“Mine,” said Kristy.
Officer Stanton raised an eyebrow.
I kicked Kristy on the ankle.
“Okay.” Alan licked his lips. “You—you made it easy for me,” he said.
“I did?” replied Kristy. “How?”
“Well, it was all right there in that notebook of yours.”
“What notebo—You mean, our club record book?”
“I guess so. That thing you started bringing to school every day. I checked it each morning. It had all sorts of information in it. Times, addresses—”