Sergeant Johnson took it and reached for his cell phone. He punched in the number and waited. After a pause, he left a brief message with his name and phone number. “No answer,” he explained after he’d hung up. “Just a voice-mail message. I’ll try again later.” He stuck the paper in his pocket.
“What else do you know about this Reinhart Golem?” Sergeant Winters asked Jack Fenton.
Fenton shrugged. “Not much,” he admitted. “He’s rich, that’s for sure,” he said, waving a hand around at the mansion, the private driveway, the stone walls. “But nobody seems to know how he made his fortune.”
Sergeant Johnson cleared his throat as if he were going to speak. But then he shook his head and began filling in the form on his clipboard. I had the feeling somehow that he knew more about Golem than Fenton did.
“He’s a loner,” Fenton continued. “Never married, from what I hear. And, like I said, he doesn’t spend much time around here. It’s a waste, if you ask me. You should see all the nice stuff in that house. A full-size whirlpool bath, large-screen TV, the works!”
“Why does he have a picture of a red cat on his mailbox?” I asked. I don’t know what came over me. The question just flew out before I could stop myself.
“A cat?” asked Sergeant Johnson, wheeling around to look at me. “When did you see that?”
“Today,” I answered, “just before you told us to freeze. I forgot all about it until now.”
“Well, I’m glad you mentioned it,” said Sergeant Johnson. “That is very, very interesting news. That cat was not there before. This means the Cat Burglar may be involved.”
“A cat burglar?” asked Officer Hopkins.
“No, the Cat Burglar,” Sergeant Johnson corrected her. “This wouldn’t be the first heist he’s pulled around here. We haven’t been able to find out much about him. All we know is that the Cat Burglar robs the homes of the very rich and leaves a stenciled silhouette of a red cat behind as a calling card.” He rubbed his hands together. “If we could catch him, we would make a lot of people happy. Including some of the biggest police forces on the East Coast.”
“Are you sure this cat picture appeared today?” asked Sergeant Winters.
Sergeant Johnson nodded, and Jack Fenton jumped in to back him up. “I know I never saw it before,” he said.
Wow. This was exciting. Just then, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to look. I caught — just barely — Cary Retlin ducking behind a toolshed. He seemed interested in what was going on, but not interested enough to show himself to the police.
I wondered about him. Could he have had anything to do with this? I could imagine Cary setting off a burglar alarm just for kicks. But shooting a gun? Stealing diamonds? Those activities were a little out of Cary’s line. Still, seeing him lurking made me curious about what he was really doing with those binoculars. Was it only birds he was interested in?
“Kristy!” David Michael was tugging on my sleeve. “Can we go? It’s going to be dark soon.”
“I want to go home,” Karen chimed in. “Do we have to stay?”
I looked at Sergeant Johnson, who was still filling out the incident form. “Do you think it’s safe to go?” I asked him.
He nodded. “I’m sure that burglar is miles away by now,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “But I’ll tell you what. How would you like a ride home in a real patrol car? Just to be on the safe side.” He winked at me.
“Yay!” cried David Michael.
“Can you make the siren go off?” asked Karen.
“Too noisy,” said Sergeant Johnson apologetically. “But how about if I make the lights flash?”
“Cool,” said David Michael and Karen together.
I gave Sergeant Johnson a thankful glance. I’d been a little nervous about walking back home through the woods, now that dusk was falling.
Sergeant Johnson stepped out of the car. “I’m going to run these kids home,” he told the other officers. “I’ll finish up this form when I come back. And if there’s any fingerprinting to do —”
“We’ll take care of it,” said Sergeant Winters, interrupting. He and Officer Hopkins exchanged a look.
“Oh. All right.” said Sergeant Johnson, sounding surprised. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“No need to rush,” said Sergeant Winters coolly.
What was going on here? There was definitely tension between Sergeant Johnson and the other two officers. I felt bad for Sergeant Johnson, but he seemed to shrug everything off. He climbed back into the car, started it up, and drove down the drive. He lingered near the gate, checking out the red cat on the mailbox, but all he said was, “Hmm, interesting.”
“What about the lights?” David Michael reminded him, as Sergeant Johnson turned onto the road.
“Coming right up.” Sergeant Johnson reached out to push a button. It was dark enough by then so that the lights lit up the woods around us.
“Yes!” cried David Michael.
“This is so neat,” said Karen. “I can’t wait to tell my friends all about it.”
I couldn’t wait either. My fellow BSC members would be very, very interested in the day’s events. We love mysteries, and there was no question that a burglary involving valuable diamonds, a missing security guard, a gunshot, and a criminal who called himself the Cat Burglar would qualify.
“Wait, back up. What did you say that guy’s name was?”
“Reinhart Golem,” I repeated. I spread out my hands. “I know, I know, it’s a weird name. But everything that happened yesterday was pretty weird.”
It was Wednesday, and my friends and I were in the midst of a BSC meeting. I was filling everyone in on the events of the evening before.
Maybe I should pause here and explain a little about the BSC. We are a group of friends, all very different but with one thing in common: we love kids and we love to baby-sit. We are caring, responsible, enthusiastic sitters — the kind kids and parents love. When we first started the club, we advertised with fliers and signs, but now we hardly ever have to. Word of mouth is our best advertising.
It all began one afternoon when my mom was trying to find a sitter for David Michael. She made phone call after phone call, with no luck. That’s when I had this majorly incredible brainstorm (the first of many, if I do say so myself). What if parents could call one number and be sure of finding a good sitter?
The rest, as they say, is history. I asked a few friends to form a sitting business with me, and over time we’ve grown. We now have seven regular members plus two associate members and one honorary member. We meet (at least, the regular members do) every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon from five-thirty until six. Parents can call us during those times to set up jobs.
We keep a record book, with schedules and client information; a club notebook, in which we write up our jobs so that every sitter is up-to-date on every client; and a treasury, into which we pay dues every Monday to cover club costs. And we each have a Kid-Kit to bring on jobs — a box filled with puzzles, toys, games, and markers. Kid-Kits are a big hit with our charges.
One last brag: All of the above were ideas of mine. More brainstorms. I can’t help it. If I were a cartoon, I’d always be pictured with a lightbulb over my head. My friends tease me about it. But they know the BSC is the best club ever.
We happen to be pretty good detectives too. We’ve helped to solve quite a few mysteries. (That’s how we became such good friends with Sergeant Johnson.) One of my favorite memories involves the time I helped find a missing child. We work together on every case, but certain cases will always make me think of the BSC members most responsible for solving them.
For example, the art-related mystery Claudia solved. That’s Claudia Kishi, the vice-president of the BSC. (She was elected to that post unanimously, mainly because she has her own phone and a private phone line, essential to our business.) Claudia is Japanese-American, with long black hair and almond-shaped eyes. She loves art. She’s happiest when she
has a paintbrush or a sculpting tool in her hand. So it makes sense that she was the one to figure out who had stolen some valuable coins from the Stoneybrook Art Museum. Now she’s an honorary trustee at the museum.
Claudia still lives in the house in which she grew up — the one across the street from my old house. (I’ve known Claudia since we were in diapers.) Her mom is the head librarian at the Stoneybrook Public Library; her dad is a partner in an investment firm; and her older sister, Janine, is a genius. Really! Janine’s in high school, but she’s already taking college courses.
Claudia, on the other hand, does not do all that well in school. In fact, she even had to go back to seventh grade for a while, but I’m thrilled to report that she has now returned to eighth. She’s not dumb; she just doesn’t care much about facts and figures.
Besides art, Claudia’s other true loves are 1) junk food (show her a Ring-Ding and watch her eyes light up) and 2) Nancy Drew mysteries (maybe that’s why she’s such a good detective). Both of the above are frowned upon by her parents. One is junk food for the body, according to them, and the other is junk food for the brain. But that doesn’t stop Claudia. She always has several books hidden away in her room, and she supplies the most awesome munchies for club meetings. That day she’d brought out a bag of caramel-nut popcorn, plus a package of chocolate wafer cookies.
Oh, and a bag of salsa-flavored corn chips for Stacey. Stacey McGill, the BSC’s treasurer, is Claudia’s best friend. She’s blonde and blue-eyed and sophisticated. Fashion is not my strong point — far from it. In fact, I hardly ever wear anything other than jeans and a T-shirt. So I couldn’t tell you exactly what Stacey’s style is, but I do know she has it. Tons of it. I think it might be partly because she grew up in Manhattan. Her dad still lives there (her parents are divorced) so Stacey continues to make regular pilgrimages to all her favorite stores. Consequently, she dresses way better than any eighth-grader I’ve ever seen.
Stacey’s best mystery ever? It must be the time she helped to catch a counterfeiter. Pretty cool, huh? It all started when she used a counterfeit bill (she thought it was real) to buy some earrings. And by the time it was over, a big-time criminal had been put away for a long, long time. Go, Stacey!
Oh, about those chips: Claudia always makes sure to have sugar-free snacks on hand for Stacey. Why? Because Stacey has diabetes, a disease that prevents her body from processing sugars correctly. If she isn’t careful about what she eats and when she eats, she could get very, very sick. Plus, she has to test her blood sugar and give herself injections of insulin (a substance her body should make but doesn’t) every single day. I think I’d be whining all the time if I had to do that, but Stacey rarely complains.
Just as she was helping herself to some chips, the phone rang. Stacey picked it up. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club,” she said. She listened for a moment. “Sure, Dr. Johanssen,” she continued. “We’ll see who’s free and call you right back, okay?” She hung up and turned to Mary Anne Spier, who was sitting next to her on Claudia’s bed. “Thursday afternoon?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Mary Anne scanned a page in the club record book. “You, Abby, or Mal,” she said.
“Eye doctor,” Mal piped up.
“Special soccer practice,” said Abby.
“Me, then,” said Stacey, reaching for the phone to call Dr. Johanssen back. I knew she was happy to have the job. Charlotte Johanssen is her favorite charge.
As you can probably tell, we have our BSC system down to a routine. Mary Anne didn’t need to explain that “You, Abby, or Mal” meant that her schedule showed those members as the only free sitters for Thursday. And Mal and Abby didn’t have to go into detail about why they couldn’t take the job. It’s all understood.
Also, nobody has to worry about Mary Anne making a scheduling mistake. As the BSC’s secretary, she never has. She is neat and precise and very good at her job. That’s not to say that Mary Anne is a robot. Far from it. She’s the most sensitive person I know, and she has a very romantic nature (just ask her boyfriend, Logan Bruno!). Mary Anne’s favorite mystery would probably be one she helped solve not long ago, involving a special music box and a secret romance. (“Sigh!” as Mary Anne would say.)
Mary Anne looks a little like me: We’re both short for our age and have brown hair and brown eyes. But, while we’ve been best friends forever (she’s another friend who goes way back to diaper times), our personalities couldn’t be more different. Mary Anne is shy, quiet, and very sweet. I guess we complement each other. I am extremely lucky to have her for a best friend.
Mary Anne has another best friend, who happens to A) live in California and B) be her sister. See, Mary Anne was brought up as an only child, with just her father for a parent, because Mary Anne’s mom died when Mary Anne was a baby. Mr. Spier did a good job of bringing up a daughter on his own (although he was a little too strict at times, in my opinion), but it can’t have been easy. That’s why it was so wonderful when he hooked up with an old flame from high school, a woman who had moved to California, married, and started a family, then divorced and returned to Stoneybrook with her two kids, Dawn and Jeff. Dawn and Mary Anne became best friends even before their parents married — and now they’re sisters too. But Dawn, like her younger brother, Jeff, never truly came to love living in Connecticut, so they now spend most of their time with their dad in California. Dawn just spent the summer in Stoneybrook, though, which was great, since I know Mary Anne misses her.
Dawn was a member of the BSC when she lived here full-time. As the alternate officer she was always ready to step in if one of the officers had to miss a meeting. She’s our honorary member now. Her old job is filled by Abby Stevenson, the BSC’s newest member.
Abby and her twin sister, Anna, recently moved to Stoneybrook from Long Island. Their mom is a high-powered editor at a big publishing house in New York. Their dad? Well, he died in a car crash a few years ago. This has been really hard for Abby, and she misses him all the time. But she’s full of jokes and fun, and she’s always clowning around. Except, that is, when she’s on the playing field or the track. Abby’s a star athlete. A love for sports is something she and I have in common. In fact, Abby helps me coach Kristy’s Krushers, a softball team I put together for little kids.
Even though Abby hasn’t lived here long, she’s definitely done her share of BSC detective work. Recently, she helped to solve one of our most exciting mysteries ever when she figured out the truth about a secret society at a local country club.
Abby and her sister are identical twins. Both have dark, curly hair and bad eyesight (they always wear either glasses or contacts). But we have no trouble telling them apart. Anna is much quieter and more serious, especially when it comes to her passion: music. She’s an awesome violin player. In fact, she’s so devoted to practicing that she turned us down when we invited her to join the BSC.
Abby and the rest of us are thirteen and in the eighth grade. But we have two members who are younger, our junior officers, Mallory Pike and Jessica Ramsey. They’re best friends and both are eleven and in the sixth grade.
They may be young, but they’re excellent detectives. Jessi discovered the true identity of a “dance-school phantom,” and Mallory once helped solve a mystery involving a ghost cat (spooky!). They’re also excellent sitters, even though their parents won’t let them sit at night (except for their own siblings) until they’re older.
Mal, who has reddish-brown hair, freckles, and braces (and hates all three), comes from a huge family. She has seven younger brothers and sisters! Jessi, who has cocoa-brown skin and the lean, strong body of a dancer (she studies ballet seriously), has a baby brother and a younger sister.
That’s it, except for our associate members, who help out when we have more jobs than we can handle. (They’ve also helped out with a mystery or two.) One of them is Shannon Kilbourne, who lives in my neighborhood. The other is Logan Bruno, Mary Anne’s boyfriend.
It was fun to look around the room and think a
bout past mysteries we’ve solved, but daydreaming wasn’t getting me anywhere when it came to our latest mystery. Who had shot off that gun? Where were the diamonds? And why were Sergeant Winters and Officer Hopkins treating Sergeant Johnson so oddly? I was dying to find out the answers — and maybe I’d have the chance to start the next day, when I would go to the police station. That reminded me that I hadn’t told my friends yet about the latest development.
“Sergeant Johnson called me this morning and asked if I could go down to the station tomorrow. I guess he wants to question me or something,” I said just as our meeting was ending. “And I bet Cary Retlin will be there too. Sergeant Johnson asked me if I’d seen anyone else around that evening, and I told him about our bird-watching friend.”
Mary Anne, supportive as always, offered to meet me after my appointment with Sergeant Johnson. Claudia said she’d come too. I accepted. After all, solving a mystery this big would take all the help I could find. Thank goodness I didn’t have to look far for good help.
“Stacey McGill, my baby-sitter, looks awesome today, as always. Nobody else around here dresses as well as Stacey. Today she has on khaki pants and a white button-down blouse. She has a dark blue ribbon in her hair, and it kind of matches her eyes. Her shoes are brown lace-up boots, and —”
“Charlotte, what are you doing?” Stacey, who had heard Charlotte talking as she entered the Johanssens’ kitchen, was now standing right in front of her, hands on hips. “And who are you talking to?” Stacey had arrived a little early (a BSC tradition) for her sitting job, and had just finished saying good-bye to Charlotte’s mom, who was on her way to the hospital. (She’s a doctor.)
“Oops,” said Charlotte. “I guess I got a little carried away.” She put down the small black case she’d been holding near her face. “I was — I was just thinking out loud.”
“Oh, really?” asked Stacey, arching an eyebrow. She adores Charlotte. In fact, since they’re both only children, they’ve kind of adopted each other. They call themselves “almost sisters.” But something funny was going on, and Stacey could tell Charlotte wasn’t being entirely honest with her. “I like your jeans, with the red sneakers and the red sweatshirt,” Stacey said. “That’s kind of a new look for you.” She bent closer to look at something hanging from Charlotte’s belt. “And what’s that? A flashlight? Hmm. Interesting fashion statement.”