“Deal.”
* * *
At noon that day, I was standing in my yard. Well, I wasn’t just standing in it, I was calling for Tigger. It was impossible for me to be almost anywhere without calling or looking for him.
“Ti-i-i-igger! Here, Tiggy, Tiggy!”
I called. I whistled. I shook his toys. I set out cat food. No Tigger.
So I was relieved when the Thomases’ old station wagon pulled up in front of our house. Kristy hopped out and Charlie waved to me.
I waved back.
In Kristy’s hands was a stack of papers.
“Oh, let me see,” I cried, running to her. Kristy handed me the paper on the top of the stack. “Great. This is great, Kristy. How can I thank you?”
“You’re my best friend. We don’t have to thank each other for things. But it would be nice if the posters brought Tigger back.”
“I’ll say.”
As we stood looking at the lost or strayed heading, Claudia showed up. Then Dawn and Mallory. And soon, everyone was gathered in my yard.
Kristy, holding the posters, was in her element. She was in charge.
“Now,” she began, “the idea is to paper the neighborhood. By tonight, there shouldn’t be a single person in this area who doesn’t know that Tigger is missing. I’ve got boxes of thumbtacks, and I want you to make sure you put a poster on every phone pole. Maybe two posters — front and back. Then stuff mailboxes. There are plenty of streets around here.”
The seven of us set out. Logan and I went as a team.
“Mary Anne?” said Logan, as we pushed thumbtacks into opposite sides of a phone pole. “I’m really sorry about Tigger.”
Well, that was a relief. “You are?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“I think,” I said slowly, “that this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Logan smiled. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so dramatic, Mary Anne. A lost kitten is sad, but aren’t you overreacting a little?”
I had nothing to say to that.
Across the street, Mallory stuck a poster in a mailbox, closed the box, ran to the next one, and expertly tossed another poster in.
“Hey!” I called. “Are you training for the Poster Olympics?”
Mal grinned. “I just figure that the faster we get the posters out, the faster we’ll find Tigger.” She ran ahead.
Logan and I were putting posters in mailboxes when my dad drove by. He waved as he slowed to a stop.
“These are the posters, Dad!” I said, handing him one.
My father nodded. “Very profes — Thirty dollars reward! That’s impressive. Where did the money come from?”
“A little came from the club treasury, but most of it’s our own. We chipped in.”
“It certainly ought to get people looking.”
“You think so? Great!”
“I’m on my way to the grocery store,” said Dad. “We ran out of a few things. How would you like me to take along some of the posters? I could put one on the bulletin board in the grocery store, and one on the board by the newsstand. Maybe some other stores will be open. They might let me tape a poster in their windows.”
I gaped. This was my father? He hates doing things like that — asking for favors and stuff. “That would be terrific, Dad,” I said, “but are you sure you want to?”
“For Tigger, anything.”
“Okay.” I handed Dad a bunch of posters and thanked him six times. He drove off.
Logan and I continued. When we reached an intersection, he turned left and I turned right. I was on my own. I walked quickly, so quickly that after a couple of blocks, my legs ached. But it was worth it for Tigger.
Oh, Tiggy, where are you? I thought. That question had been worrying me since Friday. Where are you? But there was another question that was even worse. It had been worrying me since Friday, too. It was so bad, I could hardly bear to think of it. The question was, Tigger, are you alive? What if Tigger had wandered away? What if he’d been hit by a car? The driver wouldn’t know whom Tigger belonged to. So he’d take my kitten to a vet and explain what had happened, and the vet would say, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do,” and then they’d get rid of Tigger. They’d have to. He doesn’t wear a collar with tags.
Dead, I said to myself as I walked along. Dead, dead, dead.
I stuck a poster in a mailbox.
Dead, dead, dead.
I came to a phone pole. Time for the thumbtacks. I pulled the box from my pocket and stuck a poster to the street side of the pole. I was putting one on the opposite side when a voice said, “Who’s Tigger?”
I jumped a mile. When I turned around, I found a boy who looked as if he were about ten years old. He was peering around me at the poster.
“Tigger’s my kitten,” I told him, trying to calm down.
The boy nodded seriously.
“Have you seen him?” I asked.
“Maybe. I guess you want him back pretty badly, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“Is there really a reward?”
“Yup.”
“Well then, okay. Yester-um, no, let’s see. The day before yesterday I saw a — a gray kitten with tiger stripes.”
“That’s just like Tigger!” I cried.
“And he had short hair — I’m sure it was a he, not a she — and he was, oh, about fifteen inches long — I mean, including his tail. And, um, he answered to the name of Tigger.”
I looked suspiciously at the poster I’d just put up. “How did you know to call him Tigger?” I asked the boy.
“Because his name was on his collar?” he suggested.
I shook my head. “Sorry. He doesn’t wear a collar.”
The boy didn’t look a bit uncomfortable about having told a whopping lie. “What’s the reward for?” he wanted to know. “For information leading to finding this cat or something?”
“No,” I replied crossly. “For finding him. For putting him in my hands.”
I stuffed the thumbtacks back in my pocket. Then I just walked off. Sheesh. What was wrong with people? Was money the only thing they could think of?
I walked and walked. I papered our neighborhood until I ran out of posters. Then I went home. I found Mal, Jessi, and Dawn sitting on my front lawn.
“We’re done!” Jessi announced.
“I was done first,” Mal added proudly.
I sat down with them, but as soon as I’d done so, Dawn jumped up.
“We shouldn’t be just sitting here,” she said. “We should be looking for Tigger.”
“But I’ve looked and looked.”
“Then we should look some more. He’s just a baby. He’s so little. Maybe he got stuck somewhere.”
The search for Tigger started out with just the four of us. We grew to seven as Logan, Claudia, and Kristy returned. Then Charlotte Johanssen came by and she joined us. Jamie, Myriah, and Gabbie were about to start a game of Superman Tag (whatever that is), and Nicky Pike was out for a bike ride with his friend Matt Braddock, but all of them stopped their fun and helped us look for Tigger. I was just telling Logan about the boy I’d met while I was putting up posters, when Jamie pulled on my sleeve.
“Mary Anne! Mary Anne!” he said urgently.
I stooped down to his level.
“What’s up, Jamie?”
“Nicky Pike said if you find Tigger you get thirty dollars.”
“That’s true.”
“If I had thirty dollars, I’d buy eleven hundred racing cars.”
I sighed. Here we go again, I thought.
“But you know what?” Jamie went on. “I’d rather just have Tigger back.”
I gave Jamie a huge hug.
We did not find Tigger that afternoon. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.
But I was surprised the next afternoon when Jamie Newton said to me, “Let’s look for Tigger some more.”
It was Monday. I was baby-sitting for Jamie and Lucy, and the weather was gorge
ous. Being outdoors would feel wonderful. But it seemed to me as if we’d already looked everywhere for Tigger. Every possible place. At least around here, and I couldn’t very well take the Newton kids to some other neighborhood in order to go kitten-hunting.
“Don’t you want to find Tigger?” asked Jamie.
“Of course I do!” I said.
“Then let’s look some more. We might have missed a place. Or maybe … maybe” (Jamie’s eyes were widening at whatever this new thought was) “he’s moved, and he’s sitting right in some place we already checked! He might be, you know. We better look everywhere all over again.”
I smiled at Jamie. “Is this really what you want to do today?”
“Yup. You can put Lucy in her stroller. And when we get to your house, we’ll ask Myriah and Gabbie if they want to help us look, too.”
“Well,” I said slowly. “All right.”
When Jamie had made his suggestion, he was sitting at the kitchen table drinking grape juice and eating crackers. And Lucy had just woken up from a nap. So there was a lot to do before we could go Tigger-hunting. I changed Lucy, cleaned her up, and put a new outfit on her. (The lavender overalls she’d worn in the morning were covered with milk, grape juice, and mashed banana.) Then I packed a bag to take on our walk. When you’re watching a baby, you can’t go anywhere without a bag. In it I put Baby Wipes, a bottle full of apple juice, a pacifier, a spare diaper, and a toy.
When Lucy was ready to go I started in on Jamie. He had a gigantic grape juice mustache, which we got rid of with some scrubbing. Then I found his jacket. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” I asked him as I picked up Lucy and her bag.
“Nope,” said Jamie.
“Okay.” Lucy’s stroller was in the garage. At the garage door, I stopped to put her sweater on. “Are you sure you don’t have to go to the bathroom?” I asked Jamie again.
“I’m sure.”
We went into the garage. I settled Lucy in the stroller and hung her bag on the back. “Last chance for the bathroom,” I said to Jamie.
“I’m fine,” he replied.
We set off. We were halfway down the driveway when Jamie said, “Mary Anne? I have to go to the bathroom.”
I sighed. But what can you do? Back we went. Ten minutes later we were on our way again. When we reached the Perkinses’ house, Jamie rang their bell.
“No woof-woof,” he remarked.
“Chewbacca must be in the backyard,” I told him. (Chewy is the Perkinses’ big black Labrador retriever. He loves people and gets excited when the bell rings. Usually, you hear galloping feet and excited barks when you push the doorbell.)
But very small footsteps approached this time. Then the door opened a crack and Gabbie peeked out. When she saw us, her face broke into a grin. She threw the door open.
“Hi!” she cried, blonde hair bouncing.
“Hi-hi!” Jamie replied excitedly. “Do you and Myriah want to look for Tigger again? Mary Anne’s here. She’ll help us.”
“Okay. Let me ask Myriah.”
The excitement over looking for Tigger was great, and in moments, Jamie and his pals were in my front yard.
“This is where you last saw Tigger, right, Mary Anne?” asked Myriah.
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then we’ll start here.”
Myriah, Jamie, Gabbie, and I began whistling and calling and looking in trees and under bushes. But when I pushed Lucy’s stroller into the backyard and found myself looking in our toolshed, a place I was sure I had checked at least twelve times already, I began to feel discouraged — and sort of disgusted.
“Lucy-Goose,” I said, and Lucy strained her neck back to see me. She answers to that name as well as to Lucy and Lucy Jane, which is her full name. “Lucy Goose, let’s go get the mail. I’m tired of this.” And I’m afraid, I thought. I’m afraid that someone will find Tigger — dead.
Getting the mail is the highlight of any day for me, and I felt I needed the highlight just then. So I wheeled Lucy around to the front of my house and down the driveway. I opened the box. I looked inside. Stuffed! I absolutely adore a stuffed mailbox. I listened to the cries and shouts of Jamie, Myriah, and Gabbie while I struggled to pull everything out of the box. Then I pushed Lucy up to our front stoop, where I sat down and dropped the mail into my lap. There was so much it overflowed and fell on the ground. Lucy laughed as I tried to pick it up.
At last it was stacked neatly next to me. I sorted it into piles: bills for Dad, letters for Dad, magazines, catalogues, stuff we could probably throw out, letter for me…. Wait a sec. A letter for me?! I hardly ever get letters.
I picked up the envelope. It must be from Stacey, I thought. But, no, the address wasn’t in her handwriting. Ooh, very exciting. A mystery letter!
“Now this,” I told Lucy, “is why I like getting the mail. You never know what you might find. I can’t wait to see who this letter’s from.”
Lucy blew me a raspberry, then smiled angelically.
I opened the envelope.
What I found inside gave me goose bumps.
“On, no,” I cried softly.
Written in big, messy writing was a short message:
A picture of Tigger was taped to the bottom of the page. It had been cut from one of the posters we’d made.
I swallowed, feeling sick. So Tigger had been kidnapped? But why? Because someone needed a hundred dollars?
“This is curious,” I said to Lucy. What I meant was that it was chilling, horrible, disgusting, and the meanest thing in the world — only I couldn’t say that in front of a little baby.
But what was I doing? Tigger had been kidnapped, and I was sitting on my front steps, talking to Lucy. I jumped up, dumped the mail in our front hall, then found Jamie and the Perkins girls.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” I said to Jamie, “but it’s time to go home.”
“Good,” he replied. “We’re bored. And I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Again?” I said. “Then let’s go.” We walked Gabbie and Myriah to their house, then returned to the Newtons’.
I felt shaky all over by that time. I had to do something, but what? What do you do when someone is asking for a whole lot of money in order to give back something you love — and you haven’t got the money? My friends and I had just barely been able to scrape together thirty dollars. There was a little more money in the treasury, but nothing close to seventy dollars. Maybe I could use the thirty dollars reward money and borrow seventy dollars from Dad. He must have seventy dollars in the bank. I could pay him back later from money I earned baby-sitting.
Okay. There was the solution. I felt a little calmer.
I was standing in the kitchen next to the telephone. From there, I could see into the Newtons’ family room, where Jamie was watching Sesame Street and Lucy was sitting in her playpen. I hated to leave them there, but I was going to have to, for a few minutes anyway.
I picked up the phone. I dialed Dad’s office. First I got cut off. Then I got a busy signal — three calls in a row. When I finally reached my father’s secretary, she said he was on an important call, dear, and would I please hold? I told her that no, I wouldn’t, thank you. As I hung up, I thought, my call was important, too.
But maybe this was better. Maybe telling Dad about Tigger’s ransom note wasn’t a good idea. Dad’s a lawyer. He would probably freak out, and he certainly wouldn’t allow me to go to Brenner Field the next day.
I made another call. This one was to Logan. Kerry answered the phone, sounding quite cheerful, and handed me over to her big brother, who was actually home, which I hadn’t really expected. He plays so much ball these days that he’s usually on the field at school.
“Hi,” I said glumly.
“Hi,” he replied, just as glumly.
“You’ll never guess what happened. Tigger has been kidnapped.”
“What?” (That wasn’t the “What?” I’d been hoping for. I’d been hoping for a “WHAT??!”)
> “That’s right,” I went on. “They left a ransom note.”
I read it to Logan. Then, tearfully, I added, “Oh, Logan, what are we going to do?”
“We?”
“Well, you and I and the rest of the Baby-sitters Club.”
There was a pause. “I’ll have to think,” replied Logan.
“We have a club meeting today,” I told him hopefully.
Another pause. “All right. I’ll be there. I guess it would make sense to discuss the problem together.”
“Thanks, Logan,” I said. “I’ll call Kristy and tell her what’s going on. She should have been the one to ask you to the meeting, but I think she’ll understand about this. It’s an emergency.” (Kristy loves emergencies.)
Logan and I got off the phone then so I could call Kristy. She was completely understanding. Certainly more so than Logan. I couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t seem concerned. And that hurt. But when I told Kristy about the ransom note, I got the “WHAT??!” I’d been waiting for.
“See you at five-thirty,” said Kristy, as we were getting off the phone. “And don’t worry. We’re going to get Tigger back. The Baby-sitters Club can do anything.”
Mrs. Newton came home at 5:15 that afternoon, so I made it to Claudia’s house just a few minutes before the beginning of our club meeting. I brought the ransom note with me, envelope and all. (Once, near Halloween, I had received a mysterious chain letter. The other girls were really upset with me for throwing away the envelope it had arrived in, so I was careful to keep the envelope from the ransom note.)
When we had all gathered, even Logan, we sat in Claud’s room sort of stiffly. This always happens when Logan comes to a meeting. It’s because he’s a boy. Even though we know him and like him (especially me!), he just makes a meeting different. We worry about things such as what if Logan sits on something lumpy and it turns out to be some of Claudia’s underwear? Or what is someone says “bra” or starts to tell a story about a girl we know who might be going out with a friend of Logan’s? Not that Kristy lets much of that go on during meetings, but it does happen from time to time.