Baby-Sitters Beware (14 page)

didn't add up to much. The only real due was the red Mercedes with the Connecticut plates and the blue sticker that had tried to run Stacey down — if you didn't count the nasty note that had been delivered to Mary Anne via Tigger. And we couldn't make much of that, since it was letters cut from a newspaper and pasted on plain paper.

Someone who didn't want his handwriting to be recognized, I thought, and remembered, with a little jolt, the strange, whacked-out notes I'd been getting from Mary Anne in her distinctive, loopy handwriting.

"DON'T YOU DARE," one had said. Don't I dare what? "LIES AREN'T THE TRUTH," the next one had said. What had I ever lied to Mary Anne about?

Why didn't she trust me anymore?

Why wouldn't she talk to me about it?

And now I was pretty sure she was avoiding me.

Shannon said, "Well, if the blue sticker was the one for last year's Business Bureau, why isn't there one for this year? Why isn't there an orange one, like the orange one Mr. Seger has on his car?"

"Whoever it is, isn't a member anymore," said Mal.

"Right," said Shannon. "That’s a definite possibility."

Jessi sat bolt upright. "So if we compare the two lists the Business Bureau secretary gave us, we can find out who was on the list last year who isn't on it this year."

The words were barely out of her mouth before Mal had flipped the mystery notebook open again and pulled out the lists.

We came up with three names.

One of the names was Karl Tate, the formerly rich real estate man who'd been caught by Dawn and the BSC in a dognapping scheme. He'd gone to jail.

That was why he wasn't a member of the bureau anymore.

"Did Karl Tate have a Mercedes?" I asked. "A red Mercedes?"

"Let me see," said Mal, flipping toward the front of the mystery notebook. "Wow. Look at this. It says that Mrs. Tate was driving a red Mercedes. Maybe it’s her car. Or maybe it's his."

"Yeah, well, he can't drive it in jail," I pointed out.

"What if he isn't still in jail?" suggested Mary Anne softly.

"There's one way to find out," said Shannon, reaching for the phone and the phone book. A few minutes later she was talking to Sergeant Johnson.

When she hung up, she looked solemn. "He's been released," she said. "For good behavior."

"But even if he was out, how would he know that anyone in the BSC was involved in catching him. .." Jessi's voice trailed off. Then she said, "The picture in the Stoneybrook News. The one Abby found by the photocopier at the library."

Shannon picked up the phone again.

"Who're you calling now?" I asked.

She held up a finger, then said, "Hello? Mrs. Tate? Is Mr. Tate there? ... Do you know when he'll be back? ... A few days? Do you know where I could reach him? . . . Oh, just a, ah, friend. . . . No, no message. Thank you."

She looked grimly around at us. "Mr. Tate is out of jail. He's also out of town, and has been for a few days, according to Mrs. Tate."

"He's the one!" said Mary Anne, putting her hands to her cheeks. "That’s why nothing has happened! He's out of town. And that really is why it's only Claudia and Kristy and Stacey and I that all this stuff has been happening to."

"Because he saw your picture, with the article about how we helped to capture him, in the newspaper." Mal's face was suddenly pale, and the faint dusting of freckles on her face stood out. "We weren't in the photo, but you were. He's out of jail and he's out for revenge — against you."

"We have to call Kristy and the others at Shadow Lake and warn them!" Mary Anne cried. "He could already be there!"

For the third time, Shannon picked up the phone. She called information for Shadow Lake, and asked for the number for Watson Brewer. She gave that and the phone to Mary Anne.

"Stacey!" cried Mary Anne a few seconds later. "Is that you? Are you all right?"

She listened for a moment and said, "Oh, no. Stacey, can you hear me? . . . Okay. They caught the Seger burglar. . . . No, I'll tell you about it later. This is much, much more important. It wasn't him who was bothering you. It was Karl Tate. . . . Stacey? Can you hear me? . . . Karl Tate! He's out of jail and . . . Stacey? Stacey! STACEY!"

Chapter 17.

Stacey.

"Hello?" I shouted into the phone. But Mary Anne's voice, coming over the wires from Shannon's den that Sunday, had stopped abruptly.

I gave the phone a thump. I still couldn't hear Mary Anne.

"Karl Tate," I muttered. Was that what I had heard? Why had Mary Anne hung up so suddenly? Then I realized that the phones were down. The blizzard had officially arrived.

I left the small bedroom where the phone was and entered the main room of the cabin, where everyone had just finished breakfast.

"That was Mary Anne," I announced. "But I couldn't understand or hear everything she was saying, and then the phone went dead."

"The phone lines must be down," said Watson, standing up.

At that moment, the lights went out, and all the power in the cabin fizzed off.

"And that, I'm afraid, was the power," he added. Since it was daytime, it wasn't dark. But the leaden gray light outside didn't make things very bright. And the white falling snow was like a curtain closing in around us. The cabin suddenly seemed gray, and colder.

Karen gave a little shriek. "Are we trapped?

Is the monster in the snow going to come and take us away?"

"Like in the movie?" David Michael's voice rose.

"We are not trapped," said his mother firmly. "In fact, we're about to go into town for some more food and supplies, and I think you younger kids should come with us." In the dim light, I could see her eyes meet Watson's, and see Watson nod.

"We'll take the station wagon," Watson said. "It has four-wheel drive."

"That means it can drive anywhere, even through the worst snow," Kristy told her stepsister.

Karen said, with relish, "If we get lost in the snow, we can just live in the station wagon until they find us. Or until spring."

"We're not going to get lost, Karen," said Watson. "And the roads are kept clear even in the worst weather. But bundle up warmly

now."

Claudia said, "We'll help you guys get ready." She and I followed Karen to her bunk. Abby caught on and went with David Michael and Andrew, leaving Kristy with her family to go over any details, such as what to do if the blizzard really did bury the cabin.

When we returned, Watson had left to pull

the station wagon up to the door. We went out onto the porch with Kristy and Sam and Charlie, and the kids climbed into the station wagon.

Kristy's mom turned and said, "Remember, if it gets too bad, you can go to the lodge. But don't try to go if you can't see your way or find the trail. The phone lines will be back up soon. So will the power."

"Don't worry, Mom," said Sam. "I'm here." He flexed his arm like one of those nerd body builders in the backs of magazines.

I rolled my eyes.

Just then a voice said, "Hey! You're not leaving, are you?"

We looked up. "It’s that guy we saw at the lodge yesterday, Woodie Keenan," said Abby softly. "He has a cabin nearby."

Woodie Keenan was bundled up so you could barely see him. I suddenly shivered, realizing how cold I felt.

"Just going into town for a few things," said Mrs. Brewer. "Do you need anything?"

"Firewood," said Woodie. "I'm running low, and so is the lodge."

"We're running low ourselves. We'll be glad to pick some up for you too," Mrs. Brewer assured him. "And we'll be back before very long."

"Thanks," said Woodie. "See you later."

We watched as Woodie disappeared down the trail, then waved good-bye as the station wagon disappeared into the swirling snow.

It seemed darker. And colder. I realized that the day was fading away as the blizzard grew stronger.

"We're almost out of wood," said Charlie. "I think we should bundle up so we don't use as much."

We huddled around the fire for awhile. We couldn't make hot chocolate or coffee because there was no electricity. And it wasn't easy to see in the gray gloom that was enveloping the cabin.

Suddenly Claudia lifted her head. "What was that?"

"What? I didn't hear anything," I said.

"I heard something. Outside."

"The wind," said Kristy impatiently.

Sam said, "There's a little more wood outside under the porch by the back stairs. We should bring it inside and put it near the fire to stay dry."

"Good idea," I said. I was going crazy just sitting there. I jumped up. "I'll go get some."

"I'll go with you," said Sam.

What could I say? More important, what was Sam going to say?

We went out onto the back porch. I put my hand out and touched Sam's arm. I took a deep breath. "Sam. Listen. I like you as a friend. I really do. But Robert and I are

serious."

Sam looked surprised. "I know," he said.

"I know you and your girlfriend broke up, and I, well, I can't really see us getting back together," I continued.

"Us? Us who?" asked Sam, looking even more surprised.

I felt like a big dope. Had I misinterpreted Sam's actions?

"Us, as in you and me ..." My voice trailed off.

Sam stared at me. Then to my surprise he blushed.

"Stacey!" he said. His voice was reproachful. "I still like you. A lot. But I think of you as a friend, someone who is fun to goof with. Someone I can be myself with. Sort of a, uh," he ducked his head, "best girl friend, but not girlfriend, you know?"

"Oh," I said stupidly. I was relieved. And humiliated. How conceited of me.

Then Sam made me feel better. "But I do like to flirt with you," he said. "It keeps me in practice for my next girlfriend."

"Oh, you," I said, swatting him on the arm.

Then I linked my arm through his and we trudged down the back steps.

The snow seemed to be slacking off for a moment. But the sky was darker than ever. I was amazed at how quickly the drifts around the door had piled up.

Sam and I waded off the steps toward the wood under the porch.

Then I stopped. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I pointed.

Sam looked in the direction I was pointing.

The swirling, shifting snow was already covering it, but there was no mistaking what it was.

Blood in the snow.

I shrieked.

When I shrieked, Sam jumped and made a strangled sound.

It was enough to bring everybody running out onto the porch.

"What’s wrong?" asked Kristy.

We both pointed. "Blood!" I managed to say.

Charlie walked along the edge of the porch and so did Claud. They bent over the railing of the porch and peered down at the gruesome spot in the snow.

Charlie shook his head. "Looks like some

poor bird bought it," he said. "A fox probably got it, although they are usually pretty shy and don't come out until later in the day or evening."

"A f-fox?" I asked, through stiff lips.

"Yup. You can see a couple of footprints under the edge of the porch here. And some feathers. Take a look."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'll take your word for it."

Everybody else hustled back inside. I helped Sam fill his arms with logs. Then I walked around the porch and stared out at the woods. I could barely see the nearby trees in the blinding whiteness. The snow had started coming down again, heavier than ever. The wind and snow were already erasing our footprints by the back steps.

And the blood in the snow.

I reached the front of the house, and stopped. The skis that we'd carefully set back against the wall of the porch the day before were still there. Everything looked as it should.

Except for the ski poles that stood upright in the snow on either side of the front steps.

Kristy's ski poles. The ones with the monograms on them that we'd teased her about.

There they stood. They hadn't been there when Watson and Elizabeth had left. We would have seen them.

I stared, and I felt very cold. Colder than the snow that swirled around me.

The ski poles had been snapped neatly in half.

And there were no footprints leading to them, or away.

I turned to go inside, trying to act calm, as if it were no big deal. We had heard somebody outside the house. It hadn't just been the sound of a fox killing a small animal.

Something moved in the trees.

I made a mad dash for the door, flung myself inside, and slammed the door behind me.

Everyone looked up.

"Stacey?" said Claudia.

"What is it?" asked Abby.

I motioned for my friends to follow me into the girls' bedroom.