Baby-Sitters Beware (3 page)

Mal has blue eyes, curly reddish brown hair, and pale skin that burns and freckles easily. She wears braces and glasses and dreams of the day her braces come off and her parents allow her to have contact lenses. Mal likes to write and draw, and wants to be a children's book author and illustrator someday. She's already won prizes for her writing, and she even had a temporary job helping out a famous children's book writer who lives in Stoneybrook.

I like to dance. In fact, I want to be a ballerina someday. I get up every morning at 5:29 A.M., one minute before my alarm goes off, to

practice my ballet moves at the barre that my parents set up for me in the basement of our house. I am a little taller than Mal, and thinner, and I have brown skin and brown eyes. I guess I'm inclined to wear ballet style clothes (Mal is a jeans and sweater person, more like Kristy). I often wear my hair pulled back in a bun, and leotards and leg warmers are fashion accessories for me as well as dance necessities.

Both Mal and I wear earrings because we were recently allowed to have our ears pierced, the first victory in our ongoing battle to convince our parents to treat us more like adults.

Meanwhile, we are the youngest members of the BSC and the junior officers. We're junior officers because we can't baby-sit at night, except for our own families. So we do a lot of afternoon and weekend daytime sitting, which frees the other club members to take jobs at night.

The newest member of the BSC is Abby Stevenson, who has a twin sister, Anna. They look alike — they are both medium height with dark curly hair and brown eyes and pointed faces — but Anna wears her hair short while Abby wears hers long. They both have contacts and glasses, and wear either one, de-

pending on how they feel. Abby is our alternate officer, which means she fills in for other officers in the club when they can't make it to a meeting.

The Stevensons just moved here from Long Island, because Mrs. Stevenson landed a great new job in New York City, to which she commutes every single day — plus most Saturdays, and some Sundays. That leaves Abby and Anna pretty free to do what they want.

Come to think of it, I can't imagine anyone preventing Abby from doing exactly as she pleases. She's been in the BSC for just a little while, but she is what Stacey calls One Tough Cookie. She stands up to Kristy, and is as firm in her opinions as Kristy is. Abby loves jokes, especially puns. Sometimes she even makes them in two languages, because Abby speaks a little Yiddish. Yiddish is a language that was spoken mostly by Jewish people in Eastern Europe, where Abby's mother's family is from.

Abby’s also a born athlete. I don't think there's a sport she doesn't play, and she seems to take to them all naturally. Right now she's playing on the soccer team. And she runs miles when she's not practicing soccer (or some other sport) to keep her competitive edge. I haven't seen Abby play soccer yet, but if she runs as fast as she talks, she should

have no problem. She is always in high gear and high spirits. One other thing about Abby is that she has allergies to all kinds of things, including milk and many animals that have fur. (Her motto is: "Life makes me sneeze.") She also has asthma. Like Stacey, Abby has to be careful about what she eats, and she has to carry an inhaler with her at all times. An inhaler is a small, tube-shaped device. When Abby has trouble breathing, she holds it to her mouth and takes a breath out of it. It helps when she's having an allergic reaction, or feels an asthma attack coming on.

Shannon and Logan are our associate members. Like Abby, Shannon is a neighbor of Kristy’s. In fact, she's the one who gave Kristy's family their Bernese mountain dog puppy, after the Thomases' wonderful old collie Louie died. The puppy was one of a litter that Shannon's dog had had. David Michael named the puppy Shannon, in Shannon's (the person's) honor.

Logan is not only a member of the BSC but, as you know, Mary Anne's boyfriend. He's definitely cute (Mary Anne thinks he looks like Cam Geary, her favorite star), plus he has a nice, soft Southern accent, and he's very easygoing. He's also a super jock. His main sports are baseball and track. It’s good to know that

we can count on Logan and Shannon in a pinch.

Like now. Kristy had just hung up the phone. "Mrs. Rodowsky," she reported.

We all grinned. The Rodowsky family is one of our favorites, maybe in part because the three Rodowsky boys for whom we baby-sit make it dear that we are their favorites, too. They've even gotten together with the Arnold twins and Matt and Haley Braddock and treated the BSC to lunch to show their appreciation. Shea, who is nine, is a terrific athlete and all-around good sport. Jackie, his seven-year-old brother, is so accident-prone that we call him "the Walking Disaster." (If he hits a home run, it’s sure to break a window!) It never seems to bother him, though. He just grins and keeps going. And while we're not sure where on the athletic spectrum four-year-old Archibald Rodowsky fits yet, he, like his brothers, has red hair and a boundless supply of good humor.

Unfortunately, none of us could take the job. We all had other jobs or activities scheduled. So Mary Anne called Logan (naturally she knows his phone number by heart) and Logan took the job. Since he lives a few streets over from Reilly Lane, where the Rodowsky s live, it worked out perfectly.

Meanwhile, I watched Kristy zip over to the window and back again three or four times.

"Santa's not expected until late December," said Abby, grinning.

Kristy rolled her eyes. "I can't wait that long. I want snow now."

"You still have two weeks," I said. "Anything could happen. Even a blizzard."

"Speaking of blizzards," said Kristy, "you should have seen this awful old movie David Michael and Karen were watching on TV Friday night. It was called It Came From the Snow. This thing kept lunging up out of the snow and grabbing skiers with its claws. It makes my top ten Worst Movies of All Time list. It was terrible."

"They loved it, right?" asked Stacey.

"Right," said Kristy. She glanced toward the window again.

"Snow is a kind of insulation," said Claudia unexpectedly. This is not the sort of fun fact that Claudia usually comes out with. She went on, while we all stared at her, "It helps keep the freezing weather from killing the plants. Janine was talking about it at dinner last night."

"Tell it to my parents," said Mal, almost crossly.

"Do I sense a dislike of insulation here?" I teased Mal.

Mal said, "I told my parents about the trip to Shadow Lake. I told them that this time, there wouldn't be any insects. I told them I'd get to ski. And what did they say? Insulation. That’s all they talk about."

"Well, at least you'll have me there," I pointed out.

Mal sighed.

"Thanks a lot!" I said, pretending to be indignant.

Mal sighed again. "It’s not that, Jessi. It’s just that the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to try Shadow Lake when it was bug-free."

"Well, don't worry," said Kristy. "We'll be going back. You can come with us next time."

A third sigh escaped from Mal, but at least she looked more cheerful. She managed to give us a small smile. "Okay," she said. Then she added, "Except that, with my luck, something really weird will happen on this trip, and you'll never go back."

Kristy held up her hands like claws. She made a hideous face. "It came from the snow. ..." she intoned, and we all cracked up.

Chapter 3.

Abby.

The sports committee is sort of bogus, but I figured I should be there, and I figured Kristy should, too. It wasn't too hard to talk her into going to a meeting to express her opinion. In this instance, it was a meeting to solicit student input about fund-raising for various sports programs at the school, and where the funds we were going to raise should be spent. I wanted to be there to put in a word for soccer. And Kristy, who'd been on the softball team, had a few words to say, too.

The teachers and coaches wrote down our comments and smiled and nodded and thanked us for our "input." I knew what that meant. They'd do what they wanted and we'd let them, unless we felt like putting up a big fuss about some really heinous use .of the funds, such as painting the locker rooms plaid.

I'd stuck my nametag on my jacket. Kristy, who was wearing her collie cap, had put the nametag on the front of the cap. We were headed for the BSC meeting at Claudia's, goofing around as we went. At first, the sound of breaking glass didn't even register.

Then we stopped talking.

"Did you hear that?" asked Kristy.

"Yup," I said. "And as an experienced baby-sitter, I think it is definitely the sound of glass breaking."

"We're near the Rodowskys," said Kristy. "They live next door. Oh, lord, I bet Jackie's hit another baseball through someone's window."

She took off in the direction of the sound. Since I am unwilling at any time to let anyone leave me in the dust, especially Kristy, I took two giant leaps after her and caught up. We jogged around the side of the house and looked toward the Rodowskys'.

No one was outside. The backyard was empty. No red-headed Babe Ruths or Hank Aarons in the making. Not even the Rodowskys' dog Bo.

We turned like a precision marching team and sure enough, one of the side windows in the Rodowskys' neighbors' house was blasted to bits. But no baseball had done that damage. It had been something large. Person-sized, even.

Kristy and I exchanged a look and started walking back around the house without a word. No alarm was going off, but if someone had launched themselves (or anything large) through that window, we both knew without discussion that it would be better to call the cops and let them handle it.

We'd just reached the front of the house when I noticed an ancient, battered Ford Escort, that might once have been white, chugging up the street.

"Hey," I began, but before I could finish the thought several things happened very quickly — so quickly we didn't have time to freak out. (We had to save that for later.)

The front door of the house behind us banged open.

We both jumped about fifty feet into the air, although to our credit neither of us shrieked or screamed.

Then a man came barreling out of the door. I yanked Kristy out of the way (okay, so maybe we both yanked each other out of the way) and he hurtled past us across the grass, toward the car. He was a little shrimp of a guy, wearing a ski mask and gray sweats bunched at the ankles above scuffed jogging shoes. A gym bag was tucked under one arm like a football. And he was moving like a quarterback for the end zone.

But as fast as he was moving, his eyes seemed to take us both in, head to toe. They moved back and forth in the little circles cut in the ski mask, and it gave me the creeps. I felt as if I'd been photographed. Then he blinked and was gone, diving into the car. I

heard him say something to whomever was driving. The car gave a lurch and the tires squealed.

"The license plate," exclaimed Kristy.

We reached the curb in time to see the license as the car sped out of sight, but it was covered with mud. Either those guys had been parking in a mondo mud puddle, or they fixed it that way.

Personally, I think they fixed it that way.

We turned again and raced to the Rodowskys' house. Kristy hammered on the front door while I rang the bell.

Mrs. Rodowsky opened the door. She looked very surprised. "Kristy! And... Abby, isn't it? You aren't baby-sitting today, are you? Because none of the boys are here — "

"No!" Quickly, breathlessly, Kristy told Mrs. Rodowsky what we had seen. Mrs. Rodowsky called the police, and they said they'd be there right away.

Then Kristy asked, "May I use your phone now, Mrs. Rodowsky?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Rodowsky. She excused herself to watch for the police. Meanwhile, Kristy dialed and said, "Hello, Claud? Kristy. Abby and I are going to be a little late for the meeting today. Start without us."

Trust Kristy to remember every detail.

The police were as good as their word. They showed up about three minutes later.

Why did it not surprise me that Kristy even knew one of the officers, Sergeant Johnson? She'd met him when Claudia had helped to solve a bank robbery, working from a due she found in a photograph she'd taken.

Funny, but Sergeant Johnson didn't look all that surprised to see Kristy, either. He said hello as if Kristy were someone he talked to every day, then introduced his partner, Sergeant Tang. While she checked out the scene of the crime, he listened, his eyes intent, as we described what had happened.

When we'd finished talking, Mrs. Rodowsky confirmed that she hadn't heard anything until we'd showed up, acting like maniacs, on her doorstep. "Mr. Seger," she told Sergeant Johnson. "That’s our neighbor's name. I barely know him, though. I don't even know his first name. He's not there that much and he's not very, well, outgoing."

"Have you noticed anyone around here lately who isn't one of your neighbors? Anyone who loitered in a suspicious manner? Has anyone come to your door and said they were selling something, or taking a survey, then asked you questions about your neighbors and their habits?"

"N-no," said Mrs. Rodowsky, frowning as she thought it over.