New York, New York! (6 page)

Finally we grew tired, "Let's get ice cream," suggested Jessi.
So we did. We found a stand and each bought a double-scoop cone. Then we headed back to Laine's, licking our cones fast to keep the ice cream from dripping.
We had reached a quieter section of the park, away from most of the activity, when I thought I heard a noise. I stopped in my tracks.
"What is it?" asked Jessi, turning around.
"Shh," was my reply. "Listen." We listened. And then I heard it again — a pitiful whining.
"It's coming from over there!" I pointed to some shrubs by the path. Then I sprinted toward them. (I dropped my cone.) "Be careful!" called Jessi.
"I will." Delicately, I parted the bushes. I knew that what I was doing could be dangerous. If a sick animal were hiding there, it could bite me. I should have been wearing gloves. But I wasn't. When I peered into the leafy darkness, the only thing that happened was that the animal whined again.
"It's a dog!" I cried. "It's little, but I don't think it's a puppy." "Is it hurt?" asked Jessi.
"Come here. Come here, boy," I called softly.
The dog crept forward. In the sunlight, I could see that it was dirty and scruffy, but it didn't seem either sick or hurt. In fact, it spotted my ice cream cone, bounded over to it, and began to lick it happily.
"He looks kind of like Louie," I said to Jessi. "He must be part collie." (Louie was this wonderful collie that was our family pet for years. He died not long after we moved into Watson's house. We miss him a lot.) "Hey, boy. Where do you belong?" I asked the dog. I looked for his tags, but he wasn't wearing a collar.
"He must be lost. Or abandoned," said Jessi.
"That does it. I'm taking him home." "To Lame's?" asked Jessi.
"Well, yes. First. But then I'll bring him to Stoneybrook with me." "Kristy ..." "Don't say a word!" I picked up the dog, threw out what was left of the cone, and marched back to the Dakota, Jessi following me. We were across the street from Laine's building when something occurred to me. "I bet the dog won't be allowed in the Dakota," I said. "Lots of apartment buildings don't allow pets." "What are you going to do?" Jessi wanted to know.
"Sneak him in. You help me. Create a distraction so I can get him by the security guard. Faint or something." "I am not going to faint/' said Jessi. "I'll ask for directions." Jessi was great. I have never heard anyone sound more confused. "Lincoln Center is west of here?" she repeated. "And south? Which way is west? . . . I'm a tourist." When the guard turned his back to point out "west/' I ran by him, the dog safely in my arms. But, uh-oh. Now how was I going to get him by the Cummingses? I was in luck. Laine was at home, but her parents weren't.
As I ran the dog into the guest bedroom, Laine exclaimed, "You can't keep a dog in here! He's not allowed." "Tell me about it," I replied.
"We'll have to hide him." "That's what I was thinking. Let's keep him in the guest bedroom. Your parents wouldn't open the door to the room Jessi and Mal are staying in, would they?" "I guess not," said Laine uncertainly.
"Perfect." I closed the door behind us. Laine and I looked at the dog, who looked eagerly at us. He wagged his tail. I think he smiled.
"What are you going to do with him?" Laine asked.
"Take him home. There are so many people and animals at my house that one more won't matter." "Are you sure?" 'Til call Mom at dinnertime. . . . Wait," I said. "I just thought of something. I wonder what Jessi — " At that moment, Jessi entered the room. She looked very pleased with herself.
"What happened?" I asked.
Jessi grinned. "That poor guard is so mixed up! I asked him for all these directions, then I told him I needed them for tomorrow and I walked inside." (The guards knew who we were. They must have thought Jessi was totally ditsy. Oh, well. She had told him she was a tourist.) "Kristy," Laine spoke up, "that dog is going to have to, um, piddle soon. Don't you think we should put down newspapers for him? And get him some food and dishes and toys and stuff?" "Definitely." I handed over the rest of my souvenir money to Jessi and Laine, who agreed to go shopping while I dog-sat.
When they returned, we played with our new pet for awhile. Finally, I decided it was time for me to call home.
Mom wasn't there, but Watson was. I told him the story of the dog. "So can I keep him?" I asked.
"Absolutely not," replied Watson.
Uh-oh.
Mary Anne.
Chapter 10.
Stacey and I had planned a heavy schedule of activities for Tuesday. We just kept thinking of things to do. Then, while we were walking around, we found other things to do. That's what I love about New York. Stuff is happening all the time. You never know what you'll discover.
"Okay," said Stacey cheerfully as we ushered Alistaire and Rowena outside the Dakota on Tuesday morning. "We're off to the Museum of Natural History." "To see the dinosaurs!" added Rowena.
"The dinosaur skeletons," Alistaire corrected her. "Just bones, remember?" "Right. Just bones," repeated Rowena.
"There's also a huge whale I think you'll like," I said.
"A real one?" asked Rowena.
"A model!" said Alistaire impatiently. "We're going to a museum, not a zoo." Rowena made a face at Alistaire. I was glad to see that. Sometimes children who are too polite and proper are scary.
Before we reached the museum, though, we were distracted by a street fair.
"Cool! Look at that!" exclaimed Stacey, pointing down a side street.
1 saw that two blocks had been roped off. Stalls and stands were set up along both sides of the street. A woman was selling balloons. Kids were walking around with Popsicles and cotton candy. A small Ferris wheel was operating at the end of the second block.
"May we go to the fair? Please?" cried Alistaire.
"Please?" added Rowena.
Stacey and I looked at each other. "Why not?" I said.
"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed the children.
As usual, the Harringtons had given Stacey and me plenty of spending money. The four of us roamed the stalls, examining the "rummage" items for sale. (Rowena wanted to buy a music box, but it cost more than a hundred dollars. "It's a genuine antique," a man assured us, but I knew better than to buy a hundred-dollar toy without the Harringtons' permission.) "I'm thirsty," Alistaire announced, so we stood on a line to buy lemonade.
Nearby was a man wearing sunglasses and a rain hat. He was looking around the fair. Lots of families had come to the fair, but plenty of people had come alone, too. (I didn't think I would enjoy a fair alone.) When we had paid for our lemonades (and they were expensive, as lemonades go) we walked around some more. Stacey bought balloons for the children. "You can't take them into the museum, though," she warned them.
"That's all right! That's all right!" said Ro-wena. "We'll tie them to something outside and get them when we're done." Alistaire and Rowena finished their drinks. They rode the Ferris wheel. (The man in the hat and sunglasses watched them from a distance, smiling. I smiled, too. The kids were shrieking with delight.) After their ride, we left the fair.
"How do you like my pet dog?" Rowena asked as the four of us walked slowly toward the museum.
"Your what?" I said. I was holding one of her hands. In her other hand was her balloon. It bobbed along beside us.
"My pet dog," Rowena said again. She pointed to the balloon. "See him? He's on his leash. His name is ... Travis. Travis Balloon." "My balloon is a cat," said Alistaire. "Fat Cat. He likes to walk on his leash." "Very nice," I pronounced.
"They're not really animals," Rowena whispered to me. "Just make-believe." "Oh," I whispered back. "Thank you." Near the museum, Stacey and I spotted a bicycle rack. "We'll tie your . . . pets to the rack/' said Stacey.
"But I think you should know/' I added, "that your pets might be gone by the time we get back here." "Why?" asked Alistaire.
Why? Because sometimes things are stolen. But how could I explain that to a seven-year-old and a four-year-old? Luckily I didn't have to.
"Because pets run away," Rowena informed her brother.
"Oh. Right." Whew.
Inside the museum, Stacey, Alistaire, Rowena, and I headed directly for the dinosaurs. Alistaire was awed. "Look at all those skeletons," he said reverently. "How brilliant." "Bones, bones, bones," sang Rowena. "Is that what we look like inside?" "No, silly!" cried Alistaire, but I wasn't paying much attention to him. I had just turned around and spotted a man in sunglasses and a rain hat ambling around the doorway to the room we had entered.
"What is that? A new style?" I said aloud.
"Huh?" replied Stacey.
"Every other man I've seen today is wearing a rain hat and a pair of sunglasses. I wonder why this guy is wearing sunglasses indoors." Stacey shrugged. "Hey, this is New York. Anything goes." We poked around the museum until the kids grew bored. Then we rode an elevator to the bottom floor and looked around the gift shop. Alistaire bought a T-shirt with a picture of a stegasaurus on the front. Rowena bought . . . That's funny. I can't remember what she bought. Maybe that's because it was in the gift shop that I first felt that creepy sensation of being watched. I looked all around the shop. The only person staring at me was a baby riding in a pack on his mother's back. When I looked at him, he smiled and. drooled. The creepy feeling was not coming from the baby — but it didn't go away.
We ate a quick lunch in the fast-food restaurant near the shop. Then we left the museum. Stacey whispered to me, "Let's go right to the library without passing the bicycle rack. Maybe the kids will forget about their balloons." At almost the same time, Rowena said, "Let's see if our pets are still here." Inwardly, I groaned. Stacey and I had no choice but to go back to the bike rack.
From quite a distance, Alistaire let out a yell. "There they are!" Stacey and I peered ahead. Sure enough, two balloons were blowing back and forth in the light breeze.
"Well, I'm surprised," said Stacey.
"Me, too," I replied. "These balloons are red and blue. They were red and green when we left. Rowena wanted a green balloon, remember?" "I guess," said Stacey slowly.
By then, the kids had untied the balloons and helped each other fasten them to their wrists. Rowena didn't say a thing about the color of her balloon.
Maybe I was losing my mind.
Our next stop was a nearby branch of the public library. Stacey had a New York Public Library card and thought the children might have fun choosing books to read during their stay in the city. Then I discovered that a^sto-rytelling hour was to be held in the children's room that afternoon. We had plenty of time to look for books before the program began.
When we reached the library, we stood outside and I wondered what to do about the balloons. This time, Alistaire saved me. "Let's let our pets go, Rowena," he said. "They want their freedom." So the children released the balloons and watched them float above the branches of a tree and then behind a tall building.
In the library, the kids looked solemnly through the shelves of children's books, and each chose four, which Stacey checked out for them. She waited on line, standing just two places ahead of another man wearing sunglasses and a rain hat. I shivered — and realized I'd had that feeling of being watched while Rowena and Alistaire browsed through the books.
The weirdest thing, though, was that the man came to hear the storyteller, even though he was alone.
"You don't think that's strange?" I asked Stacey. "Do you see any other adults without children in this room?" "No," she replied. "But big deal. So he likes storytelling. It's a lost art, you know." However, Stacey did agree that something was odd when I saw yet another guy wearing sunglasses and a rain hat as we walked back to the Dakota. He was about a block behind us.
"Wait a minute!" I cried softly. "Stacey, how stupid I've been! I haven't been seeing strange men all over the city. I've been seeing the same strange man. We're being followed." "Why would anyone follow us?" asked Stacey.
"Well, maybe he's not following you and me," I replied. "Maybe he's following Alistaire and Rowena. Their parents are pretty important." "You're crazy/' was Stacey's answer. "And don't you dare say a word about this when we get back to the Harringtons'. Do you want us to lose the job?" "I'd rather lose the job than the children." Stacey just shook her head.
Dawn.
Chapter 11.
Nobody stayed at home with me on Tuesday. I understood that Mr. McGill had to work, and that Claud, Mal, Stacey, and Mary Anne were busy. But what about Kristy and Jessi? They abandoned me. Maybe they didn't realize how frightened I was.
I had made the major mistake of listening to the news in the morning. That was when I heard all that murder stuff. (I was pretty sure I'd never see my friends alive again.) Maybe I should call Mom and tell her I was coming home early. No. I couldn't do that. The rest of the BSC members would never let me forget it. Even Jessi and Mal weren't scared, and they're two years younger than I am. I knew I had to stay.
On Monday, when Kristy had come over, we'd watched several hours of television. In fact, since I'd arrived in New York, I'd watched a considerable amount of TV. I'd watched so much that by Tuesday I thought I'd go crazy if I saw one more toothpaste commercial or even if I saw one more I Love Lucy rerun. (The day before, I had discovered that I'd memorized Lucy Ricardo's "Vitameatave-gamin" speech: "Hello, friends. Are you tired, rundown, listless? Do you poop out at parties? Are you unpopular? . . .") So I'd tried listening to the radio. But the music was interrupted every ten minutes by news reports. In desperation, I cleaned out Mr. McGill's refrigerator. Then I organized the food in it. When that was done, I decided I really ought to organize his china, too. I was just putting the last saucer in place when . . . the doorbell rang.
I dove for cover. How had someone gotten upstairs if I hadn't buzzed him in? Maybe it was Stacey. She'd let herself into the building, and now she wanted me to let her in the apartment.
The bell rang again. I crept to the door and squinted through the peephole.
Yikes! A boy was standing in the hallway. And he looked like a real creep. But when he called, "Hello?" I felt I had to answer him.
"Who is it?" I yelled.
"My name is Richie," the boy replied. "Richie Magnesi. I live downstairs. Are you Stacey? Your father said you'd be visiting." Well, I had heard Mr. McGill mention the Magnesis, but how did I know this boy really was Richie Magnesi?
I decided not to open the door, so I said loudly, "Stacey's not here. I'm Dawn, a friend of hers. I'm visiting." "Can I come in? I'm sorry to be so pushy, but I have a broken ankle and I'm supposed to stay off my feet. I can't go out. I'm bored stiff." I looked through the peephole again. Richie was supported by a pair of crutches.