Dawn and the Halloween Mystery

by Ann M. Martin

  More laughter.

  I pulled off the blindfold and looked. The broom was coming out of the witch’s warty nose. “Okay, Sunny,” I said, joining the laughter. “Let’s see if you can do better.”

  “No problem. This is a piece of cake.” She put on her blindfold, submitted to her spins, and promptly walked across the room the same way I had. We cracked up, and Sunny peeked out of her blindfold. “Hmmm,” she said. “This is harder than I thought.” Fixing the blindfold, she tried again — and this time she hit the poster. But her broom was floating above the witch, in the night sky Jeff and I had painted.

  “Piece of cake, huh?” I asked her, grinning.

  She laughed. “I bet the kids will be better at it than we were.”

  “Can we try out the disappearing chairs game now?” asked Jill. “I want to make sure we set it up right.” She ran to get the radio/tape player and placed it near the row of chairs. “Okay, everybody,” she said. “You know how it goes. I’ll turn on the radio, and you march. Then, when I turn it off, you each grab a chair. There are only enough for two of you. Then I’ll take one chair away to make it harder. That’s the disappearing chair part. Whoever gets the last chair wins.”

  “All set,” we said, standing at the ready.

  “Okay,” she said. “Here goes!” She snapped on the radio. An announcer was talking loudly and quickly. “Darn,” she said. “No music. Hold on while I find another station.”

  “Wait!” said Sunny. “Did you hear what he said?” She had turned white. “There was another robbery. Turn it up!”

  Jill turned up the volume, and we all clustered around the radio. Sure enough, the “clown robber” had struck again, and this time, somebody had been hurt. A clerk at a hardware store had fallen while she tried to move out of his way, and she was in the hospital. The robber had escaped.

  “Bad news,” said Maggie, shaking her head.

  “Very bad news,” I said. “That’s awful.”

  “Trick-or-treating will definitely be called off now,” said Sunny.

  Jill nodded. “Which means our party is definitely on. Good thing we’re ready.”

  We surveyed the room solemnly. I felt terrible that the robber was still on the loose, but as I looked over our work I felt good about one thing. That clown wouldn’t be able to ruin Halloween for the kids, after all.

  I woke up early on Halloween morning and lay in bed, thinking about costumes. I wanted something that would be easy and fun. Something that would reflect my personality.

  Something I could throw together fast.

  There wasn’t much time left. I had a sitting job with Erick and Ryan that morning, and later in the day I’d be busy with last-minute preparations for the party. I still had to whip up a batch of pumpkin-granola nut cookies, for one thing.

  I looked around my room, hoping for inspiration. My favorite pair of overalls hung on a hook near my closet: should I be a farmer? What about the sheets that were pulled up to my chin? Would they make a good ghost outfit? I glanced at a flowered skirt I’d tossed over a chair: if all else failed, I could put together a gypsy costume.

  None of those ideas thrilled me. But I didn’t have time to worry about it then, not if I was going to be on time for my job with Erick and Ryan. I jumped out of bed, dressed quickly, and headed downstairs for breakfast with Dad and Jeff.

  “Morning, Sunshine,” said my dad, smiling at me over his newspaper.

  “Morning, Sunburn,” said Jeff. “Get it? You give me a pain, just like sunburn.” He grinned.

  I bopped him on the head. Living with Jeff means being called names on a regular basis, but I don’t mind it. In fact, I miss it when I’m not around him. Brother-sister relationships are funny that way.

  “Ready for Halloween?” I asked. “I see you’re already wearing that ugly mask.”

  Jeff, who wasn’t wearing a mask at all, just laughed and went back to eating his cereal.

  “I can’t believe they still haven’t caught that robber,” said my dad, shaking his head as he put down the paper. “You two be careful out there, okay? Keep your eyes open when you’re in stores.”

  “Speaking of stores,” said Jeff. “Did you get the Halloween goodies yet, just in case there’s trick-or-treating after all?” He always likes to be sure that we’re going to give out something good, so he won’t be embarrassed in front of his friends. One year, my mom actually handed out raisins and apples! Jeff was mortified. He convinced my health-nut family to give up their principles for one day a year, and since then we’ve always handed out the “good stuff.”

  “Carol’s picking it up,” said my dad. “I think she said she’s buying carrots.” He gave Jeff a teasing glance.

  Jeff glared at him. “You better be kidding,” he said.

  “I am. She’s getting some gooey chocolate stuff, I think.”

  “That’s more like it,” said Jeff.

  “I’d go for the carrots, myself,” I said, finishing the last bite of the oatmeal-raisin toast I’d made myself. “Anyway, I have to run. See you guys later.” I grabbed my backpack, gave my dad a quick hug and Jeff a high-five, and headed out the door.

  As I walked to Erick and Ryan’s, I thought about what a pity it was that we hadn’t been able to catch the robber. I could tell that Jeff was still hoping against hope that he’d be allowed to trick-or-treat, and most of the other kids probably felt the same way.

  I saw the Fords’ house up ahead and thought about Timmy. Being able to trick-or-treat would mean a lot to him, too. He was excited about the costume Mrs. Stevens had helped him with, and he’d even added a few details to it. He was going to be a very convincing alien.

  As I approached the Fords’, I noticed that the backyard gate in their chain-link fence was swinging open, so I stopped to close it. I remembered how angry Mr. Ford had been about that dog digging in their yard. As I latched the gate, I happened to look down, and what I saw made me raise my eyebrows. There was a dirt path leading up to the gate, and in the dirt were footprints.

  Footprints with the clear outline of shooting stars.

  Somebody wearing Fly Highs had been walking around in Timmy’s yard. I leaned over to take a better look. There were a lot of footprints, going into and out of the yard. Then I shrugged. So what if there were footprints? It wasn’t really much of a clue. After all, those sneakers were available in lots of stores. The robber wasn’t the only one who had them. And even if it were some kind of clue, it was too late for me to follow it up in time for the kids to trick-or-treat. I decided to tell Officer Garcia about it on Monday, just in case she wanted to stake out the area.

  I headed back to the sidewalk, feeling a little down. My friends and I had done our best, but we hadn’t even come close to solving the crime. Thinking of Officer Garcia made me wonder if the police were doing any better. Did they have any leads? Or were they stumped, just like us?

  As I passed the Fords’ garage, something made me glance toward it. The garage door was open, for the first time I could remember. Mr. Ford usually just left his motorcycle in the driveway, but this time it was parked inside. And seeing what was parked next to it made me stop in my tracks. I put my hand over my mouth and just stood there staring.

  It was a Chevy. A black Chevy. With a bumper sticker from — you guessed it — Frank’s Franks.

  “I don’t believe it,” I said out loud. Then I thought of Timmy. “I don’t want to believe it,” I said, more quietly. There was no mistaking that car. It was, without a doubt, the car I’d seen the robber jump into. That meant that the robber was —

  “Mr. Ford!” I said, in a whisper. “Timmy’s dad. Oh, no!”

  Then I realized something. If the motorcycle and the car were both in the garage, that meant Mr. Ford must be home. Had he seen me looking into his garage? If so, he might think that I knew he was the robber. I looked around quickly, hoping I hadn’t been seen. And as I glanced toward the Fords’ house, I thought I saw a curtain moving in one of the upstairs windows.
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br />   My heart stopped. At least, it felt as if it did.

  For a second I felt paralyzed, as if my feet had grown roots. Then, somehow, I made myself move. I ran over to Erick and Ryan’s house, banged on the door, and waited for what felt like hours.

  Finally, Cynthia pulled the door open. “Howdy, Dawn!” she said cheerfully. “Happy Halloween!” Then she took a closer look at me. “What on earth —” she began.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said. “Alone.”

  She nodded. She seemed to understand that I had something very serious to tell her. “The boys are upstairs,” she said, “putting the finishing touches on their costumes. Come on into the kitchen.” She walked quickly, and I followed her, my head buzzing with thoughts. She handed me a glass of water and sat me down at the table. Then, after she’d made a quick phone call to cancel her plans, she sat down across from me.

  I took a sip of water and felt its chill slip all the way down to my stomach. Then I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “What is it, Dawn?” Cynthia asked, leaning over to take my hand. “Tell me.”

  “Mr. Ford,” I said, my voice squeaking a little.

  “Mr. Ford?” Cynthia looked confused.

  “He’s the one who robbed that store,” I said, all in a hurry so the words ran together. “In a clown mask. It was him.”

  “Dawn!” said Cynthia. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  “I’m as sure as I can be.” I felt a little calmer now that we were talking about it. “I saw the getaway car parked in his garage. And there are Fly High footprints in his backyard.”

  “Oh, my,” said Cynthia, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, my.”

  “What do we do?” I asked. I was feeling a little panicky. After all, Mr. Ford had been carrying a gun that day in the parking lot.

  “Do?” she said. “Well, I guess we call the police. Thank goodness Timmy is away for the morning. He’s visiting his cousin.” She passed a hand over her forehead. “This is just awful,” she said, sounding a little dazed.

  “I know. I still can’t believe it. But what other explanation can there be?” I stood up, went to the phone, and dialed. “Officer Garcia, please,” I said.

  * * *

  A police car pulled up across the street just a few minutes after I’d made my call. I didn’t watch as they took Mr. Ford away. I couldn’t stand to think of Timmy’s beloved dad in handcuffs.

  A few minutes after that, another police car pulled up in front of the DeWitts’ house, and an officer climbed out and came up the walk. He was looking for me. Cynthia showed us both into the den, and for the next fifteen minutes I gave the officer, whose name was Sergeant Sweetzer, a statement about what I’d seen.

  Later, as Cynthia and I were saying good-bye to Sergeant Sweetzer, Erick and Ryan came flying down the stairs. “Wow!” said Erick, stopping in his tracks when he saw a police officer standing in his front hall. “Are you a real cop, or is that a Halloween costume?”

  Sergeant Sweetzer smiled. “I’m a real cop,” he said. He tipped his hat and let himself out.

  “What was he doing here?” Erick asked.

  Cynthia and I exchanged a quick glance. “He was — he was here to tell us that the robber has been caught,” said Cynthia. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  I gave her a little smile. There was no reason — yet — to tell the boys that their friend’s dad was a criminal. Poor Timmy was going to have to deal with that soon enough.

  “They caught him?” asked Ryan. “Really?”

  “Awesome!” yelled Erick. “That means we can go trick-or-treating, right?”

  “Well —” Cynthia began. “I don’t —”

  “Oh, please, mom?” begged Ryan.

  “You said we could go if they caught him,” Erick reminded her.

  “I did, didn’t I?” She looked questioningly at me, and I shrugged, as if to say “why not?” “Well, I suppose it would be all right,” she said.

  “Yay!” The boys burst into cheers.

  “I’m going to go call Tommy,” said Erick. “And Brad, and — and everybody! Wait till they hear this!”

  And that was that. Within minutes, the news would be all over town. Trick-or-treating was on again. I would have to call my friends and let them know that our party would take place a little later than we’d planned. We would also have to make lots of calls to let clients know we could take their kids trick-or-treating after all. But I didn’t mind. I’d gotten my wish — the robber had been caught. But somehow, it was hard to be completely happy about it. I kept thinking about how Timmy would look when he found out about his dad. I knew no amount of candy was going to make him feel any better.

  “Ooh, what have we here?”

  I watched with pleasure from the sidewalk as the woman at the door smiled at my charges, complimented them on their costumes, and dropped goodies into their bags. I might not have approved of all those goodies going into the kids’ bellies, but for once I wasn’t going to say a thing about how bad sugar is for your teeth and body. I was just going to let the kids enjoy their day to the fullest.

  I smiled as Stephie, Clover, and Daffodil came tripping back to me. I was taking the girls around for trick-or-treating, while Sunny took Erick, Ryan, and Timmy. We’d agreed to split up, so as not to overwhelm people by appearing at their doors with six kids. “Look what we got!” said Stephie, holding up a tiny Snickers bar. “And the lady said I was the prettiest ballerina she ever saw!”

  “And I’m the most beautiful good witch,” said Daffodil.

  “And I’m the cutest bunny!” Clover added. “That lady sure did like our costumes.”

  “I like them, too,” I said. “You guys look terrific.” They really did, too. Stephie, who’s eight, was wearing a pink tutu with spangles all over it, white tights and a white leotard, and pink ballet slippers. She had a little “diamond” tiara perched on her head. Clover, who’s only six, was wearing a rabbit costume her mom had made: a gray suit (made out of dyed sleeper pajamas) with a tail, and a hat with pink bunny ears on it. She had drawn whiskers on Clover’s face with an eyebrow pencil. Daffodil, who’s nine, was wearing a pink, gauzy dress with puffed sleeves, and she carried a magic wand with pink and purple ribbons streaming from the gold star on top. She was supposed to be Glinda, the good witch from The Wizard of Oz.

  “How come you’re not wearing a costume?” Stephie asked.

  “I will be, later,” I said. “At the party.”

  “What are you going to be?” asked Daffodil, taking my hand as we walked to the next house.

  “Not telling,” I said. “It’s a surprise!” I tried to look mysterious.

  I had finally figured out a costume that afternoon. The idea had just come to me, and I realized it was perfect. Carol had helped me figure out how to create the costume, and I was ready to slip into it as soon as I finished taking the girls trick-or-treating. But my costume really was a secret. I hadn’t even told my friends in the We ♥ Kids Club what I was going to be.

  We’d agreed to save our costumes for the party, figuring we’d have a half hour or so to change while the kids ate a quick dinner between trick-or-treating and the party. Then we’d rush over to the school gym just in time to greet our guests.

  Earlier that day, I’d been worried about how Timmy would deal with the news about his dad. But Cynthia had solved the problem, at least temporarily. “I don’t think we should tell him until we have to,” she’d said. “Let’s not ruin Halloween for him.”

  When Timmy came back from visiting his cousins, Cynthia was waiting for him. She told him some story she’d cooked up about why his dad had to go away suddenly, and she said she’d be happy to help him put on his costume. (She’d promised the police that she’d be responsible for Timmy.) Timmy was so excited about trick-or-treating that he didn’t even ask any questions. Now the little alien was out with Sunny, bagging all the goodies he could.

  And I was with my group, watching as they walked up to each house,
rang the bell, and yelled “Trick or treat!” (Or, in Daffodil’s case, whispered it. She’s a little shy sometimes.) Watching this scene stirred up happy memories of Halloween when I was a little kid. I’d always loved dressing up. Even then, though, I didn’t like candy so much. I’d give most of my booty away to friends, or, when he was old enough, to Jeff.

  It wasn’t quite dark out yet, as I knew it would be in Stoneybrook at that time of day. But the sun was going down, and the shadows were growing. I started to think about some of my favorite ghost stories, just to get in the Halloween mood. I remembered one about a house where a little girl had died of influenza. Her ghost haunts the playroom, rearranging furniture in the dollhouse and “tucking in” the now-antique stuffed animals that are still kept for her to play with.

  Remembering the story gave me a fun little shiver. I decided I’d tell it during our haunted storytime that night at the party. Then, just as I was trying to recall some more details, I saw something that gave me a not-so-fun shiver. It was a figure dressed in black, flitting through the yard between two houses. I stopped to stare, but before I could see any more the figure had disappeared.

  “Creepy,” I muttered. Then I laughed at myself. After all, it was Halloween. The streets and yards were full of kids dressed as skeletons, ghosts, and witches. If I was going to get creeped out by everything I saw, it was going to be a long evening. “Come on, girls, let’s keep moving!” I said to my charges, who had taken a seat on the curb in order to assess how much candy they’d raked in so far.

  “Look at this!” said Daffodil, holding up a full-sized Hershey bar. “Those people always give the best stuff.”

  “I like Smarties best,” said Stephie, unwrapping a roll of them.

  “Hold on, Stephie,” I said. “Your dad said you weren’t supposed to do too much munching as you went along, remember?”

  “Oh, right,” she said, looking a little guilty. “Can I just have one?”

  “Okay,” I said. “But remember, we’re going to have some treats at the party, too.”