Baby-Sitters Beware

by Ann M. Martin

  I leaned my forehead against the window — and froze.

  Someone was standing in the shadow of the tree nearest my window.

  I blinked, unable to believe my eyes. The figure didn’t go away. It stayed there, motionless. The stillness, the watchfulness of it was very, very scary.

  I don’t know how long I stood there like that. Suddenly, I realized with a cold chill that I was outlined against the window by the light from my bedside lamp behind me. Whoever it was could see me clearly, could see my room, even though I couldn’t tell anything about him.

  I jerked back with a muffled shriek. I yanked the curtains together and stood there, breathing hard, as if I had been running. After awhile, I realized that I was clutching the curtains so tightly that my fingers were beginning to tingle. I let go of the curtains. I turned off the lamp and stood for a while in the dark, letting my eyes adjust to it. Then I went back to the window and pulled the curtain to one side a little, just enough to peer cautiously out. I flinched as I did, half expecting a rock to come through the glass.

  Nothing happened. All I saw was an empty lawn, the trees, the distant line of fence and a meadow, dark and still and quiet.

  Had I imagined it after all? Had what had happened at Kristy’s made me see things in shadows?

  No. No, I was sure I’d seen a dark figure, lurking under the tree.

  Hadn’t I?

  I decided not to tell Sharon and my dad, at least not right away. Instead I scooped up Tigger, who was asleep on the bed, and draped him over my shoulder. I walked around the house as casually as I could, making sure all the doors and windows were locked. I told Sharon good night and returned to my room to go to bed.

  But it was a long, long time before I fell asleep.

  * * *

  “It was really creepy,” I said. “I just happened to look out the window, and there he was!”

  “He?” asked Stacey.

  “Or she,” I said impatiently. “Whoever.” I shuddered at the memory.

  Stacey asked, “Maybe you should tell your dad and Sharon.”

  “I know. I probably should.” I sighed. Secretly, I was afraid if I told my father that I thought I’d seen someone lurking around our house, he’d start making up a list of strict, new rules “for my own good.”

  Stacey said, “I can’t believe what happened at Kristy’s. Talk about creepy.”

  “Could we not talk about creepy right now?” asked Claudia. “That’s all we’ve been talking about. I thought we were here to shop.”

  “Sorry, Claudia,” said Stacey.

  Claudia looked contrite. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to be nasty. I guess all this stuff is just psyching me out, you know?”

  She turned and refocused her attention on a rack of thin, silky-looking shirts that we’d been examining for at least five minutes. Then she said, “The blue.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Try on the blue one,” she commanded.

  I looked doubtfully at the silky blue shirt. It was a very bright blue. I am not a bright blue sort of person.

  On the other hand, Stacey was nodding slowly. “I can see it,” she murmured.

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll try it on. But I don’t promise to like it.”

  We were shopping at the mall. Specifically, Claudia and Stacey were helping me look for something new (and affordable) for the special football-season-is-over date.

  Logan had mentioned the possibility of going to a “real” restaurant for dinner.

  He hadn’t mentioned sending me any notes.

  As if she had read my thoughts, Stacey said, “So, what did Logan say about the note he sent you?”

  “He didn’t say anything. I don’t think he sent it.” I’d told everyone in the BSC about the note I’d found in my locker. Everyone except Logan, that is. For some reason, I was waiting for him to say something.

  Didn’t the fact that he hadn’t said anything prove that the note was some kind of weird joke that someone — not Logan — was pulling?

  Both Stacey and Claudia thought this made sense.

  “Hmm,” said Stacey, raising her eyebrows. “I wonder which extremely immature person in SMS might do an extremely childish and stupid thing like sending anonymous notes.”

  None of us said anything for a moment. But I knew we were all thinking of Cokie Mason. Not only had she had a massive crush on Logan, but she also had sent Kristy threatening notes once.

  Then Claudia remembered our mission. “The blue shirt,” she said, thrusting it into my arms.

  We headed for the dressing rooms.

  By the time we’d finished shopping, I’d added not a blue shirt but a very thin, lace-edged sweater to my wardrobe. I was going to wear it with a skirt, and one of Stacey’s belts. I also bought new, patterned stockings, and Claudia promised to lend me a pair of her earrings “that would be awesome.”

  I was feeling pretty pleased as we walked out of the mall and headed for the corner, to wait for the bus back to Stoneybrook. We were going back to Claudia’s house. Later, Sharon was going to pick up Stacey and me, and drop off Stacey on the way to our house.

  Suddenly, I had this creepy sensation. I was sure I was being watched.

  I stopped so abruptly that Claudia ran into me. “Hey!” she complained. “Watch out!”

  I didn’t answer. I turned and looked around the parking lot. Plenty of people were around, driving cars, parking, and walking to and from the mall.

  Nobody was paying any attention to me.

  That’s what I told myself. But I also realized that if someone wanted to, he or she could watch me very easily. He could slump down in the seat of any one of dozens of cars, or crouch down beside or behind one of the cars, in the shadows. There were plenty of ways to see me without being seen.

  “Mary Anne?” Claudia touched my shoulder. “Is there a reason you want to wait for the bus in the middle of the road?”

  “Oh. Sorry,” I said. I felt foolish. I joined Claudia and Stacey in the shelter of a bus stop.

  The late afternoon shadows were lengthening. As the days grew colder and winter settled in, the dark came earlier and earlier. It would be almost dark by the time we reached Claudia’s.

  I shivered.

  Claudia said, “I could use some quality junk food about now.”

  “Claud, we had popcorn in the mall,” Stacey reminded her.

  “True,” Claudia answered regretfully.

  I didn’t say anything. I just kept looking around. Someone was watching. I could feel it. I was sure of it. Someone was out there in one of those cars, watching me.

  The way someone had watched my house.

  But I couldn’t prove it. If I said anything, I would probably sound as if I were paranoid, because of what had happened at Kristy’s house. And what I thought had happened at mine.

  So I kept quiet. And I kept watch, too, until at last the bus arrived and we were able to head safely home.

  * * *

  “We’re hooooome,” sang Claudia as we pushed open her back door.

  From upstairs, I heard a door open, and footsteps.

  “De de, de de.” Claudia hummed the theme from that old show, The Twilight Zone.

  Her sister Janine’s voice floated down the stairs. “Claudia. You do recollect that it is your responsibility to set the table and start dinner tonight?”

  “No sweat,” Claudia called back. “Trust me. We’ll be feasting before you know it.”

  Janine didn’t answer. Her footsteps retreated along the floor and her door closed.

  “What are you making for dinner?” asked Stacey.

  “I was thinking of a Twinkie casserole with Dream Whip topping,” Claudia answered, deadpan. Then she laughed. “All I have to do is set the table and make the salad, and then help my father cut up some vegetables for the pasta.”

  “We can help you set the table,” I said.

  Stacey and I slung our packs over the backs of the kitchen chairs. I put my shopping bag dow
n, and we began to help Claudia set the table for dinner.

  We’d just finished folding the napkins when Stacey sniffed the air. “You didn’t put something in the oven, or turn on a burner or anything, did you, Claudia?”

  “Nope. The frozen meatloaf is tomorrow and it’s Janine who has to —” She stopped. She sniffed the air, too.

  “Wow,” she said. “Something’s … burning?”

  “Maybe someone’s burning leaves,” I suggested.

  “No,” said Stacey. “They can’t do that anymore. Remember how excited Dawn was when they made it a law that everyone has to put their leaves out for compost for the parks department?”

  We sniffed the air again, this time simultaneously.

  And we all noticed the same thing at the same time.

  The dining room was filling up with smoke.

  “Fire?” said Claudia.

  We dropped napkins and silverware on the table and ran back into the kitchen. The smell of burning was much stronger. And the kitchen was filling up with smoke, too.

  Claudia yanked the oven door open and Stacey did the same to the microwave. Nothing. I jerked open the pantry door. I saw smoke there, too, but no fire.

  Then I saw it. I raised my hand and pointed.

  Through the window of the kitchen door, I could see flames leaping up outside.

  “Fire!” shouted Claudia. “I’ll get Janine.”

  “I’ll call nine-one-one,” I said.

  Stacey reached for the back door and Claudia said, with amazing calmness, “Don’t open the door. It might make the fire worse.”

  “We should close the kitchen door behind us,” I said as Claudia dashed to the foot of the stairs.

  “JANINE!” she screamed.

  “What?” Janine’s voice sound faintly irritated.

  “FIRE!” shouted Claudia.

  That got Janine’s attention. She shot out into the hallway and peered down the stairs.

  The smoke was rising now.

  She half turned and Claudia said, “Don’t go back. Leave now. Come on.”

  “But my computer —”

  “NOW!” shouted Claudia.

  We all looked at her in surprise, but Janine obeyed. A moment later, we dashed for the front door, slamming doors behind us as we went. Claudia made a mad dash for the next-door neighbors’ to call the fire department, and Stacey and Janine and I ran around to the back of the house.

  It was a fire all right. But as hot as it was blazing, it gave me a cold chill.

  Because it wasn’t an accident. Two trash cans had been set up near the back door. The firefighters said later that rags soaked in gasoline had been stuffed into the cans and then lit, after the cans were set up.

  The fire had been set deliberately. And if we hadn’t acted as fast as we had, it might have spread — maybe even to the house.

  “Maybe it’s all connected,” said Abby.

  “How?” Kristy shot back. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought that all the excitement — if that’s what you want to call it — of the last few days was getting on her nerves.

  We were halfway through our Friday afternoon meeting of the BSC, but nowhere near through discussing everything that had happened.

  Mary Anne said, “Well, first I found that weird note in what looks like Logan’s handwriting. But I’m almost absolutely positive he didn’t write it. Then, on that very same day, someone throws a rock through your front window and writes graffiti on your front door. I mean, the graffiti was sort of like an anonymous note, too. And then someone sets a fire at Claudia’s.”

  “True,” said Kristy. “The police kept asking Watson and Mom if they have any enemies.”

  “The fire marshal asked us the same question,” I said. “They know how it was done, but not a single clue about who did it.”

  “Same thing at our house,” said Kristy. “They’re still investigating, but they don’t have a single suspect.”

  “Cokie Mason?” said Stacey.

  “No!” cried Mary Anne.

  “She’s sent anonymous notes before, remember?” Stacey persisted. “And she is jealous of you, Mary Anne.”

  Mary Anne looked even more unhappy. She always tries to see the best in everyone and I think it shocks her to realize that some people’s best sides aren’t all that good.

  “But what about the fire? I don’t know Cokie very well,” said Jessi, “but I can’t believe that even she would set a fire deliberately.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Or lurk around outside Mary Anne’s house in the dark alone. Or throw a rock through a window. Cokie’s nasty, but she’s not a criminal.”

  Then Stacey asked, “What about Cary Retlin?”

  That stopped us all for a moment. Who could forget Cary Retlin? He’d been involved in a mystery that Stacey had helped solve, when someone had tried to sabotage a school dance. We never had figured out quite how much trouble Cary was capable of making though. He seemed to enjoy it. “Cary Retlin is a possibility,” said Mal. She hadn’t been talking much, just sitting with her arms folded and a glum, faraway expression on her face. “Or maybe it’s just some stranger.”

  “Some random person?” I asked. I didn’t know which was worse: thinking that someone who knew us could be behind the horrible, creepy things that had been happening, or that some stranger might be stalking us and our families.

  Suddenly I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. The police and the fire marshal were on the case. They could handle it. No need for us to worry.

  But it didn’t look as though we were going to be cut loose from crime anytime soon. Abby said, “Well, solve this mystery, then. Why haven’t we heard anything about that burglary Kristy and I saw on Wednesday? Nothing in the newspapers, nothing on television, nada. Total nada.”

  Jessi suggested, “Maybe there was more important news?”

  “Hey, I wasn’t expecting a headline,” said Abby, “but it should have at least made the police blotter section.”

  “You read the police reports in the newspaper?” Mary Anne said, her eyes widening.

  “Sure. Doesn’t everybody?” asked Abby.

  Kristy said, “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check it out now. We could see if anything like what’s been happening to us has been happening around Stoneybrook. Maybe it’s part of some vandalism wave or something.”

  I’m not a coward, but I was shaken by what had happened. The assumption that the events could be linked together somehow, that a single person could be responsible for so much evil, made the smell of smoke that lingered in the air seem positively malevolent.

  The only real damage had been to our trash cans, but I knew it could have been worse.

  Much worse.

  What if we hadn’t come home when we did? What if Janine hadn’t smelled the smoke until …

  “My mom and dad get the newspaper,” I said brightly. I jumped up and ran out of the room and downstairs to the front door.

  The newspaper had been delivered. I bent to pick it up — then slowly straightened.

  What if someone were out there, right now, watching my house?

  Quickly I slammed the door and ran back upstairs, dropping the newspaper on Kristy’s lap as I returned to my seat.

  “Let me see some of it,” said Abby.

  Kristy handed her a section of the newspaper without speaking.

  “Anybody else want part of the paper?” asked Abby, looking around.

  “Here it is,” said Kristy. “ ‘Local Crime Beat.’ Look, Claudia! We’re in it!”

  Clearing her throat, Kristy read the crime report aloud.

  The fire at our house was described as “Fire of Mysterious Origin.” That meant, after we’d deciphered the weird language the police report was written in, that there’d been a fire and nobody knew who had set it. “Arson suspected,” the report concluded.

  Arson. The word sent a chill down my spine.

  I looked around the room and realized that I wasn’t the only one who ha
d been affected by the word. Arson. It had a nasty, criminal sound to it. But then, why shouldn’t it? It was the name of a crime.

  “Are you going to keep reading?” Abby asked. “If it’s too much, I’ll —”

  “It’s fine,” said Kristy. She kept reading. Whoever had broken the window and sprayed the threat on her front door was described as a “vandal.” No suspects, the report said.

  “Well, great.” Abby sounded disgusted. “Why haven’t they reported the burglary?”

  “Maybe you just missed seeing it,” suggested Jessi.

  “Nope,” said Abby.

  The phone rang and for a moment we all stared at it as if we didn’t know why it was making that noise. Then Stacey said, “Oh!” and picked it up.

  We went on with business as usual after that. Kristy checked the weather report in the paper, and read a prediction of “possible snow” for the weekend at Shadow Lake.

  She groaned.

  “Don’t they have snow machines at the ski areas?” I asked.

  “It’s not the same,” Kristy complained.

  “You are so right,” agreed Abby. “Nothing like real powder.”

  Stacey suddenly laughed. “As long as it’s soft! I’m barely off the bunny slope, don’t forget.”

  I opened my mouth to tell Stacey not to worry, that I’d stick with her. But I didn’t have a chance.

  “Hey, no prob,” said Abby. “I’ll have you skiing the black diamond trails in no time.”

  “Black diamond? Oh, right. The really hard ones.” Stacey laughed again. “That’ll be the day.”

  “Well, maybe not the expert trails,” Abby conceded.

  She sounded so sure of herself.

  So cocky.

  Aloud I said, “You know, people get killed every year, trying to ski on trails they aren’t ready for. Killed dead.”

  Abby looked startled. And she wasn’t the only one.

  I folded my arms. “I mean, I don’t want to see Stacey getting hurt. She doesn’t have to prove anything. She just wants to have a good time.”

  Mary Anne the peacemaker intervened. “Well, you’ll have a good time no matter what kind of snow you have. And wait until you see Shadow Lake, Abby. It’s really, really beautiful.”