Stacey and the Mystery at the Mall

by Ann M. Martin

  The bus was driving through Stoneybrook by then, and I watched as we drove by the elementary school. The playground and playing field were empty, since it was almost suppertime. I thought about some of the kids I usually sit for, and realized that I had been missing them — especially Charlotte Johanssen, who is like a little sister to me. As much as I like Project Work, I realized, I’d be happy when it was over and I could return to my life of school and baby-sitting. Baby-sitting is hard work, but all I could think about as I sat there on the bus was how simple and uncomplicated it usually is. I mean, you may have to deal with a dirty diaper or two, but shoplifters and burglars in ski masks don’t enter into the picture.

  When we reached SMS, my friends and I jumped off the bus. I was still feeling a little upset, and Claud noticed. “I’ll walk you home, Stace,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m all right. All I need is to go home and have supper with my mom. I just want to forget the mall for a while.”

  “Are you going to tell your mom what happened today?” asked Kristy.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess not. She might ask me to quit working at Toy Town, and I don’t want to. I want to be at the mall with all of you, and help set up the day-care center and everything. And I really want to solve this shoplifting mystery, so things can get back to normal.”

  “It’ll be okay, Stace,” Kristy assured me. “We won’t do anything dangerous.”

  “That’s right,” said Mary Anne. “We’re just going to keep our eyes and ears open.”

  “But do me a favor,” said Claudia, “so I don’t have to worry about you.” She grinned at me. “Stay out of that stockroom, okay?”

  I nodded. “You don’t have to tell me that. From now on, if somebody wants Baby Tell Me a Story, she’ll have to go get her herself!”

  “Let’s see. The Perkins girls all have colds, Buddy Barrett won a prize for his science project, and Jamie Newton is in a play at his preschool,” said Shannon. It was Friday, and we were in Claud’s room, having a BSC meeting. Shannon had been writing in the club notebook regularly, but none of us had had time to read it, so she was filling us in on what was happening with our regular clients.

  “It sounds like you’ve been really busy,” said Kristy. “I hope you’re not too overwhelmed.”

  “Oh, no, I’m enjoying it,” said Shannon. “Answering the phone is no problem, since I’d be here anyway. And sitting so much is a nice change from my regular routine. Plus, the kids are so cute. I think Shea Rodowsky has a crush on me.”

  “Really?” asked Claud, grinning.

  “Yeah,” said Shannon. “He’s been writing me poems and everything.”

  “I miss Shea,” Kristy said with a sigh. “I even miss Jackie.”

  Jackie Rodowsky is Shea’s younger brother, and he’s a great kid except for the fact that he’s extremely accident-prone. Sitting for him is mostly a matter of damage control.

  The phone began to ring then, and we spent some time setting up a few weekend jobs.

  “So, what’s going on at the mall?” asked Shannon, when Kristy had hung up after arranging a job with Mrs. Hobart.

  “What isn’t going on at the mall?” replied Kristy. “It’s been a madhouse. First of all, we’re still working on setting up the day-care center. And we’re all involved in our jobs. On top of that, we’re trying to solve this mystery. You won’t believe what happened to Stacey yesterday.”

  We gave Shannon the details, and her eyes grew rounder and rounder as she listened. “Wow!” she said, when we had finished. “So what happens next? Do you guys have a plan?”

  “Not really,” I said. “We just want to try to figure out what’s going on.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” said Kristy, leaning back in the director’s chair and adjusting her visor, “and the more I think about it, the more I wonder about Mr. Morton. He might be involved somehow. There’s just something about him that makes me suspicious. I’m always seeing him on the videotapes, talking to those kids. Plus, he seemed so jumpy when I mentioned that I thought the kids belonged to him. He changed the subject fast and started to pace around the room, remember?”

  Jessi nodded. “Also, he gave the okay for the day-care center awfully fast. He didn’t take much time to think about it. That made me wonder about him. I mean, he didn’t stop to look at a budget, or anything like that. And the rent for that storefront is a lot. I saw it on some of the paperwork. How can he afford to lose fifty percent of that every month?”

  “I know,” Mal admitted. “But I didn’t want to question it. I was so happy he said yes. Besides, he seems like such a nice guy. And why would he be involved in stealing from the mall? After all, he is the manager. Shoplifting makes him look bad.”

  “Whoa!” I said. “Speaking of looking bad, I just remembered something. A while ago there was an article in the paper about the mall. Something about how it was in financial trouble, maybe even on the verge of going bankrupt. It never happened, so I forgot about it, but if something was wrong, maybe Mr. Morton was involved.”

  “I smell a rat, as Watson would say,” said Kristy. “This is definitely something to check out.”

  “Okay,” said Mary Anne. “How can we find out more about the mall’s finances?”

  “No problem,” said Claud. “All we have to do is go to the library tomorrow and look up back issues of the newspaper. My mom can help us if we get stuck.” (Mrs. Kishi is the director of the Stoneybrook Public Library, and she’s guided us through this kind of research more than once.)

  “Jessi and I won’t be able to come,” said Mal. “We’re sitting for my brothers and sisters, remember?”

  “Logan and I kind of have a date,” said Mary Anne. “But we can cancel it. We were just planning to go on a picnic.”

  We convinced Mary Anne to keep her date, and Shannon, Kristy, Claud, and I agreed to meet at the library at noon the next day.

  * * *

  We whipped into action as soon as we arrived at the library. Claudia, who’s an ace with the microfiche reader (she is a librarian’s daughter, after all) had the machine all ready. Shannon pulled out a pad and pencil for taking notes, and Kristy and I read over Claud’s shoulder as she ran the machine.

  “I guess we look up Washington Mall,” said Claudia. She ran through a few pages until Kristy stopped her.

  “There!” she said, pointing. She read off a date, and Shannon noted it down. “And there’s another,” said Kristy. “But these articles are really recent. They’re probably about the kids who were arrested. We need to look further back.”

  Ten minutes later, we had a whole list of dates to check out. One by one, Claudia found the articles on the microfiche and we read through them. Sure enough, the recent ones were about the wave of shoplifting at the mall, and how the problem had been “solved” by the arrests of five teenagers. But when we looked at the articles from several months before, we “hit paydirt,” as Kristy said.

  First, there was a piece about how the previous mall manager, Ms. Richards, had retired. It mentioned that Mr. Morton had been promoted to the position. Before that, he had been some kind of assistant manager. Next, there were a whole bunch of stories about new and exciting happenings at the mall, such as a book drive that was held to benefit a homeless shelter in Stamford, and free Sunday concerts for kids. Mr. Morton seemed to be the driving force behind the “new, community-minded spirit at the Washington Mall,” according to one reporter.

  The next articles we read weren’t quite so upbeat. One raised the question of a “misappropriation of mall funds.” And the next two discussed the possibility of the mall filing for bankruptcy. The second one even referred to the fact that Ted Morton was being investigated, though it wasn’t clear why.

  “Whoa,” said Shannon, looking over the notes she had made. “This doesn’t look so good. Your Mr. Morton sounds like he’s into some bad business.”

  “I know I was the one who suspected him first, but now that I s
ee these articles, I don’t want to believe it,” said Kristy. “I mean, he’s such a nice guy. And he’s done a lot of good for the mall — and for the community.”

  “True,” said Claudia, as she turned off the microfiche machine and leaned back in her chair, “but there’s obviously something funny going on.”

  “It still doesn’t add up, though,” said Shannon. “I mean, what about those kids you mentioned? Where do they fit in?”

  We looked at each other and shrugged. Our research hadn’t made anything clear — in fact, as we left the library that day, we only felt more confused.

  * * *

  The next day, Sunday, my friends and I headed over to the mall for the painting party. Charlie drove us in Watson’s van. “You guys sure look different from the last time I saw you,” he said as he dropped us off. It was true. That afternoon, we had been dressed in our best clothes. This time we were wearing stuff we’d found in the rag-bag. Claudia, for example, had wrapped a neon-pink bandana around her head, and she was wearing a humongous pair of overalls over an ancient striped T-shirt. “Didn’t you know?” she asked Charlie with a grin. “This is the latest fashion. We’re always on the cutting edge.”

  The painting party was a blast. April had supplied a tape player, and everybody had brought along their favorite cassettes. Mr. Williams surprised us with some cool old rock from the 60s, and Ms. Snyder’s choice, classical music, was actually pretty nice to paint to. We divided up the room into sections and split up our group into teams, and then everybody got to work. I was in the toddler corner with Claudia and Ms. Snyder, while Kristy, Mary Anne, and April worked in the baby area. Logan, Jessi, Mal, and Mr. Williams were painting the older kids’ section.

  By noon, we were splattered with white paint, and the walls were nearly covered. We decided to eat lunch while we waited for the first coat to dry. Claudia nudged me as we unwrapped our sandwiches, and when I followed her glance I saw Mr. Williams offering some crackers to Ms. Snyder, with a look on his face that could only mean one thing. “I think he has a crush on her,” Claud whispered to me. We giggled.

  After lunch, I worked with Kristy and Mary Anne. We talked a lot (quietly) about Mr. Morton and the mystery at the mall, but none of us had come up with any new ideas. “I wish I could slip into his office and go through his files,” said Kristy. “I could probably get the key to it at the security office.”

  “Kristy, you can’t do that!” I said. I was so shocked I almost knocked over our bucket of paint. “That’s probably illegal, and it’s definitely wrong.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “I didn’t say I was going to do it. I just said I wished I could.”

  I knew what she meant. The mystery was frustrating. We were just going to have to keep our eyes open and wait for something to happen.

  On Tuesday, Jessi went to work at Cinema World knowing that she would have a busy day. A birthday party was going to be held that afternoon at the theatre, and she was supposed to help supervise it. Cinema World has a special program called the Movie Club. When you join, you get a membership card, and every time you go to the movies, you show your card and the ticket-taker punches it. When you have ten punches, you start getting special discounts on tickets, free popcorn, and stuff like that. For kids ten and under, twenty punches on their Movie Club card means that they can have a Movie Club Birthday Party.

  The birthday girl or boy can invite up to ten guests to the party, and all the guests get to see the movie at half price. Afterward, the party moves to the Movie Club room (a small room off the lobby), where the kids can pig out on free popcorn and sodas.

  Jessi’s first task was to decorate the Movie Club room with the streamers, tablecloths, and party hats that Mrs. Powers, the mother of the birthday girl, had brought in. The kids — a bunch of six-year-old girls — were already watching the movie when Jessi arrived, and she only had fifteen minutes to get the room ready.

  “Hannah insisted on these Ninja Turtle decorations,” said Mrs. Powers, who was hovering around “helping” Jessi. “I wanted to do something tasteful, with a nice color scheme, but no. She had to have Ninja Turtles.” She held up one of the tablecloths and sniffed.

  “I think it’s neat,” said Jessi. “A lot of girls only like Barbie or the Little Mermaid. Hannah must be pretty special.”

  “Oh, she is!” said Mrs. Powers, her eyes lighting up with pride. “You should hear her read out loud to her little sisters. She’s only in first grade, but she’s already reading at a fifth-grade level!”

  Jessi, whose back was turned to Mrs. Powers at the moment, raised her eyebrows. She wondered if the proud mama wasn’t exaggerating just a bit. But all she said was, “That’s great!” She shook out the other tablecloth and covered a table with it. Then she stood on a chair to attach one end of a streamer to the wall. Mrs. Powers was still just standing there, holding the first tablecloth and talking about her wonderful Hannah.

  “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Jessi said, pretending to listen to every word. She stepped down from the chair and checked her watch. The kids would be descending on the room within minutes. Jessi rushed around setting out soda and cups and putting up the rest of the streamers, and finally the room was ready. “Excuse me,” she said to Mrs. Powers, who was still talking. “I’m just going to go get the popcorn. I’ll be right back.”

  By the time Jessi returned with the popcorn, the ten kids were in the room, and the noise level was high. Hannah sat at the head of one of the tables, a huge pile of colorfully wrapped presents in front of her. She eyed them with pleasure. Her little sister, who looked about three, sat near her, squirming with excitement. “When are you going to open them, Hannah?” she kept asking. “Open mine first!” Most of the other kids were running around yelling a phrase from the movie they’d just seen: “Ooohhhh, nooooo, not the alligators!” they shrieked. Mrs. Powers stood in the center of the room, looking as if she had a bad headache.

  “Anyone for popcorn?” Jessi said, in a voice loud enough to be heard over the din.

  “Yay!” the kids yelled. They rushed to sit down at the tables. Jessi scooped popcorn out of the big bag she’d brought and dumped it into plastic bowls. She passed the bowls around, and suddenly the room became a lot quieter.

  “You’re very good with children,” said Mrs. Powers as she and Jessi stood watching.

  “I’ve had a lot of experience,” replied Jessi. She told Mrs. Powers a little about the BSC, and before long Mrs. Powers had pulled out a notepad and was taking down Claudia’s number.

  “We have another daughter, too,” said Mrs. Powers. “Lea. She’s only one and a half, though, so she’s with her aunt today. It’s hard enough having Emily here, when she’s so much younger than the others.” She nodded toward Hannah’s little sister, who had spilled most of her popcorn on the floor.

  “Soon there’ll be a day-care center at the mall,” said Jessi. “It’ll be perfect for this type of situation. If it was here already, you could have dropped both of your younger girls off there, and they’d be having a terrific time.”

  “What a wonderful idea,” said Mrs. Powers. “I must say, this mall is certainly changing for the better lately.”

  Just then, Emily started crying over her spilled popcorn, Hannah began asking if it was time to open her presents yet, and three of the girls at the second table started a popcorn fight, giggling madly as they tossed handfuls across the table.

  “Whoa,” said Jessi, “I think it’s time to start the games.”

  Jessi had already set out some games the Movie Club kept on hand. She’d found Twister and Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and a small tape player and some cushions for Musical Cushions. (That’s a version of Musical Chairs which is a lot less likely to end in tears: Instead of kids losing out as the chairs are taken away, the object of the game is for everybody to try to squish close enough together to fit on nine cushions, and then eight, and so on until everybody’s all packed together on one little cushion. There’s always a ton of giggling during Musica
l Cushions.)

  “What would you like to play first, Hannah?” Jessi asked.

  “Twister!” cried Hannah. “And I get to spin the dial!” She ran to take the dial from Jessi, and the other girls lined up to play. Just as Hannah called out the first directions — “Right foot, yellow!” — Jessi heard a loud clanging noise coming over the loudspeaker mounted in a corner of the room.

  “What is that?” asked Mrs. Powers, putting her hands over her ears. The noise was deafening.

  “I’m not positive,” said Jessi, “but I think it’s fire alarm.” She was trying to sound calm, but she felt terrified. Her boss had never given her instructions about what to do when the fire alarm went off, and there she was with a room full of young children. She took a deep breath, whispered “don’t panic” to herself, and began to organize the kids. “Okay,” she shouted over the clanging. “We’re going to line up by the door now. Quick! Whoever’s on line when I count ten will get an extra container of popcorn.”

  Mrs. Powers seemed to come to life then, and she helped Jessi herd the kids toward the door. Then, as Jessi rounded up a couple of stragglers, the clanging stopped and a voice came over the loudspeaker.

  “Please evacuate the mall immediately,” it said over a crackly background. “A fire alarm has been sounded, and the mall must be evacuated. Please proceed calmly to the nearest fire exit.”

  “Nearest exit?” asked Mrs. Powers, a little wildly. “Where — ?”

  Just then, the door flew open and Mr. Magee popped his head in. “Follow me,” he said. “The exit’s right down the hall.”

  Jessi sighed with relief. She had no idea where the nearest fire exit was, and would not have been able to answer Mrs. Powers’ question. But now all she had to do was get the kids moving and follow Mr. Magee, which was no problem at all. Except that Hannah, at the last minute, decided that she had to save her presents. She dashed back down the hall and into the room, and Jessi dashed after her.

  “But my presents!” Hannah wailed as Jessi steered her gently toward the door. “I didn’t even get to open them, and now they’ll all burn up!”