Karen's Big City Mystery

by Ann M. Martin

  I stared at Matt. I could not think of anything to say, so I turned around and carried Rocky to the elevator. He was purring.

  I frowned fiercely at Rocky, but he did not seem to mind.

  Matt the Suspect

  “Andrew, Andrew, the pictures are here!” I said on Thursday. Mommy and I were picking up Andrew at preschool. I had gotten my photographs back that morning.

  “Yea!” he said. “Let’s hurry home so I can see them!”

  At home I showed him how I had pasted them into my crime notebook. “Here is a picture of Donald,” I said. It was labeled: Donald, our doorman. He says he did not see anything.

  The next picture was of Mrs. Farthing and her tiny dog, Phyllis. I had taken their picture while Mrs. Farthing was checking her mail. She and Phyllis both looked surprised. Underneath the picture I had written: Mrs. Farthing. Was she really at the vet’s with Phyllis?

  Andrew and I looked at all the pictures carefully. Andrew was very excited when I showed him my photos of the police cars parked in front of our building.

  “There are other cars here,” he said, pointing. “Maybe one of them is the thief’s.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “There is Fred’s delivery truck also. Maybe the thief was hiding in it when Fred drove away. But Fred said he did not see anybody. And here is a picture of Matt Dilley.” I had told Andrew about finding Matt hiding in the dark in the basement. We both thought that was definitely fishy. What had he been doing? Waiting for an accomplice? Could Matt be part of a burglary ring?

  I was not sure. I needed to gather more evidence before I made any accusations. One thing was for sure: I was going to watch Matt like a hawk.

  * * *

  It is not so easy to watch someone like a hawk in a big city like Chicago. I could watch Matt only as long as he was in our building. As soon as he left the building with his mother or grandmother, I could not follow him.

  It was driving me crazy.

  For one thing, I was more and more sure that Matt had been in on the robbery. He was acting gigundoly sly. Every time I searched the building, I saw Matt. He was usually hiding under a table or behind a plant or beneath the stairs. If that does not sound like criminal behavior, what does?

  But why would Matt steal paintings from his own grandmother? I could not figure it out. Unless someone else had put Matt up to it. Hmm. I needed more information.

  I was close to blowing the case wide open — I could feel it. Matt was the key to the whole thing.

  On Friday morning, Mommy sent me down to the lobby to check our mail. I was heading back toward the elevator with it when I spotted the tips of some scuffed red sneakers poking out from behind the curtains in the lobby. Holding my breath, I snuck closer, closer. I peeked around the curtain.

  Of course it was Matt. He was wearing his trenchcoat again. He had pulled the collar up to cover half of his face. He was hunched over, fumbling with something. What was it? I was so excited I almost squeaked.

  Was this the clue I had been waiting for? Would this solve the mystery of the missing paintings? Very, very quietly, I inched closer. What was Matt doing? I could not see. Then all of a sudden, something shiny dropped out of his hand and clattered onto the marble floor of the lobby. I leaped over, snatched it up, and raced for the elevator before Matt even knew what had happened.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “Wait! Come back here!”

  But I flashed through the elevator doors and pounded the DOOR CLOSE button. The last thing I saw was Matt’s angry face as the doors closed between us.

  I did not think Matt could run up five flights of stairs as fast as the elevator could go. But I still looked both ways when the doors opened on my floor. My heart pounding, I raced for our doorway and fumbled with my key. I thought I heard Matt running up the stairs! Finally I burst into the apartment, pushed Rocky out of the way with my foot, and slammed the door shut.

  “Karen? Please do not slam the door, honey,” called Mommy from the other room.

  “Okay,” I called back.

  Only then did I look down to see the valuable clue that I held in my hand. I gasped. It was an audiocassette.

  I Was All Wrong

  An audiocassette! For just a moment I stared at it. Then, feeling only a tiny bit guilty, I ran into Andrew’s room. I popped the tape into his My First Tape Player. I knew it was wrong for me to listen to a tape that was not mine. But it was a very huge clue. It was evidence. That made it a little less wrong, in my opinion.

  Eagerly I rewound the tape. I pictured myself taking the tape to the police department. I saw all the police officers looking shocked and impressed that I had solved the mystery. Poor Matt. He would probably be led away in chains. I wondered how many years a seven-year-old would serve in jail for stealing.

  And I had the evidence right here. This tape probably would tell me the names of other burglars he knows, lists of places that sell stolen things … and the hiding place of the paintings.

  I pressed the play button.

  “… Wednesday afternoon, two o’clock,” whispered Matt’s voice.

  I felt a shiver run down my spine.

  “I am here in the lobby,” whispered Matt. “I see Mrs. Peterson picking up her mail. She is still one of my main suspects.”

  My eyebrows lifted. Suspects? Matt had suspects? What did this mean?

  “She has been trying to buy Grandma’s apartment for years,” whispered Matt’s tape. “Maybe she stole the paintings to scare Grandma away.”

  I put my hand over my mouth. Then there was rustling and a clicking noise on the tape.

  “Now it is Thursday morning,” I heard Matt whisper. “That nosy Karen Brewer has been acting very suspicious. I see her lurking all over the building. Just the other morning she was in the basement, poking around. She said she was looking for her cat. A likely story. She probably planted the cat there to give herself an alibi.”

  I gasped.

  “The question is, what is she hiding? Is she working with the thief?”

  I leaned over and clicked off the tape. I had heard enough. This was incredible. The tape showed that Matt had been doing exactly what I was doing: detective work. He was trying to solve the mystery of the missing paintings. The only difference was that he had been taping his notes. I had been writing mine down. He had called me “that nosy Karen Brewer.” The nerve! How dare he suspect me!

  Just then the doorbell rang. I knew who it was.

  “I will get it, Mommy!” I called.

  I hesitated just a moment before I answered the door. This would be difficult. I would have to give Matt his tape back. Even worse, I would have to admit that I had been wrong about him. I hate admitting I am wrong.

  My New Partner

  I opened the door (after making sure Rocky was nowhere around). There he was: Matt Dilley.

  In one hand he carried a tiny cassette player. Its microphone was clipped to his collar. He was tapping one red sneaker angrily.

  Without saying a word, he held out his hand. I put the tape in it. Frowning at me, he started to walk away.

  “Wait!” I blurted out. “I have to show you something!”

  Matt paused. He turned. “What is it?”

  “Can you come in for a minute?” I asked.

  Matt’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Just for a minute.”

  Inside, Matt sat on the living room couch. Midgie and Rocky inspected him, then went back to their naps.

  I got something from my room. I handed it to Matt.

  “Here,” I said. “I heard your notes. It’s only fair that you read mine.”

  Matt looked surprised as he flipped through my crime notebook. He read my list of suspects. He frowned when he read my notes about him, but there was nothing I could do about that.

  “I was wrong about your being part of the burglary ring,” I said. “But you were wrong about me too. Look, we are both working on the same case. It only makes sense that we start working together. If we put our notes together and use our heads, I
am sure we will solve the mystery. With both of our sharp minds on the trail, that burglar does not stand a chance. What do you say?”

  Matt pinched his lip between his thumb and index finger while he thought. Finally he nodded. “Okay. I see your point. If we do not join up, we will just get in each other’s way. We might even tip off the burglar about what we are doing. So I guess we should be partners.”

  I smiled and held out my hand. “Hello, partner.”

  Matt shook my hand and smiled too.

  Then we told each other everything we could think of about the burglary. We made a new list of suspects, including Mrs. Peterson, Donald, and Mrs. Lawrence. Mrs. Lawrence lived in the apartment next to ours. Mommy had mentioned that she collected paintings. Ha, I thought. Maybe she does not care where the paintings come from.

  I started to feel very excited. It had been fun working on the mystery before, but now that I had a full-time partner, it was even better.

  And guess what. Matt thought the paintings were hidden in the building too!

  “If no one saw the burglar carrying out the paintings,” he said, “then he must have hidden them somewhere.”

  “Right,” I said. “But where? I have been searching and searching. There are not many places where you could hide a humongous painting in a frame.”

  “But that is just it!” cried Matt. “They are not humongous paintings in frames. They are really pretty small.” He held up his hands to show me. The paintings were about the size of two pieces of construction paper taped together. “And the burglar cut them out of their frames,” continued Matt. “So they could be rolled up, like a poster.”

  “Would that ruin the paintings?” I asked.

  “No.” Matt shook his head. “If the burglar was careful, they would still be okay. Hey! Would you like to see the scene of the crime? You can even see the picture frames.”

  My eyes grew big. “Yeah! That would be great!”

  “Okay. Let’s go to my grandmother’s apartment,” said Matt.

  First I asked Mommy if I could go. She said yes, because she knew Matt’s grandmother and knew where she lived.

  So Matt and I ran downstairs to the fourth floor. Matt got out his key. I was gigundoly excited. I was about to see the scene of the crime.

  The Scene of the Crime

  Matt’s grandmother’s apartment was just like ours. The furniture was different, of course. But the hall was the same size, and the kitchen was in the same place, and the bedrooms and bathroom and living room and dining room were in the same places, with the same doors and windows and all.

  But Mrs. Arthur (that’s Matt’s grandmother) had tons more stuff than Mommy and Seth and Andrew. That is because she had been living in her apartment for a long, long time. Paintings and pictures were hung all over the walls. There were big pieces of dark furniture. There were huge plants in huge pots. I felt as if I were in the middle of a furniture store.

  “Look,” said Matt. He turned on the light in the hallway. “This is where the paintings were.”

  On the wall I saw two empty picture frames, still hanging among a ton of other framed pictures. I looked at the frames carefully. They were gigundoly fancy, all carved and painted with gold, but they were pretty small.

  “Hello,” said a voice.

  I turned and saw an elegant older woman. Her gray hair was fixed in a bun, and she was wearing a handsome purple suit.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Grandma,” said Matt, “this is Karen Brewer. Karen, this is my grandma, Mrs. Arthur.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said politely.

  “How do you do,” said Mrs. Arthur with a smile. “Are you helping Matt with the case?”

  Matt puffed up his chest proudly. I was glad that Mrs. Arthur was not teasing us about solving the crime. (You know how grown-ups can be sometimes.)

  “Yes,” I said. “I did not realize the stolen paintings were so small.”

  “That is what is unusual,” said Mrs. Arthur. “The thief took two small paintings. It is true they are valuable, but this larger painting over here is actually worth quite a bit more.” She pointed to a painting in a fancy frame. To tell you the truth, it looked like someone had just thrown some paint on a canvas. I could have painted a better picture.

  “The other odd thing,” said Mrs. Arthur, “is that both of these little paintings were given to me by an old suitor, a man I knew before I married Matt’s grandfather. Here, I will show you a picture of him.”

  She opened a drawer and pulled out a framed photograph. It showed a nice-looking man with a mustache, wearing a top hat.

  I frowned at the picture. “He looks familiar,” I said. “I feel as if I have seen him before. Does he live in this building?”

  “Oh, goodness no,” laughed Mrs. Arthur. “Poor Howard — I have not heard from him in over thirty years. But he was an actor, and he appeared in one or two minor pictures, a long time ago. Perhaps you happened to see him in one.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, but I did not think so. He did look familiar, though.

  “Grandma was an actress too, but in plays, not movies,” said Matt. “She was on Broadway a lot.”

  “Oh, that was a long time ago.” Mrs. Arthur blushed and looked a little embarrassed. “I have not acted in a long, long time.”

  “That is too bad,” I said.

  “I think so too,” said Matt. “I think Grandma should start acting again.”

  “No, those days are over for me,” said Mrs. Arthur. “I left the stage when I married my husband and had my family. I do not really miss it. I am happy taking care of my plants and doing my volunteer work.”

  Soon I had to go home for lunch. I said good-bye to Matt and Mrs. Arthur. Matt and I agreed to meet later in the afternoon to continue working on our case.

  I thought about everything as I headed back upstairs to Mommy’s apartment. The case was getting more complicated all the time.

  A New Clue

  “I wish I could come with you,” said Andrew.

  “I wish you could too,” I said. I took another bite of my peanut butter sandwich. “I did not know you had a play date today.”

  It was later that afternoon. I had been waiting anxiously for Andrew to come home from preschool so I could tell him everything. While we ate lunch I told him about working with Matt — and that I had been wrong about him. I also told Andrew about Mrs. Arthur, who had once been a Broadway actress.

  I was hoping that Andrew could join Matt and me this afternoon, when we started searching the building again. After all, three searchers are better than two. But Andrew was supposed to go to his friend Rachel’s apartment to play. (She lived down the block.)

  “Maybe I can help you tomorrow,” said Andrew.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  * * *

  That afternoon Matt and I met in the lobby. We tried to act casual, as if we were just regular kids. We did not want to tip off any burglars who might be watching. As usual, the lobby was a busy place, with people coming and going. The Fed Ex man dropped off several packages. Mr. Lacey took his four pug dogs out for a walk. The mail had not arrived yet.

  Matt and I rode the elevator to the sixth floor. We searched the hallway again, but found nothing. There was no place to hide even small, rolled-up paintings.

  We searched the fifth floor. Nothing. The fourth floor. Nothing. I was beginning to feel gigundoly discouraged. After all, we had both searched before. This was a big waste of time.

  I sat down on the steps and put my chin in my hands.

  “We are missing something,” I said.

  Matt sat down next to me. “We need a fresh lead,” he agreed.

  “We need a big clue,” I said. “What could it be? What are we not seeing?” Then I had an idea. “Hey! What if the burglar was one of the police officers? I saw a TV show once and someone escaped because he was pretending to be a firefighter. What if the burglar was disguised as a police officer and just left with the other police officers?”


  “But how will we know?” asked Matt.

  “I have pictures of them!” I said. “Come on! I have pictures of practically everybody and everything!”

  A Familiar Face

  When Matt had seen my crime notebook before, he had not seen all my pictures of the suspects, or the other pictures I had taken of the building.

  “Hey, here is Grandma’s front door,” he said, looking at one of my photos.

  “Yup,” I said. “And here is one of the lobby doors. And the door to the basement. And the inside of the elevator.”

  Matt turned the pages, pinching his lip between his thumb and his forefinger. “Gee, I recognize all these people,” he said. “What did you do, hide by the mailboxes and spring out when they were picking up their mail?”

  “Yes,” I said. “That is why they look kind of surprised. And here, this picture is of all the police cars parked in the street below. I took it from our living room window. You can see some of the police officers.”

  Matt squinted at the picture. “They are much too tiny, though. I can’t see their faces,” he said, disappointed. “It was a good idea, but the police look like little blue grains of rice in this picture.”

  I was disappointed too. I looked at the picture again. In it were the two police cars, parked next to a brown car, a pale blue minivan, and Fred’s delivery truck.

  “Did you interview Fred Patterson, the delivery guy?” I asked.

  Matt nodded. “He was here that day but did not see anything.”

  “That is what he told me, too,” I said. “He is a nice guy.”

  “Yeah.”

  I thought for awhile longer. Something was bothering me, but I did not know what it was. I thought and thought. Slowly I turned the pages of my crime notebook. I looked at the pictures. Here was a shot of our mail carrier. Here was a photo of the delivery boy from the grocery store. I stared at him, but he did not look suspicious. Here was a shot of Donald the doorman talking to Fred Patterson.

  I looked at Donald. It was just same old Donald. Then I looked at Fred. It was same old Fred, but there was also something else about him.