Beware, Dawn!

by Ann M. Martin

Well, it didn’t take long after that to sort things out, and realize that she and I had both been the victims of some kind of nasty prank. Mary Anne thought it was Cokie’s doing. I wasn’t so sure.

  But it didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was that we weren’t having a stupid fight over a stupid misunderstanding. Completely forgetting about Shannon, I leaned over and kissed Mary Anne.

  Shannon said, “This is great and all, but in case you two have forgotten, we are still locked in the Tates’ house.”

  I straightened up quickly and Mary Anne blushed a deep crimson.

  “Well, since we’re here,” I said, “we might as well keep investigating.”

  We went over the room (after checking the door one more time), looking in drawers and on shelves. But nothing very interesting turned up until I started going through the wastepaper basket. I grabbed a handful of papers out of it and spread them on the desk. Mary Anne snatched one up. “Shadow Lake,” she said. “This is the area code and phone number for Kristy’s cabin at Shadow Lake. The one I just called!”

  “That’s not all,” I said. I held up another piece of paper, a photocopy of an article from the Stoneybrook News.

  It was the picture of the BSC after they’d helped to capture Karl Tate. A big, black X had been drawn viciously across it, so hard that the paper had torn.

  “It is him,” said Mary Anne in a shaky voice. “Oh, Logan.”

  “Shhh,” said Shannon. “Do you hear that?”

  We heard.

  A car was pulling into the driveway.

  It wasn’t a fire drill. It was real. At least, the smoke was. The fire, fortunately, stayed in the fireplace. The smoke didn’t. It poured out of the chimney in big, black, oily clouds. I had to dash out onto the porch to breathe, and take a hit on my inhaler. Fortunately, it didn’t trigger a full-scale asthma attack, just my standard allergic reaction to Life. Woodie had heard the commotion and come running back up the trail to help.

  I was sneezing and wheezing (a little) when Stacey and Claudia and Kristy came reeling outside, throwing the door open. Smoke billowed out behind them and was immediately blown away by the gale.

  Kristy had to raise her voice (which tells you just how loudly the wind was blowing) to be heard.

  “Someone blocked the chimney,” she said. “We’ve put out the fire, but we’re not going to be able to start a new one. With no electricity, that means no heat.”

  “The lodge?” I suggested.

  “The lodge,” Kristy agreed. “We’ll pack up just what we need for the night and go as soon as there’s a break in the storm.”

  Claudia said, in an urgent undertone, “Remember what Mary Anne said to you, Stacey? Karl Tate?”

  Stacey nodded.

  “Well, right before the smoke started, I thought I saw him.”

  Stacey and Kristy looked startled. Then Kristy said, “He’s in jail, Claudia. Whoever’s after us, it’s not him.”

  “I didn’t say I saw him. I said I thought I saw him. Woodie Keenan looks just like him from behind. And you know, in detective stories, they say that you can’t disguise the way someone looks from behind. The way they stand and walk always gives them away.”

  Kristy said, “But I don’t think Woodie is wearing a disguise. How could Karl Tate make himself look that young?”

  Charlie said, “Kristy. You guys! Let’s get going.”

  “I know what I saw,” Claudia said stubbornly.

  “What you thought you saw,” said Kristy. She paused. “We need to tell Charlie and Sam what’s going on. But let’s concentrate on getting out of here first. We’ll tell them at the lodge.” She ran into the house where Charlie and Sam and Woodie were waiting.

  I waited until the place had aired out some, then went inside and packed my knapsack. Fortunately, there was a break in the storm, enough to see the trail along the lake and the bright blue SHADOW LAKE trail markers.

  “Stay together,” Charlie said sternly. He handed around the flashlights “just in case,” while Kristy packed the emergency flares in her backpack. She also put matches in watertight bags and zipped those into the pocket of her ski parka.

  Charlie went on, “If you lose sight of the person ahead of you, yell immediately. And loudly. And don’t go off the trail. Shadow Lake is frozen, but it is dangerous. There’s lots of thin ice above the underground springs that feed it.”

  He didn’t have to warn us twice. I personally planned on staying right on top of whoever was in front of me. Abby of the Yukon I am not.

  I saw Sam pat Stacey reassuringly on the shoulder. Stacey didn’t jump or act startled. Hmmm. Must have worked that one out, I thought.

  It was slow, hard going. The snow was over the tops of my snow boots. I had laced them over my pants legs and put on my ski pants for extra warmth, but I could feel the snow seeping in and melting, and making my clothes cold and wet. We had to lift our feet high for each step. I tried to step into Claudia’s footprints, since she was walking ahead of me. Poor Charlie, I thought. Being the trailbreaker couldn’t be any fun.

  Amazing that the snow had filled up Woodie Keenan’s snowshoe tracks so fast. Charlie could have used those.

  Something crashed through the woods behind me. Claudia looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. “Abby! Look out! It’s him! It’s Karl Tate!”

  And from out of the swirling whiteness of the blizzard, a dark form hurtled toward us from behind. He shouted something I couldn’t understand.

  I stooped, grabbed a chunk of ice, and threw it at him. It clocked him right in the head. He reeled back and fell. His face looked truly deranged.

  That won’t stop him long, I thought frantically. I wasn’t going to be able to hold him off with snowballs. I needed a rock. A big rock. Or maybe a big stick. I looked around desperately.

  “Run!” screamed Claudia.

  And then someone else came running through the woods from one side.

  “Freeze!” a voice ordered. “Don’t move!”

  Kris Renn skidded to a stop in a spray of snow, and half-crouched, her arms up and her hands gripping a gun.

  I let go of the branch I had grabbed (unfortunately, it was still attached to the tree) and held up my hands.

  Karl Tate didn’t move. Slowly, Renn took one hand off the gun and reached in her pocket. She pulled out a badge. “Detective Kris Renn,” she said to me. “Special Unit. Put your hands down. It’s him I’m interested in.”

  “It was you I saw in the woods with a gun,” Stacey said.

  “I’ve been on his trail for some time,” Detective Renn explained. “He’s violated the terms of his parole by leaving Connecticut, among other things.” She bent over, put handcuffs on him, and sat him upright. She looked at the red mark on his head. “Hmm,” she said, glancing at me. “Good aim.”

  “I’m the assistant coach of a softball team,” I said inanely.

  Kristy snorted. And then we all started laughing. It was such a relief. It had been Karl Tate after all. Karl Tate had been stalking the BSC, paying back the members who’d helped catch him by terrorizing them.

  Funny. He didn’t look like a terrorist, sagging against Detective Renn. He looked old and tired.

  “I hope I didn’t hurt him,” I said.

  As if in answer, he groaned. His eyelids fluttered.

  “Do you need help?” Stacey asked Renn.

  The detective said, “I can handle it. My cabin’s just down this trail. I’ll take him there until this storm blows over. I can radio the situation in.”

  “Cool,” said Claudia.

  “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?” asked Charlie.

  “Well,” said Kristy.

  Woodie asked, “Is this a joke?”

  “Tell us at the lodge,” said Charlie.

  Detective Renn hauled Mr. Tate to his feet. He reeled like a drunken man on a subway train.

  “Be careful,” she told us.

  “We will,” I said. I flexed my arm. “How about that pitch?” I bo
asted.

  Claudia said, “You are such a show-off.” But she was grinning. We were all relieved that Karl Tate had been caught. Now we could continue our weekend without fear.

  “I’m planning on entering the Olympic Ice Hurling Event,” I said.

  “Oh, brother,” said Kristy, and we set off down the trail for the lodge.

  “Hide!” hissed Shannon.

  We all dove for hiding places. I jumped behind the door. Logan crouched down behind a chair, and Shannon and Astrid crawled under the desk.

  The kitchen door opened.

  Had Mr. Tate come back? What would he do to us if he caught us?

  Footsteps clicked down the hall.

  Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

  And then Astrid barked.

  “Shhhush!” Shannon commanded frantically. But it was too late.

  The footsteps stopped. The doorknob rattled. The door creaked. Then it opened with a jerk.

  The woman in the picture, with a different hairdo and several years older, was standing in the doorway, mail in one hand, a letter opener in the other. (I could see her through the crack of the door.)

  “Who’s there?” she said sharply.

  Slowly, Shannon came out from under the desk, holding Astrid’s leash. Logan crawled out from behind the chair. I peered around the door.

  Mrs. Tate gasped and jumped back. The letter opener and the mail fell from her hands. Logan swooped down and grabbed the letter opener, but Mrs. Tate didn’t seem to notice. Her attention was fastened on me.

  “It’s you,” she said. “You’re one of the girls! From that club.”

  I nodded. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

  Mrs. Tate seemed dazed. She walked across the room and sat in the chair. She put her head in her hands.

  “Mrs. Tate?” I said. “We’re — we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to …”

  With a sound like a moan, Mrs. Tate looked up. Her eyes filled with tears and I felt tears well up in my own eyes.

  But what she said stopped my tears. “You have to stop him,” she said hoarsely. “You have to stop him!”

  “Mr. Tate?” I asked.

  “No! No, not Karl. Woodrow. My son.”

  I remembered the boy in the picture. He must be grown by now, I realized.

  Shannon started edging toward the door. Logan put the letter opener down on the desk and caught my hand. We began to follow Shannon and Astrid.

  “We’re sorry about coming into your house,” Shannon said. “I mean, uninvited. It was an accident. My dog, Astrid? She chased your cat in through the pet door.”

  “Miss Kitty,” murmured Mrs. Tate. “That’s our cat’s name.”

  “Um, yeah. Anyway, we, uh — The back door was open and we came in, just to catch Astrid, but we got locked in the study.”

  “I have to have that lock fixed,” Mrs. Tate said. “But since Karl … went away …”

  She focused on me again. “Stop him,” she said. “Stop Woodrow. I should’ve. I should have called the police. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.” She buried her face in her hands again.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, awkwardly.

  Mrs. Tate didn’t seem to hear. Logan tugged at my hand.

  We turned and walked as quickly as we could out of the house.

  It had gotten so late.

  “We have to call Kristy,” I said urgently. “We have to warn her.”

  “We have to call the police,” said Shannon.

  We ran for the nearest pay phone. Someone paged Sergeant Johnson. When he came to the phone at last, we told him what we’d found out.

  As calmly as ever, the sergeant said, “Very good. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  I hung up, feeling drained.

  “Call Kristy,” Shannon urged me.

  We pooled all our change and I called the Shadow Lake number.

  But still there was no answer.

  I hung up slowly.

  We’d done all we could do. But what if it wasn’t enough? What if Sergeant Johnson didn’t warn Kristy and the others in time?

  What was Woodrow Tate planning to do?

  It was growing dark sooo fast. I trudged along behind Charlie, glad the mystery was solved, glad the terror was over, and wishing more than anything for a warm, dry, quiet place. I was thinking hot chocolate. I was thinking nachos. These were thoughts of which I was sure the others would approve, especially Claud.

  I was not thinking danger.

  We flicked on our flashlights. They barely pricked the growing darkness and the swirling snow. “I’m going to light a flare or two,” I said.

  We stopped. Sam said, “Why don’t a couple of us go on ahead?”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” said Woodie.

  Abby said, “And warn the people at the lodge that a very large, very cold, very hungry party is coming in from the wilderness. I volunteer!”

  Since the lodge was just around the bend ahead, I wasn’t worried about them getting lost or separated from us. I lit a flare and handed it to Abby. “Go for it,” I said to Abby and Sam.

  As they plunged out of sight, I lit the other two flares and gave one of them to Charlie.

  “We’re almost there,” I said encouragingly. “You go first and I’ll bring up the rear.”

  We fell into line: Charlie, Stacey, Woodie, Claudia, and me. The flares helped, but they made weird shadows in the ghostly swirl of the snow.

  To one side I could see the drop down to the lake. To the other, the trees marched up the hillside, twisting and moaning in the wind.

  I thought of the dumb horror movie Karen and David Michael had been watching.

  Stacey suddenly seemed to slip. Woodie leaped forward, in the same instant, and grabbed her wrist. But he didn’t pull her away from the lake to safety. He pulled her toward him, toward the lake, backing into the shelter of a tree.

  Claudia stopped. We all stopped.

  What was going on?

  Then Stacey screamed, “What are you doing? Let me go!”

  And Woodie began to laugh.

  “Stay back,” he shouted. “Stand back or she goes in!”

  We stopped in a ragged half-circle around him.

  “Woodie?” said Charlie. “What —?”

  “Shut up!” screamed Woodie. His eyes rolled wildly. “It’s your fault. You made me do it. You’re the ones who caused all the trouble!”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “My father. Karl Tate —”

  “Karl Tate!” Claudia said with a gasp.

  “Remember him?” Woodie’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Or have you already forgotten how you ruined him? Humiliated him. Sent him to prison!”

  “But we didn’t,” I said. “We just —”

  “Don’t try to get out of it. Oh, you were big heroes, weren’t you? Had your picture in the newspapers! Well, so did my father. Everyone pointed and stared and whispered. Suddenly we had nothing. Nothing! Do you know what that’s like?”

  Something caught my eye. A flare. It was Sam and Abby hurrying back toward us. Had they heard Stacey scream?

  The flare disappeared. Then I saw them again, ghostly shapes crouched low, sneaking up behind Woodie, his arm now around Stacey’s throat.

  “We’re sorry,” I said, stalling for time.

  “Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” he snarled.

  Sam straightened up. He motioned at me. Then Abby made a throwing motion.

  Woodie stepped back.

  “No!” I shouted and threw my flare at him. Instinctively he raised his hands and ducked.

  Stacey drove her elbow into Woodie’s stomach and jumped away.

  Woodie staggered back and slipped. For a moment, his arms flailed the air wildly. Sam grabbed for him, but it was too late.

  With a wild, mad scream that I will never forget, Woodie Tate fell down the bank and through the ice into the freezing waters of Shadow Lake.

  * * *

&nb
sp; “It’s over,” I said. “This time, it’s really over.”

  We were sitting in the lodge by the fire, surrounded by hot chocolate, nachos, and every combination of junk food we could lay our hands on. We were warm and dry and fed and safe. And Watson and Mom and Karen and Andrew and David Michael, escorted by the Shadow Lake police, were on their way back to the lodge to join us.

  We had been trying to reach Woodie, who was thrashing in the lake, when Kris Renn came running up the trail behind us. At the same time, the sound of snowmobiles was followed by the appearance, from the direction of the lodge, of the Shadow Lake police.

  Karl Tate had regained consciousness and told Detective Renn his story — how his son, unable to endure the shame and the poverty his father’s actions had caused, had become obsessed with the BSC, blaming them for his family’s troubles. By the time Mr. Tate was released from jail, Woodie was beyond control and had already embarked on his mad campaign of terror.

  Then he’d disappeared, and Mr. Tate had found out where he’d gone. He didn’t know what Woodie planned to do to the BSC members, but he feared the worst.

  The Shadow Lake police, alerted by Sergeant Johnson, were more than willing to haul Woodie from the lake and take him off to the local jail. I assumed he was warm and dry now, too. And behind bars.

  Our creepiest case ever was solved.

  Watson and my mom were not too thrilled when they heard the story. I almost got in trouble for not telling them. But how could I have? I hadn’t wanted to worry Watson. Or my mother, for that matter.

  And what good would it have done?

  Watson wanted to return to Stoneybrook immediately, like that night. But the blizzard ruled, and we ended up staying at the lodge. That was cool. It was sort of like a big party. Everyone there hung out and talked, and, of course, we told everyone about our adventures. We went to bed early, though. Capturing criminals and solving mysteries is tiring.

  On Monday morning we were greeted by excellent news from home: Nannie called to say that it was a snow day, so we weren’t even going to miss school. (Claudia didn’t think it was so excellent. She pointed out that if we had missed a day of school, we wouldn’t have to make it up, but we often had to make up snow days at the end of the year.)