Stacey and the Mystery Money

by Ann M. Martin

  “All right, mesdemoiselles, show me your finest second position,” said Jessi. She was talking to her little sister Becca and Charlotte, who happens to be Becca’s best friend. Jessi was sitting for them that afternoon, and they were playing “Ballet Class.” Jessi was imitating her teacher, Mme Noelle, while Charlotte and Becca pretended to be grown-up ballet students. The two of them stood at Jessi’s practice barre and stretched their necks so that they looked elegant. They turned out their feet and made what they thought were graceful gestures with their arms.

  “Magnifique!” said Jessi. “Miss Romsey, please show me an arabesque.” (Miss Romsey is what Mme Noelle always calls Jessi. That’s how she pronounces Ramsey.) Becca put her arms over her head and stood on tiptoe. “Excellent!” said Jessi. She looked at Charlotte and noticed that she didn’t seem to be paying attention anymore. Instead, she was making faces in the mirror.

  First she would smile, grinning as widely as she could. Then she would frown until she looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Next, she’d grimace, trying to look as mean as possible. Jessi watched, smiling to herself, until Charlotte caught her eye in the mirror and blushed bright pink. “Sorry!” Charlotte said. “What position are we supposed to be in?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” replied Jessi. “It’s just a game.” She giggled, remembering a time when Mme Noelle had caught her doing the same thing during a particularly boring class. Mme Noelle had been furious, but she’d forgiven Jessi soon afterward, when Jessi performed a perfect tour jeté. (That’s a type of graceful jump.)

  “It’s about time to get going, anyway,” said Jessi. “That is, if you guys still want to go to that workshop at the library.”

  “I do!” said Becca.

  “Me, too,” said Charlotte. “It sounds like fun.”

  There was a special program in the children’s room at the library that afternoon. The kids were going to make birdhouses, and each child would be able to take one home at the end of the afternoon. Jessi’s Aunt Cecelia had offered to drive them to the library and pick them up at the end of the program.

  When they reached the library, the children’s room was packed with kids. It was a mob scene. Four tables were set up with materials for the birdhouses: old milk jugs and cartons, big plastic soda bottles, gourds, and paint for the finished projects. About thirty kids were milling around, waiting for the program to start. Jessi settled Charlotte and Becca at one of the tables and then sat down in a reading corner nearby.

  Presently Becca began working on a gourd birdhouse, and Char began working with a milk carton. The children’s librarian was giving directions in a loud voice, while kids traded seats, started fights, giggled and shrieked, and spilled paint all over the tables.

  Soon the kids settled into their projects, though, and the room became a tiny bit quieter. Jessi wandered over to the new book display and looked at the titles. She saw a book called Horses of the World, and took it back to her spot where she leafed through it, looking at the pictures and fantasizing about owning a white stallion that could run as fast as the wind.

  “Jessi?” Jessi looked up to see Charlotte standing in front of her.

  “Are you done already?” asked Jessi. “Let’s see your birdhouse.”

  “I’m not done,” said Charlotte. “I can’t concentrate on it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just keep thinking about Stacey getting arrested,” said Charlotte. She looked upset.

  “But Stacey’s okay. She wasn’t really arrested, you know. The police let her go.”

  “What if they come after her again?” asked Charlotte. “Stacey isn’t a criminal, but they don’t know that. They might put her in jail.”

  “I don’t think they will,” said Jessi, trying to sound comforting. “Anyway, the BSC is working on the case. Before you know it, those counterfeiters will be caught.”

  Charlotte’s eyes lit up. That was all Jessi had to say. Charlotte forgot about her birdhouse and sat down next to Jessi, eager to talk about the mystery of the counterfeiters.

  “You’re working on the case?” she asked. “What have you been doing? Can I help?” Charlotte loves mysteries, and she has proven to be a pretty good detective in the past.

  Jessi started to tell Charlotte about some of the research she and Mallory and I had done. “Counterfeiting is serious business,” she warned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get mixed up in this. Your mother might not like it.” But Charlotte kept asking questions and Jessi couldn’t resist telling her what we’d learned.

  “I can’t believe they can just make money on copy machines!” Charlotte said when Jessi had finished.

  “Copy machines?” asked Becca, who had wandered over to join them.

  “Counterfeiters use them,” explained Charlotte. Jessi noticed a gleam in her eye. “I bet if we staked out some of the copy machines around here, we could catch those crooks.”

  Jessi looked doubtful. She didn’t really think that counterfeiters would use public machines to do their business. “I don’t think —” she began, but Charlotte and Becca interrupted her.

  “Can we?” asked Charlotte. “We could go to all the copy machines in town and watch for a while. Please, Jessi?”

  “Please?” Becca chimed in.

  “What about your projects?” Jessi asked, pointing to the paint-covered tables.

  “We already have a birdhouse in our yard,” said Charlotte. “Being detectives would be much more interesting.”

  Becca agreed. “It’s too noisy here, anyway,” she said.

  Jessi thought for a minute. If they were bored with their projects, she didn’t want to force them to stay. And even though they were unlikely to catch any counterfeiters in the act, spying on copy machines seemed like a harmless way to pass the rest of the afternoon. “Well, all right,” she said.

  “Yay!” said Becca.

  “Yay!” said Charlotte. “We’re going to clear Stacey’s name.”

  Jessi told the children’s librarian they were leaving, and the three of them headed upstairs.

  “There’s a copy machine here, isn’t there?” whispered Charlotte as they passed through the reference room.

  Jessi nodded, remembering how she had almost copied money on that very machine. She led the girls to it. “It’s not a color copier,” she said, “so probably they wouldn’t use this one.”

  “Let’s watch for a few minutes anyway,” said Charlotte. “Just for practice.”

  They sat down on the stairs near the machine and waited to see who would use it. The first person was a skinny high-school boy with glasses. He copied a few pages from a magazine. Next was a woman with two little blonde girls, who copied some kind of form. Then came an old man who copied an article out of a newspaper. Nobody copied any money.

  “Ready to go?” asked Jessi, after the man had finished and walked away.

  “Okay,” said Charlotte. “I think our next stop should be the stationery store. They have a copier there, and also we can buy a little notebook to make spy notes in.”

  Jessi smiled. Who knew? Maybe Char would come up with some ideas that the BSC hadn’t thought of. They trooped off to the stationery store.

  “This one will be just right,” said Charlotte firmly. She had picked out a little black notebook with lined paper. “It looks like a spy notebook.”

  “Can I choose the pen?” begged Becca. She looked through the selection carefully until she spotted a purple felt-tip that seemed perfect to her.

  Jessi paid for the selections, and then the three of them found the spot where the copy machine was.

  “You pretend to be looking at birthday cards,” Charlotte instructed Jessi. “I’ll check out the wrapping paper, and Becca, you act like you’re choosing ribbon.” She was getting a little bossy, but Jessi decided to follow her orders. The three of them loitered in that section, waiting for someone to come and use the copier.

  “Jessi,” Charlotte hissed. “Come here!” She wave
d her over. Jessi joined her by the wrapping paper.

  “What is it, Char?” she asked.

  “Remember when Stacey was being questioned at the police station?” Charlotte asked. “Didn’t they ask her about suspicious people?”

  Jessi thought over what I’d told her and nodded. “They wanted her to try to think of everyone she’d seen in the store that day.”

  “Well, what did she tell them?” asked Charlotte. “I mean, we should be looking out for those same people, shouldn’t we?”

  Jessi shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “Let me think. I know she mentioned a man wearing a hat indoors —”

  “Hold on a second,” said Charlotte, getting out the notebook and the pen. “Let me write this down.” She started to make notes. “Okay, man with hat. Who else?”

  “A woman with lots of shopping bags,” said Jessi. “I remember that.”

  “Good, good,” said Charlotte, writing fast. “Anybody else?”

  Jessi thought for a minute. “Oh, I know,” she said. “She saw Mr. Fiske, her English teacher. I know who he is, because he once came to my class to make a special presentation. He has blond hair and a mustache.”

  “Great,” said Charlotte, still taking notes. “Is that all?”

  “I think so,” said Jessi.

  Just then, Becca made a hissing sound, and they turned to look at her. She pointed to the copy machine. A man with a briefcase had begun to copy a whole bunch of papers. He looked as if he were in a hurry.

  Charlotte’s eyes lit up. “He’s not wearing a hat, but he looks suspicious,” she whispered to Jessi. She began to scribble frantically in the notebook. Jessi looked over her shoulder and saw that she was writing down a complete description of the man, from the color of his suit to the initials monogrammed on his briefcase.

  Meanwhile, Becca was edging closer and closer to the machine, trying to get a look at what the man was copying. Soon she was standing right next to him. He gave her an annoyed look. “Are you waiting for the machine, little girl?” he asked.

  Becca shook her head and backed up a little, but she was still peering at his papers.

  “Why don’t you run along, then?” he said. He glanced at Jessi, clearly expecting her to take charge.

  “Becca,” said Jessi. “Time to go!” They ran out of the store, giggling nervously.

  “He was just copying all these boring papers with writing all over them,” said Becca. “I didn’t really think he was making money, but I wanted to practice my spying.”

  The three of them hit three more places: a copy shop, the copier at the town hall, and a machine in the lobby of the post office. Charlotte made notes on every person they saw using the machines, but none of them fit the descriptions I had given.

  Finally, they went to the office equipment store, where there are copiers for sale. Charlotte made Jessi pretend she was researching copy machines for a school project, and they listened as the clerk told them about the best models for each kind of work. “I can’t show you our finest model right now,” said the clerk, “because my boss is demonstrating it for a client. But that’s it, over there. It does beautiful color reproduction.”

  Jessi looked at the machine and gasped. Standing next to the huge, complicated copier was none other than Mr. Fiske. She hustled Becca and Charlotte outside as quickly as she could. “I don’t believe it,” she said, half to herself, after she’d told the girls who the man in the store had been. Could Mr. Fiske really be involved? she wondered. Maybe Charlotte’s spying game hadn’t been so silly after all. Still, they couldn’t just stand there and watch him price fancy copiers. And anyway, it was time to return to the library to meet Aunt Cecelia. Suddenly, Jessi couldn’t wait for that afternoon’s BSC meeting. She had some interesting information to pass on.

  I pulled off the purple sweater and threw it onto the bed. It joined a huge pile of other clothes I had tried on and decided against wearing: a floral sundress (too summery), a red jumpsuit (too flashy), and a pair of bleached-out jeans with bows at the ankles (too casual).

  I was having a hard time figuring out what to wear for my date with Terry. On the one hand, I wanted to look really good. I wanted to wear something special, something he hadn’t seen me in at school. On the other hand, I knew he was shy, so I didn’t want to overwhelm him with anything too outrageous.

  After our BSC meeting that afternoon, Claudia and I had had a short discussion about what I should wear. We had decided on the red jumpsuit, but as soon as I tried it on I knew it was all wrong.

  I pulled a black sweater-dress out of the closet and held it up in front of me while I looked in the mirror. It was a little too dressy, I decided, and maybe too hot, too. I checked my watch. Terry was due in fifteen minutes! This was getting ridiculous. I gazed into my closet, hoping that a dress I’d never seen before would appear magically. No such luck.

  It’s times like these that make me wish I had a sister. Somebody who would help me figure out what to wear. Maybe even someone who would lend me something to wear. Once in a while my mom is a big help with this kind of stuff, but for some reason that night I didn’t want to ask her.

  I made a quick call to Claudia. “Help!” I said. “I’m down to the wire here.”

  “What about your white sweater and those blue-and-white polka-dot leggings?” she asked, after I had explained the situation. “You look great in that outfit, especially when you put that white bow in your hair.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “You saved my life. I forgot all about those leggings.” I hung up and dressed quickly. The outfit looked fine — just right for Terry, I thought. I was brushing on some blush when I heard the doorbell ring.

  “Stacey!” my mom called a few seconds later. “Terry is here.”

  I checked my lipgloss one last time and ran down the stairs. “Hi,” I said, smiling. Terry looked terrific in a pair of chinos and a tan sweater. He smiled back at me, and I could tell he thought I looked nice, too.

  “I guess you met my mom,” I said. “But let me introduce you anyway. Mom, this is Terry. Terry, this is my mother, Mrs. McGill.”

  Terry stuck out his hand. “Terry Hoyt, that is,” he said. “Terry James Hoyt. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  My mom looked a little surprised, but she shook his hand and told him it was her pleasure. I asked Terry to sit down for a moment, and as he headed for the couch my mom and I exchanged looks behind his back. She raised her eyebrows and smiled at me. I had a pretty good idea what she was thinking. “Polite boy,” probably. Guys like that always impress my mom.

  The three of us chatted for a few minutes. Mom asked Terry where his family had moved from, and he told her about Portland, Oregon. Then Terry asked Mom about her job, and she told him about Bellair’s. I listened politely, but I was glad when Terry finally glanced at his watch and said that we should get going if we were going to catch the movie we had planned to see.

  My mom had offered to drive us downtown, and Terry’s mother was going to pick us up. We had decided on a new movie about a family that gets marooned on Mars. It was supposed to be a comedy, which is why I wanted to see it, but it also had a lot of science-fiction stuff, which was why Terry thought it would be fun.

  My mom dropped us off in front of the movie theater. Terry paid for the tickets, and I bought the popcorn and soda. I like to split the cost when I’m dating, especially if it’s a first date. I want the guy to know I’m independent.

  We found seats near the front and settled in to watch the show. The movie was funny, but what was even funnier was this man in the audience who kept laughing in this honking, snorting way. I knew Terry thought it was hilarious, too, because he looked at me whenever we heard that laugh. Every time the man cracked up, we cracked up. It sounded as if an elephant or something were loose in the theater.

  I kept hoping I’d spot the man so I could see what he looked like, but I couldn’t find him. I did see Alan Gray with two of his obnoxious friends, and also Mary Anne and Logan. I
waved to Mary Anne, but I couldn’t tell if she saw me.

  Terry didn’t try to put his arm around me or anything, but our hands brushed twice when we both reached for popcorn at the same time. I wondered for a second what it would be like to kiss Terry. Then I remembered that I barely knew him. Still, what I did know, I liked.

  I have to confess that I didn’t pay much attention to that movie.

  When it ended, we walked out into the lobby. I spotted Mary Anne, and pulled Terry over to meet her and Logan. “This is Mary Anne Spier,” I told Terry. “And Logan Bruno.”

  Terry stuck out his hand, just like he had done when he’d met my mother. “Terry John Hoyt,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  John? I could have sworn he said Terry James when he met my mom, but I must have remembered wrong. I mean, the guy knew his own name, right?

  “Hi, Terry,” said Mary Anne. “I think I’ve met your sister. She’s in my gym class.”

  “Gym?” asked Terry. “I bet you haven’t seen her smile much, then. She hates gym.”

  “So do I,” confessed Mary Anne. “Tasha and I get along great.”

  “Did you like the movie?” Logan asked.

  “Sure,” said Terry. “Especially the part where they got stuck in the air lock of the spaceship. That was intense.”

  Logan and Terry started to talk about the movie, and Mary Anne and I looked at each other and shrugged. I guess she hadn’t paid too much attention, either. “You look great,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I answered. “You, too.”

  “Terry’s nice,” she whispered. “Cute!”

  “I know,” I whispered back.

  “What are you guys doing now?” she asked.

  I checked my watch. We had an hour before Terry’s mom would pick us up. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we’ll get a snack somewhere.” I turned to Terry. “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’m always hungry.”

  I told him about the Rosebud Café, and we decided to head over there. Mary Anne and Logan said they’d join us for a soda, but they couldn’t stay long.

  “Hey, this place is cool,” said Terry, as we walked into the restaurant. He looked around at the fifties decor. “It reminds me a little of the Hard Rock Cafe.”