“Mr. Fiske?” asked Dawn. “Odd? He’s the most normal guy in the world.”
“Yeah, but those are the ones you have to look out for,” I said. “I have a feeling he may be our man.” Soon after we finished talking about Mr. Fiske, our meeting ended and we headed home.
I wasn’t quite as sure about Mr. Fiske as I sounded, and I was determined to work even harder on finding out who the counterfeiters were. My reputation wasn’t the only one at stake now. Terry’s was, too.
Claudia knocked on the Johanssens’ door. She was on time for her sitting job, but just barely. She had stopped at home after school to pick up some art supplies for a special project she had planned to work on with Charlotte. A large pad of drawing paper was under one arm and a box of paints and Magic Markers was under the other. She had tucked a paintbrush behind one ear, and in order to knock on the door she’d had to hold a bag of crayons in her teeth.
“My!” said Dr. Johanssen, when she answered the door. “You certainly look prepared for — for something.”
“Shpeshial art phroject,” Claud said, her words muffled by the bag in her mouth.
“Yay!” cried Charlotte, running up behind her mom. “What are we going to make?”
“It’sh a shecret,” said Claudia. She took the bag out of her mouth and handed it to Charlotte, along with the pad of paper. “Why don’t you set us up in the kitchen while I say good-bye to your mom?”
Charlotte ran off, bag and pad in hand.
“I’ll be home by five,” said Dr. Johanssen. “I know you have a meeting this afternoon, so I won’t be late. Looks like the two of you will be having some fun today!”
“I hope so,” said Claudia. She was excited about the idea she’d come up with. She had thought of it during math class. Now, math is my favorite class because I love it, but it’s one of Claud’s favorite times for daydreaming and creative planning. She may not know how many apples Suzy needs for two and a half pies, but she does come up with some terrific ideas for new projects.
When Claud entered the kitchen, Charlotte was ready to get to work. She had put the drawing pad in the center of the table, and laid out the crayons, arranged by color, next to it. She sat in one of the chairs, looking eager.
Claudia dumped the rest of her supplies on the table. “We don’t really need all these colors,” she said, “but I like to be prepared, just in case.”
“What are we making?” Charlotte asked, bouncing in her seat. “Tell me, tell me!”
“Well,” said Claudia, “I thought we could see what it’s like to make money.”
“Counterfeiting?” asked Charlotte, looking very serious all of a sudden. “That’s against the law.”
“I know,” said Claudia. “But we’re not counterfeiting. We’ll make the money much, much bigger than normal, so nobody could think we were actually trying to counterfeit. I just want to see how hard it really is.”
“Do you think I should lock the door first?” asked Charlotte. “What if the police come?”
“If the police come, they’ll be able to tell right away that we’re just working on an art project,” said Claud. “I promise you, it’s safe. And fun!”
She pulled two dollar bills out of her pocket. “Here’s your model,” she said to Charlotte, giving her one. Then she tore off a sheet of drawing paper. “And here’s our paper. We’ll work on this together. Be sure to use the whole sheet of paper for our bill. That way it’ll be too big to look real.”
Charlotte started off slowly, but soon she was having a great time. Have you ever really looked at a dollar bill? It’s a complicated object. Claudia told me it was one of the hardest things she had ever drawn.
Claud and Charlotte worked quietly, side by side. They drew George Washington in the middle of the paper. They drew the fancy 1’s on each corner. They drew the special seal. Both of them were using fine-point black markers to sketch in the details; the color would come next.
Claud held her bill up to the light to see the red and blue fibers running through it. “I’ll never be able to copy that,” she said.
“What about these signatures?” asked Charlotte, pointing to the Treasurer’s signature on one end and the Secretary of the Treasury’s on the other. “I can’t even read those names.”
“Just scrawl something,” said Claud. “It’ll look close enough.” She had moved on to the back of the bill, which was even more complicated. There was the pyramid with the eye on top of it and a lot more ones and 1’s. Claud tried to count how many times the bill said “one” in different ways, but she kept losing track. There were a lot.
“What do these numbers on the front mean?” asked Charlotte, pointing to some lighter green numbers.
“Those are serial numbers,” said Claud. “They can track the bills using those. They’re for identification.”
“This is fun,” said Charlotte, “but it’s hard. I think I’m going to make my own kind of money.”
“Wow, great idea, Char,” said Claudia. “This is hard. I wouldn’t want to be a counterfeiter. You’re right. It’ll be a lot more fun to invent our own money.”
They pushed their dollar bill aside and started over again with fresh paper. Charlotte made a “gazillion-dollar bill,” with her picture in the middle. The bill was marked “Johanssenland,” and it was signed by Charlotte as Queen. It was purple and blue, with touches of red.
Claudia made a wild, psychedelic bill using every color she could lay her hands on. “Land of Total Coolness,” it said across the top. She included a picture of her favorite musical group in the middle, holding their guitars. “I wonder what would happen if we tried to spend these downtown,” she said, giggling.
“They’d think we were crazy,” replied Charlotte. “But wouldn’t it be neat if money really could look like this? Real money is so boring.”
“Other countries have neat money,” said Claudia. “I saw this Canadian dollar bill once and it had a robin on it. It looked like play money.”
“I bet our money looks like play money to people from other countries,” said Charlotte thoughtfully.
“I bet you’re right,” agreed Claudia, impressed by Charlotte’s reasoning. They finished their bills and put them aside.
“You guys haven’t caught those counterfeiters yet, have you?” asked Charlotte. “Stacey could still be in trouble.”
“We haven’t caught them,” Claudia admitted. “But I think Stacey will be okay.”
“Couldn’t we do some more spying?” asked Charlotte. “I really want to help.”
Claudia checked her watch. “Your mom won’t be back for over an hour,” she said. “I guess we could go downtown.” At our Monday meeting, we had decided that we should concentrate on watching the office supply store. It’s different than the stationery store: It doesn’t sell greeting cards or stickers or anything, just serious stuff like computer paper and manila envelopes and — copier supplies. We figured that anyone who was doing a lot of work on a copier would have to drop in for more supplies pretty often.
“Let’s go!” said Charlotte. “Wait a minute, though. I have to get the official notebook.” She ran to her room and brought back the notebook she and Jessi had bought. “Look, here are the notes we already have,” she said, showing Claud. “I bet we get a lot more today.”
They rode their bikes downtown and parked near the office supply store. “Okay,” said Claudia, before they went in. “Remember, we’re looking for men wearing hats indoors. And any other suspicious people.”
“Right,” said Charlotte, nodding.
They walked nonchalantly inside and started to act as if they were browsing. Charlotte looked at paper clips, and Claudia checked out the electric pencil sharpeners. Then Charlotte went to the pen-and-pencil section, and Claudia moved down the aisle to look over the weekly planner calendars. The stuff was pretty boring as far as Claud was concerned. No construction paper or poster paints. No glitter. No troll stickers. She had a hard time acting interested in file folders and bl
ank computer disks.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman.
“Oh, uh,” said Claudia. “I’m in this club, only it’s more like a business. We’re thinking of setting up an office to work out of.” Claudia pictured the members of the BSC sitting in a real office, behind impressive desks, each with its own electric pencil sharpener, and she almost giggled.
“Well, just browse around, then,” said the woman. “And if there’s anything I can help you with, I’ll be at the counter.”
“Thanks,” replied Claudia. She turned to a shelf full of pushpins and thumbtacks and tried to look fascinated. Then she heard the bell on the door to the store ring, and she turned to see who was coming in. It was a man — and he was wearing a hat! “Char!” Claudia hissed. Charlotte turned, and Claudia pointed as discreetly as she could. Almost immediately the man pulled off his hat and walked to the counter where calculators were displayed. He and the saleswoman began a conversation about the features of the various models. Claud looked at Charlotte and shrugged. Charlotte shrugged back.
Claudia returned to the pushpins. She had just decided that the brightly colored ones were kind of pretty when she heard a man behind her say, “Excuse me,” as he reached for a pack of thumbtacks. The man had been in the store when Claudia and Charlotte came in, but Claudia had barely noticed him. He wasn’t wearing a hat, for one thing. And he wasn’t Mr. Fiske, whom Claudia was keeping an eye out for.
He was just a normal-looking guy, in jeans and a blue shirt. Not too tall, not too short, not too skinny or fat. Nobody you would notice, in other words.
Except.
Except for something that Claudia saw as he squeezed by her. “Cool,” she said under her breath. She had seen a blue tattoo on his ear, at the spot where many people wear an earring. It was a small quarter moon next to a star. Claudia thought it was totally awesome. She almost tapped the man on the shoulder, so she could ask him about it, but then she realized that might be rude. Instead, she just stared at it, trying to figure out how it had been done. Did tattoos hurt? What if you wanted one that wasn’t permanent?
Claudia pictured herself with a tattoo of a peace sign on her left earlobe. It would look outrageous, and she loved the idea. How could she do it? She thought hard. Blue food coloring would probably work, but how could she draw with that? Maybe she could use a toothpick that had been dipped in the dye. She wondered how long food coloring would take to wear off. Would she have to avoid showing her left side to her parents for a week? Two weeks? She knew they’d flip out if they saw a tattoo on her earlobe, even if it wasn’t permanent. Claudia’s parents are pretty cool about the clothes she wears, but she knew a tattoo would be pushing it.
Claudia was so deep in her thoughts that she barely noticed Charlotte pulling on her sleeve. The man had walked away by then, and was in a different part of the store. “Claudia!” Charlotte said.
“What, Char?” asked Claudia. “Did you see that cool tattoo?”
“Yup,” said Charlotte. “I already wrote it down in the notebook.”
Claudia nodded. “Good,” she said, although it hadn’t even occurred to her to make a note about the man. She was too fascinated by his tattoo.
“But that’s not what I wanted to tell you,” said Charlotte. “Look!” She pointed toward the counter. There was Mr. Fiske, talking to the saleswoman.
“Oh, my lord,” said Claudia. She exchanged looks with Charlotte, and the two of them started to edge closer to the counter, as unobtrusively as possible. Claudia didn’t think Mr. Fiske would recognize her, since she’s not in any of his classes, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She strained her ears, trying to hear what he was saying.
“… need at least five cartridges of toner,” he said.
“We may have to special order for that many,” said the saleswoman. “But if you’ll wait, I’ll check our stockroom. You do know how much they cost, don’t you?”
“I’ve budgeted plenty,” he answered. “I know they cost a small fortune.”
Charlotte and Claudia exchanged glances.
The woman left the counter and returned with a box in her hands. “I was able to find three,” she said. “Check with me on Monday, and I should have the others by then.”
Mr. Fiske paid — in cash! — and left. Claud and Charlotte left soon after. Charlotte stood on the sidewalk outside the store, scribbling furiously in the notebook. Mr. Fiske was up to something. Claud was sure of it. It wouldn’t be long before the case of the mystery money was solved.
“Did you bring the notebook?” asked Kristy.
“Got it,” said Claudia. “I made sure to borrow it from Charlotte.”
It was Friday afternoon. At Wednesday’s BSC meeting, Claudia had told us what she and Charlotte had seen at the office supply store that day. Everybody had been very, very interested to hear about Mr. Fiske and the toner cartridges he was buying.
I’ll admit that I might have been the most interested of all. After all, if we could prove that Mr. Fiske was the counterfeiter, Terry would be off the hook. I just knew Terry’s family wasn’t up to anything bad, but I couldn’t prove that to anyone else. So I was hoping that Mr. Fiske was guilty. Isn’t that terrible? I mean, he’s a nice man and a pretty good teacher, even if he does wear silly ties sometimes. He also makes terrible jokes, which he seems to think spice up the class. Still, I didn’t really want to see him get hauled off to prison. But if it was a choice between him and Terry, well, Terry was way too young — and too cute — to spend the rest of his life behind bars.
Anyway, we had decided on Wednesday that we would meet after school on Friday and spend some time tailing Mr. Fiske. (Tailing was Claudia’s word. I think she got it from a Nancy Drew book.) Not everyone had been able to make it. Mallory and Mary Anne were sitting for Mal’s younger brothers and sisters. Shannon was at the dentist again, and Dawn was attending the second session of her tofu cooking class. So it was just me, Claudia, Kristy, and Jessi. We met in the parking lot outside the gym as soon as the last classes of the day were over.
“Now, remember,” said Kristy, “we don’t want to be seen. Especially you, Stacey, since you’re in his class.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, saluting. Sometimes Kristy has to be reminded that she’s being a little bit bossy. I grinned at her, and she grinned back.
“I’ll be in charge of taking notes,” said Claudia.
“Um,” I said, “what if the rest of us want to be able to read them?”
Claudia giggled. She knows she’s a terrible speller. “You’re right,” she said. She handed the notebook to Jessi, who has really nice handwriting. Also, she can spell.
“Where do you think he is right now?” asked Mary Anne.
“I saw him walking down the hall while I was at my locker,” I said. “I think he was headed for the teachers’ lounge.”
“Good work,” said Kristy. “That’s where we’ll go.”
We trooped back into school and tiptoed down the hallway that leads to the auditorium. There’s a mysterious room down that hall, with no window in the door, just a little sign on it that says, FACULTY LOUNGE. I’ve never quite figured out what teachers do in there. Do they really lounge? Like, do they lie around on couches and eat chocolates? Is it a pretty room, with decorative lamps and nice wallpaper and lots of big, comfortable chairs and the sweet smell of potpourri wafting through it? What happens if a student wanders into the room by accident? It’s all a big mystery to me.
We stood outside the door of the lounge, trying to look as if we just happened to be hanging out there. For a long time, the door stayed shut. “I wonder if anybody is even in there,” said Claudia. She walked up to the door and put her ear against it.
“Claudia!” I exclaimed, horrified. What if the vice-principal came out at that moment? She could get suspended or something.
“I heard voices,” said Claudia, joining us again. “But I couldn’t tell if Mr. Fiske was talking.”
“What were they saying?” asked K
risty, looking very curious. I guess she’s as mystified by the teachers’ lounge as I am.
“I couldn’t really hear,” said Claudia. “Something about trading lunchroom duty next Wednesday.”
Just then, the door swung open and a teacher I didn’t recognize walked out. She glanced at us as she passed, but she didn’t ask us anything.
“P. U.,” said Jessi, holding her nose. We were standing close enough to the door so that we got a whiff of the smell inside the lounge, and it didn’t smell like potpourri. “Cigarette smoke and stale coffee,” said Jessi. “Delightful.”
This gave me a new image of the lounge. There were probably six or seven plastic chairs and a ratty old brown couch. Fluorescent lights would beam down. A coffee machine would be sitting on an old student desk, with unwashed mugs next to it. I had a feeling that my new image was a lot closer to the truth than my old image had been.
“Psst!” Kristy hissed. “There he goes!” Mr. Fiske had just walked out of the lounge. Luckily, he was headed in the opposite direction, so he hadn’t seen us. We took off after him, trying to act as if we were just strolling innocently down the hall.
Mr. Fiske walked along purposefully, past my locker, past Claudia’s, past the drinking fountain. He slowed down a little and turned a corner, and then he disappeared into a classroom.
“That’s his homeroom,” I told the others. “Cokie Mason has him for homeroom, and she and her friends always watch to see what tie he’s wearing that day. Then they make fun of it at lunchtime.”
We clustered outside the door of the classroom. “Somebody peek inside to see what he’s doing,” said Claudia.
We all turned to look at her. She looked back at us, surprised. “Me?” she asked. “I have to do it?” She shrugged. “Okay.” She inched over to the window that was set into the door, and then raised her head until she could just see inside. “He’s rummaging around in his desk,” she reported. “He looks like he’s trying to find something important. He has this frown on his face.”
Stacey and the Mystery Money Page 8