Eleven Kids, One Summer

by Ann M. Martin

  “Yeah?” his brother called back.

  “Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll come in a few minutes. Keegan isn’t quite ready to leave. You know.”

  “Oh. Stinky diaper?” said Woody.

  “Very,” Bainbridge answered.

  “See you later!” Woody flew out of the beach house, leaving Bainbridge to deal with the mess Keegan had created. And it was a spectacular mess. Bainbridge had to remove every article of Keegan’s clothing and replace it. Even the anchor sneakers. When they left the house, Keegan was dressed in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, plaid shorts, green knee socks, and sandals. (Mrs. Rosso frowned at the sight but didn’t say anything.)

  Bainbridge raced Keegan’s stroller bumpily along the boardwalks between his house and the church in which the crafts fair was held. (The church, located not far from Bedside Manor, was called Our Lady of the Most Precious Blood. It was the only church in Davis Park and Ocean Ridge.)

  When Bainbridge reached the fair, he paused at the doorway of the church to examine a display of tiny paintings of seascapes. Each one was no more than two inches wide by two inches tall, and each came in its own small frame. Next to the paintings was a rack of handmade jewelry. Beyond that was a table piled with brightly colored handbags, duffel bags, and carryalls.

  Bainbridge wheeled Keegan into the church. With the crafts fair bustling, the church didn’t look much like a church. It looked more like a mall. Tables and stalls were jammed into every inch of the building. Signs read: “Special Two-for-One Sale” and “Finest Quality” and “Low, Low Price.” People crowded the pathways between the displays. Children ran and shouted.

  Bainbridge wasn’t terribly interested in crafts, but he was interested in seeing how some of the craftspeople worked. He watched a young girl tying flies for fishing. He watched a man sketch a caricature of a little boy. And then he came to a stand draped with flashy T-shirts. More T-shirts were stacked behind it. Bainbridge reached for a bright red and yellow shirt with the words “Davis Park” scrawled under a painting of a sunset.

  “Cool,” he murmured. He checked the size. The shirt was too big, so he put it back.

  “Like that one?” asked a young woman from behind the table. Bainbridge hadn’t even noticed her. She was about his age, tall and slim, with wispy brown hair. Bainbridge decided she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. (Not counting Amelia, of course.)

  “Sure,” replied Bainbridge. “But it’s not my size.”

  “Let me make another one for you then,” said the girl. “What size are you?”

  “Medium…. You’re going to make the T-shirt?”

  “Why not? I made all these.” The girl indicated the stacks of T-shirts piled around her. “I’ve been doing this for years.”

  “How do you paint on fabric?” asked Bainbridge.

  “I use a spray gun. Other people do different things.”

  Bainbridge watched her spray a complicated scene onto the front of a T-shirt. “Excuse me, but what’s your name?” he asked.

  “Blaire. What’s yours?”

  “Bainbridge,” said Bainbridge.

  “And I thought my name was weird.”

  Bainbridge and Blaire began to talk. Bainbridge felt somewhat guilty about being so friendly with Blaire while Amelia was at her grandparents’ house trying to help her grandfather. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that he liked Blaire.

  After a few minutes, Blaire spread her new masterpiece on the counter. “It’s all yours,” she said.

  “How much?”

  “No charge. It’s a present.”

  “Thanks! Hey, what are you going to do after the fair closes today?”

  Blaire shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “Do you like babies?” asked Bainbridge.

  “I guess,” Blaire answered. “Why?”

  “Want to meet my little brother?”

  “Well … sure. But not right now. I don’t want to leave the fair. Can I meet him tomorrow or something?” Blaire removed a small white T-shirt from a pile on a table behind her. She spread it out and smoothed away the wrinkles. “I’ll paint this one for your brother,” she added. “What’s his name? Does he like ducks?”

  Bainbridge smiled. “He loves ducks. And his name is Keegan.”

  “Keegan! Another, um, unusual name.”

  “Oh, we all have unusual names.”

  “All?”

  “There are eleven of us. Plus our parents. My mother named us in alphabetical order. Abigail, Bainbridge, Calandra …” Bainbridge completed the list. Then, in order to extend his conversation with Blaire, he told her about Zsa-Zsa. And about his parents. “See, my mom has this thing about systems —”

  “Excuse me,” said an impatient voice. “I’d like a T-shirt.”

  “And my dad,” Bainbridge continued. “Well, he —”

  “Ahem.”

  A line was forming next to Bainbridge.

  “I’ve got customers,” Blaire whispered hoarsely. “Give me your address and I’ll come over tonight to meet Keegan.”

  “Hey! You don’t have to wait until then,” said Bainbridge.

  “Bainbridge —”

  “Come on, Cambridge,” said the man at his elbow.

  Bainbridge ignored him. “You can meet Keegan now,” he told Blaire. “He’s right — He’s right — Hey, where is he?”

  Bainbridge’s stomach flip-flopped. He had turned around and discovered that Keegan and the stroller were gone. Or at any rate, they weren’t where Bainbridge had last seen them. They couldn’t be gone, though. Someone had probably jostled the stroller and it had rolled off.

  “Oh no!” Bainbridge craned his neck around. The inside of Our Lady of the Most Precious Blood was teeming with people. He couldn’t see past the ones who were crowded around him. “Get me a chair!” shouted Bainbridge.

  “What?” cried Blaire.

  “A chair! I need a chair! Give me your chair!” Bainbridge reached across the table for a folding chair piled with T-shirts. He swept the shirts away and hauled the chair toward him.

  “Now just a minute, Cambridge,” said the man.

  “My name is Bainbridge.” Bainbridge had set the chair down and was standing on it. From his new vantage point he could see dozens of strollers. But none of them was Keegan’s. He glanced down.

  Blaire was looking up at him. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Keegan is gone. My brother is gone!”

  “Who’s gone?” asked the man. “Mr. Cougan?”

  “Keegan! Keegan!” shouted Bainbridge.

  “His baby brother,” added Blaire. Now she looked concerned. The next thing Bainbridge knew, Blaire had crawled under her table and was standing by the chair. “Help!” she screamed.

  Everywhere heads turned. Eyes fell on Bainbridge since he was still standing on the chair and was therefore more visible than anyone else.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Abbie, Candy, Hardy, Faustine, and Dinnie ran up to the chair. They had just arrived at the fair.

  “Keegan’s gone!” exclaimed Bainbridge. “Spread out and search!”

  “Gone?” repeated Abbie.

  “Gone. His stroller, too.”

  “The baby is gone. Stroller and all,” murmured Candy, but no one heard her. And no one noticed when she slipped out of Our Lady of the Most Precious Blood and paused a little distance away, looking in the direction of the unnamed tumbledown house.

  Inside the church, the Rosso kids frantically decided on a plan of attack, Bainbridge taking charge. “One, don’t tell Mom or Dad yet,” he said, out of breath. “Two, split up and start looking. Half of you guys look outdoors. The rest of you look in here.”

  “What about me?” Woody called from his stand.

  “Stay there for now!” barked Bainbridge. “We’ll call you if we need you.”

  Bainbridge jumped off the chair. He ran through the crowd, calling, “Keegan! Keegan! Where are you?”

  “Like he’s really going to answer,” muttere
d Hardy.

  Bainbridge’s heart was pounding. He felt as if he might throw up. When he saw Abbie burst back inside the church from her brief search outdoors, he ran to her. He knew it was time to tell an adult what had happened, and he wanted Abbie to do it.

  “I found him!” Abbie shrieked. “I found him!”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” The muscles in Bainbridge’s body felt like wet spaghetti.

  “He’s with Hannah.”

  Abbie, Bainbridge, and Faustine dashed out of the church and joined Dinnie, Hardy, and Candy, standing together on the boardwalk, staring at Hannah. Hannah was a little distance down the walk, wheeling Keegan along slowly. Well, she wasn’t exactly wheeling him.

  “The stroller is moving by itself!” cried Candy.

  “Oh, my gosh. It is,” whispered Abbie.

  Bainbridge jumped. Then he calmed down. “The boardwalk must be on a hill,” he said. He looked at Hannah. “What are you doing?” he yelled. “We thought Keegan had been kidnapped. How could you be so —”

  Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. She grasped the stroller and wheeled it to Bainbridge’s feet. (Candy’s eyes were still the size of hubcaps.) “Nobody was paying attention to Keegan,” said Hannah, and sniffled. “You were busy talking to that girl. So I took him for a walk.”

  “Well, don’t ever do that again!” said Abbie.

  Bainbridge left Abbie to yell at Hannah. He dashed back inside Our Lady of the Most Precious Blood, told Woody and Blaire that Keegan had been found safe and sound, and then returned to his little brother. As the eldest boy (and also the one who had been left in charge of Keegan), Bainbridge felt it was his duty to inform his parents of the accident — now that it was over and everything had turned out all right.

  Accompanied by Candy and Hannah, Bainbridge wheeled Keegan back to Sandpiper House. (His other brothers and sisters returned to the fair to watch Woody’s progress.)

  “Mom,” said Bainbridge. “Dad. I have to tell you something.”

  Mrs. Rosso finished packing folded sheets into a cardboard carton. Mr. Rosso turned away from the refrigerator, which he was cleaning out. “Yes?” they said, looking preoccupied.

  “Um, we had a little problem with Keegan,” Bainbridge began.

  His parents glanced at the baby. “He looks all right,” said Mrs. Rosso. “Except for that horrible outfit he’s wearing.”

  Bainbridge explained what had happened. “I’m really sorry,” he said when he had finished. “Really sorry. I promise I’ll never be so irresponsible again.” Bainbridge studied his parents’ faces. Was he the next kid to be grounded? “You can ground me, if you want,” he added. “I guess I deserve it.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” his father replied. “You already feel bad enough.”

  A little while later, Bainbridge returned to the crafts fair with Keegan. As he walked along, he began to feel guilty about Amelia. If he’d been true to Amelia, this would not have happened.

  Bainbridge decided to call her as soon as his family returned to New Jersey. He needed to talk to her.

  Hardy was sitting on a rock at the edge of the bay, thinking about Hannah. He had been present when Abbie had spotted Hannah with Keegan and the stroller. Hardy had noticed a smug smile on Hannah’s face as the stroller seemed to wheel itself along the boardwalk. His younger sister was up to something, and Hardy (the detective) planned to find out what. He thought there was more to Keegan’s “kidnapping” than Hannah had admitted, yet she had taken no blame for the crime. Hardy felt a sleuthey duty to clear up this mystery. It was his job to solve The Case of the Curious Kidnapping.

  “What are you doing?”

  Hardy jumped. The voice was right in his ear, but he had not heard anyone approach. He swiveled his head around. “Candy!” he exclaimed.

  “Sorry if I scared you,” Candy muttered. She plopped down in the sand. “Hardy?” she said after a moment.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to hire you. I need you to solve a mystery.” Candy had hired Hardy once before, to help her locate a secret passage on their farm in New Jersey. Hardy hadn’t been much help, but now Candy was desperate.

  Hardy straightened up. “You need a detective, ma’am?” he said.

  Candy nodded (and sighed).

  “What seems to be the trouble?” asked Hardy.

  “It’s the ghosts. You know, the haunted house next door. I just have to know what’s going on. I wanted to solve the mystery myself, but I don’t think I can. I’ve been haunted by those ghosts all summer. And I think that this morning, one of them made Hannah take Keegan. I don’t care what anyone says: Something is going on. And it isn’t funny, and I’m not crazy. But I will be crazy if we leave the island and I don’t know what was happening next door.” Candy looked as if she might cry.

  “Hmm,” murmured Hardy. He stroked his chin. “That’s tough.” He had wanted simply to find out more about Keegan’s “kidnapping.” But Candy was asking him to solve that and a lot more.

  “You’re a good detective!” exclaimed Candy. “And anyway you’re the only detective I know of.”

  “Oh, I could solve your case, ma’am,” Hardy assured his sister. “That’s not the problem, of course. The problem is I’m not sure I have enough time to solve it before we go home. I mean, I may be a genius, but I’m not Superman.”

  “But you’re my only hope!” wailed Candy. “Come on. What’s your fee? I’ll pay you anything.”

  Hardy frowned. Candy drove a tough bargain. “I’ll cut you a deal,” he said finally.

  “Anything,” said Candy. “Anything within reason, that is. I can’t pay you a million dollars. In fact, I can’t pay you more than twelve dollars.”

  “Twelve dollars, then,” said Hardy.

  “All twelve?” shrieked Candy.

  “I thought you wanted me to solve your case.”

  “We-ell …”

  “How about this? Twelve bucks if I solve the mystery before we go home. If I don’t solve it in time, no charge.”

  “Okay,” Candy replied slowly. “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  Back at Sandpiper House, Hardy set to work. His first task was to make out a contract and ask Candy to sign it.

  “How come?” asked Candy impatiently.

  “If I solve this mystery, I want to be sure you pay up. I don’t work for free.”

  “Okay, okay, okay.” Candy signed her name on the line Hardy had drawn at the bottom of the paper. Then she said, “Finished! What do we do first?”

  “I make a phone call, and you help Mom pack.”

  “What’s packing got to do with detecting?” asked Candy.

  “Nothing. I work alone, that’s all. As well as for pay,” added Hardy. He watched Candy stalk into his parents’ bedroom. Then he sat down by the telephone with a pencil and a pad of paper. He had no phone directory, however, so he had to place several calls before he learned the number of the public library on the mainland.

  “Great!” Hardy congratulated himself. He would not be able to go to the library, he knew, but he could ask the librarian a few questions. He just needed to find out some local history.

  Hardy dialed the number. The phone rang once and was picked up right away. “Hello!” cried Hardy. “Can you please —”

  “Hello,” replied the recorded message at the other end of the line. “You have reached the John Adams Memorial Library. We are closed for Labor Day weekend. We will reopen on —”

  It didn’t matter when the library would reopen. It would be too late. Hardy needed answers to his questions before the weekend was over. So he hung up the phone, the message still playing.

  A good detective doesn’t give up, Hardy reminded himself. Especially if giving up means he won’t get paid.

  Hardy reviewed what he knew about the house next door, which wasn’t much. He thought he remembered finding out that no one had lived in the house for at least twenty years. Now how did he know that?

  I need my d
etecting hat, Hardy thought. Luckily, he had brought it to Fire Island. When he had first packed it, on the farm in New Jersey, his mother had frowned. Later, she had removed it from his suitcase. That was when she had decided that the Rossos had overpacked for the summer and she was frantically weeding out everything she felt was unnecessary. Hardy had convinced her he needed the hat. “Besides,” he’d pointed out, “you’re letting Jan bring along that disgusting jar full of those old brown baby teeth she lost.”

  So the hat came along. Hardy put it on his head. “I knew you’d come in handy,” he told the hat. (This was the second time he’d needed it that summer.)

  Hardy and his hat left Sandpiper House. Hardy was carrying a notepad, a pencil, and his magnifying glass. He walked to the beach. Then he walked to an empty stretch of sand and sat down. Let’s see, he thought. What should I do to crack this case? Hmm. A good detective hunts for clues with his magnifying glass. He interviews suspects. He gathers information.

  Twenty years. The house had been deserted for twenty years. Who had said that? It was Candy, Hardy answered himself. But how had she known that? Had she made it up? Noooo …

  Then Hardy remembered. Candy had heard it from Mel or Lacey. They ought to know. Their parents had been summering on Fire Island forever. They were old-timers.

  “That’s it!” Hardy cried. “I’ll talk to old-timers.” He would start with the parents of Mel and Lacey. Then he would talk to those fishermen the twins had been pestering. Maybe they would know other people he should talk to. Hardy jumped to his feet.

  Holding his hat in place with one hand and clutching his notebook in his other, Hardy ran down the beach. He ran past Justin and Chloe, rehearsing a scene for Summer Blues. He ran past Jan and Ira, building an elaborate castle at the water’s edge. By the time he reached the stairs to the boardwalk, he had not seen Mel or Lacey or anyone in their families. He wasn’t surprised, though. The sunny day had turned cloudy, and anyway a lot of people were at the church looking around the crafts fair.

  Hardy trotted straight to the Bradermans’ house. He found Melanie perched on the railing, eating a peach and staring into space. Her expression changed when she saw Hardy. “Hey!” she called. “Hi. How are you? What’s with the hat?”