It was the fifth time on that Tuesday morning that Chris had stopped into one of the stores on Ridgewood Street—-and the fifth time that she had asked that question, one that the salesperson in her realized was a question that the shopkeepers of Ridgewood would have a difficult time saying no to. She had started out right after breakfast, armed with her notebook, in which there was a list of Ridgewood’s stores, a pair of warm socks, and her biggest smile.
It was the first time she had ever done anything like this. And between her naturally outgoing personality and her commitment to making the Christmas bazaar the best it could possibly be, she was really enjoying talking about the idea she and her sister had developed as a way to raise money for a Christmas Eve celebration for the children who were in the hospital.
And that idea seemed to keep on growing. That morning as Chris was making the rounds, Susan was back at the house whipping up a tremendous batch of gingerbread dough, enough to build a spectacular gingerbread house and still have enough left over to make more gingerbread boys and girls and stars and bells to sell at the bazaar. John Pratt and Andy were up in the hills right outside Ridgewood, scouring the forests for fir trees that were suitable for selling at the bazaar as Christmas trees.
Emily Pratt, meanwhile, was driving around town, visiting each one of her friends. As she stopped at each house, she added to her car another box of handmade items that her fellow craftspeople were contributing to be sold, as well as enough secondhand items, clothes and toys and housewares that they no longer had any use for, to start up a white elephant sale table. She was also collecting red and green tablecloths to cover up the folding tables that Andy had promised to scrounge up, on which the items that were for sale would be displayed. And in the midst of all these activities, she was at the same time recruiting volunteers to help out, setting up and putting on price tags and selling the things that were being collected.
So far everything was going smoothly—including Chris’s visits to all the shops in Ridgewood, where she was asking for donations. And this visit, at Shakespeare’s Bookstore, was no exception.
“I’d be happy to donate some books for you to sell,” said Dave Peabody, the proprietor of the shop, after Chris had explained all about the fund-raising bazaar. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll drop a cartonful of books by at the church first thing Thursday morning, before I open up the shop at nine-thirty. Will that give you enough time to set up the bookstall?”
“That would be perfect,” said Chris with a nod. Inside her notebook, she made a note of the contribution that Mr. Peabody had just promised to make.
“And come to think of it, there’s something else I can do to help out. I’d like to donate a few children’s books, too, for you to give to some of the kids over at the hospital as Christmas presents. How would that be?”
Before Chris even had a chance to tell him what a terrific idea she thought that was, and how much she appreciated his generosity, Mr. Peabody went over to a display that was decorated with posters and clowns and ducks and cartoon characters and picked out six or eight different volumes, books for children of various ages and interests.
“Here you go,” he said, putting them into a shopping bag and handing them to Chris. “Just tell the kids they’re from Santa Claus,” he added with a wink.
“Gee, thanks, Mr. Peabody!” Chris exclaimed as she took the bag. “I really appreciate these—and I’m sure the kids over at the hospital will, too!
“Now there’s one more thing. Would you be willing to put a poster advertising the bazaar in the window of your store?”
“Of course!”
“That’s wonderful, Mr. Peabody. I’ll tell my sister, Susan, to stop in later on today to give you one. They’re being run off at the printer’s this morning.”
“That’s fine,” said Mr. Peabody. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll even put it right smack in the middle of the window, where anyone walking by the shop will be sure to see it. Why, I think it may even fit right inside the wreath I’ve already got hanging in the window!”
Happily Chris left Shakespeare’s Bookstore, pleased that she was now not only collecting donations for the bazaar and getting the shopkeepers to agree to display the poster that was already at the printer being run off, she was picking up gifts for the children as well. She couldn’t wait to tell Susan about how cooperative everyone in Ridgewood was being!
Gee, she thought with satisfaction as she tromped across the snow-covered sidewalk toward Betty’s Craft Supplies, the next store on her list, getting everything ready for this Christmas bazaar is turning out to be more fun than I ever expected!
Mainly, she realized, because I’m beginning to see that I’m not the only one around here who’s positively bursting with the real spirit of Christmas!
At noontime, while Chris was still making the rounds at all the shops in Ridgewood’s shopping district, Susan was heading over to meet Brian for lunch at the Ridgewood Children’s Hospital in the car she had borrowed from her grandparents.
She had called him first thing that morning, but rather than telling him about the bazaar and the Christmas Eve party for the children at the hospital, she decided to tell him in person. So instead she simply said that she’d be stopping by to discuss something important with him and suggested that they meet for a sandwich in the cafeteria.
“Well, this is certainly a nice surprise!” Brian had said over the phone. “It’s not often that I have a guest for lunch here at the hospital.”
“Me inviting myself for lunch is nothing,” Susan had teased. “Wait until you hear about the real surprise I’m going to tell you about!”
So Susan was excited as she hurried down the main corridor of the children’s hospital toward the cafeteria. Not only would she be seeing Brian again, she couldn’t wait to watch the expression on his face when she told him all her good news.
But as she spotted him sitting alone at a table near the windows waiting for her, the expression on his face was positively gloomy. It was no secret that something was wrong—very wrong, as a matter of fact.
Even so, he cheered up as soon as he noticed Susan walking toward him.
“Hi, Susan!” he called. “And welcome to the town of Ridgewood’s finest dining establishment!”
Susan chuckled as she looked around her at the small cafeteria, functional enough but definitely plain and cheerless, filled with hospital personnel: nurses and doctors in white, technicians and orderlies in green. They were all eating their lunches off plastic trays, using plastic silverware and paper plates and cups.
“This is an elegant restaurant,” Susan quipped. “Unfortunately, it seems they’ve run out of linen tablecloths and candles and bouquets of flowers for decorating the tables. Perhaps we should look for the headwaiter.”
“No matter,” Brian returned with a lofty wave of his hand. “The fine food here speaks for itself. We don’t even need candles and flowers.” He stood up, bowed with mock formality, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Susan giggled and took his arm. “Why, I’d be delighted!” With that, the two of them headed toward the cafeteria line.
A few minutes later, after Susan and Brian had returned to their table with their lunches, Susan said, “Well, Brian, I came here to tell you some good news. But to tell you the truth, when I walked into the room before, you looked as if you’d just lost your best friend.”
The same troubled expression that she had seen on his face before returned. “Not quite. But I did just hear something that was pretty upsetting.”
“Nothing’s happened to any of the children, I hope....”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Brian frowned. “No, this has to do with the fact that the hospital has been losing money.” Brian leaned forward so that he could speak more softly. “My boss, Carol, just told me that ... well, it’s really just a rumor, but ...”
He looked around as if he wanted to make sure that no one besides Susan could hear him. “She said she heard that the reason th
e hospital is in such bad financial shape—so bad that it might even have to close down—is that the hospital’s director has been embezzling funds.”
“Mr. Stone?” Susan gasped. “Stealing money from the hospital?”
Brian nodded somberly. “I know. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? As I said, it’s only a rumor. But, gee, the very possibility that something like that might be going on ...”
“Is there any way you could investigate?” asked Susan. By now she had forgotten all about her lunch, sitting on the plastic tray that she had pushed out of her way for the moment. “You know, find out whether it really is just a rumor? After all, that’s a pretty serious accusation.”
“I know it is. But to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of how to go about something like that.” He thought for a few seconds, then asked, almost as an afterthought, “Would you?”
But before Susan had a chance to answer his question, a voice that she didn’t recognize boomed, “Well, hello there, Brian. Glad to see you’re taking advantage of the hospital cafeteria’s fine cooking. And who’s your friend?”
Susan turned around and saw a distinguished man standing behind her, dressed in a well-cut suit. He had black hair that was peppered with strands of gray, a rather handsome face, and a way of carrying himself that bespoke confidence.
Brian gulped. “Hi, Mr. Stone. Susan, this is Mr. Stone, the director of the hospital. Mr. Stone, this is Susan Pratt. She and her sister are spending the Christmas holidays with their grandparents, John and Emily Pratt, who live here in Ridgewood....”
“How nice! I’m pleased to meet you, Susan. And welcome to the Ridgewood Children’s Hospital. You know, it’s not every day that a stranger stops in to take a look around.”
What an odd thing to say! thought Susan. Aloud, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Stone.” She glanced over at Brian, then boldly went on to say, “I’m particularly interested in your hospital because I understand that it’s having some financial difficulties and that there isn’t enough money for the children who are patients here to have much of a Christmas celebration.” She watched his face carefully, anxious to observe his reaction.
But Mr. Stone simply said, “Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. And I, for one, just couldn’t be sorrier. These poor kids are having a rough enough time of it as it is, being stuck in the hospital over the holidays, without much of a chance to have a little holiday cheer.”
“Gee, it’s such an unfortunate situation,” Susan agreed.
Goodness, maybe Mr. Stone is as upset about it as all the rest of us! Susan was thinking. He’s certainly acting as if he is! It’s difficult to believe that he could be responsible for the hospital’s poor financial state, that he’s the one who’s keeping the kids from having a merry Christmas—who may, in fact, even be the reason that the hospital may have to close down soon!
“But things aren’t entirely bad,” she continued. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to tell Brian all about a plan my sister came up with to help the patients here have a holiday celebration after all.”
“A plan? What plan?”
Susan couldn’t help feeling that he was acting as if he were actually suspicious. But she went on to tell Mr. Stone, as well as Brian, all about the Christmas bazaar, the fund-raising event whose proceeds would be used to give the children at the hospital a Christmas Eve party, complete with decorations, music, cookies, and presents. When she finished her little speech, she looked from one of them to the other, anxious to see what their reaction would be.
She wasn’t disappointed.
“Wow, that’s a great idea, Susan!” Brian declared as soon as she’d finished.
“Yes, it is,” Mr. Stone agreed, sounding sincere. “I’m sure the kids will love it—and the way you’ve described it makes it sound as if it won’t cost the hospital a cent. I’m all for it. As a matter of fact, if there’s anything that I or anybody else here at the hospital can do to help you out, just let me know. Why don’t you contact my assistant, and the two of you can work out all the details? Brian here can give you the phone number....”
Once Mr. Stone had moved on, apologizing for having to leave so quickly but insisting that he had some very important telephone calls to make, Susan turned to Brian and sighed.
“Well! Mr. Stone certainly seems like a nice fellow! I’m pleased he was so supportive when he heard about the party we’re planning for the kids.” She decided not to mention the reservations she already had about him based on those few rather peculiar comments he had made.
“Yes, he does seem nice, even if he does seem a little bit ... withdrawn,” Brian agreed. “That’s why it’s so darn hard to believe the rumor that Carol told me about.” He thought for a few seconds, then said, “At any rate, there’s nothing you and I can do about it, so why don’t we forget it for now? I’d much rather hear more about the bazaar—and the party.”
“Okay,” said Susan, pulling her tray back and digging into her lunch. “The planning of the bazaar is already well under way—and in very good hands, I might add. But I’m sure you can give me some good ideas about the party. Things like the kind of refreshments the children might enjoy, games they’d have fun playing ...”
“It sounds great, Susan, and I’d be more than happy to help you girls out in any way I can.”
Brian seemed happier than she’d ever seen him as the two of them chatted away about the bazaar.
One thing’s for sure, she thought, forgetting all about Mr. Stone for the moment. This bazaar is turning out to be an even better idea than I ever expected. Everyone is excited about it.
And knowing that made her realize that whether it turned out to be a success or not, she and her twin would have done their part to make this Christmas a merrier one for ail the residents of Ridgewood.
* * * *
As soon as she got home from having lunch with Brian at the hospital, Susan sought out her twin. She was anxious to hear all about how Chris’s morning of soliciting contributions from Ridgewood’s shopkeepers had gone before stopping off at the printer’s to pick up the posters and start putting them up all around town. She also wanted to discuss the rumor that she had just heard from Brian ... the one that was so difficult to believe.
She found Chris in the dining room with wrapping paper and ribbons and boxes spread out all over the table. She was humming, “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” as she taped up the side of a large cube-shaped box she had just wrapped in shiny green paper.
“Well, well,” joked Susan. “If it isn’t one of Santa’s elves.”
“Not just any elf, either,” Chris returned, looking up from her project and smiling. “You happen to be looking at Santa’s head elf.”
“In that case, I feel honored.” Susan surveyed the generous stack of boxes placed on chairs, some of them already wrapped and decorated with ribbons in contrasting colors. “I guess you managed to do some Christmas shopping after all!”
“Oh, these aren’t mine. They’re Grandma’s. She asked me if I’d help her out by wrapping them.” Chris grinned at her twin mischievously. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe that one or two of these might even be for you!”
“Well, don’t tell me which ones or what’s in them. You know I always like to be surprised on Christmas morning.”
Chris shook her head disapprovingly. “You were always so much more patient than I was. Here I was hoping I could talk you into peeking into some of these boxes with me....”
“And spoil Christmas morning?” Susan laughed. “Never!” She grew serious then. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got something a lot more serious than Christmas presents on my mind right now. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Be my guest. But how about pitching in while we chat? Otherwise, I’ll be up to my elbows in Scotch tape and ribbons all day!”
Susan picked up a long thin box from the pile and cut a piece of green paper, printed with silver bells, from a large roll. “You know I had lunch with Brian today ... and he t
old me something awful, Chris. Of course, it is just a rumor ... and one that’s very hard to believe, at that.”
Her twin’s eyes grew round. “What is it, Sooz? It must be something serious, because you look pretty upset.”
Susan sighed and ran her fingers through her short chestnut-brown hair. “Chris, Brian’s boss, Carol, told him she thinks that the hospital’s director, Mr. Stone, has been embezzling money from the hospital.”
“The director? Stealing?” Chris was dumbfounded—so much so that she dropped the reel of red ribbon she had been holding, and it began to unravel as it rolled across the floor. “But ... how ... why ...”
“That’s exactly what my first reaction was,” Susan said ruefully. “See, I told you it was hard to believe. And frankly, it’s even harder now that I’ve actually met Mr. Stone.”
“Really? You met him? What’s he like?” Chris leaned forward excitedly. Suddenly it seemed as if there were something mysterious going on ... and a mystery was something that she could never resist.
“Well, let me see.” Susan thought for a few moments. “He did say a few things that were a little bit odd ... but basically he’s very nice. And he seemed genuinely upset that the hospital was so short of funds that it couldn’t even manage a small Christmas celebration for the kids. Then when I told him about what we were doing, with the bazaar and all, he was delighted.”
She frowned, then said, “I don’t know, Chris. No matter what I felt about him personally, the fact remains that he is the hospital’s director. So as far as I’m concerned, he’s the last person I would ever expect to be doing something illegal. Not to mention something that could hurt the children at the very hospital he runs.”
Chris abandoned her packages and began to pace around the dining room. “Boy, this is a real problem. Here the Ridgewood Children’s Hospital is having financial trouble—may even have to close, in fact, something that would be bad for both the residents of the town and all the kids who live in this part of the state. It’s an awful situation, and we both agreed as soon as we heard about it that we’d love to help out, if there was any way we possibly could.
The Candy Cane Caper Page 7