Christmas Chiller

by Ann M. Martin

  I gave an exasperated sigh. “Thanks, Ethan. That’s what Claudia said.”

  “Did you?” Ethan looked up and smiled at Claudia and me, and I realized all over again how good-looking he is. “I’m glad we’re not going to have artistic differences over this, then.”

  Claudia’s smile wasn’t quite as friendly. She said, “We think someone took the picture of Stacey when she wasn’t aware of it.”

  I exchanged a glance with Claudia. We had talked about it and talked about it, and we kept reaching the same awful conclusion: that Ethan was somehow behind this sick gift.

  “A sneak photo op? That explains why it doesn’t do you justice,” said Ethan. “But I still don’t understand who would leave something like this outside your door.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t you?” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

  Ethan almost recoiled at the suggestion. “No! No way! That’s not my style at all!” he said firmly — too firmly. Was he acting guilty, or was my imagination working overtime?

  “We even think we know where it was taken,” Claudia went on. “And when.”

  “You do?”

  Claudia picked up a magnifying glass from the table next to the sofa. “Check it out. There’s a horse’s head behind Stacey. A horse’s head in a harness. That’s what that little dot in the background is.”

  “Sherlock Holmes!” said Ethan admiringly.

  Claudia didn’t acknowledge the compliment. She said, “Now, where will you see a horse in New York?”

  “With police officers? Attached to carriages? At the zoo?” said Ethan.

  “We’ll eliminate the zoo,” said Claudia. “And police horses have bridles, not harnesses.”

  “Of course,” said Ethan. “How do you know so much about horses?”

  “We have our sources,” said Claudia. She meant Mal and Jessi, of course. They love horses and have tried to involve the rest of us in their enthusiasm more than once by including information that we didn’t necessarily want to read in the notebook.

  In this case, however, it was coming in handy.

  “Horses in harnesses can be seen only in Central Park and nearby it. And since those look like the limbs of trees, I’d guess the photo was taken in Central Park,” I added.

  “I just wish we could see more of what you are wearing,” said Claudia regretfully to me. “Then we could have a better idea of when the photo was taken. As it is, all we know is that it was taken recently. Stacey bought that striped wool scarf this fall, near the beginning of the school year. So it has to have been some time during the fall.”

  “Or even during this visit,” I said in a low voice. “We went to Central Park on Friday afternoon. With you, remember?”

  “Maybe your dad took it,” Ethan said. “Have you been to the park with him anytime this fall?”

  “We always go for a walk in the park at least once,” I admitted. “I didn’t think about asking him.”

  “You should,” Ethan advised. “Meanwhile, forget about it. It’s just a gag gift. It could even have been from one of your old friends.”

  “Something weird is going on,” I said abruptly, and felt my cheeks redden. It sounded so melodramatic. But I went on to tell him about the fake blood.

  To my surprise, Ethan didn’t seem to take me seriously. “Well, strange things have happened in this apartment building, you know. After all, it’s built over an old graveyard,” he said.

  “What?” Claudia cried. “That is so lame! I don’t believe it!”

  “Ask Carl,” said Ethan. “He’s the one who told me. He said some of the tenants have even complained about spectral disturbances.”

  “You mean ghosts?” My mouth felt a little dry. “But why didn’t he tell us?”

  “Probably because he didn’t want to scare you,” said Ethan. He jumped up. “Come on. It’s just a rumor. We’re wasting time. We should be out and doing!”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me up, then put one arm around my shoulders. “Let’s just have fun today, okay?” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  It felt good. I leaned against him for a moment.

  Claudia cleared her throat pointedly. I pulled free. I was blushing, but I didn’t mind.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go. Where to?”

  “The Brooklyn Botanic Garden,” said Ethan.

  “A garden? It’s winter,” Claudia said.

  “Not inside their greenhouses. Wait till you see them,” Ethan said. “It’s awesome. It’ll make you forget all about winter.”

  Ethan was right. It was awesome. Towering tropical plants. Lush, fleshy green leaves. There was even a greenhouse filled with desert flora, warm and dry. Through the sweating glass panes of the huge greenhouses, we could see the winter snow outside. It was an amazing contrast.

  “These textures are unbelievable,” said Claudia.

  “I come here to sketch sometimes,” said Ethan.

  Claud went on dreamily, “I never realized how ornate, yet how simple and compelling a cactus could be.”

  She bent forward to stare at a spiny, unfriendly looking specimen. It didn’t look compelling to me. It looked as if it wanted to do some damage.

  Then I saw Ethan glance over his shoulder. I stared in the direction in which he was looking.

  No one.

  “Ethan,” I said. “Did you see someone you know?”

  “What? No. Come on. Look at this one. I’d hate to step on that!” He laughed loudly.

  And glanced back again.

  The next time I looked up, Ethan was studying me.

  I sighed inwardly. I liked Ethan. But he wasn’t making it easy.

  Claudia glanced at me, and I knew she had noticed Ethan, too. As he drifted ahead of us and bent to examine a cluster of spiny meanies, Claudia whispered, “Is Ethan always like this?”

  I didn’t have to ask what she meant. I knew. “No,” I replied.

  To myself I said, I hope not.

  Ethan added another level to the weirdness when we stopped at his apartment on the way home, so he could change into a warmer sweater before we got something to eat. He made us wait in the foyer of his apartment. “Stay here,” he insisted. “And don’t move.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I have my reasons. Trust me.”

  Trust Ethan? I thought as he disappeared down the hall. I didn’t know if I could.

  I was still worrying about that as we walked outside again. I saw Ethan glance around, and I couldn’t help but glance around, too. But for what? Even on a cold day that was growing colder, crowds of people were on the street.

  Anyone could be following us. Anyone could be taking our picture.

  Yuck.

  Claudia shivered. “Brrr,” she said. “I want to add another layer, too. I’m freezing.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  We headed for my dad’s apartment. It seemed to me that with every block we passed, Ethan became more agitated. He couldn’t stop looking in every direction.

  We waved at Carl and trooped toward the elevator. The door opened.

  A very slender girl with hair the color of butterscotch, deeply tanned skin, and dark brown eyes stepped out. She smiled at Ethan.

  He stepped back.

  “Hello,” the girl said in a soft, melting voice.

  Ethan looked at her, looked down at his feet — and turned a dull red. “Hi,” he muttered and stepped quickly past her into the elevator.

  We followed.

  Claudia glanced from him to the girl and back again.

  The girl walked away.

  The door closed.

  Ethan sighed. Was it a sigh of relief? Or a sigh of regret?

  Was he interested in that girl? Did he know her?

  I couldn’t make myself ask him.

  But suddenly I shivered. And it wasn’t just from the cold.

  We have an alarm system in our house. Mom had it installed because Anna and I are sometimes home alone while she works late, and because she is
very organized and likes to be prepared.

  But I’ll tell you a secret. We hardly ever use it. That’s because you have to remember to punch in a code on the alarm panel by the front door when you leave and again when you return, and you always have to enter and leave by the front door. If you forget and go through another door, it sets off the alarm.

  Then the alarm company calls and you have to give them a secret password or they’ll send the police.

  And if you’re in the house with the alarm on and you open any outside door, that sets off the siren, too. Opening a window will also set it off, plus there are motion detectors in some of the rooms. So you have to remember to disarm that if you’re going to have the alarm on while you are home, because if you walk into one of those rooms, you’ll set off the alarm.

  It’s kind of a pain, and as I said, we don’t always use it. The only thing that Mom leaves on all the time is the smoke detector, which is connected to the alarm system.

  But on Saturday night before we went to bed, she announced that we were going to start using the alarm again.

  Anna and I didn’t argue. In fact, Anna said, “I think it’s a good idea, with all these burglaries.”

  “Do you both remember the code and the password?” Mom asked us anxiously.

  “Yes. Don’t worry. And if a burglar comes, I’m going to scream much louder than any alarm,” I said.

  I thought about that as I was falling asleep. Would I scream? Or would I freeze, with my mouth open, the way I did in nightmares?

  Of course, I had faced danger before, most notably on a school trip to Salem, and I hadn’t turned to jelly.

  But the idea of facing someone in my own house sounded much scarier.

  On the other hand, I thought wryly, if the alarm did go off, I might be so shocked that I would faint or something. Nah. I wouldn’t faint. Kristy and the rest of my friends would never let me live it down.

  I yawned and began to drift off to sleep.

  But I didn’t drift far. I had just rolled sideways and burrowed under the covers when I heard the sound of breaking glass.

  I stopped breathing. I sat up. I strained my ears, trying to convince myself that it was my imagination. After all that had gone on, it wouldn’t be surprising that I would, at the brink of sleep, dream about burglars smashing a window and —

  The alarm went off and I practically levitated off the bed. I became tangled in the blankets and fell. It seemed as if I struggled for hours to kick free, but of course it was only moments. I hit my bedroom door at a run and almost collided with a figure in the hall. I swung and it swung and Anna and I wrestled with one another for a few wild seconds before we realized that we were fighting each other and not a burglar.

  “Mom!” I gasped as we heard the phone ring and we made a mad dash for the door of Mom’s room. She met us just outside, grabbed each of us by an arm, yanked us inside her room, and slammed the door.

  “The police,” I panted.

  “The alarm company already called. They’ll notify them,” Mom said with amazing calm.

  She locked the door as she spoke.

  The next few minutes went by very slowly — and very quickly. We listened for the sound of the burglar or burglars, but of course all we could hear was the wailing of the alarm. From Mom’s window at the front of the house, we could see lights coming on in the windows of houses around us.

  Then the police arrived. Mom opened the window and leaned out as a uniformed figure jumped out of the patrol car. “Here are the keys to the front door,” she called, holding up a sock. “I’ve put them in this sock and I’ll throw them down to you. We’ll stay in the bedroom until you knock.”

  She tossed the key down. A few minutes later we heard footsteps, and a voice spoke on the other side of the door. “Is that Mrs. Stevenson? This is Sergeant Tang.”

  Good old Sergeant Tang, I thought. I unlocked the door. “Did you catch anyone?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Sergeant Tang. “Are you all right?”

  “We’re fine,” my mother said. “A little shaken, but otherwise fine. I take it that this was not a false alarm?”

  “It doesn’t look that way,” said Sergeant Tang. “If you’ll come with me, please?”

  Lights blazed in every room of the house, and I realized that the police had been thorough as well as quick in their search. Good, I thought. I didn’t want to go back to bed and try to fall asleep wondering if someone was lurking in a closet or under a bed. Not that I would ever be able to sleep again.

  We made a quick detour so Mom could deactivate the alarm. Then Sergeant Tang led us into the kitchen, which is at the back of the house.

  Sergeant Johnson rose from a squatting position near one of the kitchen windows. I saw with a shock that a pane of glass near the center of the window had been broken. Shards of glass were scattered across the floor beneath the window.

  “I’m Mrs. Stevenson,” said Mom. “And these are my daughters, Anna and Abby.”

  “Hello again,” I said.

  Sergeant Johnson’s expression remained serious, but he smiled slightly at me. “How are you doing, Abby?”

  Anna said, “Be careful, Abby. You’re barefoot.”

  “Oops,” I said, and stopped.

  “It looks as if someone popped the pane of glass out in the center of the window, reached through and unlocked it, and tried to raise it. When he — or she — did, the alarm went off.”

  “That window was definitely closed when we went to bed,” said Anna.

  “It isn’t now,” said Sergeant Tang. “But the perp didn’t slide it open enough to climb in. Not much can fit through four inches of window space.”

  Only superheroes with amazing powers, I thought. And supervillains.

  Then a piece of paper on the floor near the kitchen table leg caught my attention. It was folded in half and I knew for certain that it hadn’t been there earlier. I’d swept the kitchen after dinner.

  Had it fallen off one of the counters?

  I edged toward it, trying to avoid broken glass. I bent down and picked up the piece of paper carefully between my thumb and forefinger. With equal care, I unfolded it.

  In red letters of every size was a four-letter word.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “What?” asked Anna.

  I showed her the paper.

  “ ‘Nice,’ ” she read aloud. “ ‘Nice’? ‘Nice’? What does that mean?”

  “Was that here before?” asked Sergeant Johnson.

  “No,” I said. “I think it must have come in through the window.”

  “Then you’ve found a piece of evidence, I’d say,” said Sergeant Johnson.

  Sergeant Tang pulled out a pair of gloves and a small plastic bag. She put the gloves on, took the paper, and put it into the bag. “Maybe we can lift a few prints from the paper,” she said. “We didn’t get much from the window.”

  “ ‘Nice,’ ” repeated Anna. “What does that mean?”

  I thought of the word that had been scrawled across the wall at the Hsus’ house and the wall of the Papadakises’ living room. I thought of the chaos and destruction that had come with that word.

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “But I’m sure glad it didn’t say ‘Naughty.’ ”

  Inside, I felt sick. The burglar was getting bolder. He’d broken in — or tried to — while we were all home. What would have happened if the alarm hadn’t been on?

  “Abby, why didn’t you call me when it happened?” I asked, the moment Abby opened the door of her house on Sunday morning.

  “Because I wasn’t thinking about you at the moment,” Abby shot back. “You want some breakfast?”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I didn’t finish mine.”

  Abby gave me a shrewd look. “Let me guess. You were eating breakfast when Watson or your mother told you about what happened, right?”

  I grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. So I didn’t finish.”

  “Hey, it’s good to know that we�
��re more important to you than breakfast. Come on. Anna and Mom are still asleep.”

  I stopped in my tracks when I saw the cardboard taped over the kitchen window. “Watson didn’t give me any details. Is this where they entered?”

  “Yup.” Abby opened the refrigerator, pulled out orange juice, jelly, and peanut butter, and set them on the counter. She began slicing bagels and sliding them into the toaster.

  I waited.

  Abby said, “You want cream cheese with your bagel? Also, Mom brought home some lox this weekend from a really great place on the Lower East Side called Russ & Daughters.”

  “Abby!” I practically screamed. “What happened?”

  “Okay, okay,” said Abby. “Whoever it was popped out a windowpane to unlock the window. Then he tried to raise the window. And that’s when the alarm went off.”

  “Did you see anything?” I asked.

  Abby shook her head. “I heard the glass break. But I was half asleep and thought it was my imagination. It wasn’t until the alarm went off that I realized this was the real deal. And there’s more. Whoever it was left a clue — a piece of paper with the word ‘nice’ on it in red.”

  “Distinctive handwriting? Special paper?” I asked.

  “I took a good look at that note before the police tagged it and put it into the evidence bag. The words were made by cutting letters out of a magazine. Whoever is responsible likes the color red. He — or she — had gone to a lot of trouble to use only red letters.”

  “Interesting,” I said. Then I gasped. “Oh, my lord! That’s exactly the same as the note left in the mailbox. I thought it was for Sam or Charlie. I gave it to them and they laughed and tossed it!”

  “Tossed?” said Anna, coming into the kitchen. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and she looked tired. “Yup. I tossed and turned last night, thanks for asking.”

  “Here. Fortify yourself,” said Abby, putting the toasted bagels, lox, cream cheese, jam, and peanut butter on the table, along with orange juice.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. I stared out at the gray sky. “Too bad the person didn’t wait until tomorrow night,” I said absently. “It’s supposed to snow. Footprints would have been left.”

  “Maybe they were,” said Abby. “I haven’t looked.”