Mary Anne saw Jake gazing longingly at the radio, and decided to take Jessi’s advice and try to distract the kids by talking about the holiday party. “Are you guys ready for the big party?” she asked. “I know my friends and I are looking forward to it.”
“Me, too. It’s gonna be awesome!” said Jake. “I can’t wait to go flying over the snow in that sleigh.”
Mary Anne sighed. “I guess you talked to the Arnold twins,” she said. She knew Kristy was going to love hearing about this, especially since there still wasn’t a single flake of snow in the forecast.
“Marilyn and Carolyn said we’ll have to dress up in our warmest clothes for the sleigh ride,” said Laurel.
“I have a new snowsuit!” cried Patsy. “It’s pink and purple, my favorite colors. Want to see it?” She grabbed Mary Anne’s hand and pulled her toward the door.
Mary Anne looked back at the older kids and shrugged. “Be right back, I guess,” she said, grinning. Then she let Patsy drag her to the hall closet. She admired the snowsuit, but refused to let Patsy wear it inside. “You’ll get way too hot,” she explained.
When Mary Anne and Patsy returned to the living room, guess what they found? Right. Jake and Laurel were sitting next to the radio again, listening for news about the convict. Mary Anne shook her head, frustrated, and turned off the radio one more time. Then, as Jake and Laurel sat frowning at her, she looked around, trying to come up with another distracting subject.
Her eyes lit on something Patsy had just picked up. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the little wooden toy.
“It’s a dreidel,” said Patsy.
“Oh,” said Mary Anne. “What do you do with it?”
“You spin it,” said Jake. “It’s a top.”
“We play with it during Hanukkah,” added Laurel.
“What do the symbols on it mean?” asked Mary Anne. “And what’s Hanukkah all about, anyway?” she asked. “I always wondered. Do you get presents, like I do on Christmas?” She figured she had hit upon a topic that would be good for a few minutes, at least. She already knows about Hanukkah, of course, but she also knows that kids love to explain things.
“We do get presents, but it’s not really like Christmas,” said Laurel. “It’s a smaller holiday than that. We pay more attention to lighting the menorah than to opening presents.”
“The menorah’s a big candleholder. We light one candle every night for eight nights,” Jake explained, fully involved in the conversation now. “It’s to remind us of this time long, long ago when these people thought they only had enough oil for one night’s worth of light. But something wonderful happened, and the oil lasted for eight nights.”
“After we light the candles, we eat the latkes and get little presents or Hanukkah gelt,” said Laurel.
“Latkes?” asked Mary Anne. “Gelt?”
“Latkes are potato pancakes,” said Patsy, rubbing her stomach. “Yum.”
“And gelt is money, or chocolate coins wrapped in foil,” said Jake. “You can use it to play the dreidel game, but then you might lose it. See?” He picked up the little top and showed it to Mary Anne. “First you each put some gelt into the ‘pot.’ Then you take turns spinning the dreidel. The ‘symbols’ are really Hebrew letters. If it lands on this letter,” he went on, pointing to a figure carved into one of the four flat sides of the top, “you take nothing from the pot. And this other letter means you put something into the pot. But if it lands on this one,” he said, pointing to a third, “you take the whole pot.”
“And if it falls on that one,” added Patsy, pointing to the fourth side, “you take half the pot. It’s fun.”
“It sounds like it,” said Mary Anne. “In fact, Hanukkah in general sounds like fun.”
“I made my own menorah out of construction paper this year,” said Laurel. “Instead of lighting real candles, you add a yellow paper flame to one candle every night. Want to see it? It’s in my room.”
“Sure,” said Mary Anne. Then she remembered the radio. She glanced at Jake, but he seemed busy with the dreidel. Mary Anne followed Laurel upstairs and admired the menorah, which was sporting all its “flames,” since Hanukkah was already over.
As Mary Anne and Laurel came back into the living room, Mary Anne saw Jake reach out quickly to switch off the radio. He looked up at her guiltily. Patsy, who had been listening, too, seemed frightened again.
“Any news?” Mary Anne asked. She was tired of reprimanding Jake.
“Nope,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Just the same old stuff.” He imitated an announcer’s voice. “The prisoner is still at large,” he proclaimed.
Mary Anne thought for a second. Then she made a quick decision. If she couldn’t divert the kids’ attention, maybe it was better to focus it and channel their worries into a game. “I really think we’re safe from the prisoner,” she said. “But maybe it would be fun to pretend we’re in danger. So, what if a ‘bad guy’ really was headed this way?” she asked. “How would we catch him? What kind of traps would we make? What would we do so he could never, ever get into the house?”
Jake grinned up at her. “I have some great ideas,” he said. “All we need is some rope, a bucket, and an alarm clock …”
For the rest of the evening, the kids played “catch the bad guy.” (Mary Anne kept them from getting too wild.) By bedtime, they were exhausted, happy, and, according to Mary Anne, worry-free. Her idea had worked, for that one night, anyway. But she knew the Kuhn kids — and many others — wouldn’t really rest easy until the prisoner was caught.
It wasn’t there.
I rubbed my eyes and looked again. How could it be? I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I had left my watch on the Johanssens’ kitchen table the day before. I remembered taking it off before I washed out Carrot’s water dish, and I remembered placing it in the middle of the table. I had put it between the salt and pepper shakers, and I had made a mental note of the place so I wouldn’t forget to pick up the watch on my way out.
Of course, I had ended up forgetting it anyway. I’d left it on Wednesday afternoon, before I went to the BSC meeting. I guess I was a little distracted, thinking about how I was going to bring up my “mystery,” so I walked off without my watch. I forgot all about it until the next morning, when I was getting dressed for school and realized my watch was missing.
So there I was, in the Johanssens’ kitchen, staring at the place where my watch was supposed to be. And it wasn’t there. It was my favorite watch, too: a see-through Swatch with a red watchband.
I stood there gaping at the spot where my watch wasn’t. Then, suddenly, I heard a creaking sound from directly above me. Once again, I felt those little hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. Was somebody walking around upstairs? I spun around, looking for Carrot. He had been eating his breakfast just a second ago. Where had he gone? I was counting on him to protect me if there was an intruder in the house. After all, Carrot and I had bonded over the last few days. I’d walked him and stroked him and played with him and, most importantly, I’d fed him. Wouldn’t it follow that he’d take my side if there were some kind of a fight?
“C-Carrot?” I called in a wavering voice.
I heard a scrabbling noise, again from directly above me. But this time my little neck-hairs just lay there calmly. I knew what that noise was, and I knew who was making it, too. It was Carrot himself. He must have made the creaking noise, too. Carrot likes to sleep underneath Dr. and Mr. Johanssen’s bed. I guess it’s just another little “cave,” to him. The only problem is that, while he has no problem wiggling his way under there, he can’t seem to figure out how to get back out. So, if you call him the way I just had, he panics and starts scrabbling around trying to squeeze himself out from under the bed. I’ve seen him do it, and it’s a riot.
I laughed to myself, just picturing it. And as soon as I laughed, I felt much better. So what if my watch wasn’t where I remembered putting it? I was probably just remembering wrong. It was not
hing to get so upset about. I glanced around the kitchen, hoping to see the watch somewhere else. I could tell by the kitchen clock that I would have to leave soon if I wanted to be on time for school.
Then I saw it. My watch was lying in plain sight on the kitchen counter, next to the breadbox. I picked it up and strapped it on, shaking my head. “My memory must be playing tricks on me,” I said out loud. Then I called, in a louder voice, “Later, Carrot! Be a good boy,” and I let myself out.
I was ready to let the watch thing go — I really was. I blamed myself. I chalked the incident up to my bad memory. But what happened later that day had nothing to do with my bad memory.
Here’s the story: On Thursday afternoon, as soon as school let out, I headed back over to the Johanssens’. It was warm out that day, warm but gray and overcast. In fact, it was drizzling a little. (Kristy had pointed out that if it were only twenty degrees colder it would be snowing.) I wasn’t wearing my new coat — I’d have roasted in that thing. Instead, I had on this fun yellow slicker with a hood on it, like a kid’s raincoat.
When I got to the Johanssens’, Carrot didn’t even give me a chance to take off my slicker. He wanted to go right out. He was waiting at the door with his leash in his mouth and his little tail wagging. “All right, buddy,” I said, bending over to clip his leash on. “Fine with me. We’ll take a nice, long walk. I hope you don’t mind getting wet.” Carrot pranced happily as soon as we were on the sidewalk. It was clear that he didn’t mind the weather.
We walked for quite a while. It was relaxing to stroll along, feeling the misty air on my face. Carrot seemed to like it, too. Every so often he’d stop and shake himself off enthusiastically, setting his collar tags to jingling.
By the time we got back to the Johanssens’, Carrot was soaked. I had a feeling he was going to be smelling pretty “doggy” for a while, unless I dried him off. “You wait here,” I told him, hitching his leash to a railing on the front porch. “I’m going to get a towel.” I unlocked the door, let myself in, and kicked off my wet boots on the doormat. Then I ran upstairs to the bathroom, hoping I’d find an old towel to wipe Carrot off with.
Now, I’m not a snoop. If I were, I’d have had plenty of opportunity to poke around in the Johanssens’ house. But, until that day, I hadn’t even been in the family bathroom upstairs. There was a small one in the basement, and I’d used that one a few times, but the upstairs one seemed private, somehow, and I’d stayed out until that day.
So, anyway, I wasn’t snooping. I was just looking around for towels. There were some hanging on the towel racks, but they looked too new and too white to use for drying off a sopping dog. Then I saw a small closet next to the shower. “Aha!” I said, pulling the door open. “The towels must be in h —”
I stopped in the middle of the sentence. Why? Well, it was those darn hairs on the back of my neck. They were standing at attention again. Here’s what I was staring at on the shelf right at eye level: a hairbrush.
That’s right, a hairbrush. And if you think there’s nothing scary about that, how about if I add this bit of information? The hairbrush contained hairs. Bright red ones. And there isn’t one single person in the Johanssen family who has red hair.
The hairs in that brush were lit from above by a light that had gone on automatically when I opened the closet. There was no mistaking their color. I stood there staring at them, and all kinds of thoughts ran through my brain. First I thought about each of the Johanssens in turn, just to make sure I wasn’t forgetting that one of them was a redhead. Next, I thought about why the idea of red hair made me so nervous. That didn’t take long to figure out. It was the escaped prisoner. Didn’t he have red hair?
Then another awful thought burst in. What about that supposed meter reader? Her hair was as red as hair can be. And — and I had overheard that she might be looking for a place to live!
Those hairs on my neck were standing up straighter than ever. I grabbed a navy blue towel off the top shelf, slammed the closet door shut, and ran back downstairs. I left the towel draped over the banister while I put my boots back on. Outside on the porch, I locked the door behind me and unhooked Carrot from the railing. Then, pulling him along with me, I ran all the way over to Claud’s and pounded on the front door.
“What is it?” Claud asked, when she came downstairs to find me (and Carrot) panting at her front door.
“Hair!” I said.
“Air?” she asked. “You need oxygen? Is that why you’re breathing so hard? Should I call 911?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Hair!” I repeated, still trying to catch my breath.
“Hair? You’re having a hair emergency? Like, a really, really bad hair day?” She looked me over. “It’s a little mussed up, but it’s not that bad,” she said, grinning a little. “Really, Stace, what’s the matter?”
Finally I could talk again. “I found hairs in this hairbrush at the Johanssens’,” I said. Claud looked bewildered. “Red hairs,” I finished. A light went on in her eyes.
“Red hairs?” she asked. “Do you know what that could mean?” Claudia’s mind works fast — it’s all those mysteries she’s read.
I nodded.
“Let’s go search the rest of the house for evidence,” said Claud eagerly.
“But —” I said. My first impulse was to stay away from the house.
“But nothing,” she said. “We’ll have Carrot with us for protection. Anyway, you have a responsibility to the Johanssens. Let’s go!”
She grabbed her jacket and we headed over to the Johanssens’. Carrot trotted along between us, looking pleased to have two humans walking him at once.
Back at the house, we began a methodical search, Claud leading the way. Carrot followed us from room to room, carrying Mister Manny-Man in his mouth.
First we checked the living room. None of the stereo equipment was missing, and the TV and VCR were both where they always were. Nothing else looked at all suspicious. Next, we went through the dining room.
“What’s this?” Claud said, bending over the table. “Look! Crumbs!” She pointed.
“Um, I think I left those there,” I said, a little guiltily. “I was eating some crackers while Carrot had his dinner yesterday.” That reminded me that he was probably ready for today’s dinner, so we headed into the kitchen. Claud looked around while I fixed Carrot’s food.
“Looks normal in here,” she said. “No mystery glasses or anything.”
“Want to see the hairs?” I asked her.
“Definitely,” she answered. “Lead me to them.”
We headed upstairs, and Claud took a good look at the red strands. “This is real evidence,” she said, with a gleam in her eye. She bent over for an even closer look. Just then, I heard a sound on the stairs. Claud heard it, too; I could tell by the way her body stiffened. She turned to look at me, and her eyes were wide. She put her finger over her lips, and we waited without speaking. The sound came closer. Somebody was coming up the stairs.
Claud was facing the door, and I was facing her. I was too scared to turn around and look. But suddenly I saw her break into a huge smile. “Carrot!” she said. “I should have known it was you. How was dinner?”
I turned around to see Carrot coming toward us, wagging his tail. I could have kissed him. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see a dog,” I said. That made twice in one day that I’d been frightened by Carrot. Next time I wouldn’t be so jumpy.
After that little scare, the rest of our search was uneventful. Except for one thing. Down the hall from the bathroom, between the Johanssens’ room and Charlotte’s, there’s a little table, and on that table sits a beautiful little blue glass vase. That is, there’s usually a vase on the table. That day, the table was empty, and the blue glass vase — now sporting a huge crack — was on the floor beneath it.
“Oh, no!” I said, picking it up. “I guess Carrot could have broken this,” I said to Claud. “And if he did, I feel sort of responsible. I’d better replace it befor
e the Johanssens get back. I hope it’s not too expensive, though. I’m already broke from Christmas shopping.”
“Maybe Carrot did it,” Claud said, frowning. “But I’m not so sure. You know what I think? I think it’s time for an emergency BSC meeting. Let’s call Kristy.”
By five-thirty that afternoon, there were five of us in Claudia’s room. Shannon had a drama club event, and Jessi was sitting for Becca and Squirt, but the other BSC members had all made it to the emergency meeting.
Kristy was sitting, as usual, in the director’s chair. “This is sounding serious,” she said, tapping her pencil on Claud’s desk.
“Definitely,” Claudia agreed. She was sitting next to me on her bed, trying to wrestle open a bag of Starbursts. Finally she tore the cellophane with her teeth, shook out a few candies, and then passed the bag to Kristy.
“So what do we do?” asked Mary Anne, who was sitting on my other side.
“Well, for starters, I’d like to see that list again,” said Mal. She was in her usual spot on the floor. “Do you have it with you, Stacey?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I answered, pulling it out of my jacket pocket. “I don’t know why, but I’ve been carrying it around. I never thought I’d be adding to it.” I glanced down the list and shook my head. “I thought these other things were creepy,” I said, “but they’re nothing compared to those red hairs in the brush.” I passed the list to Mal.
“Are you absolutely positive they were red?” asked Kristy, leaning forward and giving me an intense look.
“They were red,” I said evenly. “I’m sure of it. Anyway, Claudia saw them, too.” I was a little annoyed. Did Kristy think I was making this stuff up or something?
“I’m sorry, Stace. It’s not that I don’t believe you,” said Kristy. “I’m just trying to get the facts straight. After all, if we call the police —”
Stacey and the Mystery of the Empty House Page 6