“It’s not a fashion statement,” Charlotte replied. “It’s a tool. I use it on my rounds —” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Rounds?” asked Stacey. She was beginning to understand. “What kind of rounds?” she asked innocently.
“Never mind,” said Charlotte. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, no? Well, for your information, I’ve read Harriet the Spy more than once myself.”
Charlotte gasped. “How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess,” said Stacey. She smiled to herself, remembering a short phase she’d gone through at about Charlotte’s age. She’d had her own flashlight and her own red sweatshirt. “I just have one question,” she said. “Where’s your notebook?”
“I use this instead,” said Charlotte proudly, holding up the black case. “It’s a voice-activated tape recorder. Perfect for spyi — I mean, for dictating notes and stuff. My mom just bought a new one for work, and she passed this one on to me.”
“Cool,” said Stacey. “So, tell me about your rounds.”
“You mean, you’re not mad?”
“I’m not mad,” said Stacey. “As long as you stay out of trouble. You do remember what happened to Harriet, don’t you?”
Just in case you have no idea what this is all about, I’ll explain. See, there’s this book, Harriet the Spy. Louise Fitzhugh wrote it. It’s about a girl who likes to spy on her friends and neighbors. She writes down all kinds of stuff about them in a notebook, because she wants to be a writer someday. Anyway, her friends end up reading the notebook. They’re so hurt by what she has written about them that Harriet almost ends up losing her friends. Eventually, everything works out, but things look pretty bad for a while. It’s a great book, and if you haven’t read it, you definitely should. Okay? Okay. Now, back to Stacey and Charlotte.
Charlotte grimaced. “That will never happen to me. I’m being really careful. Plus, I’m not writing anything down,” she said, holding up the tape recorder. “So there’s nothing for anyone to read.”
“That doesn’t mean people won’t be angry if they find out you’ve been spying on them,” Stacey pointed out.
“I’m not really spying. I’m just — watching.”
Stacey smiled. “So, how long has this been going on?”
“It all started back when the recreation department sponsored that go-cart race. Remember? And I was building a go-cart with Vanessa and Becca?”
Vanessa is Mal’s sister, and Becca is Jessi’s. They’re good friends of Charlotte.
“I remember,” said Stacey.
“Well, Jackie and his brothers were building a go-cart too,” Charlotte continued. She was talking about the Rodowsky boys, who live near Charlotte.
“I think I heard something about this,” Stacey said, remembering some notes Mary Anne had written up in the club notebook.
“So you know that they spied on us,” said Charlotte. “We were mad at first, and then we decided to spy on them. It was fun, and our go-carts came out great. They stole some ideas from us, and we stole from them.”
Stacey knew she ought to point out that a little cooperation between teams might have had the same result, but Charlotte was too excited to listen. She was still telling her story. “Anyway, right about then I read Harriet the Spy. And then I rented the movie, and, well —” She shrugged and grinned. “I guess I have spy fever.”
“I can see why,” said Stacey.
“It’s the coolest,” said Charlotte. “I know about everything that’s going on.”
“Do your parents know what you’re up to?”
“Sort of,” said Charlotte, looking a little uncomfortable. “But a spy can’t tell all her secrets, right?”
“That’s true, I guess.” It sounded to Stacey as if what Charlotte was doing was pretty innocent. But Stacey thought maybe she ought to be sure about that. “But you can share some of your secrets with me, can’t you? How about taking me on your rounds?”
Charlotte looked unsure.
“I promise to uphold the spy code of honor,” said Stacey solemnly, raising her right hand.
Charlotte giggled. “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s go.”
“What about a snack first?” asked Stacey. “Like, say, a nice tomato sandwich?” In the book, that’s Harriet’s favorite food.
Charlotte crinkled her nose. “Yuck,” she said. “Can I just have some Fig Newtons instead?”
A few minutes later, Charlotte and Stacey were on their way. Charlotte’s sweatshirt pocket was bulging with Fig Newtons, and her flashlight dangled from her belt. She carried a small backpack containing the tape recorder, a pair of binoculars (toy ones that weren’t very high-powered, as far as Stacey could tell), and a pair of sunglasses (“my disguise,” explained Charlotte).
“Okay,” said Charlotte, all seriousness. “Ready? Follow me.” She led the way across the Johanssens’ side yard. She stopped at the edge of the yard and positioned herself behind a large tree. She pointed to an overgrown bush nearby and motioned to Stacey to hide behind it. Then she pointed to a nearby house — which happens to be the Ramseys’.
“I can tell you exactly what’s going on over there without even looking,” she whispered to Stacey. “Jessi’s probably downstairs in the basement, practicing ballet. She does lots of stretches, and sometimes she does pirouettes and things, just like a real ballerina.” She paused. Then she pointed to another window, on the first floor of the house. “Aunt Cecelia’s in the kitchen, making dinner for everyone. She takes all afternoon to cook. She talks on the phone while she’s doing it. Gab, gab, gab.”
Stacey stifled a smile. “What about Becca? What’s she usually doing?”
Charlotte looked a little embarrassed. “Well, we used to play together a lot in the afternoons. But lately I’ve been kind of busy. So Becca’s mostly been reading and stuff. In her room. Sometimes Vanessa comes over.”
Stacey nodded. She wondered how Becca felt about Charlotte’s new hobby.
Charlotte pulled her binoculars and the tape recorder out of her backpack. She watched the house for a while and then made some mumbled comments into the recorder. “Okay,” she said finally. “Ready for the next stop?” She led the way to a house across the street, slinking along from tree to tree and then making a break for it when she hit the road.
Stacey followed, trying to copy Charlotte’s movements. She told me later that she was wondering if it was wrong to encourage Charlotte’s spying, but she couldn’t help herself. She was actually having fun.
She ducked behind a toolshed, joining Charlotte, who was already focusing her binoculars on a fenced-in yard behind a tidy little white house. “I see that Cheryl is out today. I guess that means they found her yesterday. She ran away for a while.” She swept the binoculars across the yard. “And Pooh Bear’s out too. And Jacques. The whole crew.”
Stacey laughed. “If I didn’t know we were at the Mancusis’ house, I’d really be wondering,” she said. As it was, she knew Charlotte was talking about three dogs: a Great Dane, a poodle, and a golden retriever. The Mancusis are animal lovers. The BSC has done some pet-sitting for them now and then. Once, when Dawn was pet-sitting at their house, Cheryl, the Great Dane, disappeared for more than an afternoon. It turned out that she’d been dog-napped, but Dawn and the rest of us went into detective mode and helped to catch the man who’d done it. The Mancusis have always been grateful.
“Do they have any new pets over there?” I asked Charlotte.
She nodded. “Remember Frank?” she asked. “The talking bird? Well, they found him a girlfriend. Her name’s Annabelle, and she can sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in three languages.”
“You’re kidding,” Stacey said.
She shook her head. “I even have it on tape,” she said, holding up her recorder.
“You are quite the spy, Charlotte,” said Stacey, laughing. She couldn’t help being impressed. Charlotte took her all over the neighborhood that afternoon and shared the latest information
on everyone in the area.
But Stacey was a little worried too. She didn’t like hearing that Charlotte had stopped playing with Becca in the afternoons. And she was concerned that Charlotte might be caught one day. So far, she wasn’t doing anything terribly wrong. But Stacey knew the situation could turn messy in a second if Charlotte wasn’t careful.
“Well, if it isn’t Detective Thomas!”
I looked up to see Sergeant Winters standing over me. Officer Hopkins was standing next to him. Both of them were smiling. Sergeant Johnson was nowhere in sight. “Um, hi,” I said. I was sitting in the waiting area at the Stoneybrook police station. It was Thursday afternoon, and I hadn’t forgotten my appointment with Sergeant Johnson.
“Sergeant Johnson tells us you’re quite the investigator,” said Sergeant Winters. “He says you and your friends have helped to solve some of Stoneybrook’s toughest mysteries.”
“Well,” I began, not knowing exactly what to say, “I guess —”
“Don’t be modest,” said Officer Hopkins. “Sergeant Johnson thinks you’re terrific.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I like him too.”
“We all do,” said Sergeant Winters in a hearty voice. Then he dropped his voice down to a more confidential tone. “Tell me, Kristy,” he said. “What time was it again when you first approached the Golem mansion?”
Was I being questioned? I looked around for Sergeant Johnson. I’d expected a real interview, in one of the questioning rooms. It was kind of odd to start in the waiting room. “Um, I guess it was around seven o’clock,” I said.
“And you saw Sergeant Johnson responding to the alarm — when?” asked Officer Hopkins. She had pulled out a notebook, and she looked at me eagerly.
“I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “It was pretty soon after those alarms went off.”
“How soon?” she asked, pen poised above the paper. “A matter of minutes? Seconds?”
“Maybe a couple of minutes.” Why were they so interested in Sergeant Johnson’s appearance? What did that have to do with the crime?
Sergeant Winters stroked his chin. “Now, how do you suppose he arrived there so quickly?” he asked, looking off into the distance.
It wasn’t a real question. Which was a good thing, because I didn’t know how to answer it. Anyway, just then Sergeant Johnson walked into the waiting room. He gave a quick glance at Officer Hopkins and Sergeant Winters. They nodded at him and then seemed to remember other business they had to take care of. Both of them disappeared in a hurry.
Sergeant Johnson ushered me into his office and closed the door. I’d barely sat down in the uncomfortable orange plastic chair he offered me before he asked me what Sergeant Winters and Officer Hopkins had wanted.
I felt awkward, since they’d been asking about him. “They just had some questions,” I said. “About timing and stuff. When I first saw you, for example.”
Sergeant Johnson raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. “Sergeant Winters is out of line. He has his nose in business where it doesn’t belong.” He sighed. “Winters came here from some big city,” he said. “We haven’t learned much about him except this: He knows the chief here is retiring soon, and he figures he might have a crack at taking over the job. Have you heard the expression ‘A big frog in a little pond’? It means that it’s easier to be a big shot in a small town like Stoneybrook.” He paused. “That is one ambitious police officer. He won’t stop until he’s on top.” He shook his head in disgust. “Well, anyway,” he said, pulling a clipboard out of his drawer, “why don’t we begin our interview?”
I looked around. “Here?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sometimes I use the questioning rooms, but for real privacy, my office is best. Nobody can overhear us here. Anyway, I’m not formally questioning you. If I was, your parents would have to be present. This is just a — consultation.”
I shrugged. “Okay,” I said.
Sergeant Johnson looked down at his desk. As usual, it was messy. I’d never seen it neat. He was probably working on about six cases at once. Files and pens and stacks of paper covered the entire surface. He cleared a spot and set the clipboard down. “Now,” he began. “Let’s just go through your whole story, beginning with why you were in the vicinity of the Golem residence.” He looked at me expectantly. His pen was poised above the clean, blank form on his clipboard.
I took a deep breath. “Well,” I said, “it all started when we decided to play hide-and-seek.” I told him about our game and mentioned that Cary had snuck up on me. Then I told him that Karen had said she was more interested in exploring than in playing, so we’d begun to walk toward the mansion.
“Were you on the road at that point?” he asked. He was looking down at his clipboard, writing busily, so he didn’t see my face light up.
“Yes!” I said, suddenly remembering something. “And you drove right past us, without even waving.”
“I did?” he asked, looking up with a frown.
I nodded. “I forgot about that. How come you were all the way out there? That was before the alarm went off. Wasn’t it?”
“Hey, who’s doing the questioning here?” asked Sergeant Johnson, laughing a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t wave to you. I guess I was pretty focused on what I was doing. I was answering another call out that way. Just a coincidence.” He gave a little shrug.
“Oh.” His explanation seemed simple enough, but I couldn’t help thinking it was a little strange that the police were in the area before the crime even occurred. Clearly, though, he didn’t want to talk about it any further.
“Tell me more about this Cary Retlin,” said Sergeant Johnson.
“He’s just a guy from school. He said he was bird-watching. He had binoculars with him, and a bird book.” I didn’t want to give out any more information on Cary than I had to. He was a troublemaker but that didn’t make him a criminal.
“Was that the only time you saw him that day?” asked Sergeant Johnson.
“Well, no. I also saw him when you were talking to Sergeant Winters about the Cat Burglar. I think he heard all the sirens and came over to check out what was going on. But when I looked at him, he ducked behind a toolshed.” I was trying to be honest. Unfortunately, it made Cary sound, well, suspicious. “But I really don’t think he had anything to do with the burglary,” I said hastily. “I think he was just curious.”
“I see,” said Sergeant Johnson. He made a few more notes. “And did you see anyone else in the woods? Anybody at all?”
“Nobody,” I replied, shaking my head. “Just David Michael and Karen — and you.”
“You didn’t see the security guard drive away, did you?”
I told him I didn’t remember seeing any cars other than police cars.
“What about this man?” asked Sergeant Johnson. He leaned forward to pull a picture out of a file on his desk. Then he stood up and brought it around to show me. It was a Polaroid snapshot of a youngish guy (older than Charlie, but way younger than Watson) with brown hair and a goatee.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “Who is he, anyway? The Cat Burglar?”
Sergeant Johnson shook his head. “This is Ben Birch. He’s a business associate of Reinhart Golem. I’m wondering if he might be mixed up with this in some way.”
“Well, I didn’t see him,” I said.
Sergeant Johnson stepped over to a desktop copier and made a copy of the picture. “Why don’t you hang on to this,” he said, “just in case you remember something.” He gave me the copy. I took it, even though I knew I hadn’t seen the guy and therefore would never remember anything about him.
We talked awhile longer. Sergeant Johnson took down everything I told him about hearing what I thought was a gunshot, then hearing the alarm go off and seeing the lights and being scared out of my wits when he ran up behind David Michael and Karen and me.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I was just concerned for your safety. I didn’t know then that the Cat Burglar was responsib
le. He may be devious, but he’s never hurt anyone. It’s not his style.”
I was dying to ask more about the Cat Burglar, but I knew Sergeant Johnson couldn’t tell me much in the middle of an investigation. The BSC members could do some research and find out more. So I kept my questions simple. “Does he always leave the sign of the cat?” I asked. Secretly I thought that cat sign was way cool, even though the guy was a criminal.
Sergeant Johnson nodded. “It’s his calling card,” he said. “It’s almost like a taunt. He revels in his ability to work around the most sophisticated security systems. Like Golem’s. There are three levels to that system, and it would have been almost impossible to avoid tripping the alarm. But he figured out how to do most of his work first, before he set off the motion sensors. That gave him time to clear out before the law arrived.”
Sergeant Johnson seemed to have quite a grasp on how the Cat Burglar had carried out his most recent crime. He’d been doing his homework, all right.
“Do you know for sure what was stolen?” I asked, remembering what the security guard had said about diamonds.
“That hasn’t been established yet,” said Sergeant Johnson. “There was a vault in the mansion, and it did appear to have been opened forcibly. Mr. Fenton says he was told it contained diamonds, but there are no diamonds in there now. It seems as if they were stolen, but so far the evidence is circumstantial. I haven’t been able to reach Reinhart Golem yet to discuss the case with him.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“According to the security company, he’s at his summer home in France. He always lets them know his travel plans. They say he’s due back soon. I’ve been calling him regularly, with no luck.” Just then the phone rang. Sergeant Johnson answered it, spoke a few terse words, then hung up. He pushed back his chair and sighed. “I guess that’s all we have time for today, Kristy,” he said. “Thanks for coming in. I’ll be in touch if any more questions come up.” He stood to shake my hand. “I know you and your friends will be wanting to play detective,” he said. “You can’t keep the BSC away from a mystery like this one. But be careful, all right? Don’t forget that there may be a gun involved. And come to me if you find out anything interesting. Deal?”
Kristy and the Cat Burglar Page 3