Dawn and the Halloween Mystery, Page 2

  Now, a typical BSC meeting follows a predictable pattern. Everybody has his or her usual spot to sit in, and as they settle in, Claudia passes around the snacks. Kristy calls the meetings to order at exactly five-thirty. If it’s a Monday, Stacey collects dues. After that, the phone usually starts ringing, and with the help of Mary Anne’s perfectly kept record book, the jobs are assigned. Kristy keeps the members focused on “club business” (most of the time, anyway), and at six o’clock sharp she declares the meeting adjourned.

  We ♥ Kids Club meetings are nothing like that. My friends and I didn’t have any regular meeting times until recently, and even now the meeting time isn’t strictly enforced. For example, that afternoon I had arrived at Sunny’s house at ten to five, since our meeting was supposed to start at five. I’ve been well-trained by Kristy, who’s a total stickler for punctuality. Sunny and I hung out, gabbing about her new mountain bike, until Maggie showed up at around ten after. Jill cruised in a few minutes later, and a few minutes after that we decided we might as well start the meeting. Not that it made much difference. We talked about the same stuff after the meeting had started as we had been talking about before. Oh, there was one item of club business: Maggie told us about a new way to make guacamole she’d just learned.

  Recipes aren’t a part of the BSC agenda, but in the We ♥ Kids Club we believe that natural foods are the best for adults and kids. We’re constantly collecting recipes to add to our health-food cookbook and our personal recipe files.

  I looked around the room at my friends. Sunny is a strawberry blonde, with freckled rosy cheeks to match. I’ve known her for what seems like forever, since her house is right down the block from mine. We’ve always felt free to wander in and out of each other’s houses, borrowing each other’s clothes and swapping books of ghost stories, which we both love. Mrs. Winslow, Sunny’s mom, is like a second mother to me. She’s a really talented potter. Mr. and Mrs. Winslow used to be hippies. In fact, Sunny’s full name is Sunshine Daydream Winslow. She’d probably kill me if she knew I was spreading that fact around.

  We’ve always thought it was the neatest coincidence that her real name and my family nickname are the same.

  Jill Henderson has blonde hair so dark it’s almost brown — until you see her in the sun, when all the golden highlights shine through. She has velvety brown eyes and a sweet, serious manner. Jill lives in a little house in the hills, with her mom (who’s divorced), her sister Liz, and three boxers, named Shakespeare, Smee, and Spike. They are so ugly they’re almost cute, if you know what I mean. (The dogs, not the Hendersons.)

  Now, Maggie Blume does not have your average hair. First of all, it’s really short (except for the tail snaking down her back) and spiky, and second, she’s always got some color streaked in, such as red or purple or green.

  Maggie has the most style of any of us. Even Claud and Stacey would be impressed. Maggie knows how to combine thrift-shop threads with hip accessories and shoes to make a fashion statement that can’t be missed.

  If she sounds cool, she is. And get this: she’s even cool about the fact that her house is, like, a major gathering place for the biggest stars in Hollywood! Her dad’s in the movie business, and people such as Christian Slater are always dropping in for lunch or for a swim in the Blumes’ gorgeous pool, which is surrounded by palm trees. In fact, Winona Ryder had given Maggie the guacamole recipe she told us about. Not that Maggie would show off about something like that. To her, it’s just normal to be trading cooking tips with a huge star.

  She’d barely finished explaining how to make the guacamole that afternoon, when the phone started ringing like crazy. Halloween was creating plenty of work for the We ♥ Kids Club: parents were asking us to do everything from helping to make costumes to taking their kids trick-or-treating on the big day. We scrambled to fill the jobs, and by the end of the meeting the record book was packed with entries. Kristy would have been proud. After all, even if the We ♥ Kids Club isn’t run exactly the way she would run it, it’s still based on her idea. And, just like most of her other ideas, this one is a huge success — both the East Coast and West Coast versions.

  “Ooh, turn it up! Turn it up! I love this song!” Carol beat out the rhythm on the steering wheel while she waited for the light to change.

  I reached over to crank up the volume, the light turned green, and we sailed down the road, singing along at the tops of our lungs.

  What’s wrong with this picture?

  Nothing, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve learned to enjoy Carol’s company. But a few months ago, I would have thought that a lot was wrong. I thought grown-ups should act like grown-ups. They shouldn’t sing along to the radio, or if they do they should sing to Frank Sinatra or some other creaky dinosaur, not to the Batmatics, whose song “I Don’t Love You Anymore” was blasting out of the speakers that day. Also, I thought grown-ups shouldn’t wear sunglasses with neon-orange frames, or ripped jeans and MTV T-shirts, which is what Carol had on. I guess I also used to think grown-ups shouldn’t drive little red sports cars.

  But I’ve changed my views. Whatever Carol wants to do is fine with me. If she can be a grown-up and still be cool, I can deal with it, and even like it. I’ve come to accept the fact that I will soon have one of the hippest stepmothers in history.

  “Hey, there’s Sunny!” I said, turning to wave as we passed her. Carol punched the horn three times, and Sunny grinned and waved back. I swear, there’s nothing like the feeling of riding along in a convertible, with your hair streaming behind you. I could definitely get used to it.

  “Okay,” said Carol, reaching over to turn down the radio. She had just pulled into the shopping center we had been heading for. It was late on Saturday afternoon, and we were out doing a few errands before dinner. “Now, what stores do you need to go to?”

  “Mainly just Kopler’s Drugs,” I said. “I wanted to look for this new mousse I saw in an ad. It’s supposed to make your hair really shiny.”

  “I could use some, too,” Carol said, checking herself in the rearview mirror. “Get two cans, okay?” She handed me a five-dollar bill.

  “Sure,” I said. “Oh! I also have to go to Ellie’s Variety. To pick up that green paint, for Jeff.”

  “Not just green,” Carol reminded me, with a smile. She imitated Jeff’s earnest directions: “Monster green. Like, it should look totally slimy and gross.”

  “Right,” I said. I pretended to write on an invisible notepad. “Slimy and gross.”

  “Well, I’m going to Kopy Kwik,” said Carol. “And maybe while they’re copying my stuff I’ll run over to Sam’s Deli for some of those pickles your dad loves.” We sat for a moment, waiting for the song to end, and then she turned off the engine. “Meet you back here in, say, ten minutes?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “Fine,” I said, as I hopped out of the car. I headed for Kopler’s Drugs and pushed the door open. Immediately, I smelled that drugstore aroma: a mixure of cologne, Band-Aids, jelly beans, and suntan lotion. I took a deep breath and smiled. I happen to love drugstores. It’s so much fun to cruise the aisles, checking out new products and considering each of them. Should I get some of that new apricot cleansing mask? Or how about a new loofah? I could spend hours in a drugstore.

  But that day I headed straight for the mousse-and-gel section, found the stuff I was looking for, and took two cans of it up to the register. Carol would be back at the car in ten minutes, and I didn’t want to keep her waiting.

  Next, I went into Ellie’s Variety. I love variety stores, too. Where else can you find construction paper, alarm clocks, baby T-shirts, and coffee mugs with cute sayings on them, all in the space of a few feet?

  If there actually is an Ellie, all I can say is that she must love Halloween. That store was decorated within an inch of its life. There were “cobwebs” draped over every shelf, and witches and skeletons dangled from the ceiling. Cardboard jack-o’-lanterns danced along the walls, and there were bouquets of plastic autumn leav
es everywhere.

  “Looking for something?” somebody behind me asked. I turned and almost jumped out of my skin. Standing in front of me was a mummy, draped in ratty old bandages, shreds of which hung from her outstretched hands.

  Then I noticed the “Ellie’s” badge pinned to the mummy’s chest, and I giggled. “Nice costume,” I said.

  “Thanks,” said the mummy. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for some green poster paint,” I said. “It’s for a monster costume.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Then you’ll want our special ‘Halloween Scene’ paint.”

  “Perfect!” I said. “Lead me to it.”

  I followed the mummy to a display of paints, and poked through the colors until I found a green I thought Jeff would like. “Gross,” I said.

  “Isn’t it?” asked the mummy, looking pleased. “Now, will you be needing some bloody fingers, or perhaps a hanging eyeball?”

  “Not today,” I said. “But I may be back, with my brother.”

  I took the paint to the register and paid for it. “So, this is for your brother,” said the mummy, who had ducked behind the counter to ring up the sale. “What are you going to be for Halloween?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said. “I’m too old for that stuff.”

  “Too old? Never! Halloween is everybody’s chance to be a kid again. You should definitely dress up.” She nodded earnestly.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, smiling.

  “Drop in anytime,” said the mummy. “I’ll be glad to help you figure out a costume.”

  She handed me my change with a mummified smile. I took the paint and headed out to the car, hoping I hadn’t kept Carol waiting. Luckily, she wasn’t there yet, so I climbed in to wait. I settled back in my seat and picked up the mousse, to look it over. I had been thinking I’d try it as soon as I got home, but when I checked the directions, I saw that you were supposed to use it on “freshly washed, towel-dried hair.” I stuck it in my backpack, figuring I’d use it the next morning, after my shower.

  That’s when I heard the scream.

  I glanced around, trying to see where the sound had come from, but there was nobody in sight. Then there was another scream, and somebody came flying out of Speedy Jack’s, the convenience store Carol had parked in front of. Somebody in a big, bright, silly-looking clown mask, with a huge red smile and shocking-pink hair.

  I laughed at first, thinking that it was another clerk from Ellie’s. Then I saw the door of the convenience store bang open again. A woman in a pink smock stood in the doorway, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Stop him!” she yelled. “Call the cops! We’ve been robbed!”

  Just then the “clown,” who had run across the traffic lane, stumbled and caught himself — on the fender of the car next to Carol’s. I stared at his back for about five seconds while he got his balance. I couldn’t have moved a muscle even if I’d wanted to; I felt paralyzed. Then he stood up straight and headed for a black car that was parked nearby. A red nylon bag bumped against his knees as he ran. He jumped into the car, started it, and took off with a screech. The sound echoed in my ears.

  It seemed as if the whole thing had happened in slow motion.

  A second later, Carol arrived at the car. “What’s happening?” she asked, looking first at my face, which must have been dead white, and then at the crowd gathering around the clerk in front of Speedy Jack’s. A police car pulled up with its blue lights flashing and its siren wailing, and then another one pulled up right behind that one.

  “A robbery,” I said to Carol, in a shaky voice. “I saw the robber.”

  “Did he have a gun?” Carol asked, her eyes wide. She reached over and put her arm around my shoulder. “Oh, honey, how awful.”

  “A gun? I don’t know,” I said slowly. The idea was terrifying. “I didn’t actually see the robbery. I just saw some guy running away.” I gave a little shudder, and Carol hugged me closer.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, I was in a little room at the police station, drinking water out of a paper cup and listening as a police investigator, Officer Garcia, asked me question after question. Carol was out in the lobby, calling my dad to let him know what had happened.

  Officer Garcia was a small, black-haired woman with a gentle voice and a very serious attitude. “This perpetrator was armed,” she had told me. “He showed Ms. Casey his gun and forced her to empty the cash register.”

  Ms. Casey was the woman who had been behind the counter at Speedy Jack’s. She was being questioned in another room.

  “Now, you said he was only about five-eight or five-nine,” said Officer Garcia, pacing the room. “Hmmm. Short for a man. Okay, tell me again about what he was wearing,” she said, sitting down again and flipping back a page in her notebook. “Black jeans, right?”

  I nodded. “And a black sweat shirt. He had on a pair of those Fly High sneakers, too.” Fly Highs are the coolest brand around these days. Not too many people have them yet, but all my friends want them. Their logo is a shooting star, and it’s imprinted on the treads on the bottom.

  “And the car?” asked Officer Garcia, her voice still gentle.

  “A black Chevy Cavalier,” I said, for what felt like the fortieth time. I had recognized the car because it was just like the one my stepfather drives, only his is red. “No license plates. But it had a bumper sticker from Frank’s Franks.” The name made me want to giggle for some reason, even though I knew giggling wouldn’t exactly be appropriate. I realized then that I might be sort of in shock.

  “Okay,” said Officer Garcia, flipping her notebook shut. “Enough for now. Thanks for your time. Just be sure to call me if you think of anything else.” She handed me her card. Then she stopped me as I stood to leave. “Dawn,” she said, “I just want to ask you one more time. Are you sure he didn’t see you?” She gave me a very intense, serious look.

  “I’m sure,” I said. All at once, I understood what she was worried about. If he had seen me, he would know I was a witness. I could be in danger.

  But I was positive. His back had been toward me the whole time. Hadn’t it?

  I walked back out into the lobby, where there was a bustle of activity. People were coming and going, phones were ringing, walkie-talkies were letting out bursts of static. I heard it all as if I were in a dream.

  “Come on, honey,” said Carol, coming up to me and taking my arm. “We’ll be home before you know it. You can take a long hot shower, and then relax and have dinner.”

  “Great,” I said. Suddenly I remembered the mousse I’d bought. It seemed like years ago that I had done my shopping. I thought of Ellie’s Variety and all the Halloween stuff, and gave a little shiver. I’d never think the same way about masks — especially clown masks — again.

  “You know what Jeff said?” I asked my friends. It was Sunday, the day after the robbery, and we were gathered at Sunny’s house for an emergency meeting of the We ♥ Kids Club. Sunny had called the meeting as soon as she’d heard about the robbery.

  “What?” asked Jill, giving me a concerned look.

  “He thought the whole thing was ‘totally awesome,’ and he wanted to know what kind of gun it was,” I said tiredly. “It took me, Dad, and Carol about half an hour to convince him that it wasn’t ‘awesome’ at all. To him, the robbery seemed like some cop show on TV or something.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Does he understand now?” she asked.

  “Oh, definitely,” I said. “Especially since he heard Halloween might be canceled. He’s totally bummed.”

  “All the kids are,” said Jill. “It’s awful. Think how we would have felt back when we were little. Halloween is, like, the biggest holiday in the world for kids.”

  “I remember one time when I had the chicken pox on Halloween,” mused Maggie. “I had to sit inside on the couch. My mom let me wear my ballet costume, but I wasn’t allowed out of the house. I watched all the other kids come to our door for treats, and I sobbed the w
hole night.”

  “How tragic,” Sunny said, stifling a giggle.

  “It was!” cried Maggie, bopping Sunny with a pillow. “It probably scarred me for life.” We all cracked up, but the laughter didn’t last long. There was a serious problem to talk over: Halloween might end up being canceled in Palo City.

  Word about the robbery had traveled fast. Even before the story made the evening news, phones were ringing. The parents in our town have this phone tree they use for school news: one parent calls two others, and then those two each call two more, and so on and so on. Before Saturday evening was over, every parent in town knew there had been an armed robbery right in the middle of Palo City. They also knew that the gunman had escaped.

  It hadn’t taken long for the parents to make some decisions. First of all, until the robber was caught, there would be a curfew in town. No kid under the age of eighteen would be allowed out after seven P.M. unless they had an adult with them. That was pretty strict, but what came next was worse. Unless the gunman was caught before Halloween, there would be no trick-or-treating allowed. At all.

  All the kids were upset, and understandably so. Here it was, a week before Halloween. They’d been planning their costumes for months, and dreaming of bags stuffed with miniature Milky Ways and Skittles. And now the big event was called off.

  But Halloween, or the lack of it, wasn’t the only thing on our minds that day over at Sunny’s. My friends, naturally, were worried about me. Plus, we were all really troubled by the thought that there could be an armed robber hiding out in our neighborhood.