Part 6 (1/2)

From quite a distance, Alistaire let out a yell. ”There they are!”

Stacey and I peered ahead. Sure enough, two balloons were blowing back and forth in the light breeze.

”Well, I'm surprised,” said Stacey.

”Me, too,” I replied. ”These balloons are red and blue. They were red and green when we left. Rowena wanted a green balloon, remember?”

”I guess,” said Stacey slowly.

By then, the kids had untied the balloons and helped each other fasten them to their wrists. Rowena didn't say a thing about the color of her balloon.

Maybe I was losing my mind.

Our next stop was a nearby branch of the public library. Stacey had a New York Public Library card and thought the children might have fun choosing books to read during their stay in the city. Then I discovered that a^sto-rytelling hour was to be held in the children's room that afternoon. We had plenty of time to look for books before the program began.

When we reached the library, we stood outside and I wondered what to do about the balloons. This time, Alistaire saved me. ”Let's let our pets go, Rowena,” he said. ”They want their freedom.”

So the children released the balloons and watched them float above the branches of a tree and then behind a tall building.

In the library, the kids looked solemnly through the shelves of children's books, and each chose four, which Stacey checked out for them. She waited on line, standing just two places ahead of another man wearing sungla.s.ses and a rain hat. I s.h.i.+vered - and realized I'd had that feeling of being watched while Rowena and Alistaire browsed through the books.

The weirdest thing, though, was that the man came to hear the storyteller, even though he was alone.

”You don't think that's strange?” I asked Stacey. ”Do you see any other adults without children in this room?”

”No,” she replied. ”But big deal. So he likes storytelling. It's a lost art, you know.”

However, Stacey did agree that something was odd when I saw yet another guy wearing sungla.s.ses and a rain hat as we walked back to the Dakota. He was about a block behind us.

”Wait a minute!” I cried softly. ”Stacey, how stupid I've been! I haven't been seeing strange men all over the city. I've been seeing the same strange man. We're being followed.”

”Why would anyone follow us?” asked Stacey.

”Well, maybe he's not following you and me,” I replied. ”Maybe he's following Alistaire and Rowena. Their parents are pretty important.”

”You're crazy/' was Stacey's answer. ”And don't you dare say a word about this when we get back to the Harringtons'. Do you want us to lose the job?”

”I'd rather lose the job than the children.”

Stacey just shook her head.

Dawn.

Chapter 11.

n.o.body stayed at home with me on Tuesday. I understood that Mr. McGill had to work, and that Claud, Mal, Stacey, and Mary Anne were busy. But what about Kristy and Jessi? They abandoned me. Maybe they didn't realize how frightened I was.

I had made the major mistake of listening to the news in the morning. That was when I heard all that murder stuff. (I was pretty sure I'd never see my friends alive again.) Maybe I should call Mom and tell her I was coming home early. No. I couldn't do that. The rest of the BSC members would never let me forget it. Even Jessi and Mal weren't scared, and they're two years younger than I am. I knew I had to stay.

On Monday, when Kristy had come over, we'd watched several hours of television. In fact, since I'd arrived in New York, I'd watched a considerable amount of TV. I'd watched so much that by Tuesday I thought I'd go crazy if I saw one more toothpaste commercial or even if I saw one more I Love Lucy rerun. (The day before, I had discovered that I'd memorized Lucy Ricardo's ”Vitameatave-gamin” speech: ”h.e.l.lo, friends. Are you tired, rundown, listless? Do you p.o.o.p out at parties? Are you unpopular? . . .”) So I'd tried listening to the radio. But the music was interrupted every ten minutes by news reports. In desperation, I cleaned out Mr. McGill's refrigerator. Then I organized the food in it. When that was done, I decided I really ought to organize his china, too. I was just putting the last saucer in place when . . . the doorbell rang.

I dove for cover. How had someone gotten upstairs if I hadn't buzzed him in? Maybe it was Stacey. She'd let herself into the building, and now she wanted me to let her in the apartment.

The bell rang again. I crept to the door and squinted through the peephole.

Yikes! A boy was standing in the hallway. And he looked like a real creep. But when he called, ”h.e.l.lo?” I felt I had to answer him.

”Who is it?” I yelled.

”My name is Richie,” the boy replied. ”Richie Magnesi. I live downstairs. Are you Stacey? Your father said you'd be visiting.”

Well, I had heard Mr. McGill mention the Magnesis, but how did I know this boy really was Richie Magnesi?

I decided not to open the door, so I said loudly, ”Stacey's not here. I'm Dawn, a friend of hers. I'm visiting.”

”Can I come in? I'm sorry to be so pushy, but I have a broken ankle and I'm supposed to stay off my feet. I can't go out. I'm bored stiff.”

I looked through the peephole again. Richie was supported by a pair of crutches.

This could still be a ruse. I hesitated.

Richie spoke again. ”I am supposed to be off my feet,” he reminded me. ”I'm supposed to keep my foot propped up.”

”You're Richie Magnesi?” I replied.

”Yes.” He sounded impatient. He reached . . . for a gun? . . . Oh. No, just into his pocket. He held a card up to the peephole. ”That's my student I.D.,” he shouted. ”See? I am the one and only Richie Magnesi.”

I laughed. Finally, I unlocked the door. I opened it slowly.

Richie hobbled inside and headed for the couch. He sank onto it, then gently lifted his leg onto a footrest. ”Ahhh,” he said. ”Thanks, Dawn.”

”You're welcome.” I was hovering around, not sure what to do. ”Would you like a soda?” I asked, when Richie had settled himself.

”Sure. That would be great.”

By that time, I felt a little silly. I poured a soda for Richie and a gla.s.s of juice for me. I carried both drinks into the living room.

”So you're a friend of Stacey's?” Richie asked.

I nodded. (I had finally decided it was safe to sit down.) ”My name is Dawn Schafer. I live in Stoneybrook. Stacey and I go to the same school.”

”Oh. I've never met Stacey. But I visit Mr. McGill sometimes. He knows about my ankle. Anyway, he said his daughter would be visiting for two weeks and that I should introduce myself to her.”

”How did you break your ankle?” I couldn't help asking.