Ann Martin - Claudia And The Phantom Phone Calls

A half an hour later, just as I was beginning to think about supper, the phone rang again.

Kristy was coming up the stairs with Rob, who looked very proud of himself. "I'll get the phone this time," she said.

I nodded and followed her into the kitchen.

"Hello?" she said. "Hello?"

I could tell immediately that it was another one of those calls.

Kristy hung up the phone, looking nervous. I glanced into the rec room to make sure all the kids were busy. "No one there?" I asked Kristy.

She shook her head.

"The first call was like that, too. It wasn't really a wrong number."

Kristy bit her lip. "What do you think?" she whispered. "Is it time for the Phantom to strike again?"

I shrugged. "Do you think it could be Sam goof-calling?" Kristy's brother had quite a reputation. And he liked to give the Baby-sitters Club a hard time every now and then.

"If s possible," said Kristy thoughtfully. "He's pretty interested in this Phantom business, but it's not like Sam to call and not say anything. He kind of likes to leave his mark, if you know what I mean. It'd be more like him to get on the phone and say in a really spooky voice, 'Woooo, Kristeee. Phantom here. Woooo, you better hide your plastic ring and your charm necklace, because I'm on my way over. . . .' "

I smiled in spite of things. "Well, look. If it is the Phantom, we're safe because he probably won't rob the house if someone's in it."

"He might. He has before. Besides, we're just kids. Maybe he figures — "

"He can't figure anything. He doesn't know whether any adults are home. Just because we answered the phone doesn't mean — "

And at that wonderful moment, the phone rang a third time. I snatched it up, saying, "Hello? . . . Hello?" Then on inspiration, I

shouted into the kitchen, "Hey, Dad, it's another funny call. I think — "

The caller hung up before I could finish saying, "I think we better phone the police." I smiled nervously at Kristy as I put the receiver down. She smiled nervously back at me.

"Well," she said briskly, "let's start supper. I bet the kids are hungry."

"Anyone want dinner?" I called into the rec room. Peace was still reigning there. I almost hated to disrupt it. But one of our responsibilities as baby-sitters that night was to feed Jamie and the Feldmans.

"Starving!" Rob shouted, jumping up.

"Yes!" chorused the others. They dropped their crayons and ran.

"Whoa," I said. "Everybody back in the rec room and put the crayons and paper away."

"I wasn't coloring," said Rob.

"You can set the table then," I told him.

"All right," he agreed cheerfully.

A little while later the table was set. Mrs. Feldman's sandwiches were stacked on a plate in the middle, the glasses were filled with milk, and Kristy and I were passing around apples and oranges. It was a simple dinner, and everyone, including Kristy and me, seemed happy with it.

In fact, we were so happy that for a few

minutes we ate in silence. All I could hear were crunchings and munchings and Jamie gulping his milk.

And a little bang from outside.

My eyes met Kristy's over the tops of our tunafish sandwiches. Did you hear anything? I asked her silently.

"Did you hear something?" Rob asked at that moment.

"Oh, probably just the wind," I replied, but my voice was shaking.

"There's no wind tonight," he said.

Another bang, not too loud.

"There it is again," he said.

"Maybe some dog is in one of the trash cans," suggested Kristy.

"Uncle Roger's trash cans are plastic."

"Well," I said bravely, "I'll just go check things." But I hadn't gotten any further than the living room (with Kristy and Rob at my heels), when we distinctly heard noises at one of the front windows and saw a shadow dart away into the falling darkness.

"That does it," I said, suddenly more angry than frightened. "I'm going to call the police."

And I did.

J. he woman who answered the phone when I dialed 911 was very nice and very helpful. Obviously, she'd been trained to calm down people who were upset.

"Hello, hello!" I said, wishing it were possible to whisper and scream at the same time.

"Yes?" said the woman. "May I help you?"

"I'm baby-sitting," I whispered, "and there's a prowler outside. He was at the front window. We've been getting funny phone calls, too. The kind where the caller hangs up as soon as you answer."

"Okay," she said. "It's a good thing you called. What's your name?"

"Claudia Kishi," I replied.

"And what's the address of the house where you're baby-sitting?"

Thanks to Kristy, I was armed with that information. It was one of her new safety rules about baby-sitting: Always memorize the ad-

dress and phone number of your client.

I gave her the address. "Thank you/' she said, "and your phone number, too, just in case I need to call you back."

I gave her the number. "Very good. A car is already on its way over. It's just a few streets away and should reach you shortly. In the case of a prowler, though, we don't want to scare him off, so the squad car will park a little distance down the street. Then one officer will search the yard quietly, while the other will come to the door to talk to you."

"Okay," I said, glancing uncertainly outside. It was pretty dark out there. "How will I know it's a policeman at the door?"

"That's a good question. I can tell you're a smart baby-sitter. When the bell rings, ask who's there. The man will identify himself as an officer. Does the door have a chain lock?"

"Yes."

"Slide it shut right now — "

"Kristy, go put the chain on the front door," I hissed. She ran off.

" — and after the officer has identified himself, open the door just wide enough to see the badge he'll be holding out, okay?"

"Yes," I said. "Thank you. Oh, there's the doorbell. Thanks, thanks," I said hurriedly. I hung up.

Kristy was about to open the door. "Wait," I said, "let me take care of this. The lady told me what to do."

I dashed to the door, aware that Kristy, Rob, Brenda, Rosie, and Jamie had crowded behind me. I was glad. I needed their company.

"Who's there?" I called.

"It's Officer Drew."

After checking to make sure the chain lock was in place, I opened the door a crack. On the Newtons' stoop, bald head glistening under the porch light, stood an elderly man in a cop's uniform. He looked very nice, kind of like a grandfather, and very official, but he did not look like a policeman. At least, he did not look like my idea of a policeman. However, he was holding out his badge and some kind of I.D., plain as day. I glanced over my shoulder at Kristy. "Psst. Check him out," I whispered. I moved aside and Kristy peered through the crack.

"Who phoned in this — this complaint?" she asked, very businesslike.

"A Claudia Kishi," the man said patiently. "Would that be you?"

"No, it's me," I said from behind Kristy. "It's all right then, Kristy. Let him in."

We opened the door.

And I got the biggest surprise of my life.

With the door opened wide, I could see that two people were standing on the walk below Officer Drew. One was another cop in uniform.

The other was Alan Gray!

Kristy gasped.

"Who's that?" asked Rob.

Kristy got over her surprise fast, and got ready to battle Alan. After all, they're old enemies. "Alan Gray, you darn, sneaking, rotten — "

"You know this young man?" asked Officer Drew, a smile playing on his lips.

"You bet I do!" cried Kristy. "His name is Alan Gray. He lives on Rockville Court, he's in seventh grade at Stoneybrook Middle School, and he's a — "

Alan's face was falling faster than a ruined souffle.

"That's all right, young lady," said Officer Drew. "I get the general idea."