Ann Martin - Claudia And the Clue in the Photograph

I leafed through the contact prints, looking for the one with the portraits of my friends on it. When I got to the one with the bank photos, I paused. I picked up my loupe, thinking that one more quick look wouldn't hurt. There was Mr. Zibreski, strolling up and down in front of the bank. And there was the lady with the baby carriage. I examined each picture carefully, but no new dues showed up. It was frustrating.

"If only I had more pictures," I said out loud. After all, I still didn't know exactly when the crime had taken place. What if it had happened right after — or right before — I'd taken those photos? I might have actually captured something on film.

Then, suddenly, I thought of something. "Whoa!" I said, shoving the negative file back into the drawer. I jumped up and got my camera bag out of the closet. I unzipped it with shaking hands and pulled out my camera. It was just as I'd thought.

There was still a roll of film in the camera. The roll I'd worked partway through when I was downtown with the kids. The roll I'd been shooting when Buddy and Charlotte pulled me away. More pictures of the bank!

There were still ten frames left on the roll, but I didn't care. Quickly, I rewound the film and popped it out of the camera. I had totally forgotten about my portrait project. This roll of film had pushed everything else out of my mind.

I grabbed my radio and headed into the bathroom, remembering once more that I hadn't gotten around to making that Darkroom in Use sign. But I didn't stop to worry about it, since I knew no one else would be home for hours. I pulled the door dosed behind me and shoved a towel into the crack. When I turned on the radio, Billy Blue was singing "It’s All Right," which I thought was a good sign.

Then I got to work. Quickly, I lined up my equipment. I set up the film reel and made sure I was all ready to load the undeveloped film onto it. Giving the counter one last look, I snapped off the lights and began to load the film onto the reel. It didn't take me long. As I wound the reel, I thought about what I might find when I developed the film. Would there be incriminating evidence? Would I be able to march into the police station and show them pictures that proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that a certain person was guilty? My heart was beating fast as I imagined how impressed the police would be.

Once all the film was on the roll, I reached for the developing tank. In a few more seconds, I'd be able to turn on the lights. I groped around on the counter, trying to find the tank, but it wasn't where it should have been. "Darn!" I said, realizing that I must have been in too much of a hurry when I set up. I felt around some more, and finally I found the tank and its lid. I was just about to slip the reel of film into the tank when a horrible thing happened.

Somebody opened the door.

I gave a little yelp. "Hey!" I said, looking up at the door. The light from the hall filled the bathroom, blinding me for a few seconds. I saw a dark shape at the door, but there was

no way to tell who it was. And whoever it was didn't say a word. Then, before I knew it, the door slammed shut and I was back in the dark again, with little white spots dancing in front of my eyes.

"Who's there?" I yelled. There was no answer. I sat there in the dark for a second, holding the reel of film. Then I stuck it into the tank and screwed the lid on. I would still develop it, just in case there were a few pictures that weren't completely ruined. As soon as the film was in the tank, I reached up and turned on the lights. Then I opened the bathroom door and peeked out.

"Anybody there?" I called. "Janine? Mom? Dad?" There was no answer. Suddenly, I felt a chill. Who had opened the door? And where was that person now? I had thought I was alone in the house.

I headed into my room and — I know this will sound silly — peeked under my bed. There was nothing there but the usual mess. Then I tiptoed to my bedroom door and peeked back into the hallway. It was empty and silent. I checked Janine's room, and my parents'. After that, I took a deep breath, headed downstairs, and checked the whole house. Nobody was home; that was obvious. And the funny thing was that both the front and the back doors were locked! If somebody

had come in, how had they gotten in? The whole thing was really creeping me out.

I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of orange juice, and guzzled it down. Then I picked up the phone and called Stacey. "Stace," I said, when she answered. "Something weird just happened. Would you mind coming over to keep me company?"

While I waited for Stacey, I went back upstairs to the darkroom and, with the lights on and the door ajar, began to develop the film. Soon I was so involved in watching temperatures and timing that I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a loud banging coming from downstairs.

"What? What is it?" I yelled.

"It’s me!" A faint voice drifted up from outside. Stacey's voice. "The door's locked."

I ran down to let Stacey in. "Phew," I said. "I guess I'm a little spooked." I filled her in on what had happened and asked her to come up and sit with me while I finished developing the film. She perched on the edge of the bathtub and watched while I went through the final steps. When I was done, I hung up the film to dry and we both took a good look at it. Every picture was covered with a cloud of gray.

"Nothing," I said. "It’s totally ruined. Now we'll never know what was on it."

Stacey tried to cheer me up, but nothing she said really made me feel any better. And when the rest of our friends showed up for the BSC meeting, and we explained what had happened, none of them made me feel better, either. In fact, something Mallory said after the meeting was over made me feel much, much worse.

"Maybe it was Mr. Zibreski who opened the door," she said. "Maybe he is the guilty person, and maybe he knew you had those pictures."

"Ooohh, creepy!" said Jessi. "I bet you're right."

"You mean you think I'm being followed?" I said, with a shudder.

"Maybe we're all being followed," said Kristy darkly.

"Maybe Mr. Zibreski is the head of a big gang," said Mary Anne, looking terrified. "Who knouts what they'll do next?"

"Hold on, hold on," said Shannon. "I think we're getting a little carried away. A gang?"

"It could be true," said Stacey. "Anyway, even if it isn't a whole gang, somebody did open that door. Who was it?"

We all exchanged panicked glances. Just a few hours earlier, I had been sitting in the dark, feeling secure in the knowledge that I was home alone. But I wasn't alone. Somebody

else was in the house. And he wasn't a member of my family, I was sure of that. If he had been, he would have answered when I called out. Plus, I would have found him when I searched the house. No, it had definitely been an outsider. The question was, why had someone opened the darkroom door? Was it just out of curiosity, or did he have a purpose? Was he out to ruin my film and make sure I couldn't prove what I hoped to prove? And how had he gotten in and out when the front door was locked? Maybe he was a professional.

My head was spinning.

"I'm just so sorry you lost that film," said Mary Anne. "You must feel terrible about that. Now we only have those other pictures, the first ones. And we can't tell anything from those. If only I hadn't made fun of you for taking pictures of the bank, we might have a lot more." She sat with her face in her hands, looking glum. Then, suddenly, she sat up straight. "You know," she said slowly, "I just thought of something! There are more pictures of the bank, and they're still in my camera." She turned to me. "Remember? While I was using that one roll of black-and-white film you gave me, I took a whole bunch of pictures of you taking pictures of the bank, just for a laugh." She got to her feet. "I'm going to ride