Baby-Sitters Beware

Baby-Sitters Beware by Ann M. Martin

Book: Baby-Sitters Beware by Ann M. Martin Read Free Book Online
Authors: Ann M. Martin
we weren't trying to stake out Mr. Seger's house!) And traveling with a large group of kids who are trying to be detectives is pretty daunting, both for the baby-sitters and for the unwary passersby.
    "Where was this tattoo?" I asked Becca.
    "On his face," she said in a small voice. She squinted her eyes tightly shut for a moment.
    "Did it cover his whole face?" asked Vanessa, looking worried.
    "Was it a monster? Something good?" asked Jordan.
    "Oh, ick, you're sick," said Vanessa.
    "It wasn't a monster," said Becca. "I don't remember. It was just blue, that’s all."
    "We'll find him," said Nicky.
    That meant that every male passerby was subject to the full force of eight pairs of eyes, staring penetratingly at his face. And of course, Mal and I looked, too. We just tried to be more discreet about it.
    One man smoothed his hair back nervously.
    Another man with bushy eyebrows frowned menacingly. Several men pretended not to notice at all.
    Nicky was staring so hard that he walked into a fence. Fortunately, he wasn't hurt.
    "Too bad it wasn't wet paint," said Adam. "That would've been cool."
    Mal and I exchanged a glance while the trip^ lets and Nicky snickered.
    When we reached downtown Stoneybrook, we divided the group into partners. When we passed the post office, Vanessa dragged us over to it so we could look at the wanted posters. But the post office was closed.
    "I don't think his poster would have been up in the post office, Vanessa," I said. "Wanted posters are for people who haven't been caught yet. And we don't even know if this is the same guy."
    "But he could be in there," she insisted. "What if he is the same guy, and he escaped from jail, and he's come back to Stoneybrook to get revenge?"
    Becca, who was Vanessa's partner, suddenly looked very worried.
    I felt a pang of fear. This was too dose to what we thought the burglars were doing — stalking the BSC.
    Quickly I said, "Well, it’s not the same guy."
    Vanessa opened her mouth to argue but then Jordan said, "I think we should look in the hardware store."
    "The toy store," said Margo.
    "Toys,"^ echoed Claire.
    "Hardware," said Vanessa. "Hammers and nails and insulation and pails."
    Mal whispered, "See? It’s catching. Now Vanessa is making rhymes about insulation."
    We split up to continue our search. Not surprisingly, no one saw a man with a blue tattoo in either the hardware store or the toy store, although the kids saw many, many other interesting things.
    Then Margo suggested we look for the tattooed man at the ice-cream shop.
    "No," I said firmly.
    I looked at Mal. She patted her pocket. "We could look for him at the pizza parlor," she said. "That is, if anybody wants to eat pizza for lunch."
    The vote was loudly and unanimously in favor of continuing our search there.
    We chose the good old Pizza Express. Of course, the Pikes and Becca were already deep into the argument about what kind of pizza we were going to order before we even reached the counter.
    We stopped.
    Becca tugged on my arm so hard it almost came out of its socket.
    "Ow. What is it, Becca? What’s wrong?"
    She pointed. "It’s him!" she whispered. "It’s the man with the blue tattoo!"
    For the second time that day, all the Pikes were silent.
    We stared at the man behind the counter — not the one waiting to take our order, but the one making salad.
    "Nothing like a good fresh salad, is there, Pete?" he said to someone else in the kitchen who we couldn't see.
    The someone said something in reply, and the man with the blue tattoo said, "The secret is, you make it fresh from scratch every day."
    "May I help you?" asked the guy who was taking orders.
    We all looked at him. Finally Mal regained her senses, or at least some of them. "Yes," she said. "We'd like a blue ... a pizza."
    "Blue pizza we don't have. You want a few more minutes?"
    "Yes," said Mal.
    We retreated. "It’s him," I said. "But is it him? You know, the counterfeiter?"
    "Nope," said Mal. "I remember that description from

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