Kristy's Mystery Admirer by Ann M. Martin

Author:Ann M. Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2012-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Later that night, I sat in my room and tried to do my homework. Needless to say, I could not concentrate. I couldn’t think of my room as just a room. It had become a room in a mansion. And Watson wasn’t just my stepfather, he was a millionaire.

I abandoned my homework. I got up from my desk, took all the notes out of their hiding place between the pages of The Cat Ate My Gymsuit, and spread the notes on my bed in the order in which I’d received them. I read them. I looked at them. I examined the paper, the typing, the stickers, the envelopes.

They were definitely the work of a lunatic. But he was not going to get me.

I jumped up. I ran from window to window in my room and made sure they were shut and locked. I checked the lock on my door. It worked, too. Mom and Watson tell my brothers and sisters and me not to lock our doors at night because it’s a fire hazard, but I would have to risk that. I figured there was a better chance of getting kidnapped than of Watson’s house (excuse me, his mansion) burning down. Why did Mom have to marry a rich guy?

Then I thought of something horrible. A lunatic could get into my room through one of the windows even if it was locked. He’d simply wrap some cloth around his hand, punch through a pane of glass, reach in and unlock the window from the inside, and open it. Of course, I’m on the second floor, but the kidnapper could climb a ladder. He could be quiet. And in the dead of night, who would notice him?

I was trying to figure out how to board up my windows when something else occurred to me: The kidnapper could get me any time. He could get me walking to my house from the bus stop or on my way into school or to a baby-sitting job. I decided that I should try to be with people as much as possible. It would be harder to kidnap me if I weren’t alone.

Should I tell Mom and Watson about the danger I was in? I wondered. No. They might think I was crazy.

I turned on my radio. I needed to listen to reports of missing lunatics. As far as I knew, there were no insane asylums around Stoneybrook, but who knows what a psycho is capable of?

I tuned in just in time for the news. I heard about the President’s press conference, a plane crash, a kid who was raising money to help fight drug abuse by running all the way from Connecticut to New York City, and I heard the sports and weather reports.

But the newscaster didn’t say a word about a missing lunatic.

Okay, so he wasn’t escaped. He was a new lunatic, one who hadn’t been caught yet.

I didn’t finish my homework that night.

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