The One Hundredth Thing About Caroline by Lois Lowry Read Free Book Online Page B

article such as the one on Harrison Ledyard. It's a
brilliant
piece of reporting, by the way."
    She covered the receiver and grinned at Caroline. "Flattery is a very effective way of getting information," she whispered.
    Caroline could hear a man's voice on the telephone. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but Stacy was listening intently.
    "Yes," said Stacy. "Oh, I see. Yes. Of course. Mr. Small, didn't you have to do any undercover-type work? I mean, you didn't consider looking through his trash cans or anything?"
    Caroline could hear the man laugh. He went on talking.
    "Oh," said Stacy, when he had finished. "I would certainly like to congratulate you on a fine job, Mr. Small."
    "What?" Caroline could hear that the man was asking a question. "Mr. Small," said Stacy angrily, in her own voice, forgetting to use the fake one, "I wasn't rude enough to ask you how old
you
are. It's none of your business how old I am."
    She listened as the man said something else. "Well," she said finally, "thank you for your interest. And for the information. Goodbye."
    She hung up. She sat there glumly for a minute as Caroline watched; then she threw the telephone book across the room. It landed on the floor next to her backpack.
    "Shoot," she said.
    "What's the matter?" asked Caroline. "What did he say?"
    "He
said,
" said Stacy in an irritated voice, "that I should work on my school newspaper; that it's a good way to start to get experience in journalism. How did he know I was still in school? Didn't I sound mature?"
    "I thought you did," acknowledged Caroline. "What else did he say? About Harrison Ledyard?"
    Stacy groaned and flopped back on her pillow with her hands behind her head.
    "He simply called up Harrison Ledyard and arranged an interview. Of all the dumb ways to go about investigative reporting. He went there for a day. He even took a photographer with him. What if the man had been a crazed murderer?" She sat back up and looked at Caroline. "What was his name—Michael Small? What a
dope.
He could have found himself, unarmed, right in the apartment of a brutal killer. Now if he had gone about it the way he should have, sifting through trash, doing surveillance work—"
    "Stacy," suggested Caroline tentatively, "I think you're mixing up detective work and magazine work. I mean,
maybe
you are."
    "Well," sighed Stacy. "The heck with Harrison Ledyard. Let him stay up there and vacuum with his hometown sweetheart. At least we have another case to work on. At least we know that other guy's a crazed killer. What was his name?"
    "Frederick Fiske."
    "And now at least we have some new ideas for methods, from Michael Small. We might consider calling for an interview and taking a photographer."
    Caroline shuddered. "I don't think so, Stace. This guy isn't just a killer. He's a
child
killer. And you and me, Stacy, after all, we're—"
    "Oh, Caroline," groaned Stacy. "I know. We're children. Don't remind me, please. Michael Small already brought it to my attention in a very tactless way."
    There was a knock on the bedroom door. Caroline and Stacy both jumped. "Stand over there, Caroline," hissed Stacy under her breath, "by the closet door. I'll be here behind this chair. If they have weapons—"
    The door opened. "Girls," said Mrs. Baurichter, looking in, "dinner's almost ready."

7
    Caroline loved having dinner at the Baurichters'. She had eaten there before, and it was always wonderful—not just the food, although the food was always wonderful, but the whole atmosphere. The huge dining room, with deep gray walls and draperies; the crystal chandelier sparkling above the table; the tablecloth—tonight it was pale blue—and the silver candlesticks, with blue candles glowing and dripping wax slowly down their slender sides. At the ends of the table, at Stacy's parents' places, white wine stood in half-filled stemmed glasses. Once Caroline had asked Stacy why the wine glasses were always only half full, and Stacy had