You may be wondering why I'm writing a letter instead of a postcard. I have so much to tell you and I don't want your family reading my secret. That may sound dramatic, but once you've read further you'll understand. Sit down, Ben, and promise to not faint from shock or worry. Are you ready?
I have a stalker.
Yes, that's what I said. A stalker. I don't know what she wants from me or how long she has stalked me. I first noticed her on the airplane and have seen her everyday since. I saw her twice Sunday on the tram and once Monday riding her bicycle along the Leliegracht. Plus, she was at the restaurant where we ate dinner Sunday night. And those are just the times I've noticed her. Who knows what bush she lurks behind at any moment.
I think she's trying to psyche me out. Monday, she waved to me. She even introduced herself on the airplane! I think her name is Guten Tag. I don't understand these crazy mind games of hers, but fear she has other operatives working with her.
Attached to this letter you'll find a sketch of her likeness. You may have to turn it over to the Amsterdam authorities. Unfortunately, I am not used to drawing human bodies, so I have given her the body of a mouse.
I am writing to you, dear Ben, because I fear I may not return to Stoneybrook. At least you will have this letter to clutch in the darkest moments of your grief, along with the knowledge that I thought you to be a bonzer bloke. I care deeply for you, darling Ben. I cherish you as my sort-of boyfriend. Remember, we'll always have the Stoneybrook Public Library.
If I do return, I'll finally grant your heart's desire - a coveted kiss from my sweet, sweet lips.
Fondly and Passionately,
Mallory Diane Pike
Normally, I would never talk to Ben in such a way. But I really did fear for my safety at the hands of Guten Tag. What if Ben and I were not reunited in Stoneybrook? What if Ben never got to carry my books again or walk me to sitting jobs? Or, worse yet, what if he never got to brush his lips against mine while locked in a passionate embrace? Surely, Ben would be devastated. The thought churned my stomach.
I mailed the letter Tuesday morning. I knew it was a risk to walk onto the stoop by myself. I was willing to take that chance. For Ben.
In the envelope, I included a sexy polaroid of myself. I borrowed Tiffany Kilbourne's spaghetti strap nightshirt for the photo. I pressed my arms tight against the sides of my chest and tipped forward to create the illusion of cleavage. Tiffany said that boys find moist lips super sensual, so I decided to wet mine. Unfortunately, Tiffany snapped the photo mid-lick. In the photo, my tongue's hanging out and my eyes are half-closed. I think it adds a little mystery. I just hoped Ben would have a chance to thoroughly enjoy my allure. James told me that Ben's spent an awful lot of time in the bathroom lately.
After mailing the letter, I returned to the kitchen, where Mary Anne, Tiffany, and Anna were already eating breakfast. It's strange because the four of us were becoming sort of a group. Since arriving in Amsterdam, everyone else (except Shannon) had gone a bit nutty. Last night, I walked in on Kristy and Abby bench pressing bags of flour. Claudia was walking around with muffins in her pockets, looking a little bleary-eyed and bumping into furniture. Greer had overcome her initial distaste for Alan Gray and apparently they were having a summer fling. No one had seen Stacey since Monday morning, which we hadn't mentioned to Mrs. Kilbourne.
"What's goin' on, mon?"
Then, there was Jessi.
Mrs. Kilbourne's eyes almost popped out of her head when Jessi showed up Monday night with dreadlocks. Mrs. Carson simply appeared horrified, as did the rest of us. I don't know what's up with Jessi. First, she ranted at me for being culturally sensitive to Anna. Then, she refused to play horses, but got mad when Tiffany and I played. And, finally, she found some weird Rastafarian people and started dressing and talking like them. I like Cool Runnings as much as the next girl, but Jessi is not Doug E. Doug.
"Good morning, Jessi," greeted Mary Anne. "How are you?"
"All fruits ripe, mon," Jessi replied. She kept saying that, but no one could figure out why.
"We're going to the wax museum today with Kristy and Abby," Mary Anne told her. "Did you know that Madame Tussaud's first opened in Amsterdam in 1971? And, not only does it include wax figures of actors, actresses, and musicians, but also artists, royals, and politicians? I'm having my picture taken with Anne Frank. Want to come, Jessi?"
"Nah, tanks, mon. Teak an' Heather ah tekking I ta ah Rasta restaurant,"
Anna choked on her oatmeal. " You met a Rastafarian named Heather?"
"Ya, mon. She fram Iowa,"
Somehow, Anna managed to make oatmeal come out of her nose. The triplets would be dibbly impressed.
Jessi adjusted her beret. "Gotta go, mon,"
"Why is she talking like that?" Tiffany asked after Jessi left.
"Don't be mean," scolded Mary Anne.
We waited another half hour for Kristy and Abby to get ready. We worked on Maria and Amanda's jigsaw puzzle while we waited. Maria and Amanda had left early with Mrs. Kilbourne and Mrs. Carson to catch a train into Germany. They wouldn't be back until late. While Kristy and Abby finished their breakfast, I gazed out the den window and saw her. Guten Tag!
She was on her bicycle, stopped right in front of Verbruggenhuis. Her bicycle was pretty distant, old-fashioned and rusty with a big basket on the back and a little bell on the handle bars. No doubt she plotted her dirty deeds on that bicycle.
She was talking to an older girl. An informant? I tried to place the older girl, but could not recall seeing her before. Guten Tag was quite sneaky and discreet, pretending to be lost in conversation and never glancing at Verbruggenhuis. A crafty one, that Guten Tag. A worthy adversary for an expert sleuth like me.
How stale of me! I forgot to tell you the most disturbing part of the Guten Tag mystery! It happened Monday night. We were having dinner in this little rundown Chinese restaurant, totally enjoying our meal (except goony Alan Gray kept sticking chopsticks up his nose and singing "I am the walrus. Coo coo ca choo,"). There I was, minding my own business and just eating some tasty fried shrimp. Then, Tiffany shouted, "Hey! Isn't that Georg?" We all turned to see our tour guide - and supposed friend! - Georg Gegenhuber across the room with an older man and woman, a teenage girl, and...Guten Tag! I could not believe my eyes. I was shocked. Guten Tag and Georg were in cahoots! Georg probably wasn't even a real tour guide! His name probably wasn't even Georg! I felt betrayed.
Fweet! Fweet!
"Okay, troops! Let's head out!" Kristy called from the foyer, bringing me back to the present.
Oh no! I couldn't go outside with Guten Tag lurking about! What if she tried something? What if she planted some kind of homing device on me? Or...what if she already had?
"Uh...I've gotta go to the bathroom," I mumbled as I rushed upstairs. I slammed the bathroom door behind me. I splashed some water on my face, trying to compose myself. It was futile. Guten Tag had me on edge. Just like she wanted.
When I came back downstairs the den and foyer were empty. Where had everyone gone? Then, through the open front door I saw them...standing on the sidewalk talking to Guten Tag! Kristy and Abby were standing on either side of her with a map spread across the handlebars of her bicycle. Guten Tag was pointing down the street, explaining something. Her informant had slithered off somewhere.
"Hey, Mal! Did you fall in?" Abby shouted when she caught sight of me peeking around the door frame.
Quickly, I dove out of sight. "Uh...I changed my mind!" I yelled from where I lay on the floor. "I'm going to stay here!"
"Stop fooling around," snapped Kristy.
"I'm not. Just go without me,"
"You're not going to spend the entire trip writing in your notebook, are you?" asked Mary Anne.
"No! Now go!" I reached my arm around the door frame and waved them away.
Once I heard their footfalls retreat, I crouched under the window and peeked out. They were walking down the street with Guten Tag, who was walking her bicycle beside Kristy and pointing toward various buildings. I tried not to imagine what vital information my friends might accidentally disclose.
"Hi, Mallory,"
"Yaaaaaah!" I shrieked.
It was just Claudia!
"I've got a craving for some Swedish pancakes. Want to go find some with me?"
"Uh...no thanks, Claud,"
"Okay. I think I'll go down to Abraxas and see if anyone there is hungry,"
"Oh, uh, have fun,"
I watched Claudia walk back up the stairs. Then, I grabbed my purse and made a decision - I'd take this as my chance to steal away. If one of Guten Tag's informants watched from nearby...well, I'd just have to risk it.
Slowly, I slipped out the front door. I glanced around at my surroundings. The street was clear. No sign of Guten Tag or any of her known accomplices. I stepped carefully onto the sidewalk and started down the street in the opposite direction Kristy and the others had gone.
I was glad I hadn't worn one of my flashier outfits. Instead, I was just wearing a pair of beige plaid shorts and a beige t-shirt Claudia made for my birthday. It had little plastic cowboy boots and a real rope lasso glued on it! I just wish Git Along Lil' Doggies! wasn't spelt Giht Alung Lyl Daggies!. But, I looked calm and casual. I hoped the purse Claudia had made out of an old cowboy boot wouldn't draw too much attention. The spur tended to glint in the sun.
Creak! Creak!
I stopped dead in my tracks. What was that faint creaking? I took a deep breath and turned my head. Guten Tag was at the end of the street, but fast approaching on her bicycle of terror and misfortune. Coming right for me. I picked up my pace, while frantically searching for a place to hide.
Creak! Creak!
She was getting closer! I panicked and my feet became like lead. I could feel her nearing with each pounding of my heart.
Suddenly, a sense of calm washed over me. Mallory, I said to myself, what are you doing? Don't let fear run your life!
I whipped around quickly and shouted, "Why are you stalking me, Guten Tag?"
My cry probably would have been more effective had Guten Tag not crashed into me. Her front wheel hit me in my special princess place and knocked me to the ground. Guten Tag flew off the bicycle and landed on the sidewalk shoulder first. I sat up on my bruised patootie and adjusted my glasses, which had gone askew. Guten Tag's were also askew and her legs were entangled in the bicycle.
"Sind Sie verrueckt?" she screamed.
I jumped to my feet as Guten Tag struggled to hers. We faced off.
"Why are you stalking me, Guten Tag?" I demanded.
She wrinkled her nose. "Why am I stalking you, hello?" she replied in a thick German accent. She sounded just like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Normally, that would make me dibbly giggly. However, under the dire circumstances not even my love for Last Action Hero could save Guten Tag from my rapid fire questioning.
"I don't understand your crazy talk,"
"Entschuldigen Sie mich, you are who is insane," She picked up her bicycle and started walking away, mumbling, "Bloed Amerikanerin."
By then I was on fire. I had no fear. "Don't walk away from me, Guten Tag. I demand answers." Whoa. I must have been channeling Kristy.
"Ja, ja! Guten tag. I know. You learned a German word. You don't even pronounce it correctly, crazy American girl,"
"I don't understand your circular jive talk,"
"We are even then," Guten Tag replied. She turned to walk away. I panicked. I needed answers! I couldn't spend the rest of the trip looking over my shoulder. Guten Tag's reign of terror over my life had to end.
I ran after her, then fell into a jog as she pedaled slowly. "Just tell me what you want with me. I need the truth, Guten Tag. You don't have to worry about my contacting the authorities. My friends and I prefer to deal with criminals on our own,"
Guten Tag stopped the bicycle and looked at me with her nose wrinkled again. "You think my name is Guten Tag? I am Gerhild Gegenhuber,"
"On the plane you introduced yourself as Guten Tag!" I protested.
"Guten tag is the German word for 'hello'. All I said to you was 'hello',"
"But you've been following me! I see you on the tram and you were standing right in front of Verbruggenhuis today!"
Gerhild blinked. "My family lives next door,"
I felt my entire body blush tomato red. Were these more mind games? "But, you were on the same plane! That's an awfully big coincidence!"
"My sister and I always fly Dam Airways. We visited our cousins in Michigan. We waited for connecting flight to Amsterdam when I heard you talk to other girls about Verbruggenhuis. Gudrun and I were curious,"
"That's it?"
I thought Gerhild hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes,"
It still seemed rather suspicious. I had a feeling there was something Gerhild wasn't saying. Something about Verbruggenhuis. My mind flashed to what Dawn had suspected - that Verbruggenhuis was haunted! A chill ran down my spine.
"What language is that on your shirt?" Gerhild asked.
I glanced down at the t-shirt Claudia made for me. "Uh...it's...um, sort of a Connecticut dialect,"
"Do you like pirates?"
"I've never met one,"
Gerhild giggled. "You make me laugh, crazy American girl. I am going to the video rental store for a new pirate movie. I love pirates,"
I hesitated. She could be setting a trap. Could I trust her? I studied Gerhild carefully. She appeared harmless. We were about the same height, but while I was sturdier, Gerhild was quite small and bird-like. If she got out of hand, I bet I could snap her in half.
Another thing I noticed, Gerhild was a pretty chilly dresser. She wore a pair of navy-colored pleated shorts, a blue-gray sleeveless top with a little pirate embroidered on the left shoulder, navy knee socks, and saddle shoes. Her hair was tied back with a blue-gray striped scarf. I could definitely learn a few things about fashion from Gerhild. Those shorts were extra distant.
"Yeah, I guess I like pirates,"
We smiled and shook hands.
"Mallory Pike," I introduced myself, "of the Connecticut Pikes." Wow. That sounded super impressive.
"Gerhild Gegenhuber," She pointed toward Verbruggenhuis. "My mother and stepfather live next to you. I am here for the summer holiday. The rest of the year, I live in Graz with my father. That is in Austria. Gudrun and Georg live here the whole time."
I giggled. Gerhild, Gudrun, and Georg Gegenhuber? From Graz? Gerhild gave me a puzzled look, so I didn't say anything. I didn't want her to think me rude or ill-mannered. Americans have a bad enough reputation without me acting stale.
Gerhild and I walked down the street together, the bicycle between us. Despite some lingering suspicions, I knew Gerhild and I would become great friends. I filed it at the back of my mind to ask her about Verbruggenhuis and its hidden mysteries. Maybe she'd tell me where she got those dibble shorts, too.