Sammy Keyes and the Hotel Thief

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Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
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call the police.”
    So that’s what we do, only I start worrying that Officer Borsch and Tall ’n’ Skinny will be the ones to show up, so I say, “Hudson, I’ve really got to get back home. Grams is probably worrying about me.”
    On the way home I’m so busy thinking about the purse that I’m nearly up to the fifth floor of the fire escape before I remember that it’s locked. I turn around and go back down to the fourth floor, let myself in, cruise over to the regular stairs and walk the rest of the way up.
    And I’m waltzing down the hall when I turn the corner and what do I see? Mrs. Graybill outside our apartment, talking to Grams.
    I try to duck back around the corner, but I’m not quick enough. Mrs. Graybill sees me and says, “There she is! Rita, go get her!” Then she calls, “You come back here or I’ll call the police!”
    That stops me right in my tracks. I turn around and peek past the corner at them, and then I start walking toward them, wondering why in the world Grams is looking at me like she just bit into a lemon.
    Mrs. Graybill shakes a napkin in my face. “What did you think? That I’d let you get away with this?”
    â€œGet away with what? What is that?”
    Grams looks down.
    â€œThis dumb-girl routine is getting very tiresome,” Mrs. Graybill snaps.
    â€œDaisy, let me handle this.” Grams looks me in the eye. “Are you saying you didn’t put the note under her door?”
    I’m feeling like I’m in a basement without a flashlight. “
What
note?”
    Mrs. Graybill shakes that napkin in my face again. “
This
note!”
    When I finally got it away from her and read it, it felt like there was a centipede crawling down my back. I knew I hadn’t written it, but I had a good idea who had.
    I look at both of them and say, “I didn’t write this!” but I can tell that Grams doesn’t quite believe me.
    Mrs. Graybill croaks, “Who else would write a note like this? Who
else?
”
    I feel like telling her that it’s the guy who’s been stealing stuff from people all over town and that he’s got the wrong apartment and thinks
she’s
the one who saw him and waved. But what I say is, “I swear, Mrs. Graybill, I didn’t write it. I would never write anything like this!”
    â€œHa!” she says. “It’s just the sort of thing you would write!” She holds up the napkin. “‘If you talk, you’ll be sorry.’ Is this supposed to scare me?”
    Well, it was scaring the oatmeal out of me, but I just said, “I know why you think it’s me, but it’s not.”
    Mrs. Graybill turns to Grams. “Really, Rita, I’ve had enough. I think it’s time I had this child banned from the building.”
    Grams takes a deep breath. “Go ahead, Daisy. If it makes you happy, go down and talk to Vince Garnucci about it. Samantha says she didn’t do it, and that’s good enough for me.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe you’ve made some other ‘friends’ in this building? Maybe one of them left you the note.”
    â€œI don’t even have any other friends here. I…”
    â€œI wonder why!” Grams yanks me into our apartment and slams the door. Then, before I can thank her for sticking up for me, she snaps, “How could you?”
    It felt like she just slapped me in the face. Then she says it again—“How could you? Did you really think it would shut her up? Don’t you know it’s as good as telling her she’s right? What in the world do you expect me to do about this? First you get suspended for fistfighting, now you’re writing threatening letters…Samantha, I’m beginning to feel like I don’t even know you!”
    I try to cut in and explain, but every time I do she starts scolding me some

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