Read Online The Girls Take Over by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor - Free Book Online
Authors: Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
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Of course, black! On a gray day in a gray rain under a gray sky, what could be more natural than black?
Jake tossed the dice first and the game began, the pieces moving slowly around the board—properties being sold, houses bought, hotels built.
Wally heard Coach Malloy come in. He heard the TV go on in the kitchen and a news program begin. He could hear the pans rattling as Mrs. Malloy started to bake something, the chop, chop of her knife on the cutting board.
Wally's piece landed on a space that told him to draw a card. He lifted one and turned it over.
Go directly to jail, the card said. Do not pass Go. Of course. What else could happen on a gray and rainy day?
At that moment, however, there was a knock at the front door. The three Malloy girls looked at each other in surprise because almost everyone came to the back door between the house and the garage.
“Can you get that, George?” Mrs. Malloy called, and there was the sound of Coach Malloy's footsteps in the hallway. Wally watched him pass the living room doorway and open the front door.
Everyone stopped playing Monopoly, for there stood a state trooper and Sergeant Bogdan from the police department, their badges gleaming from the light in the hall.
“George?” said Sergeant Bogdan. “This is Officer Leon Olson from state police headquarters. I need to tell you that we have a warrant to search your house.” And he held out a paper for Coach Malloy to read.
“What?” said Coach Malloy as his wife came in from the kitchen.
“ Search us?” said the girls' mother. “Why?”
In answer, the state trooper asked, “Does this house have a basement?”
“Yes,” said the coach, pointing toward the cellar door off the kitchen.
“I'm real sorry about this, Coach,” said Sergeant Bogdan, “but it's something we've got to do.”
“But why ?” said Mrs. Malloy again.
By now the Malloy girls had crowded into the hallway, the Hatford boys behind them, and it was obvious to Wally that nobody was going to explain anything until the basement had been searched.
Man! thought Wally. This was something that had never happened when the Bensons lived there. He couldn't ever remember the Bensons being searched. Maybe the Malloys were spies or something!
As the two policemen went down the basement stairs, Eddie said, “Can they just walk in people's homes like this, Dad, and search the place?”
“With a search warrant they can,” her father said.
“But what would they be looking for?” Mrs. Malloy anxiously asked her husband. “We've done nothing wrong!”
There were sounds of things being moved around on the cement floor below. And finally there were footsteps on the stairs again, coming up. Then Sergeant Bogdan and the state trooper stood once again in the hallway.
“Jean and George, I'm real sorry about this intrusion, but it seems somebody found a note in a bottle and turned it over to the state police,” the sergeant said. “Officer Olson here called me and asked me to check it out with him, so we did.”
“A note in a bottle!” cried Mrs. Malloy. “The bottle race? This is crazy! What does it say?”
The trooper unfolded a small sheet of note paperand read the message aloud: “Help! This is no joke. I am being held prisoner in a cellar with hardly anything to eat. They beat me every day. Please call this number and ask for C. She'll tell you that what I say is true. Oh, please, please get me out before they kill me.” And the Malloys' phone number followed.
Thirteen
Jail
T he trooper hadn't even said her name, yet everyone— her parents, her sisters, Sergeant Bogdan, the state trooper, and the three Hatford boys, their mouths hanging open in astonishment—was staring at Caroline. She could almost feel the color drain from her face, and knew she had done something awful. Yet the first words out of her mouth were “How far did the bottle go?”
“Caroline Lenore!” cried her mother. “Are you responsible for this?”
“It
Jake tossed the dice first and the game began, the pieces moving slowly around the board—properties being sold, houses bought, hotels built.
Wally heard Coach Malloy come in. He heard the TV go on in the kitchen and a news program begin. He could hear the pans rattling as Mrs. Malloy started to bake something, the chop, chop of her knife on the cutting board.
Wally's piece landed on a space that told him to draw a card. He lifted one and turned it over.
Go directly to jail, the card said. Do not pass Go. Of course. What else could happen on a gray and rainy day?
At that moment, however, there was a knock at the front door. The three Malloy girls looked at each other in surprise because almost everyone came to the back door between the house and the garage.
“Can you get that, George?” Mrs. Malloy called, and there was the sound of Coach Malloy's footsteps in the hallway. Wally watched him pass the living room doorway and open the front door.
Everyone stopped playing Monopoly, for there stood a state trooper and Sergeant Bogdan from the police department, their badges gleaming from the light in the hall.
“George?” said Sergeant Bogdan. “This is Officer Leon Olson from state police headquarters. I need to tell you that we have a warrant to search your house.” And he held out a paper for Coach Malloy to read.
“What?” said Coach Malloy as his wife came in from the kitchen.
“ Search us?” said the girls' mother. “Why?”
In answer, the state trooper asked, “Does this house have a basement?”
“Yes,” said the coach, pointing toward the cellar door off the kitchen.
“I'm real sorry about this, Coach,” said Sergeant Bogdan, “but it's something we've got to do.”
“But why ?” said Mrs. Malloy again.
By now the Malloy girls had crowded into the hallway, the Hatford boys behind them, and it was obvious to Wally that nobody was going to explain anything until the basement had been searched.
Man! thought Wally. This was something that had never happened when the Bensons lived there. He couldn't ever remember the Bensons being searched. Maybe the Malloys were spies or something!
As the two policemen went down the basement stairs, Eddie said, “Can they just walk in people's homes like this, Dad, and search the place?”
“With a search warrant they can,” her father said.
“But what would they be looking for?” Mrs. Malloy anxiously asked her husband. “We've done nothing wrong!”
There were sounds of things being moved around on the cement floor below. And finally there were footsteps on the stairs again, coming up. Then Sergeant Bogdan and the state trooper stood once again in the hallway.
“Jean and George, I'm real sorry about this intrusion, but it seems somebody found a note in a bottle and turned it over to the state police,” the sergeant said. “Officer Olson here called me and asked me to check it out with him, so we did.”
“A note in a bottle!” cried Mrs. Malloy. “The bottle race? This is crazy! What does it say?”
The trooper unfolded a small sheet of note paperand read the message aloud: “Help! This is no joke. I am being held prisoner in a cellar with hardly anything to eat. They beat me every day. Please call this number and ask for C. She'll tell you that what I say is true. Oh, please, please get me out before they kill me.” And the Malloys' phone number followed.
Thirteen
Jail
T he trooper hadn't even said her name, yet everyone— her parents, her sisters, Sergeant Bogdan, the state trooper, and the three Hatford boys, their mouths hanging open in astonishment—was staring at Caroline. She could almost feel the color drain from her face, and knew she had done something awful. Yet the first words out of her mouth were “How far did the bottle go?”
“Caroline Lenore!” cried her mother. “Are you responsible for this?”
“It
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