A Recipe for Robbery (7 page)

W
e all agreed on one thing: The medallion belonged to the thief.

Gus said the odds were high. “At least eighty-five percent. Because Granny Goose drives a Honda, and she doesn't let anyone else in the animal pens.”

“Leonard and François were both on her deck this morning,” I said. “All we have to do is find out who owns a Ford.”

“I know François drives a red convertible,” Margaret said. “I've seen him in it. But I don't know the make.”

“What about Leonard? We saw him in that truck earlier. Was it a Ford?” I said.

Gus shrugged. “I didn't notice. We'll have to track both of them down.”

“Hey, I know what. Let's go by François' café. Maybe his car is parked there,” Margaret said.

Gus and her got all excited over that idea, and I would've gotten excited, too, if I hadn't lived in the opposite direction from Simply Paris. And according to Margaret's watch, it was three-twenty. When my mom says to be home at three-thirty, she doesn't mean three thirty-two. Plus she'd been planning this festival schedule for months, down to the minute. If I messed her up now, I wouldn't get out of the house for the rest of the week.

“I can't. I've got to dice cucumbers. I've only got ten minutes to get home.”

I was waiting for Margaret to say, “I'll help you; then we'll meet back up with Gus when we're done.”

But she didn't. Instead, she started planning things out with him, about where they would go and when. No mention of Lindy. I swallowed hard,
disappointment stuck in my throat like catfish bones. A wave of jealousy flooded my chest, because what if they figured things out without me?

We started down the sidewalk, and as Gus mapped out their plans, I ground my teeth in frustration. It'd been me, not him, who'd found the locket and the Pitaya egg and the key ring. But the way he was acting, you would've thought he was the one who'd discovered everything.

And another thing. Margaret was supposed to be my best friend. At least that's the way it'd been for the last six years. So why was she acting like Gus's best friend? Why hadn't she offered to help me with my festival chores, like I always helped her with stuff?

I was stewing over this when a car turned into the driveway we were approaching, just two houses down from Granny Goose's. Cricket from Shear Magic jumped out. She looked at us curiously, then gave a quick hello flick with her finger.

“Listen,” Margaret whispered to me, because we
were within earshot of Cricket. “Gus and I'll check Simply Paris for François' car, then come back here and see if Granny Goose is home. I'll call you later and tell you everything. And hurry! I know how your mom is. I don't want you to get in trouble for being late.”

 

I made it home with one minute to spare, still steaming at Margaret and Gus. I knew it wasn't fair for me to be mad. After all, we'd made a pact to help Granny Goose and earn that reward, so they were doing the right thing by working without me. And I really, really wanted the money. Why then, I wondered, did I keep feeling like I'd lost my best friend?

Things weren't any better at the Phillips residence. Besides having to peel and chop two hundred cucumbers, good old Lindy got stuck with Henry for the whole night. That's because Dad got called into the fire station, and Mom had scheduled herself to work the senior square dance at the festival.

“I won't be home until nine,” she told me. “I'd
take Henry with me, but he's been complaining of a tummy ache.”

“It's because of those stupid stewed cucumbers,” he grumbled from under the kitchen table. “They made me get diarrhea so bad I almost died.”

I leaned over and looked at him. His cheeks were pudgy and pink as ever, his brown eyes twinkled, and he was surrounded by Matchbox cars and Spider-Man action figures. He sure didn't look sick to me.

But none of that mattered, because Mom was in too big of a hurry to listen to any arguments. “You can take Henry to the Quick Mart for a SevenUP later,” she said. “That always helps his tummy. Otherwise, I want him to stay in. Make sure he gets to bed by eight.”

So there you go. One whole evening of peeling and chopping and playing board games with Henry. After the third round of Boggle Junior, I called Margaret.

No answer, just like the last ten times I called. I tried Gus's house. He wasn't home either.

It was six o'clock, and I still hadn't heard a thing.
After the fifth round of old maid with Henry, I was so antsy I wanted to chew the cards up and spit them out the window. I paced the living room, and then a plan came to me. An excellent plan.

Ha! I didn't need Margaret or Gus. I'd do some investigative work on my own. Since they had supposedly checked François' make of car, I'd take care of Leonard. I grabbed the phone book. “Snout, Leonard: 1212 South Rural Route 3.”

I couldn't use our phone, because Leonard might have caller ID. My mom claimed everyone had caller ID. “It's the best thing the phone company's ever come out with,” she'd told my dad.

“Hey,” I said to Henry, “you want to go to Quick Mart for a SevenUP now?”

That was like asking Bugs Bunny if he wanted a carrot. While Henry dashed upstairs for his shoes, I memorized Leonard's phone number.

Five minutes later I was at the pay phone outside Quick Mart, watching Henry through the window. “You can get a SevenUP and some gum and one more treat,” I'd said, hoping to keep him in there for a while, “but do…
not
…disappear from my sight.”

I dropped my coins into the slot. This isn't a prank call, I told myself. It's more like a business call. But my hands shook so hard I could hardly punch the numbers.

Leonard picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Yes. Uh, hello, sir.” I held a sock I'd brought with me over the mouthpiece, so he wouldn't recognize
my voice. “This is Monica Wilson. Our company is conducting a survey about vehicular models, and I'd like to know—”

“You're doing a what?”

“A
survey
, sir. About vehicular models that people drive.”

“What the heck you trying to sell me?” Leonard grumbled.

“Actually, sir, I'm not selling anything.” I chuckled, trying to act all buddy, buddy with him. “Everyone thinks that. What we're doing is conducting a national survey. We'd like to know what kind of vehicle you drive.”

“Tell me again what you're after,” Leonard said. “You're sounding fuzzy on my end.”

“Certainly. Our—”

A car honked, practically blasting my ear off.

“What?” Leonard said.

Uh-oh. Henry was headed my way, his arms full. I had to get off this phone. What if he saw me, and,
like he always did, shouted, “Who are you talking to, Lindy?” Leonard might hear him.

“What…kind…of…ve-hic-le…do…you…drive?” I yelled into the receiver. Just hurry up and answer me already, I wanted to say.

“Ford,” Leonard said. “I've had it ten years. Wouldn't buy anything else.”

“Thank you.” I hung up the phone in time to see Henry spill his fountain drink all over the floor.

 

The telephone message light was blinking when Henry and I finally made it home.

“Where
are
you, Lindy?” Margaret's voice said. “Call me right away! I've got N-E-W-S.”

“News about what?” Henry said. He stuffed another Gummi Bear in his mouth. This from the boy with the killer stomachache.

I shooed him upstairs. “Get the Monopoly game out,” I said, “and we'll play before bedtime.”

When I called Margaret back, she was talk
ing so fast and loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Guess! What? Ohmigosh, you'll never guess what, Lindy! François drives a Mustang. A
Ford
Mustang. And Gus says the more he thought about it, the more he thought Leonard drives a Chevy, so now we almost know for sure who the thief is.”

“No, you don't,” I said, “because Gus is wrong. Leonard does drive a Ford.” I went on to tell her about
my
discovery, and I was feeling all proud and pleased with myself until I realized that since they both drove Fords, we weren't any closer to guessing the thief than we'd been six hours ago.

Another bad thing was that Margaret and Gus hadn't been able to get the egg. “My parents saw us and made me take Sarah and Carrie”—that's Margaret's little twin sisters—“on the midway rides, so Gus went to Granny Goose's by himself. But she still wasn't home. She was playing fiddle for the senior square dance on the courthouse lawn. I saw her.”

This meant we hadn't accomplished anything the whole day, unless you want to count learning how to put a diaper on a goose as progress. I hadn't felt this blue in a long time. Not only was Granny Goose in danger of being caught with the egg, but we were no closer to winning that reward.

And then, with one final tidbit of information, Margaret turned my blue mood into a deep gray funk. “Mr. Austin called my mom. He wants Gus and me to play a trio with Angel in the festival finale Saturday afternoon. It's the same song that you, me, and Gus played at the spring concert.”

“But what about me?” I said. My voice sounded small and whiny, just like Henry's after he'd spilled his 7UP. “Does Mr. Austin want me to play, too?”

“Well, this is what really makes me mad. He said it's supposed to be just Gus, me, and Angel, all because she wants to play that same solo part you had. Since she's the Festival Princess, he wants to highlight her on the flute. I didn't want to do it, but my mom told
him yes. And we have to rehearse at ten in the morning, too. So we won't be free until eleven.”

I could barely force the words “Okay, yeah, well, see you tomorrow” out of my mouth before hanging up. I sat there for a full minute, staring at the wall, not wanting to believe what I'd just heard: Margaret and Gus were going to play “Melody from the South Seas,” my favorite song in the world, with Angel Grimstone. Without me. And the Princess would be playing
my
solo part, the very same solo I could play with my eyes closed.

“Hurry up, Lindy,” Henry yelled from upstairs. “We've only got an hour to play Monopoly before bedtime.”

I trudged up the stairs to join him, feeling numb. For the first time ever, I didn't even yell, “Dibs on being the banker.”

T
he next morning I got up early, before Henry. I decided to make a list of what we needed to do to get Granny Goose off the hook and find the thief. I'd been at it for a half hour, but so far the only thing I'd come up with was: “Get jeweled egg out of Hogjaw's pen.” I still didn't know how to accomplish this. Granny Goose would probably be at the festival most of the day, and even if I stopped by for a “casual” visit at seven o'clock in the morning, it's not like I could poke around Hogjaw's pen right in front of her.

As much as I hated to think it, I needed Gus's help. He had a knack for drawing up plans; I was
better at uncovering evidence. I was supposed to meet him and Margaret after their rehearsal and get started from there, but Mom nixed that plan. “I need your help in the cucumber smoothie booth from ten until noon,” she said, “and then again from three until five.”

“What?” I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. Hadn't I done enough already? I was probably the only kid in town who'd ever peeled and chopped two hundred cucumbers.

“You'll have plenty of free time in between,” she said.

I got to the square a few minutes early, hoping to find Margaret or Gus and tell them I'd be working for Mom, and that's when I saw Leonard.

And François.

They were standing together next to the elephant ear stand. Leonard had on those same farmer overalls and straw hat. François was wearing a spotless white apron; his mustache looked sleek and perfectly
curled. He pointed to a cluster of flowers in front of the courthouse and started jabbering away to Leonard. Then his hands flew all over the place, like he was excited about something.

Holy cow! Did these two know each other? Were they actually friends? No, I thought as I watched them. Somehow, I couldn't picture them as buddies. It would be like mixing powdered sugar with sour milk.

I edged closer to the stand. Maybe I could hear what they were talking about. Trying to act casual, I bought a cinnamon elephant ear. I munched on it as I leaned against the side of the food trailer.

But I couldn't make out what they were saying. I'd have to get closer. Not too close, otherwise Leonard might recognize me. He might connect me with last night's phone call. I sidled toward them, holding the elephant ear in front of my face. I licked the cinnamon topping, tilted my head in their direction. My heart raced.

“
Non, non.
That is not the prime location to place it, my friend.
Certainement—oui
, certainly, the Pitaya requires direct sunlight, for the maximum—”

I gagged…coughed…sputtered…nearly choked to death on a chunk of elephant ear. Leonard looked over at me, and our eyes played tag for one short second. I ducked around the other side of the food booth. Now my heart was pounding.

“Hey, Lindy!” Henry waved at me from down the street. “Come on. Mom says I get to help you make the smoothies. She's going to show us how.”

By ten forty-five, Henry and I had a line. A constant
whirr, whirr, whirr
of cucumbers, lime juice, sugar, and ice spun around my blender like a funnel cloud. For the life of me, I couldn't figure why anyone in his right mind would line up for one of these drinks, especially when he could've had a lemon shake-up or a strawberry milk shake.

At least we were busy, which made the time go fast. But nothing—not even the long line or making change
or Henry's constant jabber—could take my mind off that one word François had said:
Pitaya
. I couldn't wait to tell Margaret and Gus what I'd overheard.

They showed up at around eleven. “We've been looking all over for you,” Margaret said, practically breathless with excitement. “Guess what Gus found out.”

I checked my line: seven people waiting, and Henry was the only helper. “You go ahead and pour this man's drink,” I told him. “I'll just be a second.”

I grabbed Margaret's arm. “You're not going to believe what I—”

“Tell her, Gus!” she squealed. “Tell her what you figured out.”

“Lindeeee, I need help,” Henry whined.

“Shh!” I hissed over my shoulder. “You can pour it yourself. There's enough in the pitcher for three more servings. Just take two dollars or two tickets from each customer; that's all you have to do. If you need to make change, I'll be right here.”

“I've got big news,” Gus said, wriggling his
eyebrows. “Really, really big.” Margaret cracked up laughing.

“So do I,” I said, but Gus just blasted right ahead, like what I had to say didn't matter.

“It's a conspiracy,” he announced. “Leonard and François. François and Leonard. I saw them together this morning, and I'm ninety percent sure they're working as a team.”

What the heck? That was supposed to be my news.

“Get…out!” Margaret said after I'd told them my story. “They were actually talking about the Pitaya?” She looked at Gus, wide-eyed, like she'd never been so amazed about anything in her life. “It's exactly what you thought,” she whispered. “Exactly. You do have ESP.”

“Yep. It's like I told you, I could tell by their body language.” And then he started up with the NSCCB stuff again…on and on about how he'd “deciphered subtle innuendos” to win crime buster of the month,
and brag, brag, brag about he'd interpreted the clues, until I had to clamp down on my tongue to keep from saying anything.

“What time will you be done here?” Margaret said. “Gus and I have to rehearse again at eleven thirty.”

“I thought you just got done rehearsing.”

“We did. But Mr. Austin feels it needs some more work.” She didn't say it, but I knew without asking that Gus was the problem.

“We'll be done at noon,” Gus said. “Wanna meet up back here? I went over my NSCCB notes last night. I've got a couple of ideas.”

“Okay.” And they'd better be darn good ones, I thought, because we were running out of time.

“LinDEEE!” Henry cried from behind me. “It's not my fault. It was an accident.”