Without a Trace (15 page)

I was still proud of myself for that bit of deduction, though I wished I’d have figured it out earlier. Still, with all the commotion over the missing egg, it was no wonder that the zucchini issue had taken a backseat for a while. In any case, as soon as I’d thought a little harder about that sticky bat, it all started to make sense. At Mrs. Mahoney’s house that day, Mrs. Zucker had mentioned that little Owen hated zucchini. When Ned and I were at Susie Lin’s restaurant, she had also mentioned that Owen and his friends had come in and made comments about the zucchini fritters on her menu. And of course, everyone knew that all week Mrs. Zucker had been going house to house through the neighborhood, collecting
money for the Anvil Day celebration. While she was inside chatting with the neighbors, Owen had been outside demolishing all examples of his least favorite vegetable with his toy bat. Mr. Safer had even mentioned seeing the pair on the night that Mr. Geffington’s garden had been struck.

I’d mentioned my suspicions first to Mrs. Zucker, who had spied on her young son just long enough to catch him in the act and confirm my theory. Then she had apologized to Mr. Geffington and the other neighbors who had been affected. Mr. Geffington apologized to Mr. Safer. Little Owen had been justly punished by the removal of all TV and dessert privileges for the next month. And luckily Simone’s zucchini patch was growing vigorously enough that it would probably supply the whole neighborhood.

“Well, all’s well that ends well,” I said lightly, glancing over at Owen. He was trailing behind his mother as she wandered over to the beverage table. I’d noticed that he was sticking close to her, and guessed that he was under strict orders not to get out of her sight.

Bess giggled. “It’s really kind of funny now that we know what happened.”

“Hmm. Yes, I suppose.” Chief McGinnis didn’t seem very amused. “Well, I hope that boy has learned his lesson.”

“I’m sure he has,” I said politely, hiding my own smile until the chief had wandered away.

A few minutes later my friends and I were chatting with Mrs. Zucker when Simone emerged from the house. She was carrying a large platter piled high with greenish beige pancakes.

“Are those—,” Bess began as Simone set down the platter on the picnic table.

“Yep,” Simone interrupted with a wink before she could finish the question. “Susie Lin gave me the recipe herself.” She cleared her throat. “Want one, Owen?” she asked. “I think you’ll really like them.”

Mrs. Zucker glanced at the platter and chuckled. But she kept quiet as Simone put one of the zucchini fritters on a plate.

“Here you go,” she said. “Try it, you’ll like it!” Owen accepted the plate and stared at the fritter suspiciously. “What is it?” he asked.

“Potato pancakes,” George spoke up. “Right, guys?”

Simone nodded and smiled, and the rest of us quickly agreed. Owen glanced up at his mother.

“Go ahead, take a taste,” she urged him. “You like potatoes, remember?”

Owen carefully lifted the fritter to his mouth. He bit off a tiny piece and chewed carefully. Then he took a larger bite.

“Mmm,” he mumbled through the half-chewed
fritter. “I like potatoes! Can I have another one, please?”

I was pretty sure that Owen had no idea why all the grown-ups suddenly started laughing. But as he gobbled down several more zucchini fritters, I guessed that he probably didn’t care.