A Recipe for Robbery (13 page)

M
y mom sent me home around three to feed Pixie, give Dad her last-minute shopping list of things she needed for the fish fry, and walk Henry back to the festival.

I set the bag with Mom's earrings on a bookshelf and gave Dad his grocery list. He grumbled a little about “Why didn't we get these supplies all taken care of yesterday when we were at Winn-Dixie?” He found his keys and his wallet and took off.

After pouring Pixie a bowl of salmon nuggets, I headed upstairs for Henry. He was in his room, hiding under another blanket fort. Wrapping paper,
ribbons, and tape were strewn across the floor.

“You're going to get in big trouble if you don't clean that mess up quick,” I yelled on my way to the bathroom. “Mom's going to be really mad if you leave it.”

The kitchen clock had read three-oh-five. I had ten minutes to get back to the festival and watch Margaret and Gus perform. Only forty-five minutes until we were in the alley behind Simply Paris. I tried to forget my nagging worry about things going wrong. Instead, I focused on the reward that awaited us.

Hopefully, we'd have everything wrapped up by five this afternoon. We'd still have time to eat at the fish fry, maybe even ride the Sizzler again. And then we'd be on the front page of tomorrow's paper.

I couldn't wait to see the look on Angel's face when I swaggered up to the front of City Hall and collected our five thousand dollars. She was going to have a cow.

I poked my head back in Henry's room. He hadn't
picked up the first thing. “Come on,” I said. “Quit wasting time.”

He crawled out from his tent, holding a fistful of wrapping paper. “I'm not wasting time. I'm wrapping Mom's present. And ha, ha, ha. It's going to be way better than what you got her. Look. See if you can guess what it is.”

When he handed me a small, heavy, heart-shaped object wrapped in Christmas paper…well, let's just say my own heart screamed “Cardiac arrest!” Now I'm not psychic or anything. But I knew, after eyeing the mess on his floor, what was inside the Santa Claus paper.

Old pictures, cut in heart-shaped designs, were strewn everywhere. And, it occurred to me that Henry said he'd cleaned his bike yesterday. Okay. Cleaned it with what? I'd be willing to bet the whole five-thousand-dollar reward he'd used Grubb's grime remover.

I shook his present and tried to act casual. “Cool. Can I see what's inside it?”

“No. It's a secret.”

“Pretty please with sugar on it, and I'll give you my Boggle Junior and Scrabble Kids game.”

He made pouty lips. His forehead crinkled, like he was deep in thought, like this negotiation equaled a baseball card trade. “I don't want the Boggle Junior or Scrabble Kids.”

“What do you want?”
Little brat.

“Your soccer ball. You know, the one that famous player signed.”

Drat. Now why'd he have to go and ask for that, my all-time favorite collector item? Henry didn't even play soccer. He was a T-ball fanatic.

“No.”

“You can't see it, then.” He grabbed the present from me and tucked it neatly into his pocket.

“Okay, okay. You can have the soccer ball. Just give me the present.”

“Go get the ball first.”

Grrrr
. Thwarted again. I wanted to shake him till his baby teeth rattled loose, but that would take too
much time. His Mickey Mouse clock read three-twelve. I flew to my room, then back with the soccer ball.

Henry snatched it and ran downstairs. “Ha-ha, tricked ya!” he yelled.

I raced down the stairs after him, and tackled him before he got out the front door. The scuffle didn't last long, because I was dead set on getting that present. After worming it out of his pocket, I tore off the wrapper.

Yep. It was the locket all right. I flicked the clasp open.

Oh.

Crud.

Angel's picture was gone. It'd been replaced by a photo of Henry and me in our bathing suits at the beach.

It took me three whole minutes to convince Henry we couldn't keep the locket because I'd found it outside Quick Mart and had to return it. It took two minutes to locate the original picture of the
Princess. It took one minute to bust open my piggy bank and hand him every cent I owned. All in all, I lost six minutes and $12.15.

“They have lockets at Dino's Dollar Store,” I promised Henry. “Later today Dad can drive you over there, and you can buy Mom one that's a lot prettier than this ugly thing.”

“Yeah,” he sniffled. “But are they gold?”

“Oh, yes,” I fibbed. “Solid gold.” Well, actually it wasn't too big of a fib, because I had seen gold heart-shaped lockets once at Dino's Dollar. They were gaudy, but at least they were affordable. Henry would probably be able to buy two lockets and have money left over for perfume.

He stopped whining, finally, when I promised he could help me bake Mom a chocolate birthday cake. We left the house at three-nineteen. I had the locket in one pocket and Angel's picture in the other.

I nearly pulled Henry's arm out of its socket as I dragged him to the square. “Remember,” I whispered
before dropping him off with Mom, “you can't say one single word about this locket. It's our special secret. If you say anything, you're going to get grounded for the whole summer for getting into Dad's grime remover, because it's
dangerous poison
, and you're not allowed to touch it. You won't be able to play T-ball or anything. And I'll take the soccer ball back.”

“Gotta go,” I said to Mom after giving Henry one last secret Look.

“I don't know what your rush is,” she said. “They're having problems with the loudspeaker system. Margaret and Gus won't be onstage for a good while.”

“What?” My jaw dropped. We were supposed to be on our way to Simply Paris in a few minutes.

I must've looked like I'd just seen a spaceship or something, because Mom's eyes widened with her superconcerned expression. She felt my forehead. “Are you all right, Lindy? You feel a little warm. And honestly, your face has lost its color.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Wait a minute. Have you had anything substantial to eat today, or has it all been sugar, sugar, sugar?”

“It's been all sugar, sugar, sugar,” Henry said. “I saw her with an orange soda this morning.”

“Soda? In the morning? For goodness' sake, Lindy. You know better than that.”

“I just had a couple of sips, honest.” I backed away from her, glancing over my shoulder at the stage. No sign of any performance activity, but I did see several men gathered around one of the speakers. “It looks like they're fixing things,” I said. “Guess I'll run over and watch the concert.”

“Make sure you eat some fish later,” Mom called out. “You need the protein.”

I hurried to the crowded stage area, searching for Margaret and Gus. I figured they had to be around somewhere, because Pickles was tied to a front-row chair.

“Over here, Lindy,” Margaret called. She and Gus were on the far side of the stage, surrounded
by a troupe of kindergarten tap dancers.

“What's going on?” I yelled after pushing my way through the crowd. “We're going to be late.”

“We've got a problem,” Gus shouted from the stage. I could barely see him or Margaret for all the screaming tap dancers.

“The sound system broke down,” Margaret said. “Everything's running behind.”

Great. Just great. I couldn't even tell them about finding the locket, because they were up onstage, and I was down in the audience, and there were a million people swarming all around and between us, ranting about the broken sound system.

“Good news!” someone yelled over my shoulder. “Looks like everything's been fixed. Someone try the mike.”

The next thing I knew the Princess had the microphone, acting like some big shot stage manager. “Testing. One, two, three. Testing. One, two, three.”

Gus broke free of the tap dancers and made his
way to the edge of the stage. He leaned over so I could hear him. “Here's the thing. There's only two acts in front of us, so—”

“Hey you!” Angel's voice blared from the speakers. “Gus Kinnard. Quit talking to your girlfriend and get behind the curtain.”

Gus rolled his eyes and kept whispering. “Go on to Simply Paris, okay? But don't go in the patio by yourself or anything; it's too dangerous. Just keep an eye out and wait for us. We'll dump the instruments and be over there as quickly as possible. Fifteen minutes, max.”

“Psst, Lindy!” Margaret hissed from behind him. Her eyes looked big with worry. “Be careful. Don't let them see you.”

“Ahem.” Mr. Austin cleared his throat from the far side of the stage. “Let's go, Gus and Margaret. Backstage, please.”

So now it was up to me—all by myself—to start the perp patrol at Simply Paris.

A
ccording to the courthouse clock, I had ten minutes before the meeting at François' café. So I didn't exactly have time to stand around feeling sorry for myself because I'd lost my partners. I took off across the lawn, turned onto Orange Blossom Avenue, and followed it until I was standing across the street from Simply Paris. A sign on the door said, C
LOSED THROUGH
J
ULY
4
TH FOR PATIO RENOVATIONS
.

I couldn't chance running into François outside his kitchen, so I circled the block until I found the alley that ran behind the patio. There wasn't a soul in sight, not even a delivery truck. I stood at
the alley entrance, swatting gnats from my face, trying to gather my nerve. The sun sizzled overhead like an electrified lemon, singeing my feet to the ground, frying every thought that crossed my mind.

Simply Paris sat five buildings down on the left. I swallowed a gulp and started toward it, one cautious step at a time, as if I were playing hide-and-seek with a pack of alley cats.

When I reached Shear Magic, I peeked through the salon's back door window. The hairdressers must've left early to watch the festival finale because all the lights were out. Good. At least I wouldn't run into Cricket again.

I edged toward the corner of François' patio. The sudden crunch of tires over gravel stopped me cold. Uh-oh! Someone had turned into the alley from behind me. I ducked into a dark, narrow space between the patio and Shear Magic. I'd barely gotten situated behind a cluster of ivy before Leonard's rusty
pickup truck rattled by. It pulled into the parking lot on the other side of the alley.

Leonard got out of the truck, holding a Winn-Dixie bag. The Pitayas!

I squished deeper into my hiding nook and watched him cross the alley. He pushed on the wrought-iron gate, but it didn't open. He looked around, then punched a button by the Simply Paris sign on the fence.

Bzzzz!

I peeked around the ivy. Leonard set the bag down. He shuffled his feet impatiently, then jabbed the button again, three times, like he was poking someone in the chest.

Bzzzz! Bzzzz! Bzzzz!

“
Oui, oui,
” called François from inside the patio. “I am coming. Patience,
s'il vous plaît
. No need to fatigue the buzzer, my friend.”

I heard a scuttling across the patio. The gate swung open.

“Hello, hello, and a fabulous day to you,
monsieur
,” François sang out. Gosh. His cheeriness surprised me. For someone who was pulling off a million-dollar heist, he didn't sound the least bit nervous.

Leonard muttered something, then picked up the bag and disappeared through the gate. Now I could barely hear them, and I couldn't see through the iron posts of the fence because it was so thick with ivy and honeysuckle. I'd have to move closer. I crept toward the gate, stopping just short of it. It hung open by a millimeter.

I caught a glimpse of François' white hat, bobbing up and down as he spoke. “Pay close attention, please,
monsieur
,” he said. “I shall review my diagram with you in great detail.”

A diagram? Since when did you need a diagram to talk about stolen heirlooms?

“Well now,” François said. “First things firstly. I do hope you have procured the tools we will need for this endeavor, as I have nothing to offer but
fillet knives and meat cleavers.” He laughed—a high-pitched trill that made my skin crawl—then said, “But you, my friend, are aware of that,
n'est-ce pas?
Any questions, sir?”

“Yeah,” Leonard said, “I got a question.”

“Spill it out then,
monsieur
.”

I shoved my face through the ivy for a better look.

“What the tarnation—”

“Tarnation? You must pardon me,
monsieur
. I am not familiar with this coarse American slang, if you please.”

“What the
heck
were you talking about in that phone message you left?” Leonard grumbled. “You say only three hundred dollars for all this?”

“
Monsieur
, you ask too much of me. I've good-naturedly agreed to increase the original amount by one hundred dollars. What more do you want?” François threw his hands in the air. “As I've explained until I'm purple in the face, I simply cannot…”

His voice faded as he moved toward the far end of the patio. Leonard followed him, mumbling one-syllable replies. Before long they both were hunched over a table near the dining room entrance. François didn't seem angry anymore. In fact, he looked ecstatically happy. He started leaping around Leonard like a ballet dancer, gesturing wildly at whatever was on the table.

I didn't have a clear view, but I figured Leonard had dumped everything out of his Winn-Dixie bag, and it was the sight of all those Pitaya eggs that had François so tickled. I had to find out.

I pushed the gate.

Crrreak
. I drew in a sharp breath and froze—not blinking an eyelash—until I was sure they hadn't heard me.

They kept talking. I slipped inside and dropped to my knees. Swiftly, silently, I crawled around the outer edge of the patio, darting from table to table until I got close to Leonard, François, and their pile of eggs.

“Is this not absolutely enchanting,
monsieur
?”

Really close
…

“My lady of Paris will look stunning adorned with these rubies. Wouldn't you say so, my friend?”

So close
….

“
Voilà!
The vibrancy of color is out of this universe. Would not you agree?”

As Leonard mumbled an answer, my shoulder bumped into a chair, causing its legs to scrape against the concrete. François jerked his head back. “What is that noise?” he said, cupping a hand to his ear.

I dived under a nearby utility table. Luckily, it was covered with a long tablecloth. I took a shaky breath and peeked out from under it.

“
Mon Dieu!
It must be a rodent,” François said. “I cannot tolerate those creatures in my establishment. I will check behind this buffet counter. You look under that tablecloth,
monsieur
. If we find it, I shall remove its head with my meat cleaver.”

Clomp, clomp, clomp.
Leonard's boots were headed straight toward me.

My heart stopped. My lungs froze. There was nowhere else to hide. In two seconds, I'd be face to face with Perpetrator Number One, Leonard Snout.

“Oh, for the sake of Peter,” François said. “It must have been those cumbersome boots of yours scuffling about that I heard. Never mind, my friend. Now, back to our task at hand.”

I gasped for air. When I finally had the nerve to peek out from my hiding spot again, Leonard and François had returned to the table. I still couldn't see what was on it.

By now I lay in a pool of sweat, my legs cramped and twitching. Where, where, where were Gus and Margaret? I was sure fifteen minutes had come and gone; they should've been here by now.

“If you please,
monsieur
, let us step inside a moment, in the comfort of air conditioning. I shall
prepare us both an iced latte and then show you something of profound interest.”

Leonard shrugged. He pulled off his dirty straw hat and tagged along after François.

The second they disappeared through the door, I whished out from under the table. I jumped up and ran to see what they'd been looking at, expecting to find the rest of the eggs, along with Mrs. Grimstone's heirlooms. I had the perfect plan, too. Since I had the locket with me, I'd hide it on the bottom of the stack so it would blend in with the other heirlooms—of course I'd have to scratch my picture out of it and replace it with Angel's, but I should have time to do that—and then I'd race back through the alley and find a phone and call the cops.

That was my plan, all right.

But it backfired.