A Recipe for Robbery (14 page)

I
checked on top of the table, under the table, behind the table. Nothing. Not one piece of jewelry. No diamonds. No Pitayas. The closest thing I saw to an heirloom was a plastic spoon on the ground. What I did see, though, were stacks of landscaping magazines and pictures of patios and flower gardens—lots of them—along with an open notebook. My stomach did a nosedive when I recognized François' handwriting at the top of the page.

Patio Plan: A Flowering Extravaganza. Featuring the exotic, edible night-blooming pitaya—Belle Ruby!

Patio designed by François Pouppière.

(Implemented by Leonard Snout, under the guidance of François Pouppière).

All of a sudden a five-thousand-watt lightbulb exploded in my brain. I staggered backward. Because now I knew what this meeting was really about. And it didn't have the first thing to do with Mrs. Grimstone's heirlooms.

We'd been wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. So wrong I couldn't stand to think about it. François hadn't been planning a heist with Leonard. He'd been planning a flower garden for his patio.

I looked around. Dirt—tons of it—was shaped into little black mountains inside decorative brick hedges. Empty, ornamental flower pots were stacked everywhere. Concrete statues and fountains were lined against the patio fence. In the middle was a jeweled towering statue and on it, a plaque that said, T
HE
E
IFFEL
T
OWER
, 1889: F
RANÇOIS
' L
ADY OF
P
ARIS
. And there were signs, gobs of them I hadn't noticed until now, scattered throughout the patio, popping out of every
imaginable spot. Signs that said: P
ARDON OUR SOIL
,
PLEASE
! A
FLOWER
/
FOUNTAIN
/
AND SCULPTED PATIO GARDEN EXTRAORDINAIRE IS NEXT ON
F
RANÇOIS
'
MENU
. I
T WILL FEATURE OUR STUNNING
,
NIGHT-BLOOMING PITAYA
.

The sound of voices startled me. They grew louder, with laughter sprinkled in.

I dropped on all fours again and scurried around the edge of the patio, like the giant dumb bunny I was. I headed straight for the gate. It locked behind me. I leaned against the fence to catch my breath. My face was seriously on fire, and it wasn't because of the scorching sun.

François and Leonard weren't crooks. The real crook was still on the loose, and the heirlooms—except for the locket and the egg—were long gone, and I was partly to blame.

I'd messed everything up by being so crazy over winning that reward, by not telling about the locket. If I'd turned it over to the cops right off the bat, maybe they could've found the real thief. And now
I
had the
locket, burning a hole in my pocket. How could we return it to the police without telling the truth about what we'd been doing?

The worst thing of all was Granny Goose. We'd let her down. I still didn't doubt her innocence, not for a minute. But how could we prove anything now? Our suspect list was all washed up.

I sighed as I pulled myself up, wishing I felt half as happy as the accordion music coming from inside Simply Paris. I couldn't quit thinking about the stupid things I'd done over the last three days: eavesdropping on the Grimstones, calling Leonard, sneaking into François' office…it all brewed in my brain like a pot of burned coffee. I wanted to go home and crawl under my bed, hide from the world, but I had to wait for Gus and Margaret. I wiped the sticky sweat from my neck. What was taking them so long, anyway?

I headed down the alley to look for them. When I reached the back door of Shear Magic, my toe knocked against a container: SureFresh wintergreen
mints, Cricket's brand. I hadn't noticed it earlier; she must've just come to the salon. I leaned over to pick it up, hoping to find a couple of leftover mints, when I saw a single key on the pavement next to the container. It was marked S
HEAR
M
AGIC
S
UPPLY
R
OOM
. I glanced at the salon's back door. It was opened partway. I pushed on it, thinking I should at least drop off the key.

I took a few steps into the short, dark hallway. Cricket was in the front by the receptionist's station, pacing the floor. Just as I started to call out to her, someone rapped on the salon's front window. “Brad!” Cricket yelled. She flew to the door, unlocked it, then threw her arms around the same blond guy she'd been with at the Tarts' tent on Thursday.

“What took you so long? Oh, my God, I'm a wreck! I thought you weren't going to make it back,” she said, burying her face in his shoulder.

Brad locked the door behind him. “Calm down, babe. I told you I'd be back this morning. Everything's
settled. My fence in Miami's going to take it all.”

Fence?

I backed into the shadows of the hallway, my heart racing. Thanks to Gus and NSCCB, I knew what a fence was.

“What's going on?” Brad said. “My cell's about dead. You kept breaking up. You say they suspect the goose lady?”

Cricket started pacing again, running her hands through her spiked hair, rambling a million miles a minute: “It's crazy…doesn't make sense…two pieces gone…Unger's been questioned…”

“Slow down,” Brad said. “Tell me what hap—”

“Someone's been in the shed. I think it's this kid Lindy.”

M
y head spun as if a hurricane had just roared through it. Trembling, I gripped the handle of the shampoo cart. Me? In Cricket's shed? Where had she gotten that idea?

Brad reared his head back in surprise. “A kid? What the…Okay, take it from the beginning here, babe. You're saying a kid was in the shed? How? I locked it Thursday morning, right after we checked everything.”

“She must've gotten in where those boards are missing on the side,” Cricket said. “Her and her friends have been hanging around the neighborhood, acting weird. I think they're playing detective.
Anyway, a couple of pieces are missing from the duffel. One of the eggs ended up in Unger's turtle pen.”

Brad let out a string of not so nice words, then said, “Missing boards? Man, Crick. I told you the shed was a lousy place to hide it.”

“Quit blaming me,” Cricket snapped. “How could I know? It's a small hole. I never expected anyone to crawl in there. And besides, you're the one who left the duffel out, not me. It was wide open on the floor. You told me you'd lock it back in the trunk.”

Brad ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well I didn't think it mattered. I assumed the shed was safe.”

I stayed rooted to my spot behind the shampoo cart, barely breathing as they argued about what was whose fault, where the locket could be, why only two pieces were missing, how the egg had ended up at Granny Goose's.

“You should've been paying closer attention,” Brad said. “You should've been checking on that bag.”

“So I'm not perfect, all right!” Cricket yelled. “And why would I need to check on something that's locked inside a trunk anyway?” Her voice broke, like she was choking back a sob. I peeked around the cart. She gripped a sink basin, her chest heaving with every breath she took. “I've been here by myself since Thursday, having to kiss up to Mrs. Grimstone, make sure she doesn't suspect. I'm ready to crack.”

“It's okay, babe. I know you're tense.” He put his arm around her. “Sorry I had to be on the road. But hey, I got everything taken care of, even our tickets. Besides, from what you said, it's not us the cops suspect. It's the goose lady. Looks like we lucked out; we're in the clear.”

Cricket sniffled again and opened a SureFresh container. She stuck one in her mouth. “Yeah, except for that kid. What's she up to anyway?” She tossed the mint container on the counter. It clanged and fell to the floor.

Wait a minute…

The mint container.

Pickles had one of Cricket's mint containers earlier, outside the shed. Could that goose actually have—

“Have you seen the Lindy kid today?” Brad said.

“Yeah, earlier. She and her friends were nosing around Unger's house.”

It's a small hole. I never expected anyone to crawl in there
, Cricket had just said. Yes. It had to have been Pickles. The duffel was on the floor…open…she likes shiny things…
into everything
, Granny Goose had said.

“Man. If you're right and she's involved, we should get out of here. She could be talking to the cops right now. Let's get the stuff and go. Where'd you put the duffel?”

“It's locked in the supply room. Let me get my key to the door.”

I fingered the bumpy ridge of the key in my hand, my heart pounding.

Unless Cricket had a backup key, she and Brad wouldn't be getting inside the supply room anytime soon. If I hurried, I could beat them to it.

Once I got my legs to move, I slunk along the wall to a closed door. I stuck the key in the lock, praying it would work. My hand was shaking so hard I could barely turn the handle.

Brad rapped his fingers on a sink basin. “Hurry it up, babe. We don't have all day.”

“Hold on. I told you I'm looking.”

The door opened.

I slipped inside and locked the dead bolt. Cricket and Brad were still in the front part of the salon, arguing. I should have a couple of minutes at least. I scanned the room, hoping the Shear Magic bag would jump out at me. Instead, all I saw were bottles of hair gel, mousse, hair spray, perm solutions, coloring kits, and nail polish, all neatly stacked on open shelves. I took a deep breath and started my search on the bottom, thinking I'd work my way up.

Three shelves higher, still no duffel. The only shelf left was the top one, but it was too high to reach. I dragged a box filled with cream rinses from across the room and stood on it. Yes! There it sat, against the wall, wedged between other containers. But when I tugged at it, my elbow knocked into a box of nail polish. I yelped as it flew off the shelf. About a thousand bottles of Pink Flamingo Flirt and Boys 'N Berry Passion crashed to the ground. They spun and bounced and rolled all over the floor.

I stood absolutely still, petrified, hugging the duffel bag to my chest. I had to get out of there, quick. But if I went back through the hall to the exit, Cricket and Brad might see me. I stared across the room at my only other option, a tiny window about six feet from the floor. Could I manage to wriggle through it?

Something thumped against the supply room door. I swallowed a scream as the doorknob turned. Back and forth, back and forth.

“Hurry up with the key,” Brad yelled. “I heard something back here.”

I quickly pushed the cream rinse box toward the window; it wasn't high enough. I'd need a second box if I wanted to make it outside. I started back to the shelves but tripped over a bottle of nail polish and fell to the floor.

By now Brad was slamming himself against the door.

“Hold on!” Cricket shouted. “I'll look in the register.”

Brad muttered some more choice words, then wriggled the doorknob again. I forced myself up, grabbed the second box, and scrambled for the window. It was opened partway. Maybe I could push the screen out.

I climbed on top of the boxes. No luck. The window was way too small for me to fit through.

Any hope I had of escaping faded. I was just about to start bawling and wailing and begging for Cricket's mercy when I heard something.

A honk?

I heard it again. Yes, most definitely a goose honk. That meant Margaret and Gus must be right outside.

I craned my neck and peeked out the tiny window. Margaret and Pickles weren't more than three feet away from me.

“Psst,” I hissed as loud as possible.

Margaret looked up. Her jaw dropped into her neck. “Lindy?”

I blinked back the salty tears stinging my eyes. “Where's Gus? Does he have the cell phone?” My voice sounded hoarse, frantic.

“He's coming down the alley by François' kitchen. We split up because we didn't want to miss you. He forgot the phone in his saxophone case. What's wrong?” Her eyes looked big and scared.

From behind me, Brad yelled at Cricket to “hurry up already before I bash the
blankety-blank
door in.”

“Wh-What's going on, Lindy?” Margaret whispered.
“How come you need the phone? Is someone else in there?”

I nodded. “Find François. Use his phone and call the police. Hurry!”

“François? But he's a—”

“He's not the crook. Cricket is, and she's got a partner.” I pushed the screen out, dropping the duffel bag at Margaret's feet. “Take that. The heirlooms are in it. Oh, and this, too.” I tossed the locket to her.

Margaret's eyes nearly popped from their sockets. “
Cricket
? Ohmigosh! Where is she? Are you trapped?”

Pickles squawked again, and an idea hit me. “Give me Pickles.” I reached my arms out the window.

“I found it!” Cricket yelled.

Margaret stared up at me, openmouthed, like a scream was forming in the back of her throat.

“Hurry,” I said. “I need her.”

Margaret lifted her up to the window, and Pickles
clucked a little greeting, like she was happy to see me.

“Go now,” I said. Margaret grabbed the bag and the locket, then sailed down the alley toward Simply Paris, her fiery curls bouncing in the sunlight.

Outside the supply room door, Cricket said, “Here. Use this.”

There was nowhere to hide. I sank to the floor, holding Pickles to my chest, then closed my eyes and waited.