Lark and the Dessert Disaster

by Natasha Deen

  Text copyright © 2019 Natasha Deen

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 Marcus Cutler

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Deen, Natasha, author

  Lark and the dessert disaster / Natasha Deen; illustrated by Marcus Cutler.

  (Orca echoes)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-2067-8 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-2068-5 (PDF).—ISBN 978-1-4598-2069-2 (EPUB)

  I. Cutler, Marcus, illustrator II. Title. III. Series: Orca echoes

  PS8607.E444L3328 2019 jC813'.6 C2018-904771-2

  C2018-904772-0

  Simultaneously published in Canada and the United States in 2019

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018954160

  Summary: In this illustrated early chapter book, Lark and Connor Ba have been invited to judge a community baking contest. But when a contestant’s dessert is sabotaged, the amateur detectives have to solve the case if they are going to have any sweets left to sample.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Edited by Liz Kemp

  Cover artwork and interior illustrations by Marcus Cutler

  Author photo by Richard Jervis

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  22 21 20 19 • 4 3 2 1

  Orca Book Publishers is proud of the hard work our authors do and of the important stories they create. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or did not check it out from a library provider, then the author has not received royalties for this book. The ebook you are reading is licensed for single use only and may not be copied, printed, resold or given away. If you are interested in using this book in a classroom setting, we have digital subscriptions that feature multi user, simultaneous access to our books that are easy for your students to read. For more information, please contact digital@orcabook.com.

  http://ivaluecanadianstories.ca/

  For Mom and Dad

  —ND

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  An Excerpt from “Lark Holds the Key”

  Chapter One

  Chapter One

  My name is Lark Ba, and I was cooling my heels. Well, not really. My heels weren’t hot. “Cool your heels” is something my halmoni—that’s Korean for “grandmother”—says when I’m really excited to do something, but I have to be patient-like and wait. Right now I was waiting for my mom and dad to finish getting ready. I was cooling my heels with my dog, Max. We sat next to my little brother, Connor. He wasn’t cooling his heels like me and Max though. He was studying. Connor was reading a book about baking.

  “Did you know North Americans eat two billion cookies every year?” he asked.

  “That’s a lot of cookies,” I said.

  “This book says it works out to three hundred cookies a person.” Connor closed his book and looked at me serious-like. “Do you know what that means?”

  “Someone has been eating our cookies,” I said, “because there’s no way Mom and Dad let us have three hundred cookies a year.”

  “Do you think they eat our share when we’re sleeping?”

  “That would explain why they’re always so strict about bedtime,” I said.

  “And why they don’t like us getting out of bed and going to the kitchen to get a glass of water,” added Connor.

  “We’ll have to do some—” I tried to think of the word. It started with a k or an o, and it was a great word that meant “secret.” I couldn’t think of it, so I said, “Secret investigating. If we put our heads together, we can solve this mystery.”

  He made a frowny face. “Can we be our own clients?”

  That summer Connor and I had become private investigators. We’d found the missing key to the library for Mrs. Robinson, recovered stolen diamond earrings for the Lees and discovered who had been playing pranks at the community theater.

  Being a P.I. is a lot of fun! I like figuring out puzzles and putting clues together, and helping people solve their problems. Plus, we have a mascot. It’s an alligator, because I love them. Pluser, alligator rhymes with investigator. And I really like that!

  “I think we can be our own clients,” I said. “But our case will have to wait. We have a more important job today.”

  “You mean going to the baking contest,” said Connor. “And making sure we eat as many cookies and cakes as we can. I have to get in those three hundred cookies before Mom and Dad catch us.”

  “No—well, yes, that’s true. But we’re also judges for the contest, so we need to make sure we’re fair about who we choose to win.” Judging the contest was a privillage privaledge privilege we were given for being so good at solving mysteries.

  Every year Mrs. Hamilton runs a baking contest. She owns a great bakery in our neighborhood called Cake’n’Bake. The winner of her contest will have their dessert sold in her bakery for four months!

  Connor pulled out the paper that listed all the rules for judging. He covered up the lines so I could only see one at a time.

  I have dyslexia. That means I reverse letters and numbers, and sometimes they jump around. Seeing only one line at a time helps the words stay still. “We have to judge the best dessert. That means tasting the food—”

  “That’ll be easy,” said Connor. “Nothing burned wins!”

  Connor moved his hands so I could read the next line. “And we have to judge the dessert based on the presentation.”

  I frowned. “What do you think that means?”

  “It means the cookies and cakes have to look nice when they’re on the plate,” he said. He pointed to the last line. “Also, we’re not supposed to play favorites.”

  “That’s going to be difficult,” I said, “because I know everyone in the contest, and they’re all my favorites.”

  “Mine too,” agreed Connor.

  “I wonder what kinds of treats everyone will be baking,” I said.

  “I heard Mr. O’Reilly is making a baked Alaska. I wonder what that is.”

  “Let me check.” When Connor and I found out we were going to be judges, we went to the library and borrowed a whole bunch of books on baking. I thought if we know the recipes that make up the treats, it might help when it comes to judging them. I took out one of the books and looked up baked Alaska. “Crickets! It looks really complicated.”

  Connor leaned over my shoulder. “Holy smokes. They bake ice cream in an oven?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but it doesn’t melt.”

  “That’s amazing.” Connor took the book from me. He flipped through the pages. “Man, I hope the contestants make some of these desserts. Look at all this—checkerboard cakes and pinwheel cookies. They look delicious!”

  I nodded. “They’re making me hungry, and I just ate!”

  “Do you think anyone will make mandazi?”

  Mandazi is one of our babu’s—babu is Swahili
for “grandfather”—favorite desserts. They are coconut donuts, and they are delicious! “I hope so!”

  “Hey.” Connor frowned as he read one of the pages. “What’s cream of tartar? Is that like tartar sauce? Doesn’t seem like it would be very good in desserts.”

  “Hmm, let’s check. I bet we have some in the baking cupboard.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea—”

  But I was already walking to the kitchen. Max ran beside me. I was too excited to get the stepladder out, so I climbed onto the counter and opened the cupboard door. “There’s so much stuff in here. Hold on.” I dug around and tried to be careful, but my fingers were too excited. And clumsy. I knocked over a bunch of containers of sugar and sprinkles. Boom! Crash! Smash!

  Halmoni, Mom and Dad raced into the kitchen. They stared at the mess. They stared at Max, who was covered in sugar and sprinkles.

  “Well,” said Dad, “we always say Max is the sweetest dog. Lark just proved it.”

  After I cleaned up the mess I made, we left for the community center. On the way, I saw Mr. Herald delivering the afternoon paper. He waved. “Hello, Ba family! Lark, Connor, your picture made the afternoon edition. Good luck judging the baking contest!”

  “Thank you!” I waved back.

  “You have a big job ahead of you,” Dad said. “You have to be fair and choose the best baking. That means only one person can win, and that might be difficult, because the others will be disappointed.”

  “I know,” said Connor.

  “Are you okay with that?” Dad asked me. “I heard Sophie is entering. Isn’t she your friend, Lark?”

  Sophie is my best friend. She just doesn’t know it yet. “Yes, but she will understand if someone else wins.”

  Dad nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  I thought about what he'd said. I turned to Connor. “You know, Dad is right. You’ll have to be very serious when it comes to the judging. That might be hard because you’re younger than me.”

  “I am not!”

  “Much younger.”

  “Twins, Lark, we’re twins!”

  “I’m older.”

  “Only by ten minutes,” he grumbled.

  “Still older,” I said. “Are you sure you won’t agree with me when it comes to the judging?”

  Dad, Mom and Halmoni laughed. “The day the two of you agree on anything,” said Mom, “is a day I’d like to see!”

  We got to the community center, and I was beside myself with excitement. There were all kinds of great smells coming out of the open doors. Fresh bread. Chocolate-chip cookies. I saw Mrs. Hamilton standing by one of the benches. I really like her! She has purple, spiky hair and an amazing black-velvet cape. Plus, she always gives kids a free cookie on holidays.

  Mrs. Hamilton walked toward us, and I did not like the look on her face, not one bit. Nope, nope, nope.

  Chapter Two

  “Lark and Connor, I’m so glad you’re here!” she said. “Something terrible has happened!”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Connor.

  “There’s been an incident!”

  Connor frowned. “What is an incident?”

  Halmoni leaned close. “That’s a fancy word for ‘action.’”

  “Oh.” I turned to Mrs. Hamilton. “What happened?”

  “Someone snuck into the baking area. They destroyed one of the desserts. I’m worried the culprit might be one of the contestants,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “The two of you have already solved three mysteries in the neighborhood. Can you help me? Please, Lark and Connor. We can’t have someone who ruins someone else’s property participating in the contest!”

  Crickets! This was terrible. I was happy to help, but I wished I’d known there would be a case. I would have worn my fedora, so everyone would know we were solving a mystery.

  “We can definitely help,” said Connor, “and we’ll do our very best to help find the culprit.”

  “We’ll leave you to hunt for clues. The two of you need space to work,” said Mom. “If you would like our help, we’ll be around.”

  Connor and I waved goodbye to our family, then turned to Mrs. Hamilton.

  “Can you tell us exactly what happened?” I asked. This was a very important question to ask. A P.I. can’t solve a case until they know what’s going on.

  “We have fifteen people who entered the dessert contest, and our rules were simple. They had to make their desserts here, in the community-center kitchens. That way we could make sure no one would buy something from the store and pretend they’d baked it. When they arrived this morning, we checked their baking supplies and ingredients, and then they were allowed to go to the kitchens and start baking.”

  I nodded.

  “That sounds fair,” said Connor.

  “Everyone had to have their dessert ready ten minutes before the contest opened, because I hired a photographer to take pictures. After that the contestants were supposed to bring their desserts to the judging stage. Then the contest would begin. Only…” Her lip trembled. “I was running around, helping folks carry their desserts to the display area, when I heard yelling coming from one of the kitchens. One of the contestants’ desserts had been tossed on the floor. It’s terrible!”

  I agreed. “It’s not nice to destroy someone else’s work.”

  “We should talk to the person whose dessert was destroyed,” said Connor. “They might have some more information for us.”

  “Follow me,” said Mrs. Hamilton. She led us down one of the hallways. “Do you know a girl named Sophie? She’s about the same age as you.”

  “Oh no,” groaned Connor. “Don’t tell me you think she did it!”

  “No,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “Sophie is the one whose dessert was destroyed.”

  Double crickets! It was bad enough that someone had had their work tossed on the floor. But it was extra bad that the person was Sophie.

  We followed Mrs. Hamilton to a cheerful yellow kitchen with a very sad Sophie. She sat at one of the tables, and she had her head down on the table.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton,” said Connor. “We’ll talk to Sophie.”

  “Thank you for helping,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “I’m going to check on the other contestants. We’ve held off the judging until we can clear this up. But if we wait too long, people will get bored and leave. If you can’t find out who is responsible within an hour, I won’t have any choice but to let everyone participate or call off the event.” She clutched her hands together. “I hate to think of someone doing a terrible thing like that and then maybe winning the contest.”

  “We’ll do our very best,” I said.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. Hamilton. “If you need me, come and find me.”

  Connor leaned in. “I don’t know if an hour is enough time.”

  “I don’t know either,” I said. “But we have to try.”

  I walked over to Sophie. “Hello, Sophie,” I said.

  She lifted her head. “Hi, Lark and Connor.”

  Connor blinked. “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just Hi, Lark and Connor?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “But you usually say, Hello, baa baa Lark sheep,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said. “I do?”

  “Yes,” he continued. “Then I get mad, because I think you’re being mean.”

  “And I try to explain you’re just joking because our last name is Ba, and baa is the sound sheep make,” Lark said.

  “Oh,” said Sophie. “I guess I’m too upset to make jokes or be mean.”

  “Okay, can you tell us about your day?” asked Connor.

  I smiled at my brother. It was a great detective question.

  Her eyes got watery. “I made kutia. It’s a wheat berry pudding, and it takes a really long time to make. You have to soak the berries overnight. The next day, you have to boil them with other ingredients like milk. It has to boil for four hours. And you have to be careful because it’s
really easy to burn milk.”

  “It sounds like a lot of work,” I said.

  “It is. But I was happy to do it because my babushka is visiting, and I knew she would be so proud of me for trying. There’s so much stirring and baking to kutia. But I did it, and it looked so good! And it tasted even better.” She wiped away her tears, then pointed at the floor. “Now look. My dessert is nothing but a cloudy patch on the floor. I cleaned up the rest of it and put it in the garbage.”

  “How did it go from being all ready to being on the floor?” asked Connor.

  “I went to ask Mrs. Hamilton for permission to bring my babushka into the kitchen. Only contestants are allowed in the baking area, to make sure no one cheats. But I thought it might be okay.”

  “It’s always good to ask,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “I wanted my babushka to take some pictures of my special dessert. Mrs. Hamilton said it was against the rules to have anyone but the bakers in the back area. So I went back to my kitchen. That’s when I saw the kutia on the floor.” She covered her face and started to cry.

  Chapter Three

  I got some tissues and gave them to her. Then I gave her a hug. Seeing Sophie sad made me sad.

  “Did you see anyone else coming out of the kitchen?” asked Connor.

  She shook her head.

  “What about when you were making the kutia? Did you notice anyone hanging around?”

  “Not really. I was so busy. I went to the bathroom a couple of times and saw Mrs. Delaney, Mr. O’Reilly and Mrs. Lee, but that was it.”

  “Do you have any ideas about who might have done this?” I asked.

  She shook her head again. “We all want to win, but I can’t imagine anyone would do this.” Sophie stood up and threw her tissues in the garbage. Then she went to the sink and washed her hands. “There’s a door at the back of the kitchen. It’s kind of hard to see the door, so maybe someone snuck inside?” She thought for a bit. “I didn’t see anyone in the area who didn’t have permission to be here, but you never know.”