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.”
Chapter 18
The Tattletale Threat
A gooey lake of spilled smoothie covered our booth counter. It dribbled into the money box—drip, drip, drip—and coated my mom’s master festival schedule.
Henry’s T-shirt and shorts were soaked, and our line had grown to at least ten grim-faced, restless customers.
I’d barely managed to get things under control and whip up another blender of drinks before my mom showed back up. “I need you to run an errand, Lindy,” she said, and for once I didn’t care what it involved. By then I was so sticky and hot and tired of looking at cucumbers, I would’ve gladly cleaned a whole row of Porta Potties.
“Evelyn left something on her front porch,” Mom said. “She’ll be working the Tarts’ tent until tonight and won’t have time to run back for it, so I offered your services.”
Go to Granny Goose’s? My heart fluttered. Maybe, just maybe, her back gate would be unlocked and I could take care of that egg. “Uh, sure. What does she want?”
“She needs you to grab the gym bag on her porch. Evidently, François left it at her house yesterday.”
François’ gym bag? Wow. This was getting even better. Suppose I found another heirloom inside it, or some secret correspondence between him and Leonard. I took off in an excited rush, but I wasn’t a block away before my adrenaline fizzled out. I couldn’t quit thinking that once again Margaret and Gus—my supposed partners—weren’t with me, and once again I was operating by myself.
When I got to Granny Goose’s, I hurried to her back gate. Still locked. It didn’t look like we’d ever get in there, at least until the Festival was over. But that might be way too late, especially after what Mrs. Grimstone had said about calling the police.
I swallowed my disappointment and headed up the porch steps. François’ bag was sitting next to the front door. With trembling hands, I unzipped and emptied it onto the porch floor. Here’s what I found:
Merlin’s Moustache Wax: “Works like Magic for that Sleek, Sexy Look.”
A tube of BriteSmile toothpaste and a toothbrush.
About twenty-five of the fliers advertising his vegetable carving show.
About one hundred fliers advertising a special breakfast on Saturday.
A plain white T-shirt.
A pair of slinky gold boxer shorts with a swirly F stitched on them.
Drat. Not one tiny piece of evidence. Feeling even more discouraged, I stuffed everything back in the bag and took off down Citrus Grove. Cricket was outside the same house we’d
seen her at yesterday, pulling some bags out of her car trunk. “Hey,” she said. “Back again, eh? You’re sure spending a lot of time in the neighborhood these days.”
She pulled off her sunglasses and stared at me.
“Oh,” I answered with a nervous giggle, “I’m just running an errand for Granny Goo—I mean Mrs. Unger. Um…do you live here?”
“Last time I checked. Hey, are you okay, kid? You look a little freaked out.”
“I’m fine. Really. Just in kind of a hurry.”
“Wait a minute. You aren’t after that goose of hers, are you?” Cricket looked up and down the sidewalk before backing against her car. “I can’t stand that thing. It tried to bite me yesterday.”
“I’m not looking for Pickles. It’s…well, I’m…”
I’m not sure what made me keep talking. Maybe it was the way Cricket seemed so hip and cool and unadultish, or maybe the thought that she had inside information about the heirloom theft. After all, she knew Mrs. Grimstone; she’d even been at her house yesterday, talking about the crime.
Cricket tilted her head and looked at me expectantly, so I went on. “Do you know anything about the heirloom robbery?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Like what?”
“Well, uh…. do you know if…uh…” Just say it, Lindy. I took a deep breath. “Does Mrs. Grimstone really think Mrs. Unger stole those heirlooms? Has she called the cops?”
“Oh, now I get it. You kids are playing detective.”
I fidgeted with François’ bag, feeling a hot blush creep up my cheeks.
“We kind of accidentally overheard something.”
“Okay, what gives here, Libby?”
“Lindy. My name’s Lindy. And nothing gives. I’m just worried about Mrs. Unger. My friends and I know she can’t be the thief. From what we’ve found—I mean, from what we, uh, think, someone else must’ve done it.”
Cricket’s dark red lips parted into a curious smile. She opened a SureFresh wintergreen mint container and popped one in her mouth, watching me the whole time. “You got any other suspects?”
“Well,” I said, lowering my voice, “the Grimstones’ gardener is a little mysterious, don’t you think?” I was hoping my confidential attitude would get her to talk. Maybe she’d seen Leonard snooping around the Grimstones’ and suspected he was up to something.
“You got that right,” Cricket said. “It wouldn’t shock me one bit if that creep and the goose lady are in on it to—never mind. Forget I said that. Just stay out of it, okay? I don’t want to see you kids get hurt.”
“What about Mrs. Grimstone? What does she think?”
“Look, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything Mrs. Grimstone confides in me, seeing as how I’m her personal hairstylist and all. That would be a breach of confidence.”
I nodded, trying for an “oh-yes-I-totally-comprehend-what-you’re-saying” look, even though I wasn’t real clear on her point. It’s not like I was asking if Mrs. Grimstone dyed her hair or wore false eyelashes.
Cricket put her hands on her hips. She studied me for several seconds, making me squirm in my flip-flops. So much for my thinking she was unadultish. I could already hear the lecture working its way up her voice box.
“Listen,” she said, “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here. But I’m warning you, if I see you kids snooping around where you could get hurt, I’ll have a little discussion with your mother at her hair appointment this coming Monday. Got it?”
Oh, yeah. I got it all right. Cricket was going to rat on me. I backed away from her, muttering, “We’ll stay out of trouble. I promise.” I hurried back down Citrus Grove, hoping that by Monday she’d have forgotten our encounter.
Margaret and Gus were waiting behind the smoothie stand when I got back.
Mom took François’ bag from me. “Thanks for going after this, sweetie. You can deliver it to Simply Paris in a minute, but first, I have another favor to ask.” She handed me some festival tickets. “I’m parched, and these smoothies don’t begin to quench my thirst. Can you get me a lemon shake-up? And then you’ll be free until three o’clock, I promise.”
As soon as we took off, I told Margaret and Gus how I’d checked inside François’ gym bag, and about my conversation with Cricket.
Did they praise me? Did either of them say, “Wow! Great investigating, Lindy”? Nope. Just a couple of surprised looks and maybe an “ooh” or two from Margaret. And then Gus barked out a bunch of statistics and crime lingo about perps and patsies and buncos. He went on and on about what we should do next, not even asking my opinion, even though I’m the one who’d found every single piece of evidence so far. But what really bugged me was the way Margaret agreed with everything he said, as if he were one of the Hardy Boys or something. It went like this:
Gus: “Here’s the thing”—blah, blah, blah…
Margaret: “Great idea”—yada, yada, yada…
Gus: “And another thing”—blah, blah, blah…
Margaret: “Great idea”—yada, yada, yada…
Me: Nothing. Because I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
I was ready to yell, “Let me say something here, please,” when a noise crackled from the loudspeakers, like teeth scraping over metal. It was the Cucumber Princess, onstage with a swarm of kids from school. She had the microphone up to her mouth, and she must’ve had the volume set on full blast, because when she screeched, “Oh, lookie, lookie. Here comes Lindy Loopy with her true love, Snoopy,” you could’ve heard her all the way in North Dakota.
Chapter 19
Friendship Fiasco
Angel’s voice blared from the loudspeakers again, even louder this time. “Oh, puh-leeeze, Lindy Loopy. Give your sexy-phone player a great big kiss for us.” She doubled up over the mike, cackling.
You could’ve roasted a marshmallow over my cheeks. Gus stood between Margaret and me, stiff and silent. I was pretty sure that like me, he’d stopped breathing.
“Ignore her,” Margaret whispered.
I yanked my shoulders back and took a step toward the stage.
“Come on, Lindy,” Margaret said under her breath. She tugged my arm. “Let’s go. Don’t get in a fight with her. Remember the trouble you got in last time?”
I did remember—a trip to the principal’s office, to be exact—and I should’ve taken Margaret’s advice. But she wasn’t the one who’d just been totally mortified by Angel Grimstone.
The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“Ha-ha! That’s pretty funny, especially since you’re the one who wanted him to squeak along in your stupid trio. That must mean it’s you, not me, who’s got the crush on him!”
Oh, no. Had I just shouted that? In front of all those people? The blood drained from my face. I felt dizzy, sick to my stomach. I stole a peek at Gus from the corner of my eye. His face looked white and sad and twitchy, like he’d just lost his best friend.
He backed away from us.
“Don’t go,” Margaret said. “Lindy didn’t mean it.” Her eyes flashed with anger when she said, “Did you?”
I shook my head and sputtered a few no’s and sorry’s, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him again. I felt too bad.
“You can’t leave,” Margaret said as Gus took another backward step. “We haven’t figured out who”—she checked over her shoulder before dropping her voice—“you-know-what.”
“Never mind,” Gus said. “Forget it. You guys can solve it without me.”
“But what about the show tomorrow?” Margaret said. “I don’t want to play a duet with Angel.”
“I told Mr. Austin I’d do it, so I’ll be there,” Gus said, and then he was gone.
“Where’s Gussy going, Lindy?” Angel yelled from the stage. “Did you have a fight?”
On a normal day, I would’ve snatched her tiara and stomped it into tinfoil. But this wasn’t a normal day, and there were way too many people around. So I said something lame like “Ho-ho-ho. You’re a regular comedia
n,” and Margaret said, “Shut up, Angel,” and then the two of us wove our way through the crowd, away from the stage.
Margaret kept scanning the lawn, looking for Gus. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
I shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal. “Maybe he went after a balloon hat or something.”
“No, he’s gone, and I don’t blame him. How come you treated him like that, anyway?”
“Me? It’s not my fault. Angel’s the one who started it. I just didn’t want everyone to think he’s my boyfriend.”
Little splotches of red dotted Margaret’s cheeks. “Gosh, Lindy. Just because you don’t want him for a boyfriend doesn’t mean you can’t be nice to him. He’s lots of fun. And he’s really smart, too.”
“At least he thinks he’s smart.”
“He is smart.” Margaret plunked her hands on her hips. “You know what? I think you’re jealous because Gus is figuring out everything about the heirlooms before you do.”
“Are you kidding? I’m the one who found all the evidence, not Gus.”
“But he’s the only one who knows what to do with it. I wish he was still here. We’ll never solve this without him.” She kicked at a cluster of pebbles, then plopped down on the street curb.
I didn’t say it, but I was starting to think the same thing. And in a weird kind of way, I already missed Gus. Maybe I’d grown attached to his corny sense of humor, or that funny-looking cowlick, or the way he was always quoting NSCCB facts. But now I’d gone and totally screwed things up, and he’d probably never speak to me again.
Chapter 20
François Flips Out
After delivering Mom’s drink and picking up the gym bag, Margaret and I headed for Simply Paris. We’d walked only a half block or so before she said, “You’ve got to call him, you know. You’ve got to apologize.”
I nodded, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut, the kind you get after realizing you’ve messed up every single percentage problem on the big math test, and you’ve already turned it in. Because some things you just can’t go back and fix.
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