Claudia and the Recipe for Danger Page 3

  Jackie grinned down at Kristy from his perch on top of a long sofa that runs along the windowed wall of the faculty lounge at the high school. It was the first day of the baking contest, and also, of course, the first day of our day-care center. Almost every member of the BSC was there, except Jessi, who had to attend a special dance class, Shannon, who was shopping with her mom, and Dawn, who had a job sitting for Jenny Prezzioso, one of our regular clients.

  It was a good thing the rest of us were at the day-care center. The room was full of kids. Jackie’s four-year-old brother Archie was there, and so was Shea. Jamie and Lucy Newton were on hand, as well as some other regular clients of the BSC: Carolyn and Marilyn Arnold, who are eight-year-old identical twins, Charlotte Johanssen, and Hannie and Linny Papadakis. Hannie’s a seven-year-old girl, and Linny’s a nine-year-old boy, and they live in Kristy’s neighborhood. Also, Kerry (Logan’s sister) was there, just hanging out while she waited for the afternoon’s under-sixteen baking contest to begin.

  Plus, we found plenty of kids we didn’t know, kids whose parents had come from out of town to compete in the Battle of the Bakers. It wasn’t easy getting to know the new kids at once. The only reason I can even remember their names is that Mary Anne (awesome BSC secretary that she is) wrote down all their names and ages, plus a little bit about each kid. Here are her notes:

  As you can probably imagine, the scene in that faculty lounge was wild. There were twenty kids, ranging in age from a few months to twelve years old, plus six baby-sitters, all packed into a room that really wasn’t all that big to begin with. Not only that, but it was crowded with stuff Marty had rounded up for us: napping mats, easels and art supplies, kid-sized tables and chairs, giant blocks, piles of books, and other day-care necessities. Not to mention that we’d all brought our Kid-Kits.

  The place was like a three-ring circus, and Kristy was the ringmaster. It’s amazing how that kind of chaos really brings out the best in her. What may seem like bossiness at other times comes across as excellent leadership. Her big mouth becomes an asset (she was the only one of us who could make herself heard), and her need to organize (which I think she overdoes sometimes) is a lifesaver.

  We had arrived early, at seven-thirty. By eight, kids were already trickling in, and by nine we were at full capacity, and you could no longer hear yourself think. Kids were running around the room screaming. Babies were crying. Blocks were being tossed. Tyler the twelve-year-old was trying to hide away in a corner. Tyler the three-year-old was throwing red paint at his twin brother. And Jackie Rodowsky, the Walking Disaster, was doing his version of a tightrope act, walking across the back of that sofa, holding on to the window drapes for balance.

  That’s when Kristy took charge.

  “Jackie! Get down, please. Now!” She stood with her hands on her hips and waited until he climbed down off the couch, looking sheepish. We BSC members gathered nearby, waiting to hear what would come next. “Okay,” said Kristy, once Jackie was safely down, “what we have to do here is to create some order. First, let’s divide up the kids by age, so each group can be involved in some activity that’s right for their level.” She turned to me. “Claud, why don’t you take the threes and fours” — she gestured toward Jamie, Taylor, Tyler, and Archie — “over by the blocks.”

  She turned to Mary Anne, who was holding a crying Lucy. “It sounds like Lucy may need changing,” she said to Mary Anne. “How about if you take her and Dana over by the changing table? We can make that the baby area.”

  “I’ll help watch Dana while you change Lucy,” Logan volunteered, smiling at Mary Anne.

  “Good.” Kristy nodded. “But when Lucy’s all set, we’ll need you to help with the older kids. I bet some of them would love to play outside for a while.”

  “So would I!” yelled Jackie, who was the only kid listening to our quick organizational meeting.

  “Okay,” Kristy agreed. “How about if Logan and I go outside with anyone who wants to come? Stacey and Mal can stay inside with the rest of the older kids.”

  “Deal,” said Jackie.

  We all laughed. “Deal,” I said, echoing Jackie. Then I ran off to catch Taylor, who was hefting a giant block over his brother’s head.

  Once we’d divided the kids up, the situation became a lot more manageable. The room was quieter after Kristy and Logan took a bunch of kids outside, even though Linny, Morgan, Carolyn, Kerry, and Charlotte quickly became involved in a game of “restaurant.” I couldn’t pay too much attention to their game, because my four young charges kept me busy. Taylor and Tyler soon pulled Archie and Jamie into a wild game I thought of as Construction and Demolition: over and over again, they built the highest buildings they could out of the blocks and then, shrieking with delight, knocked them down. It wasn’t the quietest activity, but it kept them occupied.

  After about an hour, Kristy and Logan came back inside with the other kids, who immediately joined the restaurant game. The kids, Kristy noticed, were pretending to be cooks and waiters and waitresses.

  “I think they feel left out of the baking contest,” Kristy said to Mary Anne, who had put the babies down for naps — Dana in a portacrib and Lucy in her car seat, which her mom had brought in.

  “Too bad there isn’t an actual kitchen in here,” Mary Anne said, nodding toward a counter with a sink, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a coffee-maker, which were all the faculty lounge really needed. “If there was, the kids could do some supervised cooking, and maybe play restaurant for real.”

  “That’s it!” said Kristy.

  “What?” asked Mary Anne, bewildered.

  “What if we let them practice some ‘cooking’ right here. Then, on the last day of the contest, they can open a pretend restaurant? The parents will love it!”

  “But what kind of cooking can they do?” asked Mary Anne.

  “Oh, they can make lots of things,” Kristy said. “Anything that doesn’t need cooking. We can ask the parents to donate some money toward food. It’ll be great! Trust me.”

  Just then, Logan approached Kristy. “I think we have a problem,” he told her in a low voice.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Kyle says there was a calculator sitting on the table before, when everybody first arrived. Now the kids want to use it for their game, and it’s not there anymore. He says he thinks somebody must have taken it.”

  Kristy frowned. “I would hate to think that was true,” she said. “How about if we do a quiet search for it, before we start accusing the kids of stealing?”

  The word went around to all the BSC members, and we started to look for the calculator. I searched my corner, wondering if one of my charges had picked it up, but it was nowhere in sight. Mary Anne checked behind the changing table, but it wasn’t there. Stacey and Kristy hunted through the cupboards and found plenty of nondairy creamer and red pencils (important teacher supplies, I guess), but no calculator.

  Finally, as Kristy told us later, Kyle cornered her while she was alone near the sink and told her that he’d seen Megan take the calculator. “It’s in her backpack,” he said, and when Kristy called Megan to her and asked her to open up her backpack, it turned out that Kyle was right. Kristy was shocked.

  “Don’t tell our mom,” Kyle begged. “She always gets so mad when Megan takes things.”

  Kristy turned to Megan. “I won’t tell this time,” she said. “But I’m putting you on warning. If you’re not on your best behavior, I’m going to have to take action. Understand?”

  Megan nodded and shrugged. She had, Kristy told us later, this strangely blank look on her face.

  “She didn’t deny taking the calculator,” Kristy said wonderingly. “But she didn’t seem to feel or act guilty about doing it, the way most kids would if they were caught. We’ll have to keep our eyes on her.”

  That was why Mary Anne mentioned — reluctantly — Megan’s “sneaky” behavior in her notes. None of us wanted to believe that we had a problem kid in our group. Besides, even
though the scene in the faculty lounge was chaotic, we could tell it was going to be a lot of fun, especially with Jackie Rodowsky providing extra entertainment.

  “Yikes!” Mary Anne said. We were in the midst of trying to tidy up the faculty lounge while the kids, who had eaten the lunches they’d brought, had “quiet time.”

  “What?” I asked. I put down a pile of books.

  “Check out the time,” she answered, sticking out her wrist so I could see her watch. “The adult contest is about to end.”

  “Yikes!” I echoed. “That means the parents will be here soon to pick up their kids. And it’s almost time for us to start baking.” Suddenly, I felt butterflies in my stomach.

  “Claud?” Mary Anne asked in a shaky voice.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Me? Nervous? Ha-ha-ha,” I laughed. “Don’t be silly. This contest is no big deal. We could win it with our eyes closed.” I hoped I sounded confident. If Mary Anne went all nervous on me, I didn’t know what to do. I could control my own butterflies, but if I had to take care of somebody else’s flock, too, I knew I’d be in trouble.

  Mary Anne smiled. “You’re right,” she said in a stronger voice.

  “Ready to go?” I asked her. I grabbed my backpack, pulled out my latest creation, and stuck it on my head. “What do you think?”

  Mary Anne burst out laughing. “It’s great!” she said. “I love it. Will you make me one?”

  I took the hat off and examined it. “It is pretty great, isn’t it?” I said. The day before, my dad had driven me to a restaurant supply store on the outskirts of town, and I’d bought one of those big, white, puffy chef’s hats. Then, back at home, I’d gone to work with my fabric paints. The result? A stunning Kishi creation (if I do say so myself). The hat was covered with baking images. Brightly colored rolling pins, cake pans, mixing bowls, and measuring spoons danced all over it.

  Mary Anne reached into her own backpack, pulled out a frilly white apron, and tied it on. “This was my mother’s,” she said shyly. “I found it in a trunk in the attic. My grandmother once told me that she made it for my mom when she — my mom — was my age.”

  “It looks great,” I said. “And I bet it’ll bring us good luck.”

  “Not that we need it!” said Shea, from behind us. “Our team rules!” We gave each other high-fives.

  “Remember, though,” said Kristy, who had just joined us. “No dirty tricks, or the Cake Cops will be on your case.” She was wearing a red baseball cap with a white “C” on it.

  “Nice hat,” said Shea.

  “I’m not really a Cincinnati Reds fan,” she answered, taking it off and examining it. “But I thought the ‘C’ would be a good symbol for Cake Cop. I’m supposed to be sort of undercover, so act like you don’t know me, okay?”

  “Right,” I said. Then I noticed that parents were coming to pick up their kids, and that Austin had come to meet Logan and Kerry. It was time to head for the kitchens.

  Stacey and Mal, who were staying behind to watch the few kids who would be there through the afternoon, wished us luck. “Remember, it’s just a preliminary round today,” said Mal. She must have noticed that we looked a little nervous.

  When we arrived in the gym, I suddenly became a lot nervous. It seemed like zillions of kids were milling around. There were only ten teams in the junior division, but considering that every team consisted of two or three people, that made for a lot of kids.

  I exchanged glances with Mary Anne, and I had a feeling I looked as scared to her as she did to me. But then I shook off my nerves. “Come on,” I said to her, and to the rest of my friends. “Let’s scope out the situation.”

  We walked around for a few minutes, but then, suddenly, Marty’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “All team members please report to your work areas immediately,” he said. “The Mrs. Goode’s Cookware Battle of the Bakers, junior division, is about to begin with today’s preliminary round.”

  Mary Anne, Shea, and I scrambled to find our workstation. Earlier, when we’d dropped off our baking supplies, we had found out which stove we would be using. But now, in the mad rush, it wasn’t so easy to locate. “Whew,” Mary Anne said, when she saw the two bulging grocery bags we’d set on the counter. “We’d better start unpacking.” She reached into one of the bags.

  I looked around, still trying to check out the other teams. I knew there was no way I’d learn everybody’s name that day. Fortunately, Kristy was in the perfect position to check out the contestants. She even took notes on every team, identifying them by their station numbers, and gave them to me later on. Here’s what she wrote down:

  Mary Anne, Shea, and I were working at station seven, between Logan’s team and the Cute Boy team, across from Julie Liu’s team, and kitty-corner to Grace’s and Mari’s team.

  Since the stations were all pretty close together, and the dividers weren’t high, it wasn’t much of a stretch to see and hear what was happening around us. And what went on during that afternoon was nothing short of total insanity. The hours passed like minutes, from the time Marty said “Ready, bakers? Then … go!” and set the timer, to the time a bell went off and we had to stop baking.

  The end result for my team? The beautiful cake I’d planned came out of the oven looking flatter than a pancake. But you know what? It wasn’t my fault. Neither was the burnt-to-a-crisp cake that Logan’s team came up with. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but when we looked at the evidence later, it was all too clear. There were dirty doings at the Battle of the Bakers.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. I should explain what happened, and try to give you an idea of what the atmosphere in that gym was like for those crazy hours that Saturday afternoon.

  “How’s it going, Team Seven?”

  That was Marty, stopping by to check up on us, soon after we’d gotten started. I smiled at him. “We’re just fine,” I said. I was proud of how neat our station looked. My banana-walnut fudge ripple cake called for a lot of ingredients, but Mary Anne, Shea, and I had lined them all up carefully. We were organized, unlike Grace and Mari. I couldn’t help noticing that Mari seemed to be tossing ingredients around rather carelessly. I had to wonder how she could possibly live up to Cokie’s bragging.

  Logan’s team, on the other hand, seemed to be taking things very, very seriously. Like us, they had lined up their ingredients carefully, but I also noticed Logan making marks on some kind of checklist as they began to bake. Now that seemed a little too organized!

  “One of those boys on Team Four says he knows you,” Marty said, gesturing toward Bill Korman.

  “Oh, sure,” I said. “We know most of the Stoneybrook contestants.”

  “Team Six asked me to introduce you later on, when you have time,” Marty mentioned, with a grin. I blushed. Team Six was the Cute Boy team. Just then, someone called to Marty and he looked around. “Be right there, Julie,” he answered. “She needs a hand figuring out that stove, I think,” he told us. Then he was off, and we went back to work.

  It wasn’t easy, baking in those little cubicles. Especially since there were no sinks. People were constantly running back and forth to sinks in the locker room, carrying dirty bowls and spoons or measuring cups full of water that they needed for their recipes. Now, I don’t remember this happening, but at one point, I guess Mary Anne, Shea, and I all must have been away from our station, on the way to or from the locker room, at the same time. Same with Logan’s team.

  How do I know? Because at one point during that afternoon, somebody substituted flour for our baking soda. I didn’t find out until after I’d used the “baking soda,” which is why our cake fell flat. By the time I figured it out, all I could find on the baking soda box was one smudged, floury fingerprint. And somebody changed the settings on Logan’s team’s oven, turning it up high and changing the baking time from twenty-five to forty-five minutes. They didn’t leave any fingerprints at all at his station.

  Somebody who? Wel
l, let’s put it this way. Grace and Mari, whose station was near ours, had no trouble at all. In fact, their sticky buns won that day’s prize. Hmmm.

  I’m not saying that they were the guilty party. But it was awfully easy to imagine Cokie putting them up to no good. Still, some other strange things went on that afternoon. For example, Stacey told me later that Jackie Rodowsky, who had stayed at the day-care center during the afternoon session, disappeared for a while and came back with flour all over his shirt. But we knew he wouldn’t sabotage our contest entries. Would he?

  And Kristy told us she’d had to help Marty escort more than one parent out of the contest area. Jennifer “Precious” Downey’s mom had been hovering around her station. And Rachel Kleinman’s dad kept popping up throughout the afternoon.

  Who had done the dirty work? So far, it was hard to tell. But one thing was clear: somebody obviously cared a little too much about winning that contest. And I sure hoped I could find out who — before the culprit ruined my chances.

  “Okay, Shea,” I said. “I’m ready for that teaspoon of vanilla.” As Shea measured out what I needed, I glanced up and caught Grace glaring at me across the dividers. I stared back at her.

  “I didn’t do it,” I called. “I swear, I didn’t do it.”

  She just gave me this look that said “yeah, sure,” and went back to her baking.

  It was Sunday, the second day of the Battle of the Bakers. And Team Seven was running behind. We were working on a new recipe I’d come up with, for a seven-layer mocha-strawberry cake (Mary Anne still hadn’t found her mother’s recipe), and I was becoming very worried about whether we’d finish on time. The cake should already have been in the oven, so I could be blending exactly the right colors for the icing, which was going to be dusty-rose with lilac contrasts. The cake would be gorgeous — if we ever finished it.