Claudia and the Recipe for Danger Page 8

  Dawn and the others had vowed to keep a watchful eye on Megan. And at first, that was easy. Since Megan was a waitress, she spent most of her time shuttling back and forth between the dining area and the kitchen. But after a while, Dawn found that she kept losing track of her. There were just too many kids running around, and too much was going on. Megan and Kyle’s mom had already stopped in for a peanut butter sandwich and a cup of Kool-Aid, but now she was back in the gym, watching the under-sixteen finals. Dawn had thought of talking to her about Megan, but had decided that the noisy restaurant didn’t seem like the best place for a confidential chat.

  Dawn told me she was busy helping Hannie deliver a tray filled with cups of lemonade when she first heard water spilling. “The sound was unmistakable,” she said, “I could hear it clearly, even over the noise in that room.” She glanced around to see where it had come from, and saw nothing suspicious. She finished the delivery, then decided to find out what the problem was.

  “Oh, no!” she said, when she spotted the overflowing sink. She ran to it and turned off the tap, which had been left on. “Didn’t you guys hear that?” she asked as she started to swab up the spilled water with a nearby dishtowel. The young chefs looked up and shook their heads. They were so absorbed in their jobs that they wouldn’t have heard a helicopter fly through. “Where’s Stacey?” Dawn asked next.

  “She’s helping Jackie bring out some bug salads,” Charlotte answered. “He had a big platter of them all made up.”

  “Where’s Jessi?” Dawn asked. Everybody shrugged. Dawn gave an exasperated sigh and went back to mopping up. Then she felt someone tap her on the shoulder, and she turned to see Kyle standing behind her.

  “What is it, Kyle?” she asked, a little impatiently. She had pulled out the rubber stopper that had been stuck in the drain, but water was still slopping all over the place.

  “Megan did it,” he said.

  “Megan did what?” Dawn asked.

  “Stopped up the sink and left the water running.” Kyle was looking down at the ground and rubbing the toe of one foot into the floor.

  Dawn frowned, shook back her hair, pushed up her sleeves, and went on mopping up. “Megan and I are going to have a little talk, as soon as I finish up here,” she said firmly.

  Just then, Jessi appeared with — guess who? — Megan in tow. “What’s up?” she asked Dawn.

  “We’re having a little problem here,” Dawn answered. She gave Megan a Look, the kind of look your mother gives you when she knows you’ve done something wrong.

  “Did the plumbing back up while Megan and I were out?” asked Jessi.

  “No, the plumbing didn’t back up,” Dawn began. “Somebody left the faucet on and plugged —” she stopped short. “Wait, did you say that you and Megan have been out?” she asked Jessi.

  Jessi nodded. “For about half an hour. The kitchen ran out of peanut butter, and Megan said she needed a break from waitressing, so we went out to round up some more.”

  Dawn glanced at Kyle. He looked back at her defiantly. “She left it on a long time ago,” he said.

  Dawn turned to Megan. “Kyle told me that you were the person who left the water running. Is that true?” Suddenly, Dawn wasn’t so sure Megan was the culprit. Could the water really have been running for half an hour before she heard it?

  Megan shot a look at Kyle. Then she faced Dawn again. “I did it,” she said quietly.

  “Megan!” said Jessi. “How could you have —?”

  “I said I did it,” Megan interrupted her. She glared at Kyle again, then stomped off. Kyle headed off in another direction.

  Jessi and Dawn exchanged looks. “Something weird is going on here,” said Jessi. “I can’t figure Megan out.”

  “I know,” said Dawn. “Maybe I’ll go talk to her and see if I can find out what’s wrong.” She gave one last swipe to the counter, and headed off after Megan. She found her sitting quietly by herself, away from the chaos of the restaurant. “Megan,” Dawn began, putting her hand gently on Megan’s shoulder, “can you tell me what’s bothering you?” Megan shook her head without saying anything. But Dawn felt her take a long, shaky breath. “You didn’t leave that sink stopped up, did you?” asked Dawn.

  That did it. Megan burst into tears, and Dawn pulled her into a hug. “Okay,” she kept saying. “It’s okay.”

  Finally, Megan was able to speak. “I didn’t do it,” she said. “Kyle did. And he did all those other things, too. Then he covered up by saying I did them, and acting all cute and bubbly. He’s been doing it ever since our dad left.” She sniffed.

  “But why did you let him say it was you?” Dawn asked.

  “I was afraid that if I didn’t, he’d get in trouble, and then maybe he’d try to run away again. He did that once already.”

  Dawn sighed. She felt somebody standing next to her. She turned to see Kyle, who looked nearly as teary as Megan. “I heard what she told you,” said Kyle. “And it’s true. I did do those things. I’m really, really bad.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” said Dawn, opening her arms so she could hug him and Megan. “You’re a good person who’s having a bad time. I know how that is, since my parents are divorced. My brother had a real hard time with it, and now he lives with my dad in California. I miss them both so much! Anyway, maybe if I help you two talk to your mom about it, you’ll feel a little better. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Kyle. His voice was muffled, since his face was hidden in Dawn’s shoulder.

  “Okay,” said Megan, with a sniffle.

  And for the rest of the day, they seemed to be able to put their troubles behind them and have a great time helping out with Kidz Kitchen. At one point, Kyle spilled a glass of Kool-Aid, and Dawn noticed how quickly he apologized and helped to clean it up. He didn’t even try to blame Megan. Maybe things would be better for them now that everything was out in the open.

  “What’s going on here, Miss” — the judge consulted her clipboard — “Kishi?”

  “You’ll understand in a couple of minutes, I promise!” I gave her a pleading look. The judge was standing next to me in Grace and Mari’s station, and she was looking more than a little annoyed. She was a short, plump, blonde woman, the owner of a fancy bakery in Stamford. Her name, according to the name tag she wore, was Anna Salerno.

  “But —”

  “Shhh!” I said, putting my finger to my lips. “This is about the sabotage!” I couldn’t believe the way I was talking to the judge, but I was not going to let her blow my plan. And if she didn’t quiet down, that’s exactly what she was going to do. She gave me a startled look when I shushed her, but at least she did stop trying to ask questions.

  I checked my watch. Any second now, Marty and Mr. Kleinman should be returning to the gym. We figured it would take them five minutes to go to where we’d sent them, two minutes to figure out that they weren’t really needed there, and five more minutes to come back. So far, they’d been gone for eleven minutes. My nerves were jangling, now that the moment of truth had almost arrived.

  I heaved a big sigh, blowing air up into my bangs, and I crossed two sets of fingers on each hand. (I would have crossed my toes, too, but there was no room in the pointy-toed cowboy boots I was wearing that day.) Under my breath, I started to count: “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six — oh, my lord!”

  Marty and Mr. Kleinman had just walked into the gym, a few seconds ahead of schedule. They both looked confused, and Mr. Kleinman looked a little angry, as if he knew we’d pulled a trick on him. I froze when I saw them. What was supposed to happen next? Suddenly, I wasn’t sure. It was my own plan, and I couldn’t even remember the next step! I started to panic, though I managed to hide that from Ms. Salerno. I think Grace and Mari could tell something was wrong, but there was nothing they could do except stand there with me and watch.

  Fortunately, Mary Anne and Shea remembered the next part of the plan. They were still standing in our workstation, and they swung into action almost immediately after they’d
spotted Mr. Kleinman’s and Marty’s return to the gym.

  “I think we need some water, Mary Anne,” Shea said loudly. “How about if I go get some in the locker room?”

  All right, Shea! I thought he sounded perfect. You’d never have known that he was reciting a line I’d written for him.

  “Fine, Shea,” answered Mary Anne, also in a loud voice. “And maybe I’ll step outside while you’re gone. Now that I’ve put our cake into the oven, I sure could use some fresh air.”

  “Yes!” I whispered. Mary Anne had delivered her lines perfectly, too. I knew that everybody in the gym must have heard both her and Shea’s speeches. To anyone who was listening, it would seem obvious that our whole team would soon be missing from our workstation.

  After a second or two, Shea and Mary Anne left the gym. I watched them walk away, and then spun around to face Ms. Salerno. “Turn around,” I hissed to her.

  She raised her eyebrows, but did as I’d ordered. I turned, too. Now we were both facing away from my team’s workstation.

  “I don’t understand —” she began, but before she could finish I put my hand on her arm to get her attention. Then I pointed to a spot just above our heads. There, where I’d propped it up early that morning, was the hand mirror I usually keep on my dressing table at home. It was perched on the partition wall, and it was aimed directly at my workstation.

  “Ohhh!” said Ms. Salerno softly. Then she nodded, and I knew she understood.

  With the help of that mirror, we would be able to see whatever happened at my workstation — without anyone knowing we were watching.

  Within a few seconds, I would know if my plan had worked. Would the rat take the bait? And which rat would it be? I held my breath and waited. I had the feeling that Ms. Salerno was holding her breath, too.

  But nothing happened. Our workstation was empty, and it stayed that way.

  After a couple of minutes Ms. Salerno turned to me. “I’m going to have to move on,” she said.

  “Oh, no!” I whispered. “Please wait. Please?” I must have sounded like a three-year-old begging for a cookie, but I didn’t care. I still thought something might happen, if we watched for a little while longer.

  Ms. Salerno shook her head. “My judging duties —” she began.

  “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

  That was Mari. She was whispering those “ohs,” and kind of hopping up and down while she pointed up at the mirror. I followed her gaze.

  “Whoa!” Grace said, under her breath.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Ms. Salerno said, under hers.

  “Oh, my lord,” I whispered. We were all looking at the same thing. It was the top of a person’s head, reflected in the mirror. The person was bending over the counter in our workstation, which is why we were seeing only that black, wavy hair. Marty. It was him, I was sure of it. And right away I was sorry. I liked Marty. I didn’t want him to be the one responsible for the sabotage.

  “He just walked in there, all casual,” Mari whispered. “Maybe he’s checking something out.” I could tell she liked him, too.

  As the four of us watched in the mirror, Marty prowled around what we could see of the workstation as if he were looking for something. Then he glanced over his shoulder, leaned across the counter, and adjusted the controls on the oven.

  I gasped.

  Marty may have heard me gasp. I’ll never know. But something made him straighten up quickly. And when he did, he looked down at himself and realized that his hands, his shirt, his pants, and even his shoes were covered with a fine white dusting of flour. Marty had been caught “white-handed.” You should have seen the look on his face.

  I started to tell Ms. Salerno to follow me, but she was already on her way to our workstation. Marty just stood there, as if he knew he were trapped.

  Within what seemed like seconds, a crowd gathered around our workstation. Mary Anne and Shea had reappeared, and I saw Kristy walking toward us. Most of the other judges wanted to see what was going on, and so did many of the contestants.

  While an angry Ms. Salerno grilled Marty (I overheard her saying something about his betraying “Mrs. Goode’s good name”), I craned my neck to see what Julie was doing. She was still in her workstation, but she looked as if she were about to bolt. I went over to her and asked her, very politely, to join us. She came without resisting.

  “I think Julie may know something about what’s going on,” I said as I pushed her toward Ms. Salerno.

  “She’s innocent,” Marty cried. “It was all my idea! Sure, I wanted her to win. She’s my girlfriend, and she’s the best baker around. Plus, if she won, maybe her parents would get off her back and let her spend more time with me.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Maybe it was all your idea, in the beginning. But Julie isn’t exactly innocent. For one thing, she shouldn’t even be in this division of the contest.”

  “What are you saying?” asked a judge.

  “I’m saying,” I said dramatically, “that she isn’t under sixteen!”

  Everybody gasped. (That was cool.)

  “How do you know?” Mary Anne asked me. She looked as surprised as anyone else. That was because I hadn’t told any of my BSC friends what I’d figured out. The main reason I hadn’t told them was because it was only a hunch. I wasn’t positive. But I had decided to go ahead and act on my hunch.

  I folded my arms and turned toward Julie. “Because she was driving this morning,” I said. “I saw her put the car keys into her bag before she and Marty kissed good-bye.” My heart was beating fast. Was my hunch right?

  Julie’s face crumpled. “It’s true,” she said. “It’s all true.”

  For a half second I felt as if I were sitting on top of the world. That didn’t last, though. How could I feel good when Marty and Julie were in trouble? Neither of them was really a bad person. Marty had done what he had done for love, and Julie went along with it because she felt pressure from her parents. I could relate to that. I gave Julie a sympathetic look. Marty put his arm around her.

  “Don’t cry,” he told her quietly. “It’ll be okay.” Then he turned to the rest of us. “All I can say is that I’m really, really sorry. What I did was wrong, and even dangerous. I didn’t mean to start a fire.” He glanced at Grace and Mari.

  Mr. Kleinman stepped forward. “I have a suggestion,” he said, turning to face the crowd. “What if we try to make the best of things, and go on with the contest?” He gave the air a sniff. “I smell a lot of delicious things baking, and I bet the judges are looking forward to tasting them.” He smiled, and I saw several of the judges smile back at him.

  Then Ms. Salerno spoke up. “I think Mr. Kleinman has the right idea,” she said. “Do the other judges concur?” She looked around, and they nodded. “Good. Then I suggest that the teams go back to their workstations — Claudia, your team will have a little cleaning to do — and finish their entries!”

  And that’s exactly what we did. Our cake came out of Grace’s and Mari’s oven just a few minutes later, and by the time Mary Anne brought it back to our workstation, Shea and I had cleaned up most of the flour. When the layers had cooled we filled and iced the cake, and by the time it was done I felt terrific. Not only had we caught the culprit who had been out to ruin the contest, but we had made one great-looking (and, hopefully, great-tasting) cake, too.

  The rest of the afternoon flew by. When all the entries were finished (everyone had been given a little extra time), the judges walked around the gym looking at and tasting them, one by one. Then they went off to a corner to confer, while we contestants waited anxiously.

  Finally, Ms. Salerno walked to the platform that had been set up in the middle of the gym. She tapped on the microphone to find out if it was on. Then she leaned forward and spoke into it. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” she said. We had been chattering nervously, but suddenly the gym was silent. “I have here in my hand,” she held up a piece of paper, “the results of the Mrs. Goode’s Cookware Battle of the Bakers, junio
r division.”

  Mary Anne reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m so nervous,” she said.

  I smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze. “Me, too,” I replied. “But we did the best we could. And at least we know that whoever wins today won fair and square, right?”

  “Right!” said Shea. He was holding Mary Anne’s other hand.

  “Good luck!” Grace called. She and Mari were standing nearby.

  “Good luck to you, too!” I called back. And I meant it.

  Ms. Salerno was going on about how the judges had come to their decision. It was as if she wanted to draw out the tension as long as she could. “Come on!” I said, under my breath. Mary Anne caught my eye and grinned.

  “… and finally,” Ms. Salerno said, “I want to say two things. First of all, this was one of the closest contests I have ever judged. You are excellent bakers! And secondly, I’d like to thank you for dealing in such a mature fashion with the problems we encountered along the way.” She glanced in my direction. “This will be one Battle of the Bakers I’ll never forget!”

  I smiled at her, but under my breath I was still saying “Come on! Come on!” For the moment, I wanted to forget about the mystery. All I wanted to hear was who had won the contest.

  “And now,” said Ms. Salerno, taking a deep breath, “the moment you’ve been waiting for.”

  “All right!” I whispered. “Finally.”

  She unfolded the piece of paper so slowly I could hardly stand it. I felt this crazy urge to run to her and grab it out of her hands. But then, finally, she began to read from it. “It is my great pleasure to announce —” She paused dramatically, and I held my breath. In a second, I’d know who had won the contest. “— the second runner-up in the Mrs. Goode’s Cookware Battle of the Bakers!” Ms. Salerno finished.

  I let out my breath. Would my team be named one of the runners-up? And how would I feel if we were? On the one hand, winning second or third place would be terrific. On the other hand, to be honest with myself, I would have to admit that first place would be even better.