A Recipe for Robbery Read Online Free Page B

look, Lindeeee. Gus is sitting next to Margaret. Aren’t you jealous?”
    A shower of giggle spit sprayed my neck.
    What I wanted to do was grab Angel’s nose and twist it into macaroni. But my parents were too close by; they’d see the fight for sure. So I snatched the locket before Angel saw it and stuffed it in my pocket. I watched her from the corner of my eye. She and her friends were doubled over, laughing their heads off and pointing at my supposed boyfriend. Margaret glared across the table at them. Not Gus, though. He sat stiff in his chair, staring straight ahead without even blinking. Nothing moved except his jaw; it kind of twitched. His brown cowlick stuck straight up, like he’d just been electrocuted.
    I knew I should say something. But what? If I stood up for Gus, it might look like he really wasmy boyfriend. So I got up, accidentally ramming my chair into the Princess, and went after another pink lemonade. I bought Gus one, too.
    Luckily, Angel and her friends were gone when I got back. Unluckily, the Cucumber and the Carrot, followed by the Goose, were making a beeline for our table. My stomach went all woozy again, and this time it wasn’t because of the secret in my pocket.
    Sure enough, Mom took one look at my full plate and said, “Lindy, haven’t you tried Mrs. Unger’s dish yet?”
    â€œUh…”
    The expression on Mom’s face said, “Young lady, you’d better display the good manners I’ve crammed down your throat for the last eleven years, or else.” What came out of her mouth was a cheerful “Go ahead and try a bite, dear. Mrs. Unger wants some feedback on whether she should revise her recipe.”
    Granny Goose stood by my side, watching…waiting…grinning.

Chapter 6
The French Connection
    I couldn’t stall any longer, because Mom’s smile was getting thinner by the second. My chances of going to camp would get even worse if I made a scene. I jabbed a tiny piece of cucumber and ever so slowly guided it into my mouth. I gave it three good chews.
    Oh, grossness.
    I fought back a gag as the mushroom-flavored sludge coated my tongue. When I tried to swallow, it clung to the back of my throat like one of those sticky snot balls you get with a bad cold.
    Granny Goose wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Okay, honey. What’s the verdict?”
    â€œUm…eh…” I didn’t dare tell her the truth; I’d never be allowed out in public again. “It’s very unusual-tasting and…um…yes. It’s perfect for the cook-off contest.” I washed down my lie with two huge swigs of lemonade.
    Granny Goose hooted. “God love you, Ann,” she said to my mom, who of course was beaming by now. “What a doll of a daughter you’ve raised here. I’ll tell you what. Now that I’ve got the green light from both of you and the Tarts, I’m good to go. I’m not so sure I need Chef François’ sauce-making class after all.”
    Mom looked surprised. “Sauce-making class? I didn’t realize you were considering—”
    â€œ Bonjour! Bonjour , my wonderful Tarts.” A dark-haired man in a chef’s hat and an apron flapped his arms at us from the courthouse steps. He blew a kiss our way, then shot across the lawn as if the seat of his pants was on fire. When he got to our table, he swept around me, Margaret, and Gus and went straight for Granny Goose. He stopped in front of her, grinning likea fox, twirling the tips of his sleek black mustache.
    â€œ Madame ,” the chef said, taking Granny Goose’s hand. He puckered his lips and planted a noisy kiss on her knuckles, then turned to my mom and did the exact same thing. I wanted to barf on the spot, but Mom smiled politely at him, and Granny Goose giggled like a little kid.
    â€œAha!” François said. “The Carrot and the Cucumber—my two favorite Tarts, to be sure. You