The Case of the Missing Deed (7 page)

The doorbell tinkled. Sébastien heard some people exchange greetings with Muriel. He peeked. It was Rachel and Chad.

“How’s it going, you guys?” Muriel said.

Chad sighed. “Not so good, Muriel. We can’t get anywhere with our business idea.”

“Oh?” Muriel said in that tone that islanders used when they didn’t want to pry but were dying with curiosity.

Sébastien was curious too. Rachel and Chad had been living full-time on the island for less than a year. Before that they’d commuted back and forth from their jobs on the mainland. All Sébastien knew about them was that they were into birds. One time when he and Grandpa had run in to them on a hike, they’d gotten into a discussion with Grandpa that lasted half an hour about Pileated Woodpeckers. So what
was this about a business? Did it have something to do with the mine?

He sidled closer.

“Well, you know we want to start a business offering bird-watching tours, right?” Rachel said.

Muriel nodded. “Sounds like a great fit for the island.”

“But there’s so much red tape, we don’t know if we’ll ever get the permit!”

“And if we don’t find some way to make a living here, we’re going to have to move back,” Chad added in a grim voice.

“We need money,” Rachel said. “It’s tempting to think of selling our property to Tantalus.”

“You wouldn’t!” Muriel said.

“No,” Chad assured her. “Only as a last resort. But the money sure would come in handy.”

Rachel leaned closer to the cash register. “Our neighbors – you know the Wongs, Janet and Ray? – they’re thinking about selling. They figure it’ll be so awful to have the mining road go around their place, they might as well sell and get something out of it.”

Sébastien felt a chill. As one property owner after another sold out, that made it worse for Grandma.

Muriel’s knitting needles clacked furiously. “Divide and conquer. That’s what they’re trying to do,” she said, jerking a twisted strand of blue, yellow, and red yarn from her knitting bag.

The cousins came back to the counter with their purchases – Alex had talked Claire into getting only two candy bars – and they paid.

“Good luck,” Muriel called after them as they left.

They retrieved their bikes. As Sébastien started pedaling toward home, he saw that Shane and Geneviève were riding double on her bike. Sébastien wheeled around.

“What’s going on, Gen?” he said.

“I’m coming too. I want to help,” Shane said.

“Isn’t that awesome?” Geneviève said, her cheeks pink.

“Gen!” Sébastien rode alongside his sister. “You can’t just–”

“Shut
up
, Seb,” she hissed.

“Hey, if you don’t want me there–” Shane began.

“Ignore him,” Geneviève said, giving her brother a dirty look. If Sébastien ruined things with Shane, she’d … she’d strangle him. The bike went over a bump, and she rose into the air, landing hard on Shane’s lap. “Oops!” she said with a giggle. Shane laughed too.

Furious, Sébastien rode ahead. When he told the others what was happening, they didn’t look too happy either, but no one offered to ride back and tell Shane he couldn’t come. They were stuck with him.

Geneviève got Sébastien, Claire, Alex, and Olivia to make the toast, while she and Shane fried the eggs. From the other end of the kitchen, Sébastien heard giggling and whispering and saw their two heads, one brown and the other blond, bent together over the stove. Angrily, he cut the toast into strips, slamming his knife into the cutting board. For Grandma’s sake, he’d keep his mouth shut.

Geneviève slid a couple of glistening eggs onto a plate and arranged the toast around them in a circle. Olivia made Grandma a cup of tea, with one spoonful of sugar and a drop
of milk, just the way she liked it. Alex picked a daisy and placed it on the napkin.

They all stood and regarded the tray.

“Beautiful,” Shane said. “She’ll love it.”

As if you’d know
, thought Sébastien.

They took the tray upstairs and knocked on Grandma’s door. She was still in bed, and her face looked even paler than before.

“Grandma,” Geneviève said brightly, “this is my friend, Shane.”

Shane came around the side of the bed and shook Grandma’s hand. “I sure hope you’ll feel better soon, Mrs. Honeyman.” Sébastien made a gagging motion behind his back. Olivia giggled.

“Look, Grandma, we made you breakfast,” Alex said in a cheery voice. He placed the tray on her lap.

“See, Grandma?” Olivia said. “It’s
Painterman Eggs
. Remember when we named them? I know you love them.”

Grandma looked at the tray and then at the children. “That’s so thoughtful of you” She sounded on the verge of tears. “But I’m just not hungry.”

“But Grandma, you’ve got to eat,” Claire said. “Please.”

Grandma hesitated. She took a piece of toast, broke the yolk, and dipped the toast in. She ate a bite.

“Is it good, Grandma?” Olivia asked.

Grandma nodded. She took another bite, then put the toast down. “That’s enough.”

“But–” Sébastien began.

“Really, it was delicious,” she said, “but I just can’t eat any more.”

Both eggs and all but one little strip of toast were still on the plate.

Grandma slid down in the bed and closed her eyes.

They returned to the kitchen and dished out the remaining eggs and toast. But not even Olivia felt like painting any golden designs on her plate.

o one said it out loud. There was no discussion. But after that, everyone gave up. They couldn’t find the deed, they couldn’t cheer Grandma up, so what was the point? Alex and Claire went fishing, Geneviève disappeared somewhere, presumably to meet Shane, Olivia went up to Hugh’s Perch with her paints, and Eve and Charlie explored the island. That left Sébastien. He curled up with one of Grandpa’s secret code books and spent an enjoyable afternoon trying to decipher scrambled messages. When he got stumped and was tempted to look up the answers, he heard Grandpa’s voice in his head:
No peeking!
With a rueful smile, he resisted – and managed to solve five out of seven codes. But he missed Grandpa more than ever.

That evening, after a delicious dinner of fresh trout, caught by Alex and Claire, and a salad, picked from Grandma’s garden – another dinner that Grandma didn’t come down for – Claire said, “What’s for dessert?”

Eve shrugged. “There’re some peaches.”

Claire rolled her eyes.
“Mo-om
. I mean
dessert.”

“Did you finish those ca–” Alex began, until Claire kicked him under the table. Eve was strict with the amount of sugar
she allowed her children, and she didn’t need to know about those two candy bars.

“We need something sweet,” Claire said. Then, before her mother could object, she said, “Hey! That’s the trouble with Grandma.”

“What is?” Olivia said.

“We haven’t made her any dessert. I bet if we did, she’d eat it up. And she’d feel better.”

“Nice try, Claire,” Geneviève teased.

“No, really, I bet something sweet would pick Grandma right up.”

“And send her through the roof with a sugar rush,” Eve said.

“Come on, Mom,” Claire said. When Eve refused to agree, Claire slid her chair close to Charlie’s and leaned, puppy-like, against his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like a nice little something with your coffee, Charlie?”

“Well, now that you mention it …”

“See, Mom?” Claire said.

Eve shook her head. “It’s too hot to start baking.”

Claire knew she had her. When her mom started bringing in the feeble, second-line excuses, the game was over.

“We don’t have to bake. I know just the thing,” she said.

“What?”

“Emergency Fudge,”
Claire said triumphantly.

“Claire, that’s solid sugar!” her mother objected.

“But it’s quick. And you don’t have to bake it. And Grandma loves it.”
And it just happens to be my favorite thing in the world
, she added mentally.

“You’ve got to promise to have just one little piece,”
Eve said. “I don’t want to be peeling you off the ceiling all night.”

“Yay!”

Emergency Fudge

A strong beacon in an emergency

Ingredients:

1/4 cup butter

1/4 cup water

3 cups icing sugar

1/2 cup instant nonfat dry milk

1/2 cup cocoa powder

pinch salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

Optional: 1/2 cup pecans, chopped

Instructions:

1. Butter a 9″×5″ loaf pan. Set aside.

2. In a medium-sized saucepan, melt the butter and water.

3. In a bowl, mix the icing sugar, milk powder, cocoa, and salt. Add half of the butter mixture to the dry ingredients and mix well, then slowly add the second half, beating constantly with a wooden spoon.

4. Add the vanilla, and the pecans if desired.

5. Pour the mixture into the prepared pan. Cover and refrigerate until firm, about 30 minutes. Remove from fridge and cut into squares.

Although Geneviève was disappointed that they had all the ingredients on hand, everyone else was delighted. The fudge went together quickly, and in five minutes they were turning the mixture into the pan.

They all gazed at the shiny brown slab as Claire lifted a knife.

“Wait,” Geneviève said. “We’re supposed to refrigerate it for thirty minutes.”

“But this is an emergency!” Claire said. “See?” She pointed to the caption under the title. “That’s why it’s called
Emergency Fudge
. It’s for when you need a sugar fix and you can’t wait.”

“It is not,” Geneviève said, playfully smacking her sister on the head. “It’s from the olden days. For when you had unexpected company and you needed to whip something up in a hurry. Grandma told me.”

“That’s not Grandma’s writing, it’s Grandpa’s,” Sébastien said. “Why does he keep scribbling these things on Grandma’s recipes?”

“Who cares?” Claire said. “Let’s dig in.”

“It’ll be crumbly,” Gen warned.

“I love crumbly!” Claire cried.

Everyone laughed, and Geneviève gave in with a shrug. Claire cut the fudge into squares, and they each took one. Geneviève was right. The fudge crumbled to pieces in Claire’s hands, but somehow scooping up all the little bits with her tongue only made them seem more delicious.

“Look at you,” Alex said, laughing at Claire’s chocolate-smeared mouth.

Claire didn’t care. She refused to wash her hands until she had licked every last smidge of chocolate off them.

“Whew!” Olivia said, downing a glass of water. “That stuff
is
sweet.”

“I know,” Claire said, looking longingly at the remaining fudge.

“Hey,” Sébastien said, “I thought this was for Grandma.”

“Oh, yeah,” Claire said. “I mean, of course it is.”

But once again, Grandma wasn’t interested. She appreciated all the children’s efforts, she said, but she just wasn’t hungry. They weren’t to worry, she wasn’t starving, she told them, pointing to an empty teacup and a mostly eaten piece of toast. She just had no appetite for more than that. Too many worries.

They trooped downstairs. While Claire nibbled away at the fudge, Sébastien stared at the words scrawled on the recipe card. The note wasn’t just an idle thought, he was sure of it. It had to mean something. But what?