A Recipe for Robbery by Marybeth Kelsey

lot.
    We were talking about how unpredictableFrançois seemed—mad as a hatter one minute, all kissy-kissy the next—when Margaret pointed to a shiny red convertible in the parking lot. The license tag said “#1 François.” “That’s his car. Gus and I saw it out here yesterday.”
    I ambled over to the car. The convertible top was down. Books and papers were strewn across the seats.
    â€œWhat’re you doing?” Margaret said as I leaned over the side and into the backseat. “Be careful. What if he comes outside?”
    â€œHe’s got a bunch of stuff in here. We might find some evidence.”
    Margaret checked over her shoulder, then inched toward the car. “You can’t go through his stuff. That’s against the law.”
    â€œWell, it’s way more against the law to steal heirlooms and frame an innocent person,” I said. “And that’s exactly what François is guilty of. I even heard him talking about the Pitaya, remember?”
    I picked up a stack of papers, causing her to throw her hands over her mouth and squeak like a mouse. A small black notebook fell onto the seat. Etched in silver on the cover, it said “Daily Planner of François Pouppière.”

Chapter 21
Parlez-vous français?
    M y hands shook as I opened the planner. I thumbed through it quickly, flipping all the way to June.
    â€œWhat does it say?” Margaret scooted closer to me, peering over my shoulder.
    â€œI don’t know. It’s in French.”
    We stood next to François’ car, scouring every day of June, looking for English words. Margaret pointed to “Grimstone” and “Unger,” and I thought that’s all we had, until I saw “Pitayas” under Tuesday, June 14. “Look,” I said, pointing it out.
    â€œOhmigosh. It’s the eggs! He means the eggs.”
    â€œWe’ve got to keep this.” I slipped it into my pocket.
    Margaret stared at me, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”
    â€œOf course I am. It’s no worse than hiding the locket, is it? It’s only a little notebook. It might lead us to the heirlooms.”
    â€œBut we can’t read French.”
    â€œThere’s a program on the Web we can use. All we have to do is type in the French words and it translates them.”
    â€œWhat about Gus?” Margaret said.
    â€œWhat about him?” I felt my neck growing warm.
    â€œHe can translate the French a lot faster than we can. Besides, we have to tell him what happened. You can’t leave him out, Lindy. That’s not fair.”
    She was right, of course. I knew Gus was fluent in French because he’d bragged about it hundreds of times at school. Except now I had one gigantic problem. Gus wasn’t speaking to me, and I doubted that he still wanted to be our partner.
    Before we left the parking lot, I decided to get one last look in François’ car. I leaned way over the door and was shuffling through more papers on the floor when Margaret whispered, “ Psst! Here comes Cricket out the back of Shear Magic.”
    I sprang straight up, just in time to see her cross the alley.
    â€œOh, uh, hi,” I said, brushing off my legs.
    Cricket stopped. She popped a SureFresh mint in her mouth, staring at me the whole time. “Hey, what’s up? You two looking for something?”
    The perky smile on her face seemed more curious than anything. But the tilt of her head, the glint in her eye…that’s what Gus would call body language, for sure. And what Cricket’s body language said to me was, “Watch out, Lindy Phillips. I know you just swiped something from François’ car, and you’re headed for trouble, because I’m going to tell your mom what you’re up to the first chance I get.”
    â€œYes, as a matter of fact, we are looking for something,” Margaret said. She picked up a handful of fliers from the