The Case of the Missing Deed (6 page)

Geneviève straightened up and glanced at the person.

It was the guy from the open house. And he was even hotter up close than he was across the room.

She examined him out of the corner of her eye. As she’d thought, he was about her age, maybe a little older, with sun-bleached hair waving down his neck, brown eyes, a small gold earring, skater shorts and worn-out T, and a woven friendship bracelet.

He reached up to the top shelf for a jar of peanut butter. Geneviève put the walnuts in her basket.

He smiled – two dimples, one big and one small, gorgeously lopsided. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She stood there stupidly.
Move
, she told herself.

He leaned an arm on the shelf. “You live here?”

“Uh … no, just visiting. My grandma. I come every summer.”
Shut up!

“I’m just visiting too. Surfing.”

A golden surfer god.
Whoa
.

“I’m Shane.”

“Geneviève.”

“Cool. So, where do you stay?”

Before she knew it, Geneviève had told him about her grandma, Lily Honeyman, and the cottage and the mine and the missing deed and how she and her sister and brother and cousins were going to try to cheer up their grandmother.

Shane’s brown eyes glowed with warmth. “It’s awesome that you’re doing that for her.”

By this time, the others had come to see what was taking Geneviève so long.

“Gen,” Sébastien said under his breath, “that’s private.”

Geneviève flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Ignore my annoying little brother.”

Shane smiled. “No worries.”

He and Geneviève exchanged cell phone numbers. “See you ’round.” With a flash of dimples, he was gone.

Geneviève floated out of the general store.

“All right, everybody, listen up,” Geneviève said, scanning the recipe. They were back in the kitchen. “Alex, you can measure the nuts. Liv, you pick the herbs. Sébastien, you can measure the oil. No, wait, you’ll spill it. I’ll do it. You can–”

“Whoa!” Sébastien said. “Who died and made you boss?”

“Well, I
am
the most experienced cook.
And
the oldest.”

“I thought you had other things on your mind,” Sébastien said.

Geneviève blushed. “That’s over. And since I’m the only one who knows what they’re doing–”

“We’re not idiots, you know,” Sébastien returned angrily. “The rest of us are actually quite smart.”

“Don’t worry, Seb, we all know about your genius IQ. You don’t have to remind us,” Geneviève snapped.

“That’s not what I meant!” Even though he was in a gifted program at school, he tried to play it down. And he never claimed to be a genius, for goodness sake.

“All right then, Mister Smarty-pants, you be the chef,” Geneviève said.

Sébastien frowned. He didn’t know the first thing about cooking – and Geneviève knew it. “Never mind,” he mumbled.

Geneviève gave him a smug smile.

“Come on,” Olivia said to Sébastien in a low voice. She fetched a basket and a pair of scissors. “Help me with the herbs.”

Gratefully, he followed her outside. Anything to get away from his impossible older sister.

Beside the deck there was a patio, tiled in flagstones arranged in a circular pattern: brown, gray, and rust, with one rosy hued slab at the center. On top of the stones were a dozen different herbs in clay pots.

By now it was late morning, and the sun-warmed plants were giving off a delicious fragrance of bark and spice and licorice. Sébastien didn’t know one herb from another, but fortunately, Olivia did. He read out the ingredients list – basil, parsley, oregano, thyme, rosemary, and tarragon – and she snipped leaves and stems and put them in the basket.

By the time they came back inside, the nutty smell of roasted walnuts and the aroma of garlic filled the kitchen. The cousins put their ingredients in the blender while Geneviève slowly drizzled in the olive oil. When the pesto was a brilliant green mass, she scraped it into a bowl.

Alex dipped his finger into it and pronounced it delicious.

They cooked a pot of spaghetti and arranged a plate for Grandma on a tray, heaping mounds of pesto on top of the spaghetti and sprinkling extra Parmesan cheese on top. Geneviève folded a cloth napkin in a triangle shape, like she’d seen in a restaurant once. Olivia put a sprig of violets in a small vase.

Grandma was still in bed.

“Surprise, Grandma!” Claire said.

“Look what we made – your favorite!” Alex said.

Grandma’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, how sweet of you.”

“Sit up, Grandma, and we’ll put the tray on your lap,” Olivia said.

She shook her head. “I appreciate it, really I do, but I’m just not hungry. You eat it for me.”

“But Grandma, we made this ’specially for you, ’cause we know you love pesto,” Claire said. “And there’s tons – more than enough for us.”

A tear spilled down Grandma’s cheek. “I do, and it’s such a lovely idea. But I’m just not hungry.”

“Just a little bit?” Alex said.

Grandma shook her head. She sighed and turned toward the window.

The cousins looked at one another. Silently they trooped downstairs with the tray.

he next morning, all five cousins gathered in the kitchen.

“So what should we make for Grandma today?” Geneviève asked. She was smiling, texting on her cell phone.

Claire looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean? We bombed yesterday.”

“So what? Maybe we didn’t choose the right recipe,” Geneviève replied cheerfully. “That doesn’t mean we should give up.”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Sébastien said suspiciously.

Geneviève grinned. “Is there a law against that?”

“No, but–”

“I agree with Gen,” Alex said. “Grandma’s got to eat. We just need to come up with the right dish.”

“Which is …?” Sébastien said.

“Well, it’s morning,” said Geneviève, hitting the Send button and closing her phone. She smiled. “And a beautiful morning at that. What does Grandma like for breakfast?”

Olivia opened her sketchbook and started drawing a breakfast table with a vase of flowers and a steaming cup of coffee. Suddenly her pencil stopped.
“Painterman Eggs.”

“What’s that?” Sébastien said.

“You know, when you make a sunny-side up egg and dip your toast into the yolk, like it’s a paintbrush. It’s my favorite.”

“I never knew those eggs had a name,” Claire said. “I just call them sunny-side up eggs.”

Olivia shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a thing with Grandma and me. I remember when I was little she made them for me one time, and I stuck the end of my toast into the yolk and it went all runny and golden, and I started dabbing it all over my plate, making designs, and Grandma said, ‘My little artist. We’ll call these
Painterman Eggs
in your honor.’ ”

“Does she like them?” Alex asked.

“Loves ’em,” Olivia said. She paused. “Or at least she used to.”

They found the recipe in the manila folder.

Painterman Eggs

Are you feeling artistic this morning?

Ingredients:

(per serving)

1 slice of your favorite bread

1 egg

butter

salt and pepper

Instructions:

1. Melt butter in a small frying pan. When it sizzles, carefully crack an egg into the pan. Cover and cook for a couple of minutes, just until the yolk and white are set. Season with salt and pepper.

2. Meanwhile, toast and butter bread. Cut each slice of toast into long strips.

3. Serve 1 egg and several “paintbrushes” of toast on each plate.

4. With a corner of the toast, pierce the yolk. Use the toast as a paintbrush to dip into the yolk.

5. Don’t forget to eat up your “brush” and “paint”!

“There’s another one of those funny little notes,” Sébastien said, pointing to the phrase beneath the title.

“Looks like Grandpa’s writing again, like on the
Pesto
recipe,” Olivia said.

“Wonder what he means,” said Sébastien.

“Just making a little joke about Grandma being artistic, I guess,” Claire said.

Sébastien shook his head. “It’s more than a joke. I think it means something.”

Geneviève tore herself away from her phone and peered at the note. She flashed a sarcastic smile at her brother. “What, a secret message in the
Painterman Eggs
recipe?” She started wiggling her fingers and making high-pitched, the-aliens-are-coming noises.

Claire giggled.

“Shut up, Gen,” Sébastien said.

“Guys,” Alex said. He opened the fridge. “We’ve got bread but no eggs.”

A smile spread across Geneviève’s face. “What a shame. Guess we’ve got to go back to the general store.”

As they coasted their bikes to a stop in front of the store, Alex pointed across the street. “Isn’t that the Tantalus lady?”

Sure enough, outside the offices of the
Otter Observer
, Ted Crombie, the reporter, was talking to Valerie London. She was showing him colorful booklets, and he was taking notes.

“Guess she’s giving Ted information about the mine,” Gen said.

“Poor Hugh,” Alex said.

No one had to ask what he meant. Hugh, their grandfather’s best friend, must be heartbroken to think that his son was writing news stories in favor of the mine.

They parked their bikes in the stand in front of the general store. Just then, Shane strolled down the sidewalk.

He came
, Geneviève thought, her cheeks growing warm. Who cared about Natalie and Aaron now? Shane was way hotter than Aaron. And he was older. Not a dumb thirteen-year-old. Let Natalie chew on that one.

“Look, it’s that kid – what’s his name again?” Claire asked.

“Shane,” Geneviève whispered. “Sh!”

“What’s he doing here?” Sébastien said.

“Hey,” Shane said, grinning at Geneviève.

“Hey.” The blond streaks in his hair glowed in the sunlight.

“Did you tell him–” Sébastien began. “So
that’s
what all the texting was about.”

“Shut up, Seb,” Geneviève said under her breath.

“Sébastien, isn’t it?” Shane said, turning a smile on him.

Ignoring him, Sébastien pushed open the door. The bell tinkled as the others followed him inside.

“Hi, kids!” Muriel said from the cash register, putting down her knitting. The scarf she was working on today was turquoise, mustard yellow, and crimson. “What are you doing back so soon?”

“We’re making Grandma
Painterman Eggs
today,” Olivia announced.

“How’d the pesto go over?” Muriel asked.

“Not so good. Grandma still isn’t eating,” Alex told her.

Muriel sighed. “We’ve got to snap her out of it. But you kids are on the right track. Lily loves food, and sooner or later she’ll come around. What do you need?”

“Just eggs,” Olivia said.

“And maybe some candy, as long as we’re here,” Claire added.

“Claire!” Alex said, laughing.

Geneviève and Shane went to get the eggs, while Claire and Alex checked out the candy counter. Olivia perched on a wooden box and started drawing a bunch of beets with their round bulbs and oval-shaped leaves. Sébastien wandered idly up and down the aisles.