Chirp

by Kate Messner

  “That’s an interesting question,” Mia said. She had a tote bag full of articles about fancy restaurants serving crickets in sauces, but she’d never heard of anybody except Gram putting crickets on chocolate or in chocolate or anywhere near chocolate. “A cricket-topped truffle sounds good.”

  “Or you know what?” Clover jumped in. “You have that chocolate with the rice crisps, right? The crunchy one?”

  Caroline nodded. “That’s one of our best sellers.”

  “You could swap the rice crisps out for crickets!”

  “And call them cricket crispies!” Mia added.

  “I like that idea!” Caroline looked down at the sample pack in her hands. “We’ll try a small batch with these and see how it goes. Where can I buy more if it works out?”

  “You can order online.” Mia gave her a business card with the website. “Thanks so much for talking with us!”

  Mia was so excited she forgot all about getting salted caramels. She grabbed Clover’s arm when they got outside. “Can you imagine how amazing it’ll be if they’re selling chocolate crispies with Gram’s crickets on Church Street?”

  “We need to follow up with her,” Clover said, and Mia made a note to do that in a few weeks.

  From there, they went to Mazzella’s, where the owner’s son thought cricket pizza was a fun idea but said he’d have to check with his dad. Mia and Clover lucked out at Tom and Harry’s Ice Cream, though. The owners had just been brainstorming seasonal flavors for Halloween.

  “This is perfect!” Harry said. “We’ll do a vanilla base with toffee crunch, coconut, and chocolate-covered crickets. We can call it Creepy Coconut Cricket Crunch!”

  Mia and Clover gave him a sample bag and business card and then ordered ice-cream cones. Mia got rainbow sherbet, and Clover got chocolate coffee swirl.

  By the time they finished and walked home, Mia’s dad was putting on water for spaghetti. “Anybody know where the salt is?” he asked.

  “Check behind the moose,” Mia said.

  “Say what?” Mom looked around until she spotted the sporty moose on the counter, over in the corner. “Why has this moose taken up residence in front of my spice rack?”

  “Sorry—I left it there when I got home the other day.” The truth was, Mia didn’t want that moose in its gymnastics leotard in her room, reminding her about what she couldn’t do anymore. Reminding her of other stuff, too.

  “Did you hear from Gram today?” Mia asked.

  “Yep,” Dad said. “Stopped by on our way home, and she says the fruit flies are under control. She’s thankful it wasn’t some other insect that carries cricket diseases.”

  “There are cricket diseases?” Mia asked.

  “Apparently. She was telling me about this virus called … what was it?” he asked Mom.

  “CPV.”

  “Right. Cricket paralysis virus. I guess it’s wiped out entire farms before. Gram says if that ever got in the warehouse, she’d be finished.”

  “Couldn’t she just start over with new crickets?” Mia asked.

  “No,” Dad said. “Grab me the colander, would you?” He dumped in the spaghetti, and steam rose around his face. “That virus apparently gets into everything. She says a farm in Quebec just had it wipe out their whole population. They cleaned everything out and brought in new eggs, but as soon as those crickets hatched, they got it, too.”

  “Wow,” Mia said. “But fruit flies don’t carry it, right?”

  “Actually, they can,” Dad said, “but Gram’s convinced those flies came from a lab, so they’d be clean. Nobody could raise that many on a bunch of old bananas in their kitchen.”

  When Dad went to find some cheese, Clover turned to Mia and whispered, “Unless you have a really big kitchen.” Her eyes were huge, and Mia understood why. Was Mr. Potsworth raising fruit flies at his food-processing plant?

  Mia nodded. They’d keep that in mind when they went out there next week. For now, at least, Gram’s crickets were safe.

  “It’s wild how much can go wrong with a cricket farm,” Clover said, ladling sauce on her spaghetti.

  “Yup.” Mia sprinkled cheese on hers and dug in. She wondered how the pasta would taste made with cricket protein. And that reminded her of their afternoon on Church Street and their morning of Chirp Challenge selfies.

  Mia looked over at Clover and smiled. “But sometimes things go right, too.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Spies in Pink High-Tops

  On Monday afternoon, Mia and Clover rode their bikes out to Mr. Potsworth’s food-processing plant. “To case the place,” Clover explained. “We need to scope it out from the outside before we break in so—”

  “Before we break in?” Mia stopped her bike and stared at Clover.

  “Relax.” Clover pushed her bike behind a hedge outside the food-processing plant and motioned for Mia to join her among the bushes. “We’re not really breaking in. In this book I read, this girl named Paloma and her friends had to get into a museum after hours, and she didn’t want to break in, either,” Clover said.

  “Good.” Mia felt grateful for Paloma’s common sense. If Paloma-in-the-story had busted in through a window, there was no telling what Clover might have Mia signed up for.

  “So they wait until everybody’s leaving for the night and unlock a back door,” Clover said. “They come back later, and there’s no breaking in necessary.”

  “And that’s what you want to do here? Today?”

  “No, tomorrow. Today we just need to learn what time this place empties out.” Clover untied her jacket from her waist and made a little nest for them on the ground, where they could peek through the bushes at the building’s back door. “It’s four fifty,” she said, pulling a tiny pair of binoculars from her backpack. “I’m guessing their work day ends at five.”

  Sure enough, a few minutes later, the back door opened, and two workers came out.

  “This is good,” Clover whispered, lowering her binoculars.

  “What’s good?”

  “That door closes by itself. But it’s slow, probably because they don’t want it closing on workers who are carrying stuff. That’ll give us plenty of time to stick a rock or something in the door as it’s closing, to keep it from latching. And then— Shh! Here come more.”

  Mia watched as more people streamed out the door and headed for their cars.

  “Seven … eight … nine …,” Clover whisper-counted. “And look at the other door! It’s him!” she hissed as Chet Potsworth came out the front. They’d seen his picture on the company website, and it was definitely him. He drove away in a shiny red convertible.

  “There should be one more. They have ten employees.” Clover had learned that on the website, too. Sure enough, a tall bald guy came out and drove off in the last car. Clover looked at her phone. “It’s only five after five. We’ll have plenty of time to do what we need to do.”

  “Which is … what again?” Mia asked as they got on their bikes and started for home.

  “Search for evidence,” Clover said. “I’m telling you, bad guys in mysteries always get careless. That Potsworth guy’s going to wish he never dared to mess with your gram’s farm.”

  Clover sounded like some gritty tough-guy detective from one of her mysteries. Mia wished she felt that confident, but she was pretty sure the real world didn’t follow mystery-novel rules.

  Still, she rode back to the processing plant with Clover after Warrior Camp the next day. They got their bikes tucked away in the bushes and settled in to wait.

  “Look!” Clover whispered. “He’s leaving early.” It was only four thirty when Mr. Potsworth came out the door.

  “Have a great night now!” he boomed to someone still inside. Then he got in his car and drove away.

  “Wonder where he’s going,” Clover said.

  “Gram’s still at the farm, and so is Daniel,” Mia said. “He wouldn’t try anything now.”

  The other workers didn’t stick around long. After
the ninth person left, Clover said, “Okay. That car must belong to the last worker.” She pointed to a green Subaru around a corner from the back door. “This is perfect. As soon as they come out, they’ll turn to go to their car, and then I can run in and jam the door.” She picked up a good-size wood chip. “This should do it.” She crept to the edge of the bushes and crouched in a runner’s pose, staring at the building.

  Five o’clock came. Then 5:05 … and then 5:10. The door stayed closed.

  Mia shifted and sat up on her knees. Her right foot had fallen asleep. “Clover, maybe—”

  “Shh!” Just then, the door opened, and a man came out, holding a phone to his ear. The second he turned the corner, Clover took off running.

  Mia’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart thudded so hard she was afraid the guy heading for his car would hear it and turn around.

  But Clover was already out of his sight, tiptoe-running toward the slowly closing door. It was all the way down the building, though. Mia wasn’t sure Clover was going to make it.

  Just before the door closed, she put on a superhuman burst of speed, grabbed the handle, and stuck her wood chip between the door and frame. Then she ran, quick as a cat, along the building and tumbled into the bushes beside Mia as the guy’s car started up.

  “That was impressive,” Mia said. She was the one breathing hard, even though Clover had done all the running.

  Clover grinned, and they watched the Subaru drive away. They waited a few minutes to make sure it was quiet, and then Clover said, “Let’s go.”

  They ran to the door. Clover held it and motioned Mia to hurry, so she darted inside. As soon as she did, bright lights came on.

  Mia froze.

  Clover did, too. Then she pointed to a light fixture on the wall. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “They’re just motion activated. This will actually help us out.”

  Mia followed Clover down a long, gleaming counter that ran through the center of the room. The whole place was made of stainless steel. Counters and ovens and automated assembly-line stuff.

  Too bad Mr. Potsworth isn’t on Gram’s side, Mia thought. He’d have her cricket-harvesting problem solved in no time.

  “This way.” Clover walked down an aisle. Pipes of all sizes crisscrossed above them. Along the far wall, there were six enormous steel tanks of something.

  A fan hummed to life overhead and scared Mia so much she thought she might pass out. Clover kept prowling up and down the counters and rows of machinery. “Do you see anything that looks weird?”

  “Everything looks weird.”

  “I mean clues.”

  “Nope.” All Mia saw was a whole lot of shiny food-processing equipment. All she felt was her heart racing out of control, her breath catching in her throat, and her post-camp Gatorade churning in her stomach. “Clover, I’m freaking out. We shouldn’t be here.”

  “We didn’t break in,” Clover reminded her.

  “We’re trespassing.”

  “We’ll go soon. Let’s just finish this lap. See if anything looks like a fruit-fly nursery.”

  “Do you really think he’d raise them in the same place he’s packaging baked goods?” Mia asked.

  “Do you really think a person who’s rotten enough to sabotage your gram’s farm would worry about selling people buggy maple muffins?”

  She had a good point. “Okay, but—” Something thumped, and Mia stopped walking. “Was that a car door?”

  “What?” Clover stopped, too. A door slammed in the front of the building. Then footsteps.

  Mia sucked in her breath and looked at Clover. Should they run for the back door? If whoever was here came into the big processing room, they’d see them for sure.

  “Here!” Clover grabbed Mia’s hand and yanked her behind those big steel tanks along the wall, just as another door opened and closed.

  “Anybody here?” a booming voice called from the other side of the tall freezers. It was Mr. Potsworth, Mia was sure.

  She held her breath.

  More footsteps.

  Kathunk … Kathunk … Kathunk …

  Clover elbowed Mia, then pointed frantically at their feet.

  Mia looked down, and her heart trampolined into her throat. The steel tanks they were hiding behind were elevated, so there was about a foot of space between them and the floor. If Mr. Potsworth was looking, he’d see their shoes. And Mia wasn’t wearing just any shoes. How could she have been so dumb? What kind of sleuth wore bright-pink high-tops on a spy mission?

  Mia looked back at Clover in a panic. Clover put a finger to her lips, then pointed to the pipes above their heads. She paused, and when Mr. Potsworth’s footsteps grew faint again, she jumped up, grabbed one, and pulled her knees up, high enough so the tanks would hide them. She jerked her head for Mia to do the same.

  There was no time to think. Mia hoisted herself up, too. She dangled there, swaying between the tanks and the wall as the footsteps approached again. Then Mr. Potsworth’s phone rang.

  “Hello?” he said. The footsteps were close. Then they stopped.

  “No, I had to pop back in, and lights were on, so I came in to check …

  “I know …”

  Mia’s arms started shaking.

  “Yeah …

  “Well, last time this happened, a squirrel had gotten in somehow, so …

  “Ha! No, I don’t think fruit flies would trigger the motion lights.”

  Mia heard Clover gasp. She was trying to process what Mr. Potsworth had said, but her hands were burning and sweating and making the bar slippery. Her arms felt as if they might pull right out of the sockets. How long was he going to stand there?

  “Okay, then …”

  Hang on, Mia thought. Hang on.

  She could feel the calluses on her right hand ripping open. Battle scars, she told herself.

  Hang on.

  “Yeah, I don’t see any problems here …”

  She wasn’t going to make it. Her hands were slipping. Her arms were on fire.

  Hang on.

  “Okay. See you soon …”

  Footsteps. Loud ones, but then they faded away.

  Not yet. Not yet.

  The second Mia heard the door slam, she dropped to the ground.

  Clover thumped down and grabbed her arm. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, creeping along the wall to the back door. She opened it a sliver—“His car’s gone”—and motioned Mia out. They raced to their bikes and rode halfway home before Clover blurted out, “Mia, that was awful, and I’m so sorry. I went all supersleuth on you and just … sorry.” A tear streaked down her cheek.

  Mia’s arms were still burning, and now she felt an angry heat growing in her chest, too. But it wasn’t directed at Clover. “Did you hear what he said to whoever that was on the phone?”

  Clover sniffed and nodded.

  “He laughed about it!”

  “I know,” Clover said. She looked at Mia as they coasted onto their street. “You’re not mad at me?”

  “I’m mad at him.” Mia parked her bike by the garage.

  “At least we know for sure now,” Clover said. “We should tell somebody. Right?”

  Mia hesitated. “We can’t do that without admitting we broke into the processing plant.”

  “We didn’t really—” Clover began, but Mia held up her hand.

  “We entered without permission.” Mia sighed. “Now that we know, we’ll just have to make sure he can’t hurt the farm again. Maybe I’ll talk with Gram about installing some cameras.” Mia looked at Clover, still on her bike. “Can you stay for dinner?”

  “Better not,” she said, holding up her phone. “The moms are already mad because I didn’t text after Warrior Camp. But I’ll see you in the morning?”

  “Definitely,” Mia said, and headed inside.

  The kitchen smelled like pot roast, and Mom was making a salad. “There you are!” she said. “We were getting ready to send out a search party!”

  “We ro
de our bikes after camp.” It wasn’t a lie, but Mia felt the real truth poking at her insides. “Want me to set the table?”

  “That would be great,” Mom said. “Wash your hands first.”

  Mia sucked in her breath when the hot water hit her torn-up palms.

  Mom looked over. “Whoa. They’re not messing around with that Warrior Camp.”

  “Yeah,” Mia said. “I was hanging on a bar for a long time today.” That was true, at least.

  The whole scene ran through Mia’s head like an action movie. She still couldn’t believe it. Mia Barnes and her friend had pulled off a secret spy mission. They’d found the truth about the fruit flies. They’d almost gotten caught, but thanks to Clover’s quick thinking, they’d disappeared into the pipes.

  And Mia had held on.

  She’d held on.

  Longer than she ever thought she could.

  CHAPTER 15

  Monster Donuts and Impossible Plans

  A lot happened over the next three weeks. Mia talked with Gram about security cameras, but Gram said there was no way they could afford them. Not unless they found new investors, and even though she was still scheduling meetings, she seemed less hopeful. One day, Mia tried to buy some cricket powder so Aidan could try a new recipe for Cookies for a Cause, and Gram wouldn’t let her pay for it. When Mia tried again, Gram let out a snort of a laugh and told her when you’re $40,000 in debt, you don’t worry about a twenty-dollar bag of cricket powder.

  Mia had been hoping the businesses she and Clover visited would order more crickets. That wouldn’t solve Gram’s problems, but it might help. Mia made herself a note to follow up with the pizza place and Chocolate Shoppe. She didn’t dread talking to business owners anymore and had actually come to enjoy making sales calls with Clover.

  Mia would never admit it to Mom, but she was loving both of her camps, too. She liked the way her body felt after she pushed herself at Warrior Camp—sore and tired but also strong. She hadn’t tried the warped wall or the rings yet, but she could almost get through the quad steps now, and she was getting better at the climbing wall.