The Case of the Wilted Broccoli Read Online Free Page A

Elon?"
    "Umm..." He was surrounded by wires and small circuit boards and electric motors. "What?"
    "What did you have for lunch this week?"
    "I can't remember," he said.
    This was a problem. It was just plain hard to remember what you ate several days ago. She'd read enough detective novels to know that good detectives kept meticulous notes. She'd need a chart of what people ate and whether they got sick or not.  
    "How's the auto-pilot coming?" Elon asked.
    "Good." Willow got back to work and forgot about food for a while.
    Before they knew it, their dad was calling them to come in. They stopped only with reluctance, because they were making good progress. They might get a flight in with another day of work.  
    Their mom reminded everyone to dress up because they were going to a fancy restaurant to entertain an out-of-town coworker. Willow changed into a black dress with tights and came out to see Linden and Elon in pants and button-down shirts. For boys, and especially her brothers, they looked pretty sharp. Just for the heck of it, she gave them both hugs before they got in the car.
    The restaurant had candles on the table (a good sign) and it was quiet (potentially troubling since Linden and Elon frequently weren't), but after one glance from mom and dad, they decided to behave. The kids sat at one end of the table so the adults could talk.
    Somehow Willow ended up sandwiched between the boys, and of course got kicked. In the legs. Like ten times. But the food was worth it. The adults raved over salad greens (were they rabbits?) and local fish. Willow ordered salmon and broccoli, Elon got gnocchi with truffle sauce, and Linden -- somehow -- managed to get plain spaghetti and butter, which wasn't even on the menu.
    Willow speared one stalk of broccoli with her fork and stared at it before taking a bite. It was crisp, bright green, and tasted good. The menu made a big deal about how all the food was local and fresh. This was puzzling, because their school lunches were also supposed to be local and fresh, but didn't look or taste at all similar. What was going on?

CHAPTER SEVEN

    W ILLOW PICKED OVER her lunch on Monday. Unfortunately, she'd chosen hot lunch today, some kind of mystery meat. Why, oh why, hadn't she brought lunch from home? The school lunch tasted and smelled funny in addition to the odd gray color.
    Atlanta bit into hers, then got a funny look on her face. She dug around with her fingers, and pulled out a small metal ball. "A BB!" she said.
      Willow threw down her fork and pushed the plate away. "I'm done with this. My broccoli looks like it was sitting out on the counter all week. My apple is more bruises than not."
    "I don't understand," Atlanta said. "Is this the food we donated extra money to get?"
    Willow eyed her milk, suddenly suspicious, but it looked like the same milk they got every day.
    Basil sat down next to them with his usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He slid the apple over to Willow.
    She pushed it towards Atlanta, who pushed it back to Basil.
    He ignored it.
    "What's with the bandaids?" Willow asked. Nearly every finger on his hand had one or more bandages.
    "Grrr. Arrgh."  
    "Articulate as usual. What gives?" she asked, turning to Atlanta.
    "On Friday he got in trouble for cutting hair at school," Atlanta said.
    "I still say there's no rule against cutting hair at school." Basil bit furiously into his sandwich.
    "And on Saturday I was still sick," Atlanta said, "so Basil went to the high school track meet, and told the cheerleaders he was collecting hair to donate to charity --"
    "Which we will!" he interrupted.
    "And so he got all the hair we needed." Atlanta started to break down in giggles.
    "What the what!" Basil said. "I've never braided hair before."
    "On Sunday, he started braiding. I was still sick. How long did you braid for?"
    "I braided hair, by myself, for ten hours. Ten hours!" He wiggled his hands at me. "These are blisters. Apparently I can rock-climb with no