Wedding Day Disaster by Carolyn Keene
“Will someone please take this thing?” Bess said, holding up the tie. “It’s totally gross!”
Nancy was about to take it when a woman’s voice said, “Bob, isn’t that your tie?”
Nancy turned and saw Mr. Kernkraut. A woman wearing a black coat and a pink fleece hat was standing next to him.
“Hello, Mr. Kernkraut!” Nancy called.
“Oh, hi,” said Mr. Kernkraut, not really smiling. “This is my wife, Maureen.”
“And that’s your tie, Bob!” Mrs. Kernkraut exclaimed. She pointed to the tie in Bess’s hand. “I gave it to you for that snowball wedding you worked on!”
Beads of sweat began dotting Mr. Kernkraut’s face. “It’s like this, Maureen,” he said. “I got a humongous stain on the tie, so I had to throw it away.”
“We found it in a trash can,” Nancy explained. “Is the stain on it cream cheese?”
“Um,” Mr. Kernkraut started to say.
“Cream cheese?” Mrs. Kernkraut gasped. “That isn’t on the Waist Watchers diet, Bob.”
“It . . . isn’t?” Mr. Kernkraut asked.
“Have you been snacking on the job?” demanded Mrs. Kernkraut. “Go on, Bob, spill.”
“I-i-it was just a cracker with cream cheese and salmon!” Mr. Kernkraut stammered. “Very high in protein!”
“Wow!” said Bess. “Chip really did track the scent—just like Henry the Hero Hound!”
“And the stain on Mr. Kernkraut’s tie was never wedding cake cream,” George said. “It was cream cheese!”
“Wedding cake?” Mrs. Kernkraut said. “Bob, don’t tell me you were eating cake, too?”
“Never!” Mr. Kernkraut insisted.
Nancy didn’t want to get Mr. Kernkraut into trouble, but if she was going to solve the case, she had to ask more questions.
“But if you weren’t eating cake, what were you doing in the cake room?” she asked. “That’s where we found your tie in the trash can.”
Mr. Kernkraut took a deep breath. Then he said, “I didn’t want anyone to see me eating the cream cheese cracker, so I hid inside the cake room. When I got the stain on my tie, I threw it away.”
“Oh, Bob.” Mrs. Kernkraut sighed. “Next you’re going to tell me you’ve been eating cupcakes!”
Mr. Kernkraut stared bug-eyed at the girls. The girls stared back. That’s when it clicked.
“So that’s why you looked so scared when you saw us at the bakery yesterday,” Bess said with a smile. “You were there to buy cupcakes!”
Chip growled at Mr. Kernkraut.
“Come on, Bob,” said Mrs. Kernkraut gently. “We can still make the Sunday morning Waist Watchers meeting!”
“Fine with me,” Mr. Kernkraut agreed. “I’m tired of being sneaky. From now on I want to be healthy!”
But as the couple began walking away Nancy called, “Wait, please!”
“Now what?” Mr. Kernkraut asked.
“Did anyone else have a key to the cake room beside you?” Nancy asked.
“Just the baker, François,” said Mr. Kernkraut. “I gave him the extra key in case he had to get to his cake.”
The Kernkrauts hooked arms as they walked away.
“Bess, George,” Nancy said. “Do you think Famous François ruined his own wedding cake?”
“Anything is possible,” said George. “That François is as flaky as his pie crusts!”
The girls walked Chip back to the Drew house. Once upstairs, George looked up the address of François’s studio. She found it on the baker’s own website.
“His studio is practically in the next town,” George said. “That’s way out of our walking rules.”
Nancy looked over George’s shoulder at François’s home page. It had French music playing over it. And pictures of cakes to click on for prices, special events, and directions. Nancy grabbed the mouse and clicked on the cake marked Special Events.
A new page opened. Nancy read the announcement on the screen. “Famous François is having a special show for his cakes today,” she said. “And it’s in the River Heights Art Gallery on Bank Street!”
“Bank Street is only four blocks away,” said George.
“We can do it!” Nancy said happily.
“But why is he showing his cakes at an art gallery instead of a bakery?” Bess asked.
With a French accent, George exclaimed, “Because he eez not just a baker—he eez zee Famous François!”
The girls got permission to ride their bikes to Bank Street. They parked outside the art gallery and watched the people as they went inside. Everyone looked artsy in their black clothes.
But as the girls approached the entrance, Nancy saw something that made her heart sink. It was a sign in front of the door that read NO CHILDREN UNDER AGE 12 ALLOWED.
“No kids?” Nancy complained.
“Who do they think eats cake, anyway?” George said.
A man wearing a black wool coat and a silky scarf stood directly in front of the door. The name tag stuck on his coat read STEPHEN ARMSTRONG.
“He looks like he’s guarding the door,” George said.
“Maybe he’s nice and will let us in,” said Nancy.
A family walked up to the door. Stephen looked at their two little kids and shook his head. The family walked away.
“Or maybe not.” Nancy sighed.
“Watch this, you guys,” George said with a grin.
Nancy and Bess followed George to the door. George looked up at Stephen and said, “Hi, Mr. Armstrong. Did you see my baby brother?”
Stephen peered down his nose at George. “Baby brother?” he asked with a sniff.
“Yeah,” George said. “He just ran past you into the gallery.”
“And he loves cake!” Bess added with a smile.
Stephen’s eyes popped wide open. Through gritted teeth he hissed, “Go in there and get him out. Now!”
“Yes, sir!” said George.
The girls slipped past the guard into the gallery. They were in!
“Good thinking, George!” Nancy whispered.
The girls looked around. Guests were sipping fruit punch and coffee out of small plastic cups. They walked slowly around cakes shaped like everything from the Statue of Liberty to the presidents on Mount Rushmore.
“Fabulous!” one man was saying.
“He’s not a baker,” a woman swooned. “He’s a modern-day Michelangelo!”
Famous François stood in the back of the studio, talking to a woman holding a writing pad. Nancy guessed she was a reporter.
“Look! There’s Adele,” Bess whispered.
Nancy looked to see where Bess was pointing. Through the crowd she could see Adele serving a plate of cookies to the guests.
A woman wearing a black dress and a pearl necklace waved her hands in the air and said, “And now, a word from the artist himself—Famous François!”
The guests crowded around François as he started to speak. “I was just a wee boy in Paris when I baked my first cookie. My mama tasted it—and began to cry!”
“Everyone’s listening to François,” Nancy whispered. “Now’s a good time to look for clues!”
Nancy, Bess, and George walked slowly around the towering cakes. They stopped at one shaped like a big castle. On the top were colorful flags and banners.
“François likes to put stuff on the tops of his cakes,” Nancy pointed out. “Just like those ice wolves.”
“The cakes are so high!” said Bess. “How does he get up there?”
“There was no ladder in the cake room,” Nancy pointed out.
“He could have stepped on the cart,” George said.
The girls exchanged looks as they all remembered the creamy footprint.
“Maybe that footprint was François’s!” said Nancy.
“Yeah,” George said. “He could have stepped up on the cart like this . . .”
Nancy and Bess gasped as George jumped up on the cart.
“George! That’s dangerous!”
“It’s okay, the wheels are locked. Then François could have reached way up,” George said. She stretched her arm above her head. “Just like this—whoooooaaaa!”
As George lost her balance, her foot sank into the side of the cake!
“Oh, no!” Nancy groaned.
But as George jumped off the cart, she left a creamy footprint on the tablecloth. It was at the bottom of the cake—just like the one they found near the wedding cake.
“You see?” George said, pointing to the footprint. “That’s how Famous François ruined his own wedding cake!”
Then—
“My Crème de la Castle!” a voice cried. “What did they do to my Crème de la Castle?”
The three friends whirled around.
Famous François was standing behind them with his hands on his hips. And he looked mad!
Chapter Ten
Case Cracked
“How did these girls get in here?” François demanded.
“I—I—I,” Stephen stammered.
Adele squeezed her way through the crowd, still holding the plate of cookies. Nancy noticed that she was not wearing fancy clothes. Instead Adele wore black pants, a striped blouse, and the same white canvas sneakers she’d worn at the wedding. Then Nancy noticed something about the sneakers. One had a dark pink stain across the toe. Dark pink—like cherry filling!
“What’s going on?” Adele asked.
“We’re detectives,” said Bess.
“You mean you’re playing detective!” the woman with the pearl necklace said.
“This isn’t a game, ma’am,” George told her. “We’re the Clue Crew.”
“And we’re trying to find out what happened to François’s wedding cake on Friday night,” Nancy explained.
“I thought you looked familiar!” François said with narrowed eyes. “You’re the children from the wedding. The ones who ruined my cake!”
“We didn’t do it,” Nancy said calmly. “We think someone stepped on the table to decorate the top.”
“Then accidentally stepped into the cake,” Bess added.
“Ridiculous!” François said. “My cake was completely decorated by me. From the cupcakes at the base to the ice wolves of Patagonia at the top!”
“Ice wolves instead of a bride and groom!” a man declared. “Brilliant!”
A bride and groom, Nancy suddenly thought. Just like the bride and groom in Adele’s pocket!
“Adele!” Nancy blurted.
Adele was so startled by Nancy’s voice that she dropped her plate of cookies.
“Sorry, Adele,” said Nancy. “But did you try to take the ice wolves off of Sara’s wedding cake?”
“And did you step on the wedding cake by accident?” Bess asked.
“Like I just did?” George said, pointing to the castle cake.
“You girls are leaving right now!” Stephen ordered. He was about to grab their shoulders when Adele stepped forward.
“Wait!” she shouted.
Stephen froze. All eyes were on Adele as her shoulders dropped.
“It was an accident,” Adele said. “I was only trying to help Sara.”
“What?” François gasped.
“It was Sara’s wedding and it should have been perfect,” Adele explained. “So I went into the cake room and tried to replace the wolves with a bride and groom.”
Nancy stared at Adele. She was confessing!
“As I was climbing to reach the wolves, my foot slipped inside the cake,” Adele said. “It was a big hole, so I cut around it to make it look like someone cut a piece.”
“What about the wolves?” asked Bess.
“I stuck the bride and groom in my pocket,” Adele admitted. “And left those tacky wolves on the cake.”
“Tacky wolves?” François cried. “They were my vision!”
“But it wasn’t about you, Dad,” Adele said gently. “It was about Sara and Brett.”
Adele then turned to the guests.
“Everything else about the snowball wedding was perfect,” she said. She smiled at George. “George’s mother did a super job catering the affair.”
George turned to the reporter with a smile. “That’s Mrs. Fayne of Fayne’s Catering Service!” she said. “It’s spelled F-A-Y-N-E!”
As the reporter scribbled on her pad, Adele shook her head sadly.
“I’m sorry I let my dad blame everyone else,” she said. “And I’m sorry I ruined the cake—even if it was an accident.”
Then Adele folded her arms and continued. “But when I become a famous baker like my dad, I’m going to make sure the customer is always right!”
The guests smiled as they applauded Adele.
“Oh, I suppose my daughter is right,” François admitted. “From now on, Famous François will put the customer first too!”
Nancy smiled. Famous François may have taught Adele how to bake. But Adele taught her dad how to be nice!
“By the way,” François said, “since my daughter was brave enough to confess, I want to confess too.”
Nancy, Bess, and George traded puzzled looks. Confess to what? And what happened to his French accent?
“I’m not really François from Paris, France,” François said. “I’m Frank from Bayonne, New Jersey. But hey, I’m still a genius, right?”
The woman with the pearls stepped up to the Crème de la Castle cake. “Should I take this cake away, François—I mean Frank?” she asked. “It’s totally ruined.”
“Nah,” said Frank. “Cut up the top part and serve it to the guests. Cakes should be eaten!”
The guests let out a cheer. But Stephen marched straight over to Nancy, Bess, and George. “I’ll show these girls out right away,” he said.
“Forget about it!” Frank boomed. “Not only can they stay, I’ll bake each of their birthday cakes this year!”
“Yippeeee!” Nancy cheered.
The three friends grabbed hands and jumped up and down. They had solved a mystery—and they were going to get the birthday cakes of their dreams!
They stopped jumping as Adele walked over.
“It’s so cool that you guys are detectives,” she said. “Solving mysteries must be so hard!”
“Not this mystery,” Nancy said with a smile. “This one was a piece of cake!”
Basket Case!
Guess what? You don’t have to be a flower girl like Nancy to carry a petal-pretty basket—or to keep a handy basket on your dresser to hold your favorite things. And the best news is, you can make it yourself!
You Will Need:
1 basket in any color (or ask an adult to help you spray-paint a plain one)
¾” to 2” white lace ribbons
String of small pearl-style beads
Narrow ribbon in your favorite color
Plastic or silk flowers
Craft glue
Ready? Now get a handle on your basket!
Glue one or two of your lace ribbons around the basket.
Wrap the narrow ribbon tightly around the basket handle. Leave the ends long enough to hang as trailers.
Wrap the string of beads around the handle over the ribbon. Be careful not to wrap too tightly, or the beads might pop off. Oops!
Use the glue to attach the silk or plastic flowers to the ends of the handles or around the bottom of the basket.
You don’t have to stop there. Add sequins, silver or gold paper stars, glitter, curly ribbons—or decorate your basket with tons of stickers!
Fill ’Er Up!
Your basket may be finished, but the fun has just begun. Fill your crafty creation with flower petals, cookies, photographs, hair accessories, jewelry, your favorite stuffed animals, even your own creamy cupcakes to deliver to your BFFs—anything but onions!
Carolyn Keene, Wedding Day Disaster