The Amazing Mexican Secret - Jeff Brown [6]
He took three deep breaths.
And then he ran and dived over the edge.
6
La Abuela
Stanley had seen Olympic divers on television: their bodies perfectly straight, their hands like arrows piercing the water. Stanley made himself as flat as he could. The wind rushed around his ears. The side of the cliff blurred before his eyes.
He barely made a splash.
Stanley shot toward the bottom of the water like a bullet. Suddenly, he noticed an underwater cave to his left, swarming with fish. He went for it.
Inside, Stanley knew he couldn’t hold his breath much longer. His hands broke the surface and hit the cave’s rocky ceiling.
There wasn’t nearly enough space for his head.
How am I going to breathe?! he thought in a panic.
Then he remembered Carmen’s voice: What are you going to do with what you have?
Stanley swung himself into a back float. His flat body barely rose above the surface. The ceiling of the cave was inches from his nose.
He gulped the air hungrily.
A current began pulling him along. It started gently and then got faster. Soon, Stanley felt like he was riding a water slide—except it was pitch-dark, and all the sides were covered with sharp rocks.
The current rose to a roar. He swung into the wall and scraped his leg. Stanley cried out.
Vroosh. He shot out of the cave.
Stanley found himself in a calm, clear pool of water shallow enough that he could stand.
Around the pool was a small field of herbs, planted in rows.
And at the edge of the field was a tiny cottage.
Stanley walked ashore, careful not to step on any of the plants. He was about to knock on the door when it opened.
A very small, very old woman stood before him. Stanley swallowed hard. “La Abuela?” She was smaller than Stanley was, with big cheeks and short gray hair. She wore a colorful dress and a patterned scarf around her neck.
She looked at him curiously.
Stanley reached into his pocket for Carlos’s letter, but all he found was a few soggy bits of paper.
“I’m not a spy,” Stanley said quickly.
Without responding, La Abuela reached for his hand. She raised his arm before her eyes and turned it this way and that, examining its shape.
Then she turned her gaze to Stanley’s face. Stanley held his head high so she could look.
When he looked down again, La Abuela’s eyes were moist, as if she were about to cry. Her lips quivered.
“Estaba esperándole,” she said. “I have been waiting for someone like you.”
Stanley was about to ask what she meant when he heard a series of splashes—one, two, three!
“Oui!” a familiar voice said triumphantly. “We have arrived at last!”
Somehow, Chef Lillou and his spies had followed Stanley!
7
The Secret
Chef Lillou burst into La Abuela’s cottage, dropping his climbing harness and his scuba tank in the middle of the floor. He looked around the dim room.
“Where is she, you little crêpe?”
Stanley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging.
The chef walked over to the lumpy bed. “You cannot fool Chef Lillou,” he said. “She is hiding beneath these covers!” He whisked the blankets off. Nothing.
He held a finger in the air. “She is in the closet!” He bounded over to a wardrobe and threw it open. Empty.
“She’s gone,” Stanley said. “I came all this way just like you, and she’s not even here.” He pointed to the scrape on his leg and frowned. “Now I can barely walk.”
“Do not look for sympathy from moi,” Chef Lillou waved his hand in the air. “After that woman on the pyramid, I have more bruises than an overripe tomato.” He scanned the room one more time.
“I do not care,” he said, sticking his nose in the air. “Outside is an entire field of La Abuela’s secret ingredient. I have spent nine years seeking perfection, and now I have found it. I will be the greatest chef in history!”
He marched into the field, leaving the door wide open. Stanley leaned forward to see. Chef Lillou bent down, plucked a green leaf, and held it up to his nose. He inhaled deeply.
“Chef,” called Patrice the saucier, “do you smell what I