You know you're in trouble when the seventy-three-year-old woman in your mom's kitchen tells you it's the first meal she has cooked in twenty-five years.

"Oh, it probably sounds silly," Miss Bugsby giggled as she set dishes in front of us on the table, "but I'm absolutely thrilled to have this chance. For all that time, my only company was the servants. And they did all the cooking for me."

She pranced back to the stove and lifted the lid from a pot. A cloud swirled her head, so that it was difficult to tell her gray hair from the rising vapors.

Mike Andrews elbowed my ribs. "I want to make it to my thirteenth birthday," he hissed into my ear.

"Me and Ralphy, too," I whispered back. "Twelve's too young to be poisoned to death."

"Did you say something, Ricky?" Miss Bugsby called from the vapors. Cheerfulness and joy rang from her voice.

Which was a switch.

Barely a few months earlier, Ralphy Zee, who sat across from me, and Mike and I, had thought Miss Bugsby was the meanest woman in our small town of Jamesville. Then a decades-old mystery about her father -- one I thought of as The Race For The Park Street Treasure -- had been solved, and she was a different person.

Now, the only thing the same about her was the head-to-toe black dresses she still wore. Even that was changing. Tonight, her shoes were red, which as Ralphy had mentioned, was quite bold for a lady her age.

"I'm so glad your parents trusted me to come over while they went out," Miss Bugsby continued without waiting for my answer." And I'm glad that Mike and Ralphy could visit. None of you realize how much it means to cook for hungry boys. I do hope you like it."

"I'm sure we will," Ralphy said bravely.

"I'm so glad to hear that," she said as she brought her first pot to the table. "I was worried that you might not like cabbage soup."

She hummed as she ladled it into our bowls.

Joel, my six-year-old brother, began slurping it before she could fill the rest of our bowls.

Wonderful, I thought, the little traitor's going to make the rest of us look bad

"Joel," I said. "Pray first."

He scowled at me, but waited until Miss Bugsby had returned to the table and said grace. Then he slurped with vengeance.

Miss Bugsby's smile spread widely across the wrinkles of her high cheekbones. "I'm so relieved," she said. "I've worried about this all week."

A timer on the stove began clanging, and she hopped from her chair back to the remaining pots and pans.

I took my first tiny taste of the purple broth.

"How is it boys?" she called without looking back. "There's more, you know."

It was, well, cabbage soup.

By the looks on Ralphy's and Mike's faces, I could tell they thought the same. My only consolation was something I had planned for Mike during the main course.

Mike Andrews was the kind of guy always in mismatched hightop sneakers and a gaudy Hawaiian shirt that made your eyes hurt. Red hair. Freckles. A perpetual New York Yankees baseball cap and a grin as wide as a Halloween pumpkin. He was born to try anything that looks impossible, and he lived to play jokes on friends.

Right then, I owed him one.

Barely a week earlier, he had convinced me that Ralphy's birthday party was a costume party because it was so close to Halloween. Unfortunately, I had believed him. There is nothing funny -- no matter what Mike says -- about wearing a clown outfit for two hours while everyone else is in jeans and sweatshirts.

My revenge for that was in a tiny bottle in my back pocket. Filled with hot, hot Tabasco sauce.

"Eat all your soup," I whispered to Mike. "It'll break her heart if you don't."

He nodded sorrowful agreement at me and choked back spoonful after spoonful. Ralphy and I did the same.

"Now for the main course," Miss Bugsby announced. "A recipe handed down from my grandmother to my mother. A closely guarded family secret. It's a Scottish version of onion, carrot, and lamb stew."

She brought it back to the table. By the look of hopeful fear on her face, I knew that no matter how terrible it tasted, I would eat every bite and pretend it tasted great.

It meant, of course, Mike, too, would force himself to get through that meal for the same reason.

"Did you say something?" I asked Mike as I quickly turned to him with the last spoonful of cabbage soup almost to my mouth. "Ooooops. I'm sorry, Mike."

Imagine that, I commented to myself, spilling on his shirt. "There's a towel in the bathroom, pal," I told him. "That soup should wipe clean in a flash."

"Brilliant move, Einstein," he mumbled as he pushed away from the table.

"Hurry back," Miss Bugsby said, "or your stew will get cold."

I nearly giggled. No, it won't, I thought.

Mike trudged to the bathroom, and Miss Bugsby turned back to the stove.

"Who's at the window, Ralphy?" I whispered as I reached into my pocket for the bottle.

He may be a computer genius, but sometimes Ralphy's not too bright. He squirmed in his chair to see, and in the few seconds while Joel and I had the table to ourselves, I splashed Mike's stew with at least a quarter of the bottle.

Hah, see if Mike Andrews ever sends me to a party in a clown outfit again.

"I don't see anybody," Ralphy said.

Before I could answer, the phone rang. "Will you get that, Ricky?" Miss Bugsby asked from beside the stove. "I don't want this pudding to burn."

I reached the phone before the third ring. As I answered, Mike passed me on his way back from the bathroom and merely scowled.

"Hello. This is Ricky Kidd."

"ISneedSyourShelp."

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

Brief silence. Then, "FindS meS atS theS endS ofS circleS" A long pause. The voice was hoarse. "RememberSsubway."

"Is this a prank call?" I asked.

A muffled shout somewhere in the background came through the telephone.

The voice groaned, then said in a new tone with forced effort for loudness. "Medium pizza, please. Extra cheese, anchovy fish, ham. Don't forget the anchovy fish and --"

Click.

The dial tone buzzed in my ear.

I returned to the table and shrugged as they looked at me. "I have no idea. Some weirdo."

I sat down and took a deep breath. The ordeal of stew was in front of me and Miss Bugsby hovered nearby with anxious glances in my direction.

To buy time, I fumbled with my napkin and glanced over at Mike.

His eyes were watering already.

"Good stew?" I asked him with as much innocence as I could manage.

"I never knew it could taste like this," he choked.

I smiled at Miss Bugsby. "I think that means Mike loves it, ma'am." I smiled again. "Perhaps he'll tell you about Ralphy's birthday party."

I elbowed Mike. "He's got a great story about playing a joke on someone."

Miss Bugsby smiled back. "I want to hear all about it. Just let me finish with this pudding."

She turned back to the stove and resumed stirring the last pot on the burners.

I elbowed Mike again and whispered from the side of my mouth. "How's my joke on you taste?"

He gulped water from his nearly empty glass. "The first three swallows are killing me."

I smothered laughter. Revenge is so sweet.

Ralphy pointed behind me. "Why'd you leave the phone off the hook?"

"Huh?"

I followed his finger with my eyes.

"It's not off the --"

How could I have fallen for that old line? By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. In the short time it took to look away from the table, Mike had finished switching plates with me.

And Miss Bugsby was already halfway back to the table.

She sat down and smoothed a napkin across her lap. She searched my face with expectant eyes.

"How is it, Ricky?"

Ralphy smiled.

Mike smiled.

They both waited like smug foxes in a henhouse.

"The stew, ma'am?" I asked.

"Yes. Our closely guarded family secret. How is it?"

"Just, umS taking my first bite now.

I put a spoonful in my mouth and gulped it down. It felt like someone had opened my jaws wide and fired a blow torch down my throat.

"Gaaaakkk!" I coughed. "I mean great!"

I coughed again. "It certainly is unlike any meal I've had before."

"I'm going to have a second helping," Mike said to me. "So you'd better eat quickly. Otherwise there will be none left for you."

Miss Bugsby beamed. "Yes, Ricky. Don't be shy. Go ahead. It's such a compliment when a boy eats every bite."

Flames continued down into my stomach and started a bonfire that scorched its way back up and out my nose.

I nodded, then forced another spoonful into my mouth.

I blinked back a tear of anguish. "Ma'am," I asked. "Any chance I could have a little more water?"