it’s getting plenty ripe. (We obviously can’t keep a low profile if people smell us half a block away.) I guide my rolling inventory up the next walk. This house isn’t any bigger, but it’s beautifully maintained. The paint is fresh. The windows gleam. The landscaping is perfect. There are two nice cars in the driveway. Let’s hope they like cookies. They can certainly afford to buy a lot of them. A kid opens the door—a girl a year or two younger than me. “Hi,” I greet her. “I’m selling Girl Scout Cookies.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re not part of our troop.” Uh-oh. “I’m from the north side of town. My mom dropped me off here because our neighborhood is all cookied out.” “It’s the wrong time,” she says with a frown. “All the big sales were last month. Where’s your ID badge? You’re not even wearing your uniform.” “Well, it’s so hot—” Before I can stammer out an excuse, the mom appears behind her. “What’s going on?” “It’s our annual fund drive,” I explain smoothly. “I’m the troop leader for Troop three twenty-eight,” she tells me. “I know all the troops around here. No one has
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