Page 11 of Without a Trace


  “Potato pancakes,” George spoke up. “Right, guys?”

  Simone nodded and smiled, and the rest of us quickly agreed. Owen glanced up at his mother.

  “Go ahead, take a taste,” she urged him. “You like potatoes, remember?”

  Owen carefully lifted the fritter to his mouth. He bit off a tiny piece and chewed carefully. Then he took a larger bite.

  “Mmm,” he mumbled through the half-chewed fritter. “I like potatoes! Can I have another one, please?”

  I was pretty sure that Owen had no idea why all the grown-ups suddenly started laughing. But as he gobbled down several more zucchini fritters, I guessed that he probably didn’t care.

 


 

  Carolyn Keene, Without a Trace

 


 

 
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