The Candy Shop War
Page 11
It was exactly a week after their original visit to the candy shop when Nate reopened the subject of the secret candy. The four kids were seated at the counter sipping at delicious chocolate malts through sturdy straws. They had recently finished wiping down all the shelves and dusting the wooden Indian. The store was empty except for them and Mrs. White, who was polishing the counter while the kids drank their reward.
“You told us to ask about the secret candy some other time,” Nate reminded Mrs. White without warning. “Has it been long enough?”
Mrs. White stopped wiping. She twisted the rag in her hands. “I was quietly hoping you had forgotten.”
The kids shook their heads.
Mrs. White folded her arms and shook her head. “It is hard to put curiosity back to bed once you awaken it,” she conceded. “Very well. I have a line of extra-special candy that I don’t offer to the general public. The secret candy is far superior to anything on the menu, but is certainly not for everyone.” She eyed each of them in turn. “That said, I pride myself on being a good judge of character, and my instincts tell me you four might appreciate it. But my secret candy must be earned by more than cleaning windows and shelves. Would you four be interested?”
“Of course,” Nate said. The others nodded eagerly.
“Dear me, where do I begin?” Mrs. White asked, smoothing her hands over her frilly apron. She took a calming breath. “Some of my special candy requires extremely odd ingredients. What do you kids know about beetles?”
“There are more species of beetle than any other animal,” Pigeon said.
“Very good,” Mrs. White approved. “Hundreds of thousands of different species, with more being discovered all the time. There is a certain species in this area, I call them dusk bugs, whose eggs I need for a project I am working on.”
Trevor spit a burst of milkshake onto the counter. “You use beetle eggs in your recipes?”
“I know it sounds peculiar,” Mrs. White acknowledged. “The beetle eggs don’t actually end up in any of my food; that would be distasteful. The process for producing my special candy is complicated.”
“So no beetle eggs in this malt,” Pigeon said, poised to take a new sip.
“There are no insect eggs in my food,” Mrs. White reiterated.
“You should use that in your advertising,” Nate suggested, stirring his drink with his straw.
“Where would we find these beetle eggs?” Summer asked.
“There is a trick to it,” Mrs. White said. “If you follow Greenway up past the Presidential Estates, the road ends after a few blocks.”
“Right,” Trevor said, using a napkin from a nearby dispenser to wipe up the mess he had spewed.
“A dirt track continues where Greenway stops, running alongside a brook. One moment.” Mrs. White passed through batwing doors into a back room and returned holding a can of shoe polish, a small leather drawstring pouch, and a pair of glass jars. “As the sun sets, follow the dirt road some distance along the stream until you see mushrooms growing.” She uncapped the shoe polish can to reveal that it was actually full of a grainy, maroon paste. “Set this on the ground. The odor of the attractant and the time of day should summon a few dusk bugs. Open the pouch and sprinkle some of the contents on the beetles. They will soon burrow into the mushrooms. After the beetles emerge, collect the mushrooms, place them in the jars, and bring them to me tomorrow.”
“You sure it will work?” Nate asked.
“I know it is a strange request,” Mrs. White. “If oddness turns you off, we should forget discussing my special candy. The candy can do astounding things, but all the effects are certainly strange.”
“Strange is okay,” Trevor said.
“Strange is great,” Nate said.
“These old bones make it harder every year for me to gather my required ingredients,” Mrs. White explained. “If you will collect the eggs as I described, I will share some of my special candy with you. I am confident you will find it amazing and well worth the effort.”
“With no bug eggs in it,” Pigeon clarified.
“Correct,” Mrs. White said.
“Can’t hurt to give it a shot,” Summer said. “Can you guys get away?”
“I’ll just pretend it’s a school assignment,” Nate said.
“Good thinking,” Pigeon said. “I’ll have to go home, get my homework done, and eat dinner. We ought to meet up around eight. Will we be able to make it home before dark?”
“If you move swiftly, that should not be a problem,” Mrs. White assured him.
*****
The fat sun balanced on the horizon as Nate, Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon left Greenway and pedaled their bikes along the meandering dirt road. Brushy slopes rose on either side, and trees crowded the trickling steam. Summer occasionally stopped to check along the edge of the stream for mushrooms. On her fourth attempt, she called the others over.
The four of them huddled around a cluster of small beige mushrooms. Pigeon pointed out a second patch of mushrooms not far away. Trevor withdrew the can of shoe polish, uncapped it, and set it on the ground.
“Think any beetles will show up?” Nate asked.
“She acted like she knew what she was talking about,” Summer said.
“I’m sure some crazy people are very sincere,” Pigeon observed.
“This is the only way to really find out,” Trevor said. “If the bugs don’t show, we’ll know she’s a little senile. One of my great aunts was like that. Very nice, but she talked to the people on TV like they were her friends. She’d get dressed up for them to come over, introduce us to them, that sort of thing.”
The last of the sun sank below the horizon, and they waited, watching the maroon paste. Insects clicked and rattled in the brush, but no beetles appeared.
“If this doesn’t work,” Nate said, “maybe we can still bag some mushrooms and get some special candy.”
“No way!” Summer said. “I’m not taking advantage of that sweet old lady.”
Pigeon chucked a pebble into the stream. “Besides, would you really want special candy from a woman with delusions about beetle eggs?”
“Good point,” Trevor said. “How long do we wait?”
“Hold on,” Summer said. “Look who just showed up.”
A shiny black beetle crawled over the lip of the tin and began wallowing in the maroon paste.
“You told us to ask about the secret candy some other time,” Nate reminded Mrs. White without warning. “Has it been long enough?”
Mrs. White stopped wiping. She twisted the rag in her hands. “I was quietly hoping you had forgotten.”
The kids shook their heads.
Mrs. White folded her arms and shook her head. “It is hard to put curiosity back to bed once you awaken it,” she conceded. “Very well. I have a line of extra-special candy that I don’t offer to the general public. The secret candy is far superior to anything on the menu, but is certainly not for everyone.” She eyed each of them in turn. “That said, I pride myself on being a good judge of character, and my instincts tell me you four might appreciate it. But my secret candy must be earned by more than cleaning windows and shelves. Would you four be interested?”
“Of course,” Nate said. The others nodded eagerly.
“Dear me, where do I begin?” Mrs. White asked, smoothing her hands over her frilly apron. She took a calming breath. “Some of my special candy requires extremely odd ingredients. What do you kids know about beetles?”
“There are more species of beetle than any other animal,” Pigeon said.
“Very good,” Mrs. White approved. “Hundreds of thousands of different species, with more being discovered all the time. There is a certain species in this area, I call them dusk bugs, whose eggs I need for a project I am working on.”
Trevor spit a burst of milkshake onto the counter. “You use beetle eggs in your recipes?”
“I know it sounds peculiar,” Mrs. White acknowledged. “The beetle eggs don’t actually end up in any of my food; that would be distasteful. The process for producing my special candy is complicated.”
“So no beetle eggs in this malt,” Pigeon said, poised to take a new sip.
“There are no insect eggs in my food,” Mrs. White reiterated.
“You should use that in your advertising,” Nate suggested, stirring his drink with his straw.
“Where would we find these beetle eggs?” Summer asked.
“There is a trick to it,” Mrs. White said. “If you follow Greenway up past the Presidential Estates, the road ends after a few blocks.”
“Right,” Trevor said, using a napkin from a nearby dispenser to wipe up the mess he had spewed.
“A dirt track continues where Greenway stops, running alongside a brook. One moment.” Mrs. White passed through batwing doors into a back room and returned holding a can of shoe polish, a small leather drawstring pouch, and a pair of glass jars. “As the sun sets, follow the dirt road some distance along the stream until you see mushrooms growing.” She uncapped the shoe polish can to reveal that it was actually full of a grainy, maroon paste. “Set this on the ground. The odor of the attractant and the time of day should summon a few dusk bugs. Open the pouch and sprinkle some of the contents on the beetles. They will soon burrow into the mushrooms. After the beetles emerge, collect the mushrooms, place them in the jars, and bring them to me tomorrow.”
“You sure it will work?” Nate asked.
“I know it is a strange request,” Mrs. White. “If oddness turns you off, we should forget discussing my special candy. The candy can do astounding things, but all the effects are certainly strange.”
“Strange is okay,” Trevor said.
“Strange is great,” Nate said.
“These old bones make it harder every year for me to gather my required ingredients,” Mrs. White explained. “If you will collect the eggs as I described, I will share some of my special candy with you. I am confident you will find it amazing and well worth the effort.”
“With no bug eggs in it,” Pigeon clarified.
“Correct,” Mrs. White said.
“Can’t hurt to give it a shot,” Summer said. “Can you guys get away?”
“I’ll just pretend it’s a school assignment,” Nate said.
“Good thinking,” Pigeon said. “I’ll have to go home, get my homework done, and eat dinner. We ought to meet up around eight. Will we be able to make it home before dark?”
“If you move swiftly, that should not be a problem,” Mrs. White assured him.
*****
The fat sun balanced on the horizon as Nate, Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon left Greenway and pedaled their bikes along the meandering dirt road. Brushy slopes rose on either side, and trees crowded the trickling steam. Summer occasionally stopped to check along the edge of the stream for mushrooms. On her fourth attempt, she called the others over.
The four of them huddled around a cluster of small beige mushrooms. Pigeon pointed out a second patch of mushrooms not far away. Trevor withdrew the can of shoe polish, uncapped it, and set it on the ground.
“Think any beetles will show up?” Nate asked.
“She acted like she knew what she was talking about,” Summer said.
“I’m sure some crazy people are very sincere,” Pigeon observed.
“This is the only way to really find out,” Trevor said. “If the bugs don’t show, we’ll know she’s a little senile. One of my great aunts was like that. Very nice, but she talked to the people on TV like they were her friends. She’d get dressed up for them to come over, introduce us to them, that sort of thing.”
The last of the sun sank below the horizon, and they waited, watching the maroon paste. Insects clicked and rattled in the brush, but no beetles appeared.
“If this doesn’t work,” Nate said, “maybe we can still bag some mushrooms and get some special candy.”
“No way!” Summer said. “I’m not taking advantage of that sweet old lady.”
Pigeon chucked a pebble into the stream. “Besides, would you really want special candy from a woman with delusions about beetle eggs?”
“Good point,” Trevor said. “How long do we wait?”
“Hold on,” Summer said. “Look who just showed up.”
A shiny black beetle crawled over the lip of the tin and began wallowing in the maroon paste.
