The Candy Shop War
Page 25
Mouth dry, head hung low, Pigeon entered the kitchen, a convicted criminal reluctantly awaiting his sentence. His mom sat at the kitchen table with a tall glass of milk and a platter half covered with white fudge, reading the newspaper. She twisted when he entered, dropping the piece of fudge in her hand. “What are you doing up?” she asked, sounding unmistakably guilty.
Pigeon blinked. “I heard some noise so I came downstairs,” he tried. Had she not noticed he was gone? Did she not notice he was in his street clothes?
His mom laid down the newspaper so it covered the platter of fudge. “Mommy just needed a glass of milk,” she said. “She was having a tough time sleeping. You march back up to bed.”
His mom was sneaking fudge! Earlier that evening, hadn’t she told his dad they were all out? Whatever was going on, he had no desire to press his luck. “Okay, I’ll just go back up to bed.”
Her expression softened. “That’s a good boy.”
Pigeon left the room. Walking up the stairs, he shook his head. It was as if the laws of nature had been turned inside out. He had just escaped an inevitable punishment for no good reason. Whatever was in that fudge had saved his life!
*****
“Is it just me, or has Miss Doulin mellowed out?” Nate asked as he, Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon walked along Greenway after school on Monday.
“You’re right,” Summer said. “She’s a lot more relaxed.”
“I was sort of testing the waters today,” Nate said. “Getting my name on the board is a freebie, and I was in the mood to see how far I could push. No matter how many jokes I cracked, or how little attention I paid, or how much I talked to Scott Simons, I didn’t even get a warning. The class has never been louder than today, and not a single name ended up on the board. And we have no homework.”
“It’s the fudge,” Pigeon said.
“That’s right!” Nate said.
“The fudge?” Trevor asked.
“I gave Miss Doulin fudge,” Pigeon said, “and it took all the fight out of her. Same with my mom. This morning, as an experiment, I took my cereal into the living room and ate it over the carpet. Mom didn’t say a thing. So I used a pair of scissors to pick at my teeth while I had a conversation with her. She acted like she didn’t even notice. Normally she would have screamed. It’s like she’s been lobotomized.”
“My dad forgot to drive me to school today,” Summer said. “He drops me off every morning. Today, he ate breakfast with me, went out to his car, and drove away. I chased him down the block. I ended up walking to school.”
“That’s why you showed up late,” Nate said. “And of course Miss Doulin didn’t even seem to mind.”
“I couldn’t believe it,” Summer said. “Dad bought a huge box of white fudge on Saturday, and has been eating lots of it.”
“My mom bought a ton too,” Nate said.
“My folks brought a bunch to my grandma’s yesterday,” Trevor said. “Grandma kept trying to get me to have one. I didn’t, of course.”
They reached the crosswalk. The crossing guard held up his sign and they scurried across the street and went to the front door of the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe.
The shop was open and busy. Some kids from their school crowded the counter. Several women and a few men waited in line or sat at tables eating sundry treats. The blond dwarf bustled about filling orders, along with a young man with shaggy brown hair and a blotchy red birthmark coloring half his face and neck. A very fit woman wearing workout clothes walked away from the counter holding a large box of white fudge.
Mrs. White emerged from the back and raised the folding segment of the counter. Trevor led the others into the back of the store. Pushing through the batwing doors, he discovered a translucent plastic tarp blocking the doorway. He grabbed a corner of the tarp and lifted it, allowing the others to duck past him before entering himself.
The back of the store was frosty. Their breath plumed out in front of them with each exhalation. Icicles hung from the worktables and some of the shelves, and ice glazed many surfaces. Several large coolers were stacked around the room. One was open, filled three-quarters of the way with medallions of ice and containing a few bricks of some substance snugly wrapped in white paper. Slick patches made the floor treacherous. In a cage on one of the worktables was a pair of odd birds. Black and white, they stood about two feet tall, with heavy, colorful bills. They looked like mutant penguins.
“What planet are those birds from?” asked Nate.
“Ours,” answered Pigeon. “They’re puffins. They live in the Arctic.”
“Very astute, Pigeon,” said Mrs. White.
“The genius strikes again,” Nate grumbled.
“I just like books about wildlife,” Pigeon apologized.
Summer was starting to shiver. Nate and Trevor had goose bumps on their arms. Mrs. White took four heavy woolen ponchos off pegs on the wall and distributed them to the kids, then slipped another over her own head, careful not to disturb her tidy bun.
“And how are the four of you today?” Mrs. White asked.
“Better, now that I’m not freezing,” Summer said. “Why is it so cold?”
“I’m creating treats called Frost Bites,” Mrs. White said. “The process both requires and causes a low temperature. I’m still finishing up the last two batches.”
“What do Frost Bites do?” Nate asked.
“I expect you’ll find out soon enough.” They gathered around the square table with the purple tablecloth. Mrs. White indicated a quartet of folding chairs, and the kids took the seats. “Business has been picking up lately,” Mrs. White announced happily. “I’ve continued hiring extra help to man the shop. White fudge samples always do the trick. How did your Saturday morning exploits go?”
“We got this,” Trevor said, pulling out the pocket watch.
Mrs. White looked delighted. “Clever children! And the book?”
“I had to leave the book,” Nate said. “Some guy showed up and tried to grab us.”
Mrs. White sat up a little straighter. Her smile faltered. “What guy?”
“Big guy, dark hair,” Summer said. “He wore a trench coat and an old-fashioned hat.”
“He had a crossbow,” Pigeon said. “He tried to apprehend me and Summer, but we used the Shock Bits and got away.”
“Summer blew a whistle to warn us,” Trevor said. “Nate snagged the watch, and we ran off. The guy chased us. He was fast and tough-looking. He almost caught Nate, but I shocked him.”
Pigeon blinked. “I heard some noise so I came downstairs,” he tried. Had she not noticed he was gone? Did she not notice he was in his street clothes?
His mom laid down the newspaper so it covered the platter of fudge. “Mommy just needed a glass of milk,” she said. “She was having a tough time sleeping. You march back up to bed.”
His mom was sneaking fudge! Earlier that evening, hadn’t she told his dad they were all out? Whatever was going on, he had no desire to press his luck. “Okay, I’ll just go back up to bed.”
Her expression softened. “That’s a good boy.”
Pigeon left the room. Walking up the stairs, he shook his head. It was as if the laws of nature had been turned inside out. He had just escaped an inevitable punishment for no good reason. Whatever was in that fudge had saved his life!
*****
“Is it just me, or has Miss Doulin mellowed out?” Nate asked as he, Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon walked along Greenway after school on Monday.
“You’re right,” Summer said. “She’s a lot more relaxed.”
“I was sort of testing the waters today,” Nate said. “Getting my name on the board is a freebie, and I was in the mood to see how far I could push. No matter how many jokes I cracked, or how little attention I paid, or how much I talked to Scott Simons, I didn’t even get a warning. The class has never been louder than today, and not a single name ended up on the board. And we have no homework.”
“It’s the fudge,” Pigeon said.
“That’s right!” Nate said.
“The fudge?” Trevor asked.
“I gave Miss Doulin fudge,” Pigeon said, “and it took all the fight out of her. Same with my mom. This morning, as an experiment, I took my cereal into the living room and ate it over the carpet. Mom didn’t say a thing. So I used a pair of scissors to pick at my teeth while I had a conversation with her. She acted like she didn’t even notice. Normally she would have screamed. It’s like she’s been lobotomized.”
“My dad forgot to drive me to school today,” Summer said. “He drops me off every morning. Today, he ate breakfast with me, went out to his car, and drove away. I chased him down the block. I ended up walking to school.”
“That’s why you showed up late,” Nate said. “And of course Miss Doulin didn’t even seem to mind.”
“I couldn’t believe it,” Summer said. “Dad bought a huge box of white fudge on Saturday, and has been eating lots of it.”
“My mom bought a ton too,” Nate said.
“My folks brought a bunch to my grandma’s yesterday,” Trevor said. “Grandma kept trying to get me to have one. I didn’t, of course.”
They reached the crosswalk. The crossing guard held up his sign and they scurried across the street and went to the front door of the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe.
The shop was open and busy. Some kids from their school crowded the counter. Several women and a few men waited in line or sat at tables eating sundry treats. The blond dwarf bustled about filling orders, along with a young man with shaggy brown hair and a blotchy red birthmark coloring half his face and neck. A very fit woman wearing workout clothes walked away from the counter holding a large box of white fudge.
Mrs. White emerged from the back and raised the folding segment of the counter. Trevor led the others into the back of the store. Pushing through the batwing doors, he discovered a translucent plastic tarp blocking the doorway. He grabbed a corner of the tarp and lifted it, allowing the others to duck past him before entering himself.
The back of the store was frosty. Their breath plumed out in front of them with each exhalation. Icicles hung from the worktables and some of the shelves, and ice glazed many surfaces. Several large coolers were stacked around the room. One was open, filled three-quarters of the way with medallions of ice and containing a few bricks of some substance snugly wrapped in white paper. Slick patches made the floor treacherous. In a cage on one of the worktables was a pair of odd birds. Black and white, they stood about two feet tall, with heavy, colorful bills. They looked like mutant penguins.
“What planet are those birds from?” asked Nate.
“Ours,” answered Pigeon. “They’re puffins. They live in the Arctic.”
“Very astute, Pigeon,” said Mrs. White.
“The genius strikes again,” Nate grumbled.
“I just like books about wildlife,” Pigeon apologized.
Summer was starting to shiver. Nate and Trevor had goose bumps on their arms. Mrs. White took four heavy woolen ponchos off pegs on the wall and distributed them to the kids, then slipped another over her own head, careful not to disturb her tidy bun.
“And how are the four of you today?” Mrs. White asked.
“Better, now that I’m not freezing,” Summer said. “Why is it so cold?”
“I’m creating treats called Frost Bites,” Mrs. White said. “The process both requires and causes a low temperature. I’m still finishing up the last two batches.”
“What do Frost Bites do?” Nate asked.
“I expect you’ll find out soon enough.” They gathered around the square table with the purple tablecloth. Mrs. White indicated a quartet of folding chairs, and the kids took the seats. “Business has been picking up lately,” Mrs. White announced happily. “I’ve continued hiring extra help to man the shop. White fudge samples always do the trick. How did your Saturday morning exploits go?”
“We got this,” Trevor said, pulling out the pocket watch.
Mrs. White looked delighted. “Clever children! And the book?”
“I had to leave the book,” Nate said. “Some guy showed up and tried to grab us.”
Mrs. White sat up a little straighter. Her smile faltered. “What guy?”
“Big guy, dark hair,” Summer said. “He wore a trench coat and an old-fashioned hat.”
“He had a crossbow,” Pigeon said. “He tried to apprehend me and Summer, but we used the Shock Bits and got away.”
“Summer blew a whistle to warn us,” Trevor said. “Nate snagged the watch, and we ran off. The guy chased us. He was fast and tough-looking. He almost caught Nate, but I shocked him.”
