The Candy Shop War
Page 30
“We should make you a feathery costume,” Nate said.
Pigeon rolled his eyes, trying to keep a smile from creeping onto his face. “I’m going to stick with Pigeon.”
“We could still make a costume,” Nate said. “You still haven’t told me how you got the name. Have I been in the club long enough?”
Pigeon glanced at Trevor and Summer. “Should I tell him?”
“Up to you,” Summer said.
“Tell him, it’s funny,” Trevor prodded.
“You tell it,” Pigeon said.
“Okay,” Trevor began, excited to have permission, “so, almost three years ago, during second grade, Pigeon used to sit alone at lunch. My family had moved here that year, and I hadn’t really met Summer or Pigeon yet. Anyhow, you’ve probably noticed our school has a lot of seagulls hanging around at lunchtime. Don’t ask me why, we’re what, fifty miles from the ocean? Anyhow, the point is, we get lots of seagulls, but you never see any pigeons.”
“Right,” Nate said.
“Well, one day this pigeon shows up, and Pigeon, he was Paul back then, starts feeding it. They became friends. That same pigeon would show up at lunch and sit with Paul without fail, eating little crumbs of his sandwich or whatever.”
“Then one day,” Pigeon jumped in, “I put a breadcrumb on my arm. And the pigeon hops up onto my sleeve and eats it. So I put a piece of bread on my shoulder. And the pigeon perched up there and ate it.”
“Everybody starts noticing this pigeon on Paul,” Summer said, holding back laughter. “And everybody starts gathering around him, checking it out.”
“Then the pigeon hops on top of his head,” Trevor said. “It stands there for a minute, just staring at everybody.”
“And then it made a mess on me,” Pigeon said. Nate cracked up, and the others laughed hard as well. “I had all this gooey white gunk in my hair.”
“Everybody saw it,” Summer gasped through her laughter.
“And he’s been Pigeon ever since,” Trevor finished.
“Did you ever see the pigeon again?” Nate asked once the laughter died down.
“No, never,” Pigeon said. “I’ve never seen another pigeon at our school, before or since. It was like he deliberately showed up long enough to humiliate me, then took off forever.”
“That is hysterical,” Nate said. “I guess you should be glad you aren’t called Condor.”
They all cackled again.
*****
The line at the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe spilled out the front door and along the walkway. Old and young, male and female, dozens of people waited anxiously for their sugar fix.
The crowd made Nate recall what Mr. Stott had said about being run out of business. Maybe he was right. To have a line like that at 3:00 p.m. on a Tuesday meant Sweet Tooth was becoming a major fad.
Nate led Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon through the front doors, shouldering past the people in line. The dwarf and the guy with the lurid birthmark looked frazzled as they hustled to fill orders. Mrs. White was handing two boxes of white fudge to a young man with stubbly facial hair and an earring. Nate noticed envious looks from many of the waiting customers as Mrs. White greeted the four of them enthusiastically, raised the counter, and escorted them into the back.
There was no indication that the back of the store had ever been as frigid as a meat locker. Dozens of trays of white fudge rested on the worktables and filled tall racks.
“Welcome, welcome,” Mrs. White said, “we’re in the midst of our busiest day yet. You wouldn’t believe the orders we’ve been getting. I’ll be up all night replenishing our supply of white fudge! Maybe I should spoil a batch or two, slow things down a bit. I need to do more hiring! How are you doing? Did you repay your bullies?”
“Repaid them and then some,” Nate said.
“How wonderful, I’m glad the trick candy went to good use,” Mrs. White said. “I’m a little overwhelmed today, so we’ll have to be quick, but I do have a new assignment for you. Turns out it was fortunate you opted for the pocket watch over the book, Nate. I dismantled the watch and discovered a message on the back of the face. The letters were so miniscule, they could have been written with an eyelash. The note indicated that Hanaver Mills was buried with an important item hidden in an ivory box. By implication, the message granted permission to exhume him.”
“What?” Trevor asked.
“To unbury him,” Pigeon interpreted.
“Of course, we would suffer an endless runaround if we tried to obtain permission through formal channels. I would prefer you four visit the Colson Valley Cemetery tomorrow night and see what you can dig up.”
“You want us to rob a grave?” Nate asked.
“Goodness, no,” Mrs. White said. “I want you to seek out the item referenced in the pocket watch message. Take the item in the box, an item meant to be claimed, and rebury the rest.”
“What if we get caught?” Trevor asked.
“You’ll be much better equipped than last time,” Mrs. White promised. “Let’s see, for Summer I have a package of Flame Outs. I would prefer if she were the only person to use them. It might be gender bias, but I believe that she has the coolest head of all of you. Summer, when you put one of these in your mouth, it will emerge as a searing ball of fire. Use a Flame Out only under dire circumstances, for the effect can be lethal. Never chew it or use more than one at a time. Never use one indoors, or you may very well incinerate yourself along with your target.”
“I don’t want candy that could kill someone,” Summer said.
Mrs. White sighed, glancing at her wristwatch. “Lots of things have the potential to kill someone, my dear. A baseball bat. A ladder. A bicycle. It all depends on how you use them. I don’t give you these Flame Outs to cremate people. Maybe you’ll need a distraction. Maybe you’ll need to disable an unoccupied car. Who knows?” She passed the candy to Summer. “Might come in handy to have some extra fire power.”
Mrs. White turned to Nate. “You did a fine job operating the Proxy Doll last time, so I am giving you more Proxy Dust, along with a new subject to control. I call him the Forty-niner.” She pointed to a squat caricature of an old miner carved out of wood standing beside one of the worktables. The figure had crazed eyes, a shapeless hat, and a white beard, and stood about three feet tall. He clutched a pickax in one hand and a shovel in the other. The pickax and shovel were made of metal.
Pigeon rolled his eyes, trying to keep a smile from creeping onto his face. “I’m going to stick with Pigeon.”
“We could still make a costume,” Nate said. “You still haven’t told me how you got the name. Have I been in the club long enough?”
Pigeon glanced at Trevor and Summer. “Should I tell him?”
“Up to you,” Summer said.
“Tell him, it’s funny,” Trevor prodded.
“You tell it,” Pigeon said.
“Okay,” Trevor began, excited to have permission, “so, almost three years ago, during second grade, Pigeon used to sit alone at lunch. My family had moved here that year, and I hadn’t really met Summer or Pigeon yet. Anyhow, you’ve probably noticed our school has a lot of seagulls hanging around at lunchtime. Don’t ask me why, we’re what, fifty miles from the ocean? Anyhow, the point is, we get lots of seagulls, but you never see any pigeons.”
“Right,” Nate said.
“Well, one day this pigeon shows up, and Pigeon, he was Paul back then, starts feeding it. They became friends. That same pigeon would show up at lunch and sit with Paul without fail, eating little crumbs of his sandwich or whatever.”
“Then one day,” Pigeon jumped in, “I put a breadcrumb on my arm. And the pigeon hops up onto my sleeve and eats it. So I put a piece of bread on my shoulder. And the pigeon perched up there and ate it.”
“Everybody starts noticing this pigeon on Paul,” Summer said, holding back laughter. “And everybody starts gathering around him, checking it out.”
“Then the pigeon hops on top of his head,” Trevor said. “It stands there for a minute, just staring at everybody.”
“And then it made a mess on me,” Pigeon said. Nate cracked up, and the others laughed hard as well. “I had all this gooey white gunk in my hair.”
“Everybody saw it,” Summer gasped through her laughter.
“And he’s been Pigeon ever since,” Trevor finished.
“Did you ever see the pigeon again?” Nate asked once the laughter died down.
“No, never,” Pigeon said. “I’ve never seen another pigeon at our school, before or since. It was like he deliberately showed up long enough to humiliate me, then took off forever.”
“That is hysterical,” Nate said. “I guess you should be glad you aren’t called Condor.”
They all cackled again.
*****
The line at the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe spilled out the front door and along the walkway. Old and young, male and female, dozens of people waited anxiously for their sugar fix.
The crowd made Nate recall what Mr. Stott had said about being run out of business. Maybe he was right. To have a line like that at 3:00 p.m. on a Tuesday meant Sweet Tooth was becoming a major fad.
Nate led Summer, Trevor, and Pigeon through the front doors, shouldering past the people in line. The dwarf and the guy with the lurid birthmark looked frazzled as they hustled to fill orders. Mrs. White was handing two boxes of white fudge to a young man with stubbly facial hair and an earring. Nate noticed envious looks from many of the waiting customers as Mrs. White greeted the four of them enthusiastically, raised the counter, and escorted them into the back.
There was no indication that the back of the store had ever been as frigid as a meat locker. Dozens of trays of white fudge rested on the worktables and filled tall racks.
“Welcome, welcome,” Mrs. White said, “we’re in the midst of our busiest day yet. You wouldn’t believe the orders we’ve been getting. I’ll be up all night replenishing our supply of white fudge! Maybe I should spoil a batch or two, slow things down a bit. I need to do more hiring! How are you doing? Did you repay your bullies?”
“Repaid them and then some,” Nate said.
“How wonderful, I’m glad the trick candy went to good use,” Mrs. White said. “I’m a little overwhelmed today, so we’ll have to be quick, but I do have a new assignment for you. Turns out it was fortunate you opted for the pocket watch over the book, Nate. I dismantled the watch and discovered a message on the back of the face. The letters were so miniscule, they could have been written with an eyelash. The note indicated that Hanaver Mills was buried with an important item hidden in an ivory box. By implication, the message granted permission to exhume him.”
“What?” Trevor asked.
“To unbury him,” Pigeon interpreted.
“Of course, we would suffer an endless runaround if we tried to obtain permission through formal channels. I would prefer you four visit the Colson Valley Cemetery tomorrow night and see what you can dig up.”
“You want us to rob a grave?” Nate asked.
“Goodness, no,” Mrs. White said. “I want you to seek out the item referenced in the pocket watch message. Take the item in the box, an item meant to be claimed, and rebury the rest.”
“What if we get caught?” Trevor asked.
“You’ll be much better equipped than last time,” Mrs. White promised. “Let’s see, for Summer I have a package of Flame Outs. I would prefer if she were the only person to use them. It might be gender bias, but I believe that she has the coolest head of all of you. Summer, when you put one of these in your mouth, it will emerge as a searing ball of fire. Use a Flame Out only under dire circumstances, for the effect can be lethal. Never chew it or use more than one at a time. Never use one indoors, or you may very well incinerate yourself along with your target.”
“I don’t want candy that could kill someone,” Summer said.
Mrs. White sighed, glancing at her wristwatch. “Lots of things have the potential to kill someone, my dear. A baseball bat. A ladder. A bicycle. It all depends on how you use them. I don’t give you these Flame Outs to cremate people. Maybe you’ll need a distraction. Maybe you’ll need to disable an unoccupied car. Who knows?” She passed the candy to Summer. “Might come in handy to have some extra fire power.”
Mrs. White turned to Nate. “You did a fine job operating the Proxy Doll last time, so I am giving you more Proxy Dust, along with a new subject to control. I call him the Forty-niner.” She pointed to a squat caricature of an old miner carved out of wood standing beside one of the worktables. The figure had crazed eyes, a shapeless hat, and a white beard, and stood about three feet tall. He clutched a pickax in one hand and a shovel in the other. The pickax and shovel were made of metal.
