The Candy Shop War
Page 41
“Um, sure, go ahead.” Miss Doulin returned her gaze to the textbook. “Where were we? Ah, yes.” She started reading aloud again.
*****
The house at 1512 Limerick Court was a boxy, one-story home made of wood and white brick. A small detached garage stood at the end of the short driveway. Quirky items cluttered the yard: a sculpture made of bicycle wheels, an inflatable Elvis, an aluminum totem pole, a miniature windmill with rotating sails, a giant ceramic boot with flowers sprouting out the top, along with other more conventional eccentricities like wind chimes, bird feeders, lawn gnomes, and pink flamingos. A low chain-link fence enclosed the front yard, with a gate providing access to the brick walkway that led to the porch.
As Nate and Trevor straddled their bikes in front of the gate, only one of the house’s large, rectangular windows was illuminated—a window at the right end of the squat structure, with the blinds closed. The asphalt under their tires was almost dry. The rain had tapered off during the day. Patches of stars peeked through the clouds overhead.
“Think Summer and Pigeon will show?” Trevor asked.
“Summer at least,” Nate said.
“I don’t like standing here on the street,” Trevor said. “Somebody might see us.”
Nate inclined his head toward the door. “Should we go knock?”
“We don’t need to all enter together,” Trevor said, reaching to open the gate.
“You have those Frost Bites ready just in case?” Nate asked.
Trevor nodded. “You have the Shock Bits?”
“Yep,” Nate said. “Think he might have a dog?”
Trevor rattled the gate gently and whistled. No animal responded. “All clear,” Trevor said, opening the gate and wheeling his bike through. They left their bikes propped against the inside of the low fence and walked to the front door. Artificial turf blanketed the porch. A terra-cotta Buddha sat near the door, along with a painted statue of a cheetah. Nate pulled open the screen door and knocked. When the house remained quiet, Trevor pressed the lighted doorbell. They heard it chime a few notes from “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.”
Illumination brightened a new window, and a moment later they heard locks being unfastened. The door opened halfway. Mr. Stott was wearing flannel pajamas with fat maroon and cream stripes. He squinted at them. “Tracked me down at home, did you?” he said. “Little late for a fruit bar.”
“We aren’t here to buy treats,” Nate promised.
“I remember Trevor, and you’re Nate, correct?” Mr. Stott said.
“Right,” Nate said. “We’re here about Mrs. White. She has plans to harm you.”
Mr. Stott’s demeanor transformed instantly. His cranky half-smile drooped into a somber frown. His eyes flicked back and forth between them. “You mean by driving me out of business?”
“We mean by using magic against you,” Trevor clarified.
Mr. Stott nodded, stroking his beard. “Then you had better come inside,” he invited, stepping out of the way and pulling the door open wider.
“Trevor, Nate,” came an urgent whisper from behind them.
Nate turned and saw Pigeon and Summer pulling up at the gate on their bikes. “They’re with us,” Trevor explained as he stepped across the threshold.
Pigeon and Summer parked their bikes and hurried through the doorway. Mr. Stott closed the door.
Nate and Trevor went into the living room and plopped down on a black leather sofa. A fanned-out assortment of peacock feathers decorated one wall. A print showing Easter Island statues hung on another, stone heads staring mysteriously. Several issues of Log Home Living magazine rested on a glass and chrome coffee table. A tall, unlit lava lamp occupied one corner. A few pedestals stood around the room, each topped by one or two little telescopes locked into position by some kind of holder.
Summer and Pigeon sat on an elaborately carved loveseat. Mr. Stott claimed a large armchair upholstered in cowhide, adding to the ridiculousness of his striped pajamas. He leaned forward intently. “You say you are aware of a plot by Belinda White?”
“Is that her name?” Summer asked. “Belinda?”
“The name she is using here in Colson,” Mr. Stott said.
“She wanted Trevor and me to use something she called a Clean Slate to erase your memory,” Nate said. “She told us that you were an evil man.”
Mr. Stott nodded, pinching the whiskers immediately below his lips. “I’ve heard rumors that she could concoct a powerful amnesiac. How did she expect to administer it?”
“She wanted Nate and me to come into your house using mirrors and mix the Clean Slate into a drink in your fridge,” Trevor said.
“Using mirrors?” Mr. Stott asked dubiously.
“She said we would turn into reflections and be able to travel through walls,” Nate said.
“I had no idea that technique had survived,” Mr. Stott marveled. “How sloppy of me! Tell me, why are you sharing this information?”
“We didn’t want to do it,” Trevor said.
“We got involved with Mrs. White because she was giving us magic candy,” Nate explained. “She would have us do little tasks, and then reward us with more candy. We could jump around like we were in low gravity, we could shock people, we could control dolls with our minds—”
“But the stuff she was asking us to do seemed fishy,” Summer interjected. “We gave fudge to our parents that made them distracted and forgetful. We stole from the town museum. We dug up a grave.”
“We wanted to figure out what she was up to,” Nate said. “But we drew the line at erasing your memory.”
“For which I’m most grateful,” Mr. Stott said. “With that mirror technique you might have succeeded. What have you learned about her master plan?”
“We know she is here looking for a treasure,” Pigeon said. “We know she wants it because it will increase her powers. She says you are looking for it as well. She somehow knows a lot about what is going on in town. We’re not sure why she involves kids in her work, or whether she really is as dangerous as we worry she might be.”
Mr. Stott folded his hands. “I appreciate you laying your cards on the table,” he said. “I will try to be equally forthright. Mrs. White is more treacherous than you can guess. We are both magicians, but she has one of the most notorious and bloody histories of any member of our order. She craves power, and has never hesitated to lie, cheat, steal, or kill to get it.”
*****
The house at 1512 Limerick Court was a boxy, one-story home made of wood and white brick. A small detached garage stood at the end of the short driveway. Quirky items cluttered the yard: a sculpture made of bicycle wheels, an inflatable Elvis, an aluminum totem pole, a miniature windmill with rotating sails, a giant ceramic boot with flowers sprouting out the top, along with other more conventional eccentricities like wind chimes, bird feeders, lawn gnomes, and pink flamingos. A low chain-link fence enclosed the front yard, with a gate providing access to the brick walkway that led to the porch.
As Nate and Trevor straddled their bikes in front of the gate, only one of the house’s large, rectangular windows was illuminated—a window at the right end of the squat structure, with the blinds closed. The asphalt under their tires was almost dry. The rain had tapered off during the day. Patches of stars peeked through the clouds overhead.
“Think Summer and Pigeon will show?” Trevor asked.
“Summer at least,” Nate said.
“I don’t like standing here on the street,” Trevor said. “Somebody might see us.”
Nate inclined his head toward the door. “Should we go knock?”
“We don’t need to all enter together,” Trevor said, reaching to open the gate.
“You have those Frost Bites ready just in case?” Nate asked.
Trevor nodded. “You have the Shock Bits?”
“Yep,” Nate said. “Think he might have a dog?”
Trevor rattled the gate gently and whistled. No animal responded. “All clear,” Trevor said, opening the gate and wheeling his bike through. They left their bikes propped against the inside of the low fence and walked to the front door. Artificial turf blanketed the porch. A terra-cotta Buddha sat near the door, along with a painted statue of a cheetah. Nate pulled open the screen door and knocked. When the house remained quiet, Trevor pressed the lighted doorbell. They heard it chime a few notes from “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.”
Illumination brightened a new window, and a moment later they heard locks being unfastened. The door opened halfway. Mr. Stott was wearing flannel pajamas with fat maroon and cream stripes. He squinted at them. “Tracked me down at home, did you?” he said. “Little late for a fruit bar.”
“We aren’t here to buy treats,” Nate promised.
“I remember Trevor, and you’re Nate, correct?” Mr. Stott said.
“Right,” Nate said. “We’re here about Mrs. White. She has plans to harm you.”
Mr. Stott’s demeanor transformed instantly. His cranky half-smile drooped into a somber frown. His eyes flicked back and forth between them. “You mean by driving me out of business?”
“We mean by using magic against you,” Trevor clarified.
Mr. Stott nodded, stroking his beard. “Then you had better come inside,” he invited, stepping out of the way and pulling the door open wider.
“Trevor, Nate,” came an urgent whisper from behind them.
Nate turned and saw Pigeon and Summer pulling up at the gate on their bikes. “They’re with us,” Trevor explained as he stepped across the threshold.
Pigeon and Summer parked their bikes and hurried through the doorway. Mr. Stott closed the door.
Nate and Trevor went into the living room and plopped down on a black leather sofa. A fanned-out assortment of peacock feathers decorated one wall. A print showing Easter Island statues hung on another, stone heads staring mysteriously. Several issues of Log Home Living magazine rested on a glass and chrome coffee table. A tall, unlit lava lamp occupied one corner. A few pedestals stood around the room, each topped by one or two little telescopes locked into position by some kind of holder.
Summer and Pigeon sat on an elaborately carved loveseat. Mr. Stott claimed a large armchair upholstered in cowhide, adding to the ridiculousness of his striped pajamas. He leaned forward intently. “You say you are aware of a plot by Belinda White?”
“Is that her name?” Summer asked. “Belinda?”
“The name she is using here in Colson,” Mr. Stott said.
“She wanted Trevor and me to use something she called a Clean Slate to erase your memory,” Nate said. “She told us that you were an evil man.”
Mr. Stott nodded, pinching the whiskers immediately below his lips. “I’ve heard rumors that she could concoct a powerful amnesiac. How did she expect to administer it?”
“She wanted Nate and me to come into your house using mirrors and mix the Clean Slate into a drink in your fridge,” Trevor said.
“Using mirrors?” Mr. Stott asked dubiously.
“She said we would turn into reflections and be able to travel through walls,” Nate said.
“I had no idea that technique had survived,” Mr. Stott marveled. “How sloppy of me! Tell me, why are you sharing this information?”
“We didn’t want to do it,” Trevor said.
“We got involved with Mrs. White because she was giving us magic candy,” Nate explained. “She would have us do little tasks, and then reward us with more candy. We could jump around like we were in low gravity, we could shock people, we could control dolls with our minds—”
“But the stuff she was asking us to do seemed fishy,” Summer interjected. “We gave fudge to our parents that made them distracted and forgetful. We stole from the town museum. We dug up a grave.”
“We wanted to figure out what she was up to,” Nate said. “But we drew the line at erasing your memory.”
“For which I’m most grateful,” Mr. Stott said. “With that mirror technique you might have succeeded. What have you learned about her master plan?”
“We know she is here looking for a treasure,” Pigeon said. “We know she wants it because it will increase her powers. She says you are looking for it as well. She somehow knows a lot about what is going on in town. We’re not sure why she involves kids in her work, or whether she really is as dangerous as we worry she might be.”
Mr. Stott folded his hands. “I appreciate you laying your cards on the table,” he said. “I will try to be equally forthright. Mrs. White is more treacherous than you can guess. We are both magicians, but she has one of the most notorious and bloody histories of any member of our order. She craves power, and has never hesitated to lie, cheat, steal, or kill to get it.”
