The Candy Shop War
Page 54
Running to the gate, Pigeon put a Sweet Tooth into his mouth and pressed the button on the intercom. He glanced up and noticed a security camera aimed at him.
“Colson residence,” said a male voice. “May I ask your name?”
“I’m Paul Bowen. I’m hoping to talk to Mrs. Colson. I go to Mt. Diablo, and I’m working on a report about Hanaver Mills.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the voice asked.
Pigeon hoped the Sweet Tooth would work through an intercom. “I’m only ten. I wasn’t sure how I would make an appointment. I thought maybe I’d just drop by. Can’t you let me see her? It will only take a couple of minutes.”
“One moment.”
Pigeon waited. He slid the Sweet Tooth around his mouth with his tongue.
The gates started opening on their own. Pigeon heard Nile riding away. “Come on in,” the voice invited.
Pigeon followed the driveway to the elegant front door. A middle-aged man in a shirt and tie opened the door and admitted him. Pigeon stared up at a magnificent chandelier suspended above a grand staircase. A fat Persian cat, its long hair a tawny brown, relaxed on the stairs, licking a black paw. The man escorted Pigeon across the marble entryway and indicated a room off to one side. “You’re welcome to wait in the parlor,” the man said in a friendly, unpretentious manner. “Mrs. Colson is on a call, and may be a few minutes.”
“Okay, thanks,” Pigeon said, looking around the well-appointed sitting room.
“Be brief and polite,” the man added in a confidential tone. He winked and exited, closing the door.
Pigeon hesitantly sat down on an ornate pink and black chair. The furniture looked almost too nice to touch. There were several paintings on the walls, mostly pastoral scenes.
After waiting for a minute or so, Pigeon rose and leaned an ear against the door. From his pocket he removed a plastic sandwich bag full of reddish-brown kibbles. The sack the Brain Feed had come in was too large for pockets, so Pigeon had downsized the bag.
Pigeon inched the door open and peeked out. The Persian cat was walking away down a hall, but paused when Pigeon hissed at it softly and shook some Brain Feed into his palm. Pigeon set a few bits of food on the floor near the door and backed away. The cat came forward, sniffed the food, ate it, then entered the room.
“That was quite good, have you any more?” the cat asked in an articulate female voice.
He did not know what he had expected, but hearing the cat suddenly speaking in perfect English left Pigeon momentarily speechless. “Sure, if you help me out,” he finally managed.
“Do I strike you as an errand girl?” the cat sniffed, raising her head imperiously.
“I meant a favor,” Pigeon said.
“I seldom grant favors, and certainly not in exchange for bribes.” The cat slunk to the center of the room, furry tail swishing lazily behind her.
Pigeon remembered that he still had the Sweet Tooth in his mouth, and resolved to be more direct. “You must know this house very well,” he said.
“None know it better,” the cat declared.
“Have you seen a model ship inside a bottle?”
“Here in the house? Certainly not.” The cat stretched.
“A really nice model, built by Hanaver Mills,” he specified.
“By Hanaver? You might try the Colson Museum.”
“This model isn’t in the museum,” Pigeon said, realizing that this line of questioning was getting him nowhere. “Is Mrs. Colson nice?”
“Nice? That depends. She can be affectionate and generous. She can be cold and ruthless. I quite like her.”
“How about I give you some more of this food just to be kind,” Pigeon said.
“How magnanimous of you,” the cat said sarcastically.
Pigeon set a few more kibbles on the floor, and the cat ate them. “I must say, as sorry as it looks, this stuff has a most agreeable aftertaste. Where did you get it?”
“Hard to explain,” Pigeon said. “Look, I—”
At that moment Mrs. Colson came through the door, a slender woman in a smart gray suit, her hair short and stylish. Pigeon jumped up and tried not to look like he had been having a conversation with a cat. Mrs. Colson strode forward, extending a hand toward Pigeon with the breezy camaraderie of a practiced politician. “Victoria Colson, so nice to meet you, Paul.”
“Thank you for letting me visit,” Pigeon said, meeting her assertive grip limply.
Mrs. Colson bent down and picked up the cat. “How did you get in here, Jasmine?”
“My fault,” Pigeon apologized. “I noticed her in the hall and opened the door. I like cats.”
“More like you lured me in here with salty snacks,” Jasmine purred.
“A fellow feline enthusiast,” Mrs. Colson said with an automatic smile. She did not appear to have heard the cat speak. “Please, Paul, have a seat.” He sat back down on the pink and black chair. Mrs. Colson alighted on the sofa, stroking Jasmine. “How may I help you?”
“I’m working on a project for school about the models Hanaver Mills built. He’s your ancestor, right?”
“My great-great-grandfather, yes.”
“I’ve seen the boats in the town museum, but I read that he had a favorite, a ship called the Stargazer housed inside a bottle. I’d love to have a look and maybe take a picture if you know where I can find it.”
Mrs. Colson placed a manicured finger beside her lips. “I donated the Stargazer to the library as a display piece several years ago,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m in there almost every week, but I can’t say I’ve seen it. The model must have ended up in storage. You know who could help you is Leslie Wagner, the head librarian. I’ll give you a note. Bravo for going the extra mile on your research! Wait here one moment.”
“You got on her good side,” Jasmine remarked as Mrs. Colson exited the room. “Victoria has always been a pushover for kids and animals. Funny all the interest in Hanaver lately.”
“All the interest?” Pigeon asked.
“Some of his belongings were recently stolen from the Colson Museum,” Jasmine said. “And of course Belinda White keeps asking Victoria about Hanaver Mills memorabilia.”
“Belinda White?”
“She telephones on occasion,” Jasmine said. “Belinda runs the new candy shop on Main. She sends us the most delicious complimentary treats: peanut brittle, chocolate macadamias, truffles, fudge . . . I would love to meet her face-to-face.”
“Colson residence,” said a male voice. “May I ask your name?”
“I’m Paul Bowen. I’m hoping to talk to Mrs. Colson. I go to Mt. Diablo, and I’m working on a report about Hanaver Mills.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the voice asked.
Pigeon hoped the Sweet Tooth would work through an intercom. “I’m only ten. I wasn’t sure how I would make an appointment. I thought maybe I’d just drop by. Can’t you let me see her? It will only take a couple of minutes.”
“One moment.”
Pigeon waited. He slid the Sweet Tooth around his mouth with his tongue.
The gates started opening on their own. Pigeon heard Nile riding away. “Come on in,” the voice invited.
Pigeon followed the driveway to the elegant front door. A middle-aged man in a shirt and tie opened the door and admitted him. Pigeon stared up at a magnificent chandelier suspended above a grand staircase. A fat Persian cat, its long hair a tawny brown, relaxed on the stairs, licking a black paw. The man escorted Pigeon across the marble entryway and indicated a room off to one side. “You’re welcome to wait in the parlor,” the man said in a friendly, unpretentious manner. “Mrs. Colson is on a call, and may be a few minutes.”
“Okay, thanks,” Pigeon said, looking around the well-appointed sitting room.
“Be brief and polite,” the man added in a confidential tone. He winked and exited, closing the door.
Pigeon hesitantly sat down on an ornate pink and black chair. The furniture looked almost too nice to touch. There were several paintings on the walls, mostly pastoral scenes.
After waiting for a minute or so, Pigeon rose and leaned an ear against the door. From his pocket he removed a plastic sandwich bag full of reddish-brown kibbles. The sack the Brain Feed had come in was too large for pockets, so Pigeon had downsized the bag.
Pigeon inched the door open and peeked out. The Persian cat was walking away down a hall, but paused when Pigeon hissed at it softly and shook some Brain Feed into his palm. Pigeon set a few bits of food on the floor near the door and backed away. The cat came forward, sniffed the food, ate it, then entered the room.
“That was quite good, have you any more?” the cat asked in an articulate female voice.
He did not know what he had expected, but hearing the cat suddenly speaking in perfect English left Pigeon momentarily speechless. “Sure, if you help me out,” he finally managed.
“Do I strike you as an errand girl?” the cat sniffed, raising her head imperiously.
“I meant a favor,” Pigeon said.
“I seldom grant favors, and certainly not in exchange for bribes.” The cat slunk to the center of the room, furry tail swishing lazily behind her.
Pigeon remembered that he still had the Sweet Tooth in his mouth, and resolved to be more direct. “You must know this house very well,” he said.
“None know it better,” the cat declared.
“Have you seen a model ship inside a bottle?”
“Here in the house? Certainly not.” The cat stretched.
“A really nice model, built by Hanaver Mills,” he specified.
“By Hanaver? You might try the Colson Museum.”
“This model isn’t in the museum,” Pigeon said, realizing that this line of questioning was getting him nowhere. “Is Mrs. Colson nice?”
“Nice? That depends. She can be affectionate and generous. She can be cold and ruthless. I quite like her.”
“How about I give you some more of this food just to be kind,” Pigeon said.
“How magnanimous of you,” the cat said sarcastically.
Pigeon set a few more kibbles on the floor, and the cat ate them. “I must say, as sorry as it looks, this stuff has a most agreeable aftertaste. Where did you get it?”
“Hard to explain,” Pigeon said. “Look, I—”
At that moment Mrs. Colson came through the door, a slender woman in a smart gray suit, her hair short and stylish. Pigeon jumped up and tried not to look like he had been having a conversation with a cat. Mrs. Colson strode forward, extending a hand toward Pigeon with the breezy camaraderie of a practiced politician. “Victoria Colson, so nice to meet you, Paul.”
“Thank you for letting me visit,” Pigeon said, meeting her assertive grip limply.
Mrs. Colson bent down and picked up the cat. “How did you get in here, Jasmine?”
“My fault,” Pigeon apologized. “I noticed her in the hall and opened the door. I like cats.”
“More like you lured me in here with salty snacks,” Jasmine purred.
“A fellow feline enthusiast,” Mrs. Colson said with an automatic smile. She did not appear to have heard the cat speak. “Please, Paul, have a seat.” He sat back down on the pink and black chair. Mrs. Colson alighted on the sofa, stroking Jasmine. “How may I help you?”
“I’m working on a project for school about the models Hanaver Mills built. He’s your ancestor, right?”
“My great-great-grandfather, yes.”
“I’ve seen the boats in the town museum, but I read that he had a favorite, a ship called the Stargazer housed inside a bottle. I’d love to have a look and maybe take a picture if you know where I can find it.”
Mrs. Colson placed a manicured finger beside her lips. “I donated the Stargazer to the library as a display piece several years ago,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m in there almost every week, but I can’t say I’ve seen it. The model must have ended up in storage. You know who could help you is Leslie Wagner, the head librarian. I’ll give you a note. Bravo for going the extra mile on your research! Wait here one moment.”
“You got on her good side,” Jasmine remarked as Mrs. Colson exited the room. “Victoria has always been a pushover for kids and animals. Funny all the interest in Hanaver lately.”
“All the interest?” Pigeon asked.
“Some of his belongings were recently stolen from the Colson Museum,” Jasmine said. “And of course Belinda White keeps asking Victoria about Hanaver Mills memorabilia.”
“Belinda White?”
“She telephones on occasion,” Jasmine said. “Belinda runs the new candy shop on Main. She sends us the most delicious complimentary treats: peanut brittle, chocolate macadamias, truffles, fudge . . . I would love to meet her face-to-face.”
