The Candymakers and the Great Chocolate Chase

by Wendy Mass

  Logan’s eyes lit up. “This is great. Maybe Daisy can do that thing she did with the contract and get the words back!”

  “Maybe she can,” he agreed. “She said if it was written in real lead pencil that had faded with time, she could turn it into black lead sulfide first, then use some kind of hydrogen gas to get it to darken.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Logan said.

  “Yeah, me neither,” Miles admitted. “But I know one thing about the notebook—the words didn’t fade over time. They were erased. Maybe Sam planned to reuse the notebook, or maybe he just wanted to leave no trace, but either way, he didn’t want someone to read it. I think we should let him have his privacy. Doesn’t everyone deserve that?”

  Logan examined the notebook while Miles sent the message to Philip and Daisy to meet them in the Marshmallow Room.

  “I agree,” Logan said. “I can use it to write our story.”

  Miles tucked the vid com away. “Perfect. Now let’s go give Henry his eyesight back!”

  “I’m proud of you, PHILIP,” Reggie said as he left him at the factory door. He placed the two large suitcases beside the old milk jug on the porch.

  “Don’t go getting all soft on me,” Philip said. “It’s not that big a deal.” But even Philip couldn’t say that with a straight face. They started laughing. “All right, it’s a big deal.”

  His vid com buzzed in his pocket. “I’ll see you later, okay?” he told Reggie. “Thanks for… well, all of it.” When Philip had gotten back from the trip and told Reggie about his grandmother and what he’d learned, it was as if ten years disappeared from Reggie’s face.

  His father had only said, “So I take it you met your grandmother.” Philip nodded. Then his father asked, “Did you win the competition?” Philip shook his head. “You’ll do better next time,” his dad replied. Stunned by this response, Philip’s first thought was that perhaps his father had been taken by aliens and this man had been left in his place. But then he decided that maybe even Philip Ransford the Second could change for the better. Either way, that was the last they spoke of either matter. Philip actually didn’t know whether he might have won if he hadn’t left. But he decided then and there that his contest days were over. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone other than himself.

  Reggie tipped his hat as he walked away. “Good luck in there.”

  “Thanks, Reggie,” Philip said, then pulled out his vid com. The message from Miles to meet in the Marshmallow Room came up first, followed by Daisy asking where he was. He quickly grabbed the suitcases and pushed open the door. Even on wheels they were heavy. But he couldn’t risk leaving them behind. He got a lot of “Moving in?” jokes as he hurried down the hallway.

  “I thought you were standing me up,” Daisy joked when Philip pushed the suitcases through the door and then closed it behind him. “But now I see it’s because you were packing. Are you leaving town, too?”

  He stopped straightening his tie in the mirror. “Too? Are you going on another gig already?”

  She shook her head tentatively. “I think I’m going away to school for a while. Spy school. Like, with other kid spies.”

  “I figured that’s what spy school would be,” he said. “That’s cool, though. It’ll be good for you.”

  “Yeah, that’s what my grandmother said. So, you gonna tell me what’s in the biggest suitcases I’ve ever seen?”

  “I’ll show you.” But he didn’t move.

  “Well, while you’re apparently frozen, I’ve been meaning to give you this.” She handed him a flash drive. It took a few seconds, but he recognized it as the one his grandmother had given him—or rather, tried to give him—after his performance.

  “Did you open it?” he asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Yup. I think you’ll be surprised.”

  “Maybe later,” he said. “Miles wants us in the Marshmallow Room, and it’s the annual picnic, and I really need to show you—”

  She plucked the flash drive from his hand and stuck it into the side of her vid com. A video booted up and began to play. Philip tried to turn away, but hearing his mother’s voice made him whip his head around. She was sitting on a patch of grass, and behind her were a hundred rubber ducks floating on a pond. Philip’s mouth formed into an O shape. “C’mon, sweetie, come to Mommy.”

  “I think he’s going to do it!” his father’s voice said, offscreen. Philip realized his dad must have been holding the camera.

  A few seconds later, a baby in a pair of red shorts and a blue shirt pushed to his feet and began walking—Frankenstein-like—toward his mother. Philip pointed to the screen. “Is that… that’s me?”

  Daisy nodded. “I knew your essay wasn’t a lie.”

  “I didn’t,” he said. The camera zoomed in on him and his mom as she lifted him up and whooped. Up close he could see how tired she looked, with dark circles around her eyes. Tired but joyous.

  His eyes filled up. She was sick, even back then. He wondered if she knew it. She probably just thought she needed more sleep.

  Daisy slowly pulled the vid com away and switched off the video. “You okay?” she asked.

  He nodded slowly.

  “Hey, why don’t you just tell me what’s in the suitcases? That’ll take your mind off things.”

  “They’re filled with cash.”

  “Come again?” she asked.

  A loud knocking on the door made them both jump. “We know you’re in there.” A second later the door opened. Logan held up a key. “Got my own now.”

  “We have to go,” Miles said. “Henry’s back!”

  Daisy jumped to her feet. “Let’s go!”

  Philip reached for the handles of one of the suitcases and gestured for Daisy to take the other. She just grabbed them both and took off as if they were stuffed with feathers.

  “Moving in?” Miles joked.

  “Not exactly,” Philip said.

  When they got to the Marshmallow Room, they found the door closed but unlocked. Henry sat on one of the stools, passing a marshmallow from one hand to the other.

  “You’re all here,” he said. “How was your trip?”

  Philip stopped short at the sight of him. Miles gasped, then put his hand over his mouth.

  “Henry!” Daisy yelped, rushing over to him. She took his hand. “What happened?”

  Henry gave a soft, sad chuckle. “You should see the other guy.”

  The four of them looked at each other. One by one, they nodded. Philip went over to the cabinet above the fridge. He pulled out a small glass container. It held only two of the beans he and Logan had harvested. AJ had the other two, along with the Magic Bar. He had access to a special lab and was working on learning more about them. Philip unscrewed the lid, and the scent quickly overpowered the vanilla marshmallow smell that hung in the air.

  He handed the jar to Logan, who took the marshmallow off Henry’s palm and placed two beans there instead. “Please,” Logan said. “Eat.”

  Henry lifted his other hand out of Daisy’s and felt the beans with his fingers. He shook his head.

  “Please,” Logan repeated more firmly. “Protecting the tree is not your job anymore.”

  Henry opened his mouth to speak again but then closed it. Philip stepped forward. “Come on, Henry. You’ve helped all of us. I have a feeling you’ve done a lot more around here than anyone knows. You gave your life to this place. Let us give you something back.”

  Henry shook his head. “Only at the right time,” he said, reciting the words on the tree. “It is not meant for me.”

  “You don’t know that at all,” Logan insisted. “And how do we know this isn’t the right time?”

  Henry seemed to consider that thought for a minute, until he finally said, “Then you take one, too.” The way he said it sounded almost like a dare.

  Philip dared not breathe. He wanted Logan to agree so badly. The others looked like the
y were holding their breath, too. Logan’s face darkened, a rare sight. “I already told you guys. I won’t do it.”

  “Then neither will I.” Henry crossed his arms. Logan did the same.

  Miles cleared his throat. “Um, not to rush this or anything, but we were supposed to be in the Harmonicandy Room, like, half an hour ago.”

  Logan began to pace. “Henry, this isn’t going to cure you. You probably won’t be able to drive again. It’s not going to let you see the stars. But it can give you back a little of your sight, enough to work and get around without beating yourself up with walls and tree branches.”

  Henry let out a long breath and then finally a nod. “If you consider doing it, too. Not now,” he said, holding up a hand to quiet Logan’s argument. “But in a few years if the doctors can’t help you.”

  Logan hesitated but said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Henry gave one quick nod. “Good enough.” And he popped the beans into his mouth.

  Philip pulled Logan away toward the cooling racks and whispered, “You’re never going to do it, are you?”

  Logan shook his head and whispered back, “I’m sorry. I know you really want me to. But my scars aren’t a health concern, not really. It doesn’t feel right. Who knows how many more of those beans will grow? Or what they’re really meant for?”

  Philip wanted to press him to reconsider, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He had to accept his friend’s decision, like it or not.

  “How do you feel?” Miles asked Henry eagerly.

  “Nothing yet,” Henry said.

  The walkie-talkie on Logan’s belt buzzed, and his father’s voice came through loud and clear. “Are the others with you?”

  “Yes,” Logan said, stepping back toward Henry. “I know we’re late. We, um, got caught up.”

  “Pretty important meeting to be late for,” his father said.

  “I know,” Logan said. “We’re really sorry. We’ll come as soon as we can.”

  “Don’t bother,” the Candymaker said, but he didn’t sound too angry. “Old Sammy wanted to join the fun out on the lawn, so we’re outside now. I’m about to take my turn in the dunk tank. Here’s Sammy.”

  They heard fumbling and some music before Old Sammy’s voice came over the line. “Greetings, young candymakers.”

  “Hi, Sammy!” the four of them called out. It felt too rude to call him Old Sammy, even though he used it himself! Philip felt his heart start to pound even faster than it was already beating. This was it. This was the moment they’d learn the Harmonicandy’s fate.

  “I’d like to start by saying that if a certain fellow who shared my first name had allowed me to purchase his beans fifty years ago, you’d have plenty to use now.”

  Their eyes widened. Old Sammy must have been the one who’d made the offer Frank told them about! Of course he didn’t know that the issue ran much deeper than simply not having a big enough supply.

  “The committee has made a decision,” he continued. “Life Is Sweet can make the Harmonicandy as long as every reference to its winning the contest is deleted from the wrapper, sales material, advertising, et cetera, and the thousand-dollar prize is returned.”

  They all whooped and cheered, even Henry, who was still chewing and had started rubbing at his eyes. Philip had already expected to have to return the prize. That’d be easy, since he’d never actually cashed the check.

  But Old Sammy had more to say. “Additionally, a percentage of profits will go into a special fund that will allow the Confectionary Association to donate money to various charities. An anonymous donor has just pledged enough money to build mobile burn units for communities in need. And that’s only the beginning, I’m sure! Isn’t that wonderful? I have to go now, children. Time to throw a ball at the dunk tank. Over and out.”

  Logan, Miles, and Daisy slowly turned to look at Philip. Daisy put her hands on her hips. “Philip Ransford the Third! Did you bribe the Confectionary Association so they’d let the factory make the Harmonicandy?”

  “Bribe is such an unpleasant word,” Philip said. “I prefer to think of it as a win-win for everyone. We get to make our candy, communities in need get new burn units, and the Confectionary Association gets to look like heroes. Hey, if you have to have a ruthless businessman for a father, at least pick up a few pointers to help in times of need.” He didn’t add that Old Sammy had agreed to give him the leftover promotional posters. They’d make the perfect wallpaper for Andrew’s room.

  “You really pulled it off,” Daisy said, shaking her head in wonder. “You saved the Harmonicandy and found a way to still do what you wanted with the profits. It’s possible I may have underestimated you.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t do it again,” he joked.

  “I won’t,” she said. He could tell she meant it.

  “But I don’t get it,” Logan said. “You’re the anonymous donor, right? How did you have the money to buy two mobile burn units?”

  “I didn’t,” Philip admitted. “But the National Symphony Orchestra did.”

  “You sold your violin?” Miles practically shrieked.

  “I have another one that’s just as good,” Philip assured him. Well, not really as good, but it had been good enough for him to use before he found the Strad, and he’d loved thinking it had belonged to his mother. Finding out the truth hadn’t changed anything.

  Logan turned pale. “Philip, I told you that violin wasn’t a real Stradivarius. My grandfather made it. You can’t sell the National Symphony a fake!”

  Philip shook his head. “Samuel Sweet may have been a great candymaker and a good enough woodworker. But he did not make that violin. Antonio Stradivari constructed it in 1698. I only sold it with your father’s blessing, since of course it really belonged to your family. My grandmother will use it, and then it will get passed to whoever becomes first violin in the symphony after her.” He paused. “Wanna see it?”

  “Do we want to see what?” Miles asked.

  Philip walked over to the two suitcases. He unzipped them to reveal bundled stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Daisy, Logan, and Miles gasped and dropped to their knees to get a closer look.

  “That’s a whole lotta dough!” Henry exclaimed.

  They all whirled around. “Henry!” Daisy shouted. “You can see?”

  Henry had put his latest pair of glasses on, the ones with lenses half an inch thick. “I can see your faces again,” he said. “That’s more than enough for me.”

  Logan threw his arms around Henry first, followed by Miles, Daisy, and Philip, who was still getting used to these group hugs. It felt both nice and awkward in equal measure.

  Henry untangled himself from the group and pointed at one of the suitcases. “Looks like there’s a note for you, Philip.”

  He was right. Sticking up between the neat stacks of bills was a corner of a yellow envelope that he hadn’t noticed before. Philip opened it up and slid out three pieces of paper. He laughed when he saw the top one and held it up for the others to see. “Looks like Aurora has made herself at home.” The photo showed his grandmother in her living room, trying to play her violin with Aurora draped around her neck. The caption underneath said:

  My new scarf. P.S. Did you know she’s toilet trained??

  The second paper had Logan’s name at the top. “This one’s for you,” Philip said, passing it over.

  “It’s the recipe for the chocolate mint squares!” Logan shouted. “Henry, wait till you try them! There’s marshmallow in them too!”

  Philip smiled. It would be wonderful to smell them baking when he came to the factory. It took him a few seconds to realize what the last piece of paper meant. His grandmother had drawn three musical notes and the letters G-A-B followed by a smiley face. He played them in his head and knew exactly what they were for. The last three notes of his original composition.

  The perfect ending.

  LATER THAT NIGHT

  After the last guest had left the picnic, and all the lights had be
en taken down from the trees, and all the leftover food had been packed up for donation, one person stood at the far end of the Tropical Room, out past the long rows of sugarcane. The soil had arrived an hour before, still wet and smelling like new beginnings. It took only the lightest poke to push the blue bean deep into the dirt. A swipe of the hand refilled the hole.

  He knew, even if the others hadn’t figured it out yet, that the tree was dying, or at least the microbe that made the blue beans so powerful was weakening. Frank’s reaction when he heard each pod only contained one blue bean told him that it had once been very different.

  He gave the ground one last pat before making his way back out of the room. If this seed took, the new tree wouldn’t bear fruit for another three to five years. They wouldn’t know until then how many blue ones survived. That seemed both like an eternity and like no time at all.

  Tantum ad tempus. When the right time came to use them, they’d be ready.

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  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  WELCOME

  DEDICATION

  EPIGRAPH

  FROM THE DESK OF MR. J.

  PART ONE: LOGAN CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PART TWO: MILES CHAPTER ONE