Owl's Outstanding Donuts

by Robin Yardi

Chug-chug-chug. Bam! From inside the office, the girls could hear the garage door in the alley opening again. All three of them jumped.

  Sasha’s blue eyes went wide.

  Beanie took a step closer to the bigger girls.

  “What do we do?” whispered Sasha.

  But it was too late to do anything.

  They heard the back door’s creaky handle next.

  Someone was stomping down the hall, muttering and grumbling. If he found the girls going through his files, what would happen?

  “Beanie, hide,” Mattie said, pushing her down. “Hide right now.”

  Beanie scuttled along the floor and disappeared behind an especially tall stack of old magazines.

  Smack. The office door flew inward.

  Sasha yelped, and Mattie clutched their envelope of disposable-camera pictures close to her heart. Which she no-way should have done.

  An old man with sloping shoulders and a round tummy bulging from his sweatshirt stepped into the office. He was definitely a glooper. The shorter one. Mattie recognized the shape of him and the rolling way he walked. But she also recognized him from Owl’s Outstanding Donuts.

  He wasn’t wearing his Sunday costume, the checked yellow shirt and slacks, or ordering Slug Bars. But it was him. Mr. Slug.

  He wasn’t retired after all. He must not have missed her grandma’s donuts the way she’d thought, either. Why had she believed that? Seeing the man for who he really was felt like flipping over a burned turnover. It might have looked all right from the top, but it was hard and ruined on the bottom. Aunt Molly tossed those right into the trash.

  Mattie had been wrong. So wrong. But she didn’t have time to worry about it. To feel bad or guilty. She wondered if Mr. Slug was actually named Ace, like on the donut shop sign.

  “What in the—” the man growled when he saw the girls. “What did you take?”

  His huge hand darted forward and plucked the envelope with the license-plate shot from Mattie’s hands. “You better believe I’m pressing charges.”

  “Hey! You can’t do that,” Mattie shouted.

  Beanie’s head popped out over her stack of magazines, all wide-eyed and scared, then ducked out of sight again before Ace spotted her. Mattie hoped so anyway. She knew Beanie had thought their whole investigation was a game. Until now.

  Mattie watched the man’s face transform while he thumbed past each photo.

  Photo one: confusion.

  Photo two: shock.

  Photo three: anger.

  The man set the pictures down and rubbed at the scruff along his neck. Mattie could tell he knew who she was. And she could tell they were definitely in trouble.

  “Sit,” he said, pointing to the rusty metal chairs.

  Mattie and Sasha looked at each other. Sasha was vibrating with panic. A little muscle on her cheek was actually twitching.

  The man lifted the receiver of an old brown phone. It had a twisty chord just like the one at Owl’s. He stabbed at the sticky buttons and waited.

  “We’ve got a situation at the donut shop. You were right. Those kids saw us. They’ve got a picture . . . Of course I’m going to rip it up.”

  Mr. Slug hung up the phone.

  He leaned back in the leather armchair.

  Sasha looked pokey and small and shivery in front of the man, but Mattie didn’t feel small. She felt angry. Like there was a whole universe of mad swirling in her. This grubby guy, this glooper, wasn’t going to take anything away from her. He wasn’t smarter or nicer or even much bigger than she was. She’d believed he was some nice man who missed someone, just like her.

  He’d tricked her, but that wasn’t her fault. It was his.

  Mattie grabbed the edges of the cold metal chair and snuck a sideways look at the corner where Beanie was hidden away. She could only see one floof of Beanie’s brown hair peeking over the stack of magazines.

  Then the alley door squealed open.

  “Ace?” called a woman’s voice.

  “In the office,” Ace growled, leaning back in his armchair.

  Click-click-click. Somebody gracefully slunk toward the office in high heels.

  The door swung inwards, and the Velvet Vampire woman oozed into the room. It was that real estate agent. Adelaide Sharpe. The one who was trying to get Aunt Molly to sell the shop. She was wearing another skirt and silky shirt, plus a tightly buttoned-up blazer.

  Adelaide Sharpe was the other glooper.

  Mattie’s stomach swirled.

  She burped.

  How could she have missed it? Mattie had been worried that Adelaide’s shiny smile would tempt Aunt Molly into selling the shop, sure. But she’d never thought Adelaide Sharpe could be a glooper. Not even when Sharpe had stopped to talk to Mrs. Mantooth.

  “The photos,” Adelaide snapped.

  Ace handed over the three pictures.

  Adelaide flipped through them way faster than Ace had, one-two-three.

  She didn’t let anything show on her face, but when she got to the last photo, she ripped it into eight tiny pieces.

  Every scrup of tearing paper made Sasha and Mattie flinch.

  “It’s over. You’re too late,” Adelaide said. “Your aunt signed the papers.”

  Adelaide tossed the little photo scraps into the ashtray on Ace’s desk. Then she snatched up the white envelope from the photography shop and pulled out the little brown and black negatives, crushing them into a little ball.

  Plunk. She dropped them into the ashtray too.

  “Burn them,” Adelaide said.

  The Powdered Puffies

  Piping hot beignets loaded with fluffy powdered sugar and served with locally sourced wild raspberry jam

  Mattie’s eyes went blurry, but she wouldn’t let the tears out. All their proof was ripped up and crumpled. Aunt Molly had already sold the shop. Everything she’d done—staking out the highway, riding that bus—was for nothing. She’d failed.

  She couldn’t look at Sasha or check on Beanie.

  Adelaide Sharpe glared at the girls like she was waiting for something.

  “You . . . you lied to her,” Mattie said, trying to catch her breath. “You tricked Aunt Molly.”

  Adelaide laughed. “Sweetheart, I told her a story. That’s what I do. It’s up to her to believe it or not.”

  Adelaide’s practiced shiny smile was gone. It was as much of a costume as Mr. Slug’s Sunday shirt.

  You’re too late. Your aunt signed the papers.

  Mattie turned Adelaide’s words over in her mind like little rocks in a riverbed. They didn’t feel right. They didn’t sound true. Maybe Aunt Molly had signed those papers, but maybe she hadn’t. And no way was Mattie too late to help.

  She listened to the whisper of Mom that she had inside herself. Adelaide’s story was just a fancy lie. Even she didn’t believe it. And Mattie knew what to believe in: donuts, Big Sur, Aunt Molly.

  Adelaide smoothed her skirt. “There’s nothing you can do, Ms. Waters. Your photos are toast.” Adelaide nodded at Ace, and he set them on fire in his gross old ashtray.

  Seeing those pictures curl into blue flames made part of Mattie curl in on itself too. But that’s just what Adelaide wanted. Mattie hadn’t puzzled out what was really going on, but she certainly wasn’t going to give up. She wasn’t going to let being afraid get in the way of helping Aunt Molly. So she listened, catching Sasha’s eye.

  “I talked to a few people about this girl. Nobody’s going to believe her, Uncle Ace. All we have to do is tell them she’s lying and her little friends are trying to cover for her. The donut shop is ours, and we can tear it down and get that new hotel humming.”

  Mattie’s eyes went wide. Uncle Ace? The rocks in her brain started to make sense. Started to make a pattern.

  Mr. Slug, Ace, leaned back in his chair. He rubbed at his bristly neck again. He didn’t look so convinced. “If you say so, Addie. You’re the one with the know-how. Should we call the cops? Report the break in?”

  “Not just yet,
” she said.

  Mattie glanced at the office door. Adelaide took a tiny step toward her in those clicky heels, like she was ready to head Mattie off if the girls made a run for it. Maybe Adelaide was just stalling. Maybe Aunt Molly hadn’t signed the papers but was about to, and Adelaide wasn’t going to let Mattie go until the deal was finished.

  Mattie glared at the two gloopers in turn.

  Ace seemed to believe Adelaide, seemed to think everything was settled. But maybe Adelaide was telling him a story too, even if he was her uncle. They were working together. That much was clear. But Mattie still didn’t understand why.

  Mom had never let Mattie have a donut at Ace’s—or go there at all—which made Mattie think that no way was he an old baker friend of Grandma’s like she thought. Then again, Aunt Molly always smiled and joked with Ace when he came to order his slug bars on Sundays. She never lost patience with him pestering her about the recipe. But maybe she didn’t really know about him. Or maybe she thought Mattie wasn’t old enough to know. If some old feud was brewing, Aunt Molly wouldn’t have wanted Mattie to worry. Still, why would somebody go to so much trouble to ruin another person’s life? Aunt Molly had never done anything to anyone. Mattie was sure of that too.

  “Why did you do it?” Mattie blurted out.

  “Mattie, just be quiet, okay?” Sasha said. “They’re letting us go soon. Right?” Sasha pleaded with her eyes. Her right cheek was still twitching.

  “Listen to your friend, Mattie,” Adelaide said, smirking. “Looks like she’s the smart one.”

  But Mattie didn’t think the gloopers were going to just let them go, and she couldn’t just be quiet. She had to know.

  “Aunt Molly never did anything to you or your crummy donut shop,” she said.

  Now Ace really did smile. Grinned, actually. His teeth were yellow and chipped. “Your Aunt Molly,” Ace grunted. “She should never have had that shop. Should never have sold those Slug Bars. They were my idea. Mine.” He slapped his big, bear-claw-sized hand on the table, and all the trash jumped away.

  “Your grandmother,” Ace said, pointing a stubby finger across the desk, “was a treacherous woman. A liar. She knew those Banana Slug Bars were my idea! And she ran off with Herman Waters and started her own shop. She threatened to take me to court if I didn’t stop selling Slug Bars here. She called them knock-offs.” Ace’s bald head turned red and his nose was basically purple. He looked dangerous.

  But Mattie almost laughed.

  He was jealous.

  “So, how’d you think them up then?” she asked. “What gave you the idea?”

  Ace blustered, his head turning redder around its powdered-sugar ring of hair. “I just did,” he said. “I had the idea. She stole it. That’s all.”

  Mattie knew Grandma’s story about the slug bars. She’d heard it a hundred times. Grandma had been at some music festival up in Monterey in the spring. While she was lying on the grass, enjoying the music, she saw a bright banana slug slime its way across a plain old-fashioned donut lying on a napkin under a grove of redwood trees.

  Grandma said it was like the slug was dancing in slow motion.

  She said she told all her friends at the festival about her idea for a donut shop with banana-slug-shaped bars. Everyone had laughed except for Herman Waters. Well, he’d laughed, but he also told her it was a good idea.

  So they got married.

  And they opened a donut shop on the land that Herman’s great uncle had left him down in Big Sur.

  That was a story that felt true to Mattie.

  None of Ace’s red-faced blustering made Mattie doubt it.

  If he’d come up with the slug bar idea, then he wouldn’t have been pestering Aunt Molly for the recipe after all these years. Mattie would bet that he’d never come up with a good idea in his life. Maybe not even a bad one. She snuck a peek at Adelaide. The bad ideas were that lady’s job. All Ace had was a grimy, gross, empty shop. He was jealous of Grandma Lillian’s ideas and Grandpa Herman’s love and Aunt Molly’s hard work.

  Mattie had plenty of ideas and plenty of love. Just like Aunt Molly and Mom and Grandma and Grandpa. Knowing that was something nobody could take from her.

  She sucked in a deep breath, feeling full and sweet on the inside and safe and strong on the outside, just like a Jelly Heart donut with its armor of sugary sprinkles!

  “You’re a rotten man,” Mattie said, pointing at Ace. “And you”—Mattie faced Adelaide. “That gloopy oil could ruin the river. Why would you mess things up if you want to build a stupid hotel? People are still cleaning that ditch!”

  “Who cares?” Adelaide said. “We’ll pay the cleanup fines for your aunt, tear down that ridiculous donut shop, and put up a real money maker. It’s just a little cooking oil, right, Uncle Ace?”

  Ace nodded, but behind his wicked smile, Mattie could see his real feelings. Adelaide had basically called him a fool for owning a donut shop in the first place. He looked guilty, like he knew it was all wrong. The gloop and the trick and the being jealous of another family for a million years.

  That’s when Beanie popped up from her corner and made a mad dash for the office door, knocking piles of magazines over as she ran.

  Ace looked more confused than ever. He jerked out of his leather chair but stood frozen behind his desk.

  Adelaide huffed with impatience at Ace and clicked across the room in her shiny heels like a football player ready to tackle Beanie. She dove for the girl with her shiny red fingernails glinting.

  Seeing someone come for her little sister snapped Sasha out of her scaredness. She tumbled out of her chair and sacked the real estate lady right in the guts.

  Ooof.

  The look on Adelaide’s face was great. So great! Except that now she was mad and no way could she hide it anymore.

  Beanie wove in and out of stacks of newspapers and magazines and knocked one of the folding chairs over. Clang! She zagged right around Adelaide, who sprang forward and slipped, her high heels flying off her feet. Beanie pushed the tallest stack of newspapers toward Adelaide and made it out into the hall.

  Ace finally came to life, his nose turning purple all over again as he lunged around the desk.

  With the newspapers piled on top of her, Adelaide lay out on the floor like a dead starfish covered in seaweed. Mattie and Sasha hopped over her and followed Beanie out into the hall.

  Beanie was racing away.

  The wrong way.

  To the front of the shop, where the door was sure to be locked.

  “Beanieeeee!” both girls shouted.

  They raced after her. The light of the sunset outside turned the front windows rosy orange. Adelaide and Ace tumbled down the hall right after them. Beanie tried to open the front door, pulling on the metal handle. Bang-bang bangity-bang bang.

  Ace lurched toward Mattie and Sasha until the two of them were backed up against the shop’s display case. Mattie watched breathlessly as Adelaide closed in on Beanie. The look on Beanie’s face was all bug-eyed. More scared than if they were watching a scary part in a movie and she asked them to pause it. She was holding Mr. Little’s phone in her hands and trying to call somebody, but her hands were shaking and the phone clattered to the floor.

  Ace loomed closer, pushing Sasha and Mattie back behind the donut shop counter and farther and farther from Beanie. Mattie and Sasha looked at each other and both grabbed a handful of stray stale chocolate donuts, pelting Ace with them.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  Mattie grabbed a heavy bag of powdered sugar next, heaving it at Ace. He caught the bag, but a giant poof of powdered sugar exploded all over him, turning him into something like one of Aunt Molly’s Powdered Puffies. He rubbed at his eyes, coughing and sputtering in the sugary cloud. But Adelaide was still moving toward Beanie in her bare feet.

  She picked up the newly cracked phone, furious, and slunk toward the fryer. She pushed past Sasha and Mattie, shot a frustrated look to her powdered-
sugar-coated uncle, and held the phone up with a flourish.

  Flump.

  It dropped into the gloopy oil like a raw donut. And it was ruined. Forever. How would they call for help now?

  Mattie pulled her arm back, aimed, and pelted Adelaide as hard as she could with the last stale donut.

  She reached around for something else to throw.

  But there was nothing left.

  Adelaide grinned like a vampire.

  Then Mattie saw a dark shadow flash across the front windows. Boom! Something flopped against the window. Something with two golden eyes.

  Boom! It was Alfred, landing on the windowsill, smacking against the glass. He winked, wobbled, then took off again to swoop over the street. He dove near an oncoming car, and Mattie flinched when he came close, the car skidding to a stop with squealing brakes.

  Alfred banked and dove past another car, a green one, swooping so close it swerved and bumped into a parked car. The dented car’s horn began to honk in an endless loop. Beep. Beep. Beep. Alfred banked again and landed on the elegant curve of the streetlight.

  Adelaide marched toward Mattie and Sasha. “Get the little one away from the window,” she said to Ace. But before Ace could grab Beanie, Mattie heard something else. A siren.

  Lights flashed against the display case of Ace’s Excellent Donuts. Beanie stopped yanking on the locked door.

  “It’s the police!” she said, peering down the street on her tiptoes.

  Ace and Adelaide both turned to watch the lights bouncing around the shop. Then they made a run for it.

  Straight out into the stinky alley.

  The Double Decker Donut Box

  Our signature assortment of donuts is perfect for any celebration. Each box contains Banana Slug Bars, Squirrel Specials, Turkey Talons, Big Sur Sunsets, and an assortment of special selections.

  As the owl flies, the distance between Big Sur and Monterey is roughly thirty miles. Alfred’s top speed, in his prime, topped out at forty miles per hour. Alfred was no longer in his prime. After a couple hours of stops and starts, he’d landed on a craggy bit of rock above a scenic turnout. Loads of tourists had pulled to the side, taking pictures of the Bixby Creek Bridge, which arched elegantly over the rocky shoreline.