The Candymakers

  Max held up the harmonica. “Interesting. You didn’t happen to make a mold already, did you?”

  Philip shook his head. He didn’t want to admit that this was a new idea.

  “No? Well, that’s okay, you’ll figure something out without one.”

  “But how will I keep it in the right shape?”

  “You’re going to have to form them by hand,” Max said. “It would take too long to make a mold now.”

  Philip heard noises in the station next to him and caught a glimpse of a blond ponytail. “Can we talk about this later?” Philip asked, anxious that Daisy not overhear anything.

  Max nodded. In a low voice he said, “But you should know, candymaking is a very collaborative process. If you win the contest and enter the candy business, you’ll have to learn to get along with others.”

  Without waiting for a response, Max headed toward the back of the room.

  Philip hadn’t actually considered what would happen after he won. In the beginning it was just about making Logan lose, and now it was about saving the factory. But he hadn’t thought about the rest of it, and there wasn’t any time to think about it now.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Philip barely paused to breathe. Every hour on the hour, he excused himself and ran to the Cocoa Room, hoping to find it empty. He’d learned from years of watching his father’s different businesses that the workers’ break time usually fell at the top of the hour. But every time he went, either Lenny or Steve or both or random assorted others were in there. He lingered in the hall, pretending to read the plaques or admire the statue, but they refused to leave. Once or twice he saw Daisy walk by on her way somewhere, and he wondered briefly what her project was. For a split second, he thought of confiding in her. He couldn’t talk to Logan, of course, and Miles was too much of an unknown quantity and too close to Logan anyway. But as a girl, Daisy was sort of an outsider, too. Maybe she’d help him.

  But as soon as she caught his eye he chickened out and turned away.

  The most annoying part of the afternoon was getting candy all over himself, his workspace, the pages of his notebook. Once he was forced to lick a dot of chocolate off one of the pages. It had fallen right in the middle of a staff, and he didn’t want to come across it later and think it was a whole note and play it! If the taste of the paper hadn’t come with it, he might have actually enjoyed it.

  He abandoned his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, but he was still covered with sticky, gooey candy ingredients. Every time he tried to shape the chocolate into an even slightly recognizable shape, it just collapsed. Everywhere.

  Working with the marshmallow was proving hopeless. Way too sticky to take in and out of the little pipes. Caramel was even worse. Paulo’s beeswax helped, but he struggled with getting the cookie wafers to bend in the right way. Maybe if he had a week, he could do this.

  At one point, when he knew the noise of one of the machines would drown out everything else, he put his sorry excuse for a candy harmonica to his lips and blew. Air whooshed through it, but it made no musical note. He’d taken the plastic harmonica apart earlier, and now he picked up one of the halves and examined it more closely. Somehow he’d have to make the tiny flaps that allowed the instrument to make the different notes. How was he going to make tiny flaps out of candy?

  He rested his head in his hands. This served only to get caramel all over his face, but it gave him a reason to go back to the storeroom. The violin was just where he had left it. He washed up thoroughly, but as he lifted the bow, his sleeve slipped down and revealed the time on his watch: 4:45. Fifteen minutes till closing. His candy harmonica was nowhere near ready. He hadn’t foiled his father’s plans to steal the secret ingredient. How would he accomplish both these things in the next fifteen minutes?

  The answer came swiftly. He couldn’t accomplish them, plain and simple. He dug his phone out of the pocket where he’d stashed it earlier and hoped he’d get reception inside the tiny room.

  Reggie picked up right away. “I’m almost there.”

  “Don’t bother,” Philip said hurriedly. “I’m going to have to hang out here until I can get into the room with the secret ingredient. I don’t think my father’s guy has been able to get in there either. It’s been busy all day.”

  “Won’t they kick you out?”

  “Not if they don’t see me.”

  Reggie groaned. “Can’t you just forget about this one, come home and polish your trophies?”

  Philip had to laugh. “You know I can’t stop something once I’ve started it.”

  “Be careful,” Reggie warned. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  “Okay,” Philip promised, hanging up.

  Back in the lab, Philip placed all his prototypes in a small plastic container, separating each layer with wax paper. He secured the lid, then put the container in his briefcase. He made up other small containers with various ingredients and added them to the briefcase, too. He’d stay up all night in the kitchen if he had to.

  After Max gave them their instructions for the next day, Philip raced from the room. He made it to the storeroom before anyone else left the lab. He turned the lock on the inside of the door and sat against the far wall, between a wicker basket of beach balls and a pile of potato sacks. He didn’t dare turn on the light.

  He heard footsteps only a moment later, and the sounds of the other three talking. When the voices passed, he finally allowed himself to relax and close his eyes.

  The next thing he knew, he awoke curled up on the potato sacks. He bolted upright. He’d fallen asleep! What time was it? He pulled the light switch and was relieved to see that only an hour had passed.

  The thought occurred to him that he could easily slip into the lab and ruin the projects the others were working on. He could “misplace” their lists of ingredients. The candies could have an unfortunate accident with a Bunsen burner or the drain in the sink. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d sabotaged a competitor’s project. The end would justify the means, right? Andrew had underlined that concept in the notebook he’d passed along.

  But he knew he couldn’t do it. Even if he would be destroying them for the greater good.

  This time when his stomach growled, it wasn’t a friendly reminder to eat something. It was a command. He hadn’t eaten since his egg sandwich at breakfast, the dot of chocolate in his notebook notwithstanding. The hunger began to gnaw at him.

  He put his ear to the door, and when he didn’t hear anything, he unlocked it and slipped out. The halls were empty, with only the hum of a candy machine here and there to interrupt the silence. He crept toward the Cocoa Room and hid behind the chocolate fountain.

  Unbelievable! Steve was still in there, dragging a pile of cocoa beans across the room. Didn’t these people ever stop making chocolate?

  Then an idea hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he stumbled, bonking his head on the top rim of the fountain. He ducked low again, rubbing his head. What if Steve or Lenny was the inside guy? They had the easiest access to the place. Andrew’s notebook had stressed that when trying to achieve something, you always take the simplest route first. Surely his father would have done the same.

  But if it WAS one of them, then they already had the ingredient, and it didn’t matter if Philip got it or not.

  Or did it? Philip stood up fast, whacking his head again in the same place. He thought he heard something go plop this time, but he didn’t see anything. He ducked again and rubbed his head.

  It DID matter if he got it. If both he and his father were in possession of the secret ingredient, then he’d have a bargaining chip. It wouldn’t do his father any good to have it if everyone else did, too. And Philip would threaten to make sure that everyone did.

  He watched for another few minutes, and then his empty stomach prevailed. Creeping low, he went around the corner and headed to the cafeteria. All the smells from the day still lingered in the halls, which only made him hungrier.

  The cafeteria was
dark. He tried the door. Locked! With a deadbolt, too! If he’d had his tools, he could probably jimmy the bottom lock open, but the deadbolt was another story. He could see through the cafeteria to the lawn outside. As distasteful as it was, maybe he could find something to gnaw on out there to keep his hunger at bay. A piece of fruit or something.

  He remembered seeing a back door past the Pepsicle Room, so he headed there. He was about to reach for the door handle when it turned.

  All he could think to do was flatten himself against the wall behind the door. He held his breath, not even daring to blink. A second later, Logan and Miles burst through the door, sparing his head by about three inches. Logan must have invited Miles to stay for dinner. He wondered if he would have gotten an invitation if he hadn’t left the lab so quickly. Probably not.

  The two of them weren’t laughing and joking the way they usually were, but Philip could hardly worry about that. He continued holding his breath and began to pray. Please don’t look back, please don’t look back.

  As soon as they were twenty feet away, he ducked around the door and slipped outside. A few workers were still in the fields, and two of the rowboats were out on the pond. He didn’t see any way to wander around without being seen. He certainly stood out in the suit. He sighed and sat down next to one of the bushes, wondering briefly if the flowers were edible. It had come to that.

  He noticed something white and puffy on the ground, like a sticky cotton ball. A closer look revealed it to be the caterpillar’s cocoon or whatever Logan had called it. He glanced over at the next bush and there it was. A black, yellow, and red butterfly with wings so thin he could see right through them.

  Usually he had no interest in insects. But this butterfly held his attention. He watched as it rubbed its antennae together, cleaning itself, without a care in the world. Philip figured it was simply happy at no longer being held prisoner in that white cage.

  The butterfly fluttered a bit and turned so its head was pointed right at Philip. It waved its antennae around in a circle. And then, quite deliberately, it flew right at him, landed on his nose, and fixed its eyes on his.

  Philip toppled over backward in surprise. By the time he scrambled to his feet, the butterfly had flown away.

  Did that just happen? Had a butterfly just stared him down?

  The open cocoon lay by his toe. It didn’t seem quite as gross as it had when he first saw it yesterday, still hanging from its thread. It seemed wrong to leave it there on the ground, so he used his handkerchief to pick it up. When he went to stick the handkerchief into his suit pocket, it felt like something was missing. A duck-shaped something. He didn’t remember taking the duck out of his jacket pocket at home the night before, but he guessed he must have. At least if he failed to win the contest and save the factory, he’d have something to remember his failure by.

  He hurried back inside. Steve was still in the Cocoa Room! The man honestly must sleep there. Philip crept back to the storeroom, where at least he felt safe. He stared longingly at the violin but couldn’t risk it, especially when Miles and Logan might be roaming around.

  His empty stomach continued to growl at him. For a second he actually debated eating his attempts at a candy harmonica, but reason won out. He waited another few minutes before venturing out again.

  When he entered the hallway, he was surprised to see how dark it had gotten. The main lights were off, and the dim bulbs along the ceiling barely shed enough light to see three feet ahead. Now that all of the machines were quiet, he noticed how loudly his dress shoes echoed in the hallway.

  He doubled back to the storeroom and pulled out the first-aid kit in the hopes of finding a flashlight. He found not one but two. Neither worked when he switched them on. He began pulling apart boxes. Inside the third box lay three mechanical monkeys with cymbals for hands. He emptied out all their batteries, and by mixing and matching he was able to get one of the flashlights to work. He had to keep banging it against his hip to keep it on, but that was a small price to pay.

  But what to do about his noisy shoes? He searched the room, including what looked like a bag of gardener’s clothes, and wasn’t surprised when no shoes turned up. He’d just have to take off his shoes and go in his socks.

  So that’s what he did. Flashlight at his side, he crept back into the hall and toward the front entryway. Whatever they used to shine these floors really worked—he had to be really careful not to slip with every other step. When he reached the corridor that led to the Marshmallow Room, an idea occurred to him. The boots!

  He managed to make it there with only one near wipeout. He found both pairs of boots in a metal closet that creaked when he opened it. When he pulled out the ones he’d worn that morning, a pair of blue-and-white sneakers tumbled forward.

  Sneakers would be even better! The streaks of yellowed marshmallow confirmed that they were Henry’s, and a few sizes too big, but he tied the laces really tight and they worked fine.

  As he passed the bathroom by the Lightning Chews Room, he thought he heard water running. He listened for a minute, and when it didn’t shut off he decided it was likely just the pipes.

  The Cocoa Room was finally dark! He breezed through the door and promptly fell right over a pile of bean pods, sending them skittering everywhere. He lay there, panting, waiting for someone to switch on the light and yell, “We got you!”

  When no lights came on, he pushed himself up and began to restack the pods. Why would Steve have left them right in front of the door? When that was finally done, he hurried to the end of the room, where the cabinet awaited. He’d seen the workers go into the cabinet a dozen times today, and he knew it wasn’t locked. He was about to reach for the handle when he thought he heard a sound in the hallway outside.

  He swung the flashlight toward the window, only to find himself staring at his own reflection inside a circle of light. A memory formed in his head. He turned back to the cabinet and for a moment let himself remember a game he and Andrew used to play when they were little. They’d turn off the lights and use flashlights to make shapes in the mirrors. Sometimes they’d spell out words for the other person to guess. Maybe not the coolest of games, but it was the last time he could remember playing anything at all with Andrew.

  He shook the memory from his head and reached for the knob. It didn’t budge. He tried again. Nothing. Impossible! He’d never seen them lock it!

  He moved the flashlight up and down until he found the small keyhole. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the screwdrivers, chose the right one, and got to work. A minute later, the lock popped open.

  He reached up and grabbed the tin. It weighed practically nothing. His spirits soared. He’d done it! He’d gotten it before they did.

  Then he heard it. A distinct sliding sound. He counted to ten, then whirled around. A figure was crouched on the ground. He’d seen enough movies to know what to do next.

  He shined the flashlight directly in the person’s eyes. “Looking for this?” he asked, holding up the tin.

  Then he saw who was on the receiving end of his flashlight beam. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without warning, Daisy leapt forward. Philip had only a split second to raise the tin above his head before she was in front of him, grabbing for it. He lost his balance, and the two of them went toppling to the ground.

  When they landed, they both scooted backward, Daisy hitting the leg of a table, Philip nearly knocking over a huge container marked BUTTERFAT. The flashlight flew out of his hand and rolled under the huge bean grinder.

  They stared at each other in the shadows.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

  “Me? What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

  “You’re the one holding the secret ingredient.”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Philip insisted.

  “It looks like you’re trying to steal the secret ingredient so you can win the contest.”

  “No! Well, sort of. But not for the
reason you think. I’m only taking it to keep someone else from getting it.”

  Daisy’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Who?”

  “My father, if you must know. He hired someone to steal it. He’s planning to buy out the company.”

  Daisy gasped. “Your father is my client? Your father is Big Billy? ”

  “Who? No! His name isn’t Billy. Wait, what do you mean your client?”

  They didn’t take their eyes from each other’s face. In that instant Philip felt reality unravel in front of him like a spool of thread. Was Daisy his father’s inside man? Daisy?

  Her face, the floor, the huge bean grinder above them, it all began to blur.

  Then someone sneezed.

  Daisy looked at Philip. Philip looked at Daisy. Daisy put her finger over her mouth. Philip nodded.

  They stood up.

  PART FIVE

  LOGAN AGAIN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Maybe they didn’t hear,” Logan whispered to Miles in a choked voice. Miles was holding his hand over his nose, squeezing it tight so he wouldn’t sneeze again. They both instinctively pressed themselves farther into the corner. There really wasn’t anywhere else to go without revealing their hiding spot under the table.

  Logan was having trouble sorting through what they’d just overheard. It sounded as if Philip was trying to steal the Candymaker’s secret ingredient. Or was it Daisy? Nice, sweet Daisy? How did they even get inside? The factory doors were all locked at night.

  Why were they talking about Big Billy? Everyone who knew Big Billy (and everyone in the candy business did) knew that the owner of Mmm Mmm Good was one of the nicest guys anywhere. Sure, maybe he liked to place bets on which candies would be successful that year and which would go the way of the Salami-Flavored Chocolate Nubs, but he’d never do anything to hurt another candymaker.

  And, most important, how could Philip’s father buy the company when it wasn’t for sale?

  Logan’s eyes widened as two pairs of feet appeared in front of their table. Miles held up his paper-towel roll like a sword, ready to do battle. Logan would have laughed if the situation weren’t so dire. They both pressed themselves against the wall, as though they’d be able to melt into it.