Free Candy Shop War by Brandon Mull Page A

street.
     
    “I think he’s drunk,” Pigeon said.
     
    The stranger threw up his hands like he was under arrest. “No problem here, sorry to bother you kids. Keep in mind, robbing graves isn’t right. I have things to do.”
     
    The man sprinted away from them down Greenway, swerving unsteadily. “What a nutcase,” Trevor muttered.
     
    “Out of his mind,” Nate agreed.
     
    “What do you think he has against Mrs. White?” Summer wondered.
     
    “He probably can’t afford her ice cream or something,” Trevor said.
     
    The man turned down a side street and vanished from view. “What if she did something to him?” Pigeon asked. “What if she made him crazy?”
     
    “No way,” Nate said. “She’s too nice.”
     
    “She does make magic candy,” Pigeon reminded them. “She might not be safe.”
     
    “We’ll be careful,” Summer said.
     
    “Weird that he knew our names,” Trevor observed.
     
    “And that he was in such a hurry,” Pigeon added. “Don’t homeless drunks usually loaf around?”
     
    “He was probably on drugs,” Summer said. “Some drugs make you hyper.”
     
    They reached the crosswalk. “You kids all right?” the balding crossing guard asked. “What did that fellow want?”
     
    “We’re fine,” Summer said. “He was just nuts.”
     
    “If he keeps troubling you, let me know, we’ll get the police involved.”
     
    “Thanks,” Pigeon said.
     
    The guard held up his sign and helped them across Main. When they reached the door to the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe, they found it locked. A sign in the window proclaimed that the store was closed. As they were turning away, Mrs. White hurried to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. “Come in, quickly!”
     
    The kids filed in. “You’re not closed?” Pigeon asked as he crossed the threshold.
     
    “I temporarily closed the shop so we could chat uninterrupted,” Mrs. White explained. She led them to the back of the store. “I know Pigeon and Trevor delivered their fudge because their mothers came into the shop this morning. And Nate’s dad came by on his lunch break. I trust you delivered your fudge as well, Summer?”
     
    “Yep. My parents are divorced. I live with my dad, and he has a pretty long commute. But he really liked the fudge. I’m sure he’ll be in.”
     
    “Good enough for me,” Mrs. White said, producing a large bag of Moon Rocks. “These are yours. Along with a new assignment, if you’re interested.”
     
    “Jackpot,” Trevor said, accepting the bag and hefting it.
     
    Mrs. White led them into the back of the store.
     
    “What assignment?” Nate inquired.
     
    “You told me that you’re explorers,” Mrs. White said, leaning against a worktable. “I have a need specific to your talents. If you accept the mission, I will provide you with a variety of new candy to get the job done, with more as a reward upon completion.”
     
    “What kind of candy?” Summer asked.
     
    “First, I need to know whether you accept the mission,” Mrs. White countered. “Let me share some background. An ancestor of mine named Hanaver Mills used to live in Colson, back in the old days. He witnessed the Gold Rush. A rare hardbound copy of his memoirs is on display in the town museum alongside an old pocket watch he made. As a direct descendent, I have asked the museum to return my great-grandfather’s memoirs and pocket watch to me, but they deny my claim to them. So I want you kids to acquire them on my behalf.”
     
    “You mean steal them?” Nate asked incredulously.
     
    “You can’t steal something that rightfully belongs to you,” Mrs. White corrected. “Even so, I only intend to borrow the memorabilia. I want to read the original printing of Hanaver’s memoirs, and I want to have a replica made of his timepiece. Then I will return them to the museum.”
     
    “Our club sometimes trespasses for fun, but we never take anything,” Summer said.
     
    “Or harm