“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 anything,” Pigeon added.
“You needn’t accept my offer,” Mrs. White said. “I understand that the request may seem morally complex to you. If you are unwilling, I’m sure I can find another way to reclaim these lost heirlooms. It just isn’t right. Hanaver Mills means a lot to me. It was chiefly in his memory that I chose to set up my candy shop here in Colson.”
“What sort of candy will you give us to help us succeed?” Nate asked.
“Well, if you must know, the Moon Rocks will help,” Mrs. White said. “The museum has a security system on the ground floor, covering all the doors and windows on that level. Nothing sophisticated—the sort of system you could find in a middle-class home. But none of the second-story windows are wired. I’ll also give you some Melting Pot Mixers, to conceal your identities. Little balls of chocolate that temporarily alter your race. They’re fun, you never know what you’re going to end up looking like. You’ll also get some Shock Bits, in case of an emergency. They generate an electrical charge inside you that infuses your touch with a burst of energy capable of stunning an attacker.”
“Sweet!” Trevor exclaimed.
“And one or two other mission-specific treats,” Mrs. White concluded. “What do you say?”
“Can we have some time to think it over?” Summer asked.
“Sadly, no,” Mrs. White said. “I closed the shop so we could discuss this in peace. It’s now or never. For the record, if you ever decline an assignment, our arrangement for sharing magic candy permanently ends at that moment. I require helpers I can count on.”
“When do you want this to happen?” Nate asked.
“Late Friday night,” Mrs. White responded. “Technically, early Saturday morning. Should you elect to help me out, I have a few more details for you. I’ve already conducted all the appropriate research. The task should be almost effortless if you follow my instructions.”
“I’m not sure this is right,” Pigeon said skeptically. “Remember what the guy we saw said?”
“What guy did you see?” Mrs. White asked.
“Some drunk,” Trevor said. “He seemed to have something against you.”
“He told us to stay away from you,” Summer said. “He said you were dangerous.”
“What did this man look like?” Mrs. White asked.
“Skinny and dirty,” Trevor said. “I think he’s homeless. I’ve noticed him roaming around town the past few weeks.”
“He was a crackpot,” Nate said. “I’ll help you, Mrs. White.”
“Excellent, Nate,” she said, beaming at him. “This means so much to me. You other three, if any of you feel too uncomfortable, this is not an all-or-nothing proposal. Two of you can do it, or three of you. But any who refrain get no more magic candy. I’m sorry, but that is how I do business.”
“I’ll do it,” Summer said.
“Me too,” Trevor agreed.
All eyes turned to Pigeon. He looked unsure. “What if my mom finds out?” he asked.
“The white fudge will help with that,” Mrs. White promised. “You’ll sneak out after midnight. Since you’ll be using magic candy, she won’t check on you. You’ll be back a couple of hours later, and she will be none the wiser.”
Pigeon shuffled his feet. “Can the Shock Bits kill somebody?”
“In the quantity I recommend, a small mouthful, they will give just enough of a jolt to keep others from apprehending you. Nothing lethal, or even truly harmful. Furthermore, I doubt you’ll even need to use them.”
Pigeon looked at Summer, Nate, and Trevor. “I’m in,” he said at last.
“Fabulous,” Mrs. White said. “I would hate to break up the club. One moment.” She retrieved a long cardboard cylinder from one of the worktables, uncapped it, and removed a rolled-up sheet of paper. Flattening the paper on a table, she revealed the blueprints to the William P. Colson Museum.
“You really are prepared,” Summer said, glancing at her friends in surprise.
“Here are the upper-story windows,” Mrs. White said, indicating marks on the plans. “I recommend using one of these two front windows. As you can see, there is plenty of roof in front of them. Reaching the other windows will be more precarious.”
“How do we get through the window?” Trevor asked.
Mrs. White held up a small plastic bottle with clear fluid inside. “Squirt this solution on the glass. For a few hours, the glass will become intangible, effectively vanishing, only to reappear when the effect wears off. That way you’ll do no lasting damage to the facility. I detest vandalism. I got the formula from a magician who wanted to protected her prized collection of dishware when her grandchildren visited.”