“Is it because of that drunk dude?” Nate said.
“He’s part of the reason,” Pigeon said. “Remember how he warned us about robbing graves? What if he really did come from the future? We’ve seen magic candy that can produce equally impossible results.”
“The psycho said he was me,” Nate said. “He didn’t look anything like me. There is no chance I’m going to look like that when I grow up.”
“And maybe it was nothing,” Summer said. “But keep it in mind, especially since he somehow knew we would be robbing graves.”
“Maybe he’s from Mrs. White’s competition,” Trevor said. “You know, trying to make us distrust her in order to slow her down.”
“Another possibility,” Pigeon conceded. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m in no hurry to jump to hasty conclusions. I just want to make sure we’ve considered all the different possibilities before we keep helping her.”
“But we have to do this mission,” Nate said. “We already took the candy.”
“We could return it,” Summer said.
“Tell me this,” Pigeon said. “If Mrs. White is so powerful that she can make magic candy, why is she relying on fifth graders to run all her errands?”
“She said the candy only works well on kids,” Nate reminded them.
“Shouldn’t there be some other way?” Pigeon persisted. “It seems irresponsible to send kids around trespassing and stealing stuff.” Nate folded his arms. Trevor shifted his feet. “It seems to me like Mrs. White doesn’t want to take any risks herself, and she thinks kids are easy to manipulate.”
“Part of it might just be that she likes to see kids using her candy,” Trevor suggested.
“She acted like that at first,” Pigeon said. “Have you noticed how she has gotten more and more demanding? How she now spends more time threatening to take the candy away than offering to share it with us?”
“Just because she wants to find this treasure doesn’t make her wicked,” Nate argued. “Sure, I think she really wants to find it, and yeah, she wants helpers who will do their part. But that doesn’t make the candy less fun, or the adventure less cool. And it doesn’t make her a villain.”
“I agree,” Trevor said.
“We’re not saying she’s evil,” Summer said.
“Just that she might be,” Pigeon clarified. “How do we know what the message in the pocket watch really said? How do we know that she is truly related to Hanaver Mills? How do we know if there is actually a treasure? Or that she would share it with us if she finds it?”
“Here’s the other question,” Nate said. “Is the candy so awesome that you would do all this just to be able to use it? The answer for me is yes. I’ve hoped all my life that something this cool would happen to me. I used to salvage broken appliances and collect little scraps of wire and metal in hopes that someday I would assemble it all into a robot. Guess what? I never got close. I used to mix magical potions out of ingredients from the pantry. They didn’t work, but my grandma was nice enough to buy them for a quarter and pretend to drink them. And I’ve had a million other daydreams that never happened either. But this is real. Magic candy that actually works. If I get treasure on top of it, that’s just a bonus.”
“But what if Mrs. White really is dangerous?” Summer asked. “We’re not just concerned that she might not share the treasure. What if the white fudge is harming our families in ways she hasn’t told us? What if we end up helping her carry out some terrible scheme that hurts people?”
“Don’t you think that sounds a little paranoid?” Trevor asked. “I mean, the lady makes magic candy. If she wants to cause harm, she’ll cause harm, whether we help or not. What reason would she have to lie to us? Why involve us at all?”
Summer and Pigeon were silent. “I don’t know,” Pigeon finally said. “I just want to be careful. I mean, are we really going to go dig somebody up at the cemetery tomorrow night?”
“I’ll be doing the digging,” Nate said. “The rest of you just have to keep watch and help collect whatever is hidden in the coffin.”
“I’m not sure I totally trust Mrs. White,” Trevor confessed. “I have my doubts about her. But I definitely want to see what is in that grave. And think about this: If she is evil, wouldn’t it be best if we were in a position to keep an eye on her? Who else is going to stop her? The police? She has magic—she’ll just give them white fudge and send them away.”
“Or hypnotize them with a Sweet Tooth,” Nate said. “I’m with Trevor—we need to watch her closely.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Summer said slowly. “In that case, I think we should examine whatever we find in the grave ourselves before we hand it over to her. I would have liked to have seen that note on the watch.”
“For all we know, we may really be digging up Margaret Spencer,” Pigeon said. “This could have nothing to do with Hanaver Mills.”
“You know,” Nate said, “Mrs. White could fake a note as easily as she could fake a story.”
“Not if we had examined the watch ourselves when we first got it,” Summer said. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“I’m fine with checking out what we find before turning it over to her,” Nate said.
“Meet here tomorrow at midnight?” Trevor proposed.
The others agreed.
“Bring your bikes,” Summer suggested. “And don’t fall asleep this time.”
*****
Located on Main Street, the Colson General Store lacked gas pumps on the outside, and fell short of offering a broad enough selection for serious grocery shopping on the inside. It was an ideal place for snacks like doughnuts or chips or candy or jerky or soda or hot dogs or nachos, and certain essentials like milk, eggs, bread, pasta, and cereal. You could also find some auto supplies, a fair amount of hardware, and a decent assortment of over-the-counter medication. Liquor, cigarettes, magazines, paperback novels, greeting cards, helium balloons, piñatas, DVD rentals—the store boasted those as well.
On Wednesday afternoon, shopping in the Colson General Store with his mother, Trevor found himself striving to avoid the attention of the man seated on the bench beside the newspaper stand. The man had a toothpick in his mouth, and was taking his time leafing through the Contra Costa Times. He wore an overcoat and a brown fedora with a black band. He was definitely the same man who had chased Trevor through the neighborhood behind the William P. Colson Museum.