The Candymakers and the Great Chocolate Chase Page 22

  “But I’m not anyone. I’m Philip. Daisy’s friend.”

  She shook her head. “Daisy doesn’t have any friends.”

  Insulted, he put his hands on his hips. “From the candy factory job a few months ago?”

  She shrugged. “We don’t discuss our gigs with each other. It’s against the rules.”

  Philip glanced at his watch again. Mr. Sweet would be expecting him soon. He had to get moving. “Well, I’m who you’re supposed to meet. Why else would I be waiting in this parking lot?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows. You and your chauffeur could be out for a leisurely Sunday drive and pulled over for a bite to eat.”

  “It’s Monday,” Philip pointed out. “And we have no food. And Reggie hates the word chauffeur.”

  “Password,” she repeated.

  “Daisy didn’t give me one,” Philip insisted. Had she? He went over their brief conversation in his head. She definitely hadn’t.

  Maddeningly, Courtney closed her hand around the envelope.

  “Candy?” Philip guessed, figuring Daisy would have come up with a password that linked the two of them together.

  Courtney shook her head.

  “Harmonicandy, then? Rowboat? Life Is Sweet?”

  She shook it again. Hair everywhere, more grapefruit. He had to focus. “I don’t know! Magpie?”

  At the sound of her name, the horse whinnied and stamped her foot. Courtney smiled. “You got it.” She handed him the small envelope. He could feel something hard inside it, about the size of a pack of gum.

  “You will plug it into the central computer like you would a flash drive,” she explained. “But it’s programmed to allow you past any encryptions or password requests you might find when you get to the website. Whatever you delete will be permanently gone, including any other copies that may exist elsewhere on the Web.”

  “Great, perfect.” He slipped it into his pocket.

  “But the best part,” Courtney continued as she climbed up onto Magpie’s back, “is that if anyone has already printed out what you just deleted, those copies will instantly disintegrate, leaving behind nothing but ash.”

  Philip gaped, his head spinning with the possibilities of making papers disappear from a distance. “That’s just—just amazing!” he stammered. “I can’t believe such a thing is possible.”

  Courtney shook her head and picked up the reins. “Daisy warned me you’d be easy, but man, no, it’s not possible. Do I look like Houdini to you? Thanks for making my day, though.”

  With another swing of her hair, she galloped off.

  Philip grumbled. He bet he hadn’t really needed a password, either.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  You have to drop me first,” Philip insisted. “I don’t want to sit in the car with him.”

  Reggie turned off the crowded main street and headed for the fancy part of town, where Philip’s dad usually held his business lunches. “You know your dad doesn’t like to wait,” Reggie replied. “I’ll just pick him up and take you to the factory right after.”

  “Please, Reggie, it will take five minutes extra to drop me off first.”

  The car stopped at a red light. Reggie glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Why does it matter if you get there a few minutes later?”

  Philip knew if he had any chance of Reggie doing this for him, he’d have to tell him the truth. But until he signed those contracts, he didn’t want anyone to know his plan. Even after he signed them. So he quickly decided to go with a close version of the truth. “I just… I just don’t want him to know about the Harmonicandy debut tomorrow. When he sees all the cars in the parking lot at the factory, he’s going to figure it out.”

  “Why don’t you want him to know? It’s a big day for you. I’m sure he’d want to celebrate it with you.”

  Philip frowned. Reggie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Okay, maybe not celebrate exactly, but that’s because this particular win of yours meant he lost a lot of money. You ruined his plans.”

  “I know,” Philip said. “What if he tries to stop me from going or something? That would ruin the day for all the others, too.”

  “Oh, fine,” Reggie said, making a U-turn and getting honked at from both sides.

  Philip sank back, relieved. He had no idea how he was going to get his father to sign that contract, but he couldn’t deal with it right then.

  He tucked Courtney’s device into his briefcase and went over the plan in his head. Arrive at the factory, sneak into the Computer Room (next door to the Cotton Candy Room), do the deed. Get in, get out, have some cotton candy. If anyone asked what he was doing in there, he’d say he had to fill out Harmonicandy paperwork and tax forms, and that would bore them into not asking more questions.

  Reggie slammed on the brakes in the factory driveway. “Out,” he commanded. Philip barely had time to grab his briefcase and close the door behind him before Reggie screeched off again. He wiped the dust off his pants legs and started toward the factory entrance.

  Drat! Miles was sitting on the porch reading! Philip didn’t want to lie to him, but he couldn’t take him along. Philip ducked behind a tree just as Miles lowered his book. He counted to ten, then peeked out again. The book was back up in front of Miles’s face. Philip took off at a run toward the tunnel where the delivery trucks dropped off supplies and the farmers stored their crops. He knew it would eventually lead inside.

  The tunnel felt nice and cool, but he couldn’t linger. He darted around barrels of nuts (cashews, peanuts, hazelnuts, and pistachios), piles of damp soil earmarked for the various types of trees in the Tropical Room, and a huge bucket of blueberries (he stopped and grabbed a handful of those). He had almost reached the door marked FACTORY, HALLWAY B when he tripped over a knee-high bag of Leapin’ Lolly sticks. Not the whole lollypop, just the stick. He managed to keep his balance and stay mostly upright, but the bag split open. The old Philip would have kept right on going. Actually, the current Philip would have liked to keep right on going, too. But he forced himself to gather up the sticks that had fallen out. He knew he couldn’t put them back in the bag once they’d hit the floor. Not seeing a trash can, he opened his briefcase and shoved them inside. He’d have to toss them out later. Then he tied up the bag as best he could and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on top. He hoped that would be enough to cover the lost sticks. He had no idea what things cost. It would have to do.

  Once inside, he knew there would be no way to fly under the radar, but he had entirely underestimated how many people would be crowding the halls. He wanted to shout that the Harmonicandy wouldn’t be coming out until tomorrow. Still twenty-four hours away, people!

  But “Congratulations!” and “Hey, it’s him!” flew at him from all sides, mostly from people he had never seen before but who clearly knew who he was. Either they had been at the competition, or maybe they recognized him from the giant poster the Confectionary Association sent out each year to all the factories, candy stores, and distribution centers. He had a few extra posters rolled up under his bed. He’d have to remember to tack one up on Andrew’s wall just to be funny. (Although if it also served to remind Andrew that only one Ransford boy had had a poster made for him, then so be it.)

  He remembered what the publicity folks had taught him, and he smiled pleasantly at the visitors, thanking them as they gripped his shoulder or patted his arm in passing. The youngest of the visitors just stared up at him in awe.

  Philip had never been inside the Computer Room before. He pictured it as the control center of the whole factory—walls full of state-of-the-art computer monitors, rows of techies churning data and calculating sales projections. What he found instead? A brown wooden desk with a three-legged chair in front of it, a half-empty bookcase, an oil painting of a tree on a beach, and a clunky old desktop computer that must have been older than he was. A worn piece of paper taped to the front of the desk said:

  Username: LifeIsSweet

  Password: LifeIsSweet

&
nbsp; Clearly the Candymaker wasn’t too concerned with security! Or decorating! Philip quickly sat in front of the computer and nearly fell twice before he figured out how to balance on the back legs of the broken chair. He typed in the username and password and waited. The computer beeped a few times and slowly crackled to life. An old picture of four-year-old Logan’s smiling face stared at him from the background of the screen. His scar-free face brought Philip right back to the day they’d first met. He actually reached his hand out to touch the screen.

  Conversation and laughter from the hall reminded him of his task. He unlatched his briefcase, and only the fact that the hinge momentarily caught saved him from chasing after a hundred lollypop sticks.

  He unwrapped Daisy’s device. Other than being heavy and made of what felt like solid silver, it looked exactly like the regular flash drives he always used to back up documents for school. He felt a moment of dread wash over him. Was this Daisy’s idea of an elaborate practical joke? Could she be getting back at him for bothering her twice while she was on an assignment? Did this computer even have a USB port? Fortunately, he found one on the back of the hard drive tower below the desk. He stuck in the device and waited.

  The screen jumped for a split second, but nothing else changed. Then Logan’s face splintered into thousands of pieces and the screen went dark. Philip could actually see his own startled reflection mirrored in it!

  A single empty text box appeared in the middle. The cursor flashed impatiently. Philip quickly typed in the address for the Confectionary Association’s website. Instantly Daisy’s device went to work trying password after password to get into the private areas that only the administrators of the network had access to. All combinations of numbers and letters flew across the screen until…

  He was in! He wasted no time finding the applications for the competition and scrolled down through the names. Literally thousands of kids had applied! He had no idea the number was so high. He wondered briefly what he would have done if he hadn’t been chosen and was thankful he’d never have to find out.

  He found the section with the top thirty-two finalists and saw the group of names assigned to Life Is Sweet. He had always been curious what the others’ essays had said. The lies in Daisy’s essay had to be even worse than his! Here was his chance to find out. His finger hovered over the keyboard, but in the end he went only to his own. The small text beside it told him it had been opened a few times around the time of the contest, one time two months ago, which must have been by Dylan, and then again within the last twenty-four hours. He hoped that last one was Dylan again, but there was no way to know. At least after today it would be gone.

  He highlighted his name and hit the Delete button. A warning popped up, telling him this would be a permanent decision. Another warning box flashed on the screen from Daisy’s device, reminding him that any other copies elsewhere on the Internet would also delete themselves. At least Courtney hadn’t been kidding about that part.

  For a split second he debated reading the essay again before deleting it, since this would be his last chance. But then Mrs. Sweet’s voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the end to visiting hours, and startled him so much his finger flew down onto the key.

  It was done. Gone. No more record of his lies. He shut down the computer, pulled out the device, and hurried out of the room feeling better than he had in days. He may have even whistled as he strode through the emptying hallways toward the Harmonicandy Room. The essay was gone for good, talking to Daisy last night had made him feel better about accepting praise, and having Andrew home for the summer would take some of his father’s attention off him. Maybe they’d even have fun together. Stranger things had happened.

  Philip could hear muffled laughter inside the Harmonicandy Room as he approached. Max hadn’t allowed any of them even a tiny peek, so this would be his first time seeing it. He was eager to see his friends, too, even though Miles exhausted him. He might even let them drag him outside to play on the lawn later. He had to admit that Name That Cloud had grown on him. He could swear he saw a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs in the sky last time.

  Then he opened the door and fell—head over heels—in love.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Emotions rushed at him from all sides—pride, disbelief, joy, and, most of all, a fierce need to protect what they’d built here. All of this existed because of his last-minute idea of a chocolate bar that played music. It hadn’t truly felt real until he stepped into the room and saw how much effort had gone into bringing the Harmonicandy to life.

  With a deep breath, he pulled himself together and got to work. He wanted to know everything about the processing and distribution of the candy. He’d learned a lot in the last four months of following people around, and he knew the right questions to ask.

  When Mr. Sweet announced he was taking them on a tour to promote the Harmonicandy, Philip knew there was no chance at all that his father would give him permission to go. Then Mr. Sweet told him his father had not only said yes but had made a joke about bringing his knitting. His father had charm, ambition, intelligence, and guts. But he did not have a sense of humor. At least not that he ever let Philip see. And how would he know about the yarn? Only one answer made any sense.

  Philip slipped away as soon as no one was watching and closed himself in the storage room by Max’s lab. He’d spent a lot of time in that room during the contest, and he still went in there when he wanted to think, or play his violin, or do homework. Now he used the solitude to call his brother.

  “Really, Andrew? Knitting?”

  Philip heard a thwack in the background that could only be Andrew’s racket hitting a tennis ball. “Sorry, bro, couldn’t resist,” Andrew replied, confirming Philip’s theory. His brother was breathing hard. “You looked very attached to that ball of yarn last night.” Thwack. “It worked, though, right? Just like when I used to call out sick for you in school so you could work on your spelling bee words, or a fencing tournament, or whatever other contest you were training for.”

  Philip began pacing around the small room, which basically meant turning one way, taking three steps, then turning the other. “Yes, pretending to be Dad fooled Mr. Sweet, but what good will it do? Our real father will never let me go when he finds out. I told you, he doesn’t want anything to do with the factory.”

  Thwack. “I’ve got that all worked out. Reggie’s supposed to take you to your Talented Kid contest, right?”

  “Yes, but I’m not planning to go.”

  Thwack. “You’ll have to go,” Andrew said. “It’s your excuse to be out of town. So instead of Reggie taking you, I’ll tell Dad I want to take you. You know, to spend more time together.”

  “But he’ll notice that you haven’t actually left the house.”

  “So I’ll go visit some college buddies. I have those now. Well, I have one, but who’s counting?”

  One last volley, and Andrew’s opponent called the game over. “Good game,” he heard the other guy say. “Good game,” Andrew replied. “Meet you at the clubhouse in ten.” There was some rustling in the background as they no doubt shook hands and put their rackets back in their sleeves. Philip knew that if his brother was trying to get something from the guy he was playing, he’d let him win. Andrew was all about strategy.

  “We good?” Andrew asked Philip. “I’ve got a job interview to prep for.”

  Philip stopped pacing and stood in front of the sink. He looked in the mirror above it while he spoke. “Before you hang up, tell me what you meant about us having grandparents.”

  “Grandmother,” Andrew corrected. “You’re a smart kid. You’ll figure it out.”

  Andrew hung up. Philip continued staring in the mirror. Figure what out? He shook his head. He could only focus on one problem at a time. Was he really going to sneak away? It wasn’t like he hadn’t done things behind his father’s back before. He hadn’t exactly asked permission to enter the candymaking contest, but his dad was never very involved in hi
s plans anyway. This was a week, though. Could he convince his father he’d need a full week away for the talent contest? A lie that big would fill up his small notebook for sure. He needed guidance from someone familiar with sneaking around—someone who did it for a living.

  He pulled out his vid com and called Daisy. He still wasn’t on fire but felt that this counted as a big enough crisis to bother her. He was annoyed, although not surprised, when she didn’t pick up and he had to leave a message. He led off by trying to convince her to come on the trip. He’d just started asking for advice on how to pull off the trip without his dad finding out when the knob on the storage-room door began to turn. He must really have been distracted, because he always locked the door behind him. He got out a quick “Call me back” before the door opened.

  Henry walked in and kept walking, right past Philip! A sense of unease settled onto Philip as he watched Henry step squarely on a yellow rubber duck, which he then tossed back toward the open box full of ducks. The duck missed the box, but Henry didn’t seem to notice. He reached up and slid a blue plastic bin marked OLD RECEIPTS off the top shelf. He wiped the dust off it with his sleeve, then tucked it under his arm. It wasn’t until Henry was halfway out the door that Philip spoke up. “Um, Henry?”

  Henry stopped and whirled around, clearly startled. It took slightly longer than it should have before his eyes landed on Philip, who raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t you see me standing here?” he asked.

  After an awkward silence, Henry finally sighed and waved Philip toward the door. “C’mon, let’s talk.”

  Even though the halls were empty, neither of them spoke as they walked together to the Marshmallow Room. Henry shut the door behind them, then ducked into his office to stash the bin. Philip waited impatiently. “So?” he asked when Henry reappeared.

  “You first,” Henry said. “Why were you lurking around a storage room?”