The Chocolate Meltdown (7 page)

While Ms. Brewster read a magazine, B, George, and Trina commandeered a table in a secluded corner of the library. “This is perfect,” B said. “We need a new plan of attack.”

Trina drummed her fingers on the table. “What would an expert detective do?”

George passed around a bag of Enchanted Caramelicious Cremes. “Wouldn’t they pretty much do what we’ve been doing? Search for clues, follow suspects?” He noticed Trina hesitate over taking a candy. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I bought them well before the potion incident.”

“What else could we do?” B said. Her gaze fell on a shelf of books with blue stickers on the lower spine. “I know,” she said. “Mystery novels! Let’s each
grab a few and browse through them. Maybe they’ll give us ideas for how great detectives solve crimes.”

They each took several books and began skimming through them.

Several minutes passed while they studied their books. Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Nancy Drew, Amelia Peabody, Sam Spade, Hercule Poirot, Encyclopedia Brown. So many interesting detectives, but many strategies didn’t fit their situation. For one thing, there were no fingerprints, no blood samples, no DNA to test, and not even any eyewitnesses.

Or were there?

“Here’s a thought,” George said. “In these old Agatha Christie novels, detectives liked to stage a reenactment of the crime. They gather together all the possible suspects, everybody who was involved, in the room where it all happened, and recreate the event.”

“Why?” Trina said. “What good does that do?”

George flipped through more pages. But B could already see the advantages. “That’s a brilliant idea,” she said. “You get everyone together, talking about what they each saw … maybe they all saw different
things, you know? Put it all together, and something becomes clear.”

“Or maybe,” George added, his thumb still in his book, “maybe, since the criminal is actually there, maybe they do or say something that proves they’re guilty.”

“What have we got to lose?” Trina said. “Do you think we could get everyone together?”

B thought a minute. “My dad could,” she said, “if we can sell him on the idea.”

Trina fished around in her backpack and handed B a slick, compact Crystal Ballphone. “Oh, man, Dawn would be green with envy if she saw this baby,” B said.

“Call your dad, right now,” Trina urged. “Ms. Brewster’s not looking.”

B dialed her father’s office number.

“Hey, Dad,” she said when he answered. “I have an idea.”

And to B’s astonishment, her dad loved it. He listened to B’s entire explanation of why their plan might help, and agreed to call Madame Mel and ask her to bring Mr. Bishop and the mayor. They considered inviting Mr. Jameson, but after the Pluto
Candies affair, B’s dad wasn’t eager to welcome any Jamesons back into the factory. “Besides, B,” he said, “the nonwitching world has no idea that there’s a problem, and we certainly don’t want to draw anyone’s attention to that fact, or rumors might spread that would hurt the company. It was a potion that caused the trouble, so there really has to have been a witch involved, somehow.”

They agreed to set up the reenactment for immediately after school, since B and George needed to be there. But when B, George, and Trina arrived at Enchanted Chocolates, B’s dad pulled B aside.

“I’m sorry, B,” he said. “I know we said George could come, because he was here at the dipping debut, but we’re trying to catch a witch. The room will be full of witchy people talking about witchy subjects. We just can’t have George there.”

“Aw, Dad,” B said. “What’ll I tell him? There’s no one who cares more about Enchanted Chocolates than George.”

“I know that,” B’s dad said. “Tell him he can come back for a tour of the entire factory next week. I’ll give him a coupon for a free package of the
chocolate of his choice. But he can
not
come to this. That’s final.”

He left the room, and B broke the news to George. As she feared, George was crushed. “Can’t you use your magic to get me in there somehow? Make me invisible?”

“You saw how long that lasted yesterday,” B said.

“Make me mouse-size, then,” he pleaded. “I can help! I know I can.”

“But what if something goes wrong, George?” B said. “I’ll get in such huge trouble. Madame Mel, Mr. Bishop, my dad … they’re all going to be there.”

George turned away. “Just another example of how I miss out because I’m not a witch.”

B bit her lip. Did she dare try it? George had worked hard to help solve this crime. It wasn’t fair that he should miss out now.

“M-I-N-I-A-T-U-R-E,” she spelled, concentrating only on George. When he was done shrinking, a huge grin on his face, she dropped him in her sweatshirt pocket.

Mr. Cicely returned to the lobby. “Time to get started, B. Trina, can you stand in for Mr. Jameson?”

They reached the Fabulous Fruits wing and changed into the protective white suits. Madame Mel and Mr. Bishop were both there, but they weren’t really making eye contact with each other. That made B sad. They’d always seemed like such good old friends. Mr. Bishop looked bleary-eyed and rumpled, like he’d slept in his clothes and hadn’t been able to shower or shave.

Mayor Cumberland swept into the room a few minutes later on a whirlwind of magical annoyance. He dabbed his nose with a tissue.

“Must we take time out for this spectacle?” he said. “It’s not easy, holding a post at the M.R.S. and being mayor of the entire city! I have three meetings I’m missing to be here.”

“That would have been quite a challenge, attending three meetings at once,” Mr. Bishop observed. “You should be glad we’ve spared you that.”

“Hmph,” Mayor Cumberland said, sniffing. He blew his nose loudly. “And on top of everything, I’m terribly under the weather,” he said. “Have been for days. The malady sweeping the magical community hasn’t left me unscathed.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Mayor Cumberland,” B’s dad said. “And I do so much appreciate you taking the time to be here. We’ll try to be as quick as we can. Madame Mel? Doug? B and Trina? If everyone’s ready, let’s begin.”

B moved toward the place she’d been standing when the lights went out. Then something jabbed her in the side. George! She’d almost forgotten he was in her pocket.

She ducked behind a machine and pulled him out so she could whisper to him.

“Put me on that conveyor belt,” George said in his mouse voice. “I can climb up onto the main mixing vat without anybody seeing me. Then I’ll be able to see everything that’s going on.”

“Okay, but good luck,” B said. “And whatever you do,
don’t
let anyone see you!”

George ran off, and B’s eyes followed him nervously all the way up to his perch on the main mixer. No one, she was sure, had seen him.

“All right, folks,” B’s dad said. “Other than
dumping out the contaminated chocolate and replacing it with a fresh supply, and cleaning everything, nothing has changed in this room. It’s the same as the day of the dipping debut. Does everyone remember where they were standing?”

“Well, when?” Mr. Bishop said. “Before the lights went out, or after?”

“Excellent point, Doug,” B’s dad said. “Let’s begin with the assumption that the poisoner struck during the moment when the lights had gone out. It’s not absolutely certain, but it seems the most probable.”

“If there even was a poisoner,” the mayor said. “You act as though it’s a proven fact.”

“A poisoned potion was added to the chocolate.” Madame Mel’s height made her tower over Mayor Cumberland. “That is a fact upon which I will stake my professional reputation.”

“Of course, of course,” the mayor said, cringing slightly.

“I remember where people were when the lights came back on,” B said. “I remember, because I was paying close attention.”

“That’s odd, if you ask me,” the mayor said. “Suggests a suspicious mind.”

“Go on, B,” Mr. Bishop said. “Tell us what you remember.”

“You were standing here,” she told her teacher. “By this machine. You’d just finished singing your song.”

“
‘Freshness with a triple dip,’
” Trina sang spontaneously, until Madame Mel frowned at her. “Er, sorry.”

“And you, Mayor, were right next to Mr. Bishop.” She tried to nudge the mayor into his spot, but he resisted.

“Now, Wallace,” Madame Mel said. “We’re here for a reenactment. Please cooperate.”

“You, Dad, were over here by the switches with Mr. Jameson. So, Trina, you need to stand here by Dad.”

“That means you could have flipped the switches yourself,” Madame Mel observed.

“You’re not suggesting that I’d poison my own chocolate, are you?” Mr. Cicely said.

Madame Mel’s expression was cryptic. “Stranger things have happened.”

B moved quickly to change the subject. “I was standing here,” she said, “with my friend George.” She gave him a quick glance to make sure he was
still all right. “Jason Jameson, a nasty boy from my grade in school, was standing by the conveyor belt, waiting for fruit to come out so he could grab the first piece….”

“And steal it,” Mr. Cicely interrupted. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten over this outrage.

“And eat it,” B said. “I saw him pigging out. As soon as the lights came back on, I marched over to him to confront him, but I slipped in a puddle of blue potion!”

“Why didn’t you say so then, B?” her father said. “We could have saved ourselves so much trouble!”

“Blue,” Madame Mel mused. “Blue. What makes a potion blue? Hmm. I should call the alchemy department.”

“How do you know it was potion, and not something else?” the mayor asked.

“Because it behaved like potion,” she said. “It shimmered and swirled.”

“B knows a potion when she sees one,” Mr. Bishop said.

B snapped her fingers. “You saw it, too, didn’t you, Mr. Bishop?” she said. “I remember now. You wiped it up with your handkerchief.”

Conversation ceased as all eyes turned toward B’s tutor.
Uh-oh.
B hadn’t considered this. She remembered that right after the poisoning was discovered, she’d thought it was suspicious. Of course the others would now form the same conclusion.

“I did wipe up a blue potion,” Mr. Bishop said calmly. “Frankly, since B was lying in a puddle of it, I thought it possible that she had made some secret potion, perhaps to try to help the chocolate taste better.”

“You might have mentioned this sooner, Doug,” Madame Mel said.

“I saw no point,” he said, “since, upon talking with B, I felt certain she was innocent.”

B couldn’t help a little rush of pride. She was grateful she had her teacher’s trust. She was just about to mention that after she tripped, Mr. Bishop and the mayor helped her up, and chocolaty handprints had been left all over her back. But she realized this would only heap more suspicion on her teacher.

“Does anyone have anything else to add?” Madame Mel said. “I thought not. Well, this has been interesting, to be sure, but unproductive. Thank you for coming. You may all go now.”

“And high time, too,” muttered Mayor Cumberland. “With any luck, I can still catch two of my meetings.” He crossed the production floor, pausing for a heavy sneeze just as he passed by the main chocolate vat.

“Bless you,” a tiny voice said.

B saw George cover his mouth with his tiny hand. Jumping jinxes!

Mayor Cumberland turned to B. “Did you hear something?”

“Just you, sneezing,” B said. “I said, ‘bless you.’ ”

The mayor looked puzzled. “That was you?” He turned around slowly, searching for another source. B breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t notice George, who had hidden himself behind a length of narrow steel pipe.

But when the mayor’s gaze was again fixed on the exit, George leaped out from his hiding place, waving both hands in the air to get B’s attention. He pointed both hands at the mayor.

The mayor? B studied him. He pulled a spotted red handkerchief from the pocket of his tweed jacket, unfolded it, and sneezed loudly once more.

And nothing happened!

No vats started churning, no dippers dipping, no conveyor belts whirring.

That was it!

Mayor Cumberland said he had the magical illness, but unlike when the other witches sneezed, nothing happened. Why would someone pretend to be sick?

B sidled over to the chocolate tank and leaned against it nonchalantly. George crept over and whispered in her ear.

“The mayor poured a thingy of sparkly liquid into the chocolate!”

“When, at the dipping debut?” B whispered back.

“No. Just now. Whoops!” George was so excited that he slipped into the vat.

“Are you okay?” B peeked in at him.

“I’m fine!” George said, treading chocolate. “I can climb out. Stop that mayor, now!”

B’s dad shook hands with the other witches present, and B saw them begin to utter their traveling spells.

“Everyone, stop where you are!” B cried loudly.

All eyes turned toward B. She felt her tongue go dry. She hated everyone staring at her and could feel the symptoms of stage fright coming on, fast.

“B, honey.” B’s dad raked his hand through his hair. “I know you’re trying hard to help, but it’s over, and we didn’t learn anything.” He turned to the others. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not over,” B said. She took a deep breath. She’d just have to speak for George. “I saw the mayor pour some potion into this vat of chocolate. Just now.”

You could have heard a mouse sneeze in the Fabulous Fruits room.

Trina’s eyes shone, but everyone else looked stunned.

“Mayor Cumberland?” B’s dad said. “B, are you sure?”

“What a load of nonsense!” the mayor spluttered. “I didn’t come here to be insulted by schoolgirls! Like I said, I’m very busy today and it’s time I left.
Magical transport, whisk me
…”

“Hold on a moment, Wallace,” Madame Mel said. “B has just made a very serious allegation against you. If what she says is true, then …”

“Well, of course it isn’t true!” he snapped. “Why would I dump a potion into the chocolate, now or at any time?”

“I don’t know,” Madame Mel said. “Why would you?”

“I’m the minister of health,” he said. “I’m not in the business of making people sick!”

“You’re sick yourself, aren’t you?” B asked.

“That’s right,” the mayor said. “I’ve been miserable ever since the dipping debut.”

“You didn’t seem miserable when you came to our house with Dr. Jellicoe that night,” B said.

“That’s true,” B’s dad agreed. He was starting to look rather differently at Mayor Cumberland.

“My symptoms came on later that night,” insisted the mayor.
“Aah-choo!”

“And that’s another thing,” B said. “When you
sneeze, nothing happens. With everyone else who’s sick, the sneezes cause magical mishaps.”

“Only until their magic runs out,” Mayor Cumberland said, wagging a finger in B’s face. “Don’t forget, I know a thing or two about health!”

“Right,” B said. “But if your magic is gone, then how did you transport here? And you were just about to transport back!”

Mayor Cumberland took a step away from the group. “No, I wasn’t. I … I keep forgetting that my magic’s gone. As for getting here, my, er, my wife did the spell.”

B could tell from the looks on Madame Mel’s and Mr. Bishop’s faces that they weren’t buying Mayor Cumberland’s excuses. Still, technically, what he said was possible. There had to be some way to prove he still had magic! But what?

“Are you done?” the mayor asked crossly. “This has wasted too much of my precious time.”

B had a flash of an idea. “Then go home,” she said.

Mayor Cumberland’s disgust for B was written plain across his face. “I would, know-it-all, if I were
able to rhyme!” He blinked. “Chime, dime, lime, time, climb, prime, slime …”

“What’s happening?” Trina cried.

“I tricked him into rhyming!” B yelled. “ ‘Time’ and ‘rhyme’ — he accidentally made a spell! And now he’s stuck saying rhyming words until the spell fades. He’s got his magic, all right! He never ate the chocolate because he knew better. He’s the poisoner!”

“Mime, grime, crime, sublime,” said the horrified mayor, who finally clapped his hands over his mouth.

Madame Mel took out her Crystal Ballphone and pressed a button. In a few seconds her Dismantle Squad assembled itself magically beside her.

At the sight of the burly witches, Mayor Cumblerland wailed. “No need for them, no need! I confess. I did put a potion into the chocolate. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!”

“But why?” B’s dad said. “Why on earth would you sabotage our products?”

The mayor cringed. “I … it … I was only trying to help,” he said. “As head of health for the M.R.S., I tried to think what I could do to help witches stay healthier. The number of witches who overindulge
on chocolate is staggering! Simply staggering. So when you invited me to come as mayor to the dipping debut, I thought, here’s a chance to teach witches not to eat so much chocolate.”

“By taking away their magic?” B said. “You’re the head of
health!
You’re not supposed to give people a terrible disease!”

By now the mayor was wringing his spotted red handkerchief between his hands. “I never meant to hurt anyone, I swear,” he said. “The potion was only meant to give witches purple spots. Then people would stop eating the chocolate. I never, never wanted to make people so sick that they lost their powers.”

“You could have ruined our business,” Mr. Cicely said. “We employ hundreds of witches here at Enchanted Chocolates.”

Mayor Cumblerland sniffed. “Why don’t you start selling dehydrated turnip crisps? They’re really quite delicious, once you get used to them.”

Mr. Bishop stifled a laugh. Madame Mel whispered to her Dismantle Squad, and they silently transported elsewhere.

“Did you put the same potion in the chocolate today, Wallace?” Madame Mel said.

“Heavens no!” The mayor wiped his sweating face with the handkerchief. “I made a potion to reverse the effects of the first one. I hope. That’s what I put in today’s chocolate.”

“As if any sickened witches would eat Fabulous Fruits now,” B muttered.

“An excellent point,” Madame Mel said. “Wallace, tell me what you put in these potions. Then we can finally get to the bottom of this mess.”

She and the mayor conferred for a few minutes, during which time George, who had climbed back out of the chocolate, did a miniature victory dance.

“It’s all settled,” Madame Mel announced. “Wallace has explained to me the ingredients he used in his first potion. I’ll be able to brew an antidote and get the witches who were sickened by the first potion back up on their feet.”

Mayor Cumberland gave a weak smile to everyone in the room.

“And,” Madame Mel went on, “Wallace agrees that his mayoral duties get in the way of his post as head of health. He’ll be taking an immediate retirement from his M.R.S. position.”

It was all B could do not to cheer.