Secrets at the Chocolate Mansion

  For Leo and Lucy and Jim

  The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

  —Shakespeare, Hamlet

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Books by Leslie Margolis

  Chapter 1

  I’ve never been good at double Dutch and I don’t really care for Dubble Bubble gum. The sweetness only lasts for thirty seconds; after that, it tastes like it belongs on the underside of someone’s desk. When people call my twin brother and me “double trouble,” we both roll our eyes. Yet, somehow the prospect of a double date—a real, official double date—seemed different, thrilling, and full of new possibility. I mean, who knew what would happen? I’ll tell you who: no one.

  That’s why I felt so bouncy on Saturday afternoon, just about ready to bubble over with enthusiasm. Enthusiasm I worked hard to hide, because come on, it’s okay to be super excited about a date with your boyfriend, but it’s not exactly cool to show it. Especially when you’re in seventh grade.

  Acting cool and calm was harder than usual on account of the fact that our friend Sonya’s mom had just opened up an old-fashioned soda fountain and we were on our way to the grand opening. “We” meaning me and my boyfriend, Milo; my best friend, Lulu; and my brother, Finn.

  Yep—that’s right. My best friend and my twin brother are a couple. It’s a long story.

  I think.

  Actually, I don’t know whether it’s a long story or not. They’ve kept me in the dark about most of their relationship, and I’m happy about that.

  I’m still getting used to the fact that they’re together; I don’t want to know details. Not that any of that bothered me today. My homework was done, my weekend chores were complete, and there was nowhere else I wanted to be on this brilliantly sunny Saturday afternoon. It was the perfect day for an ice cream soda, or a root beer float, or a famous Brooklyn Egg Cream, all of which would be available at Sonya’s Sweets in just a few short moments. Or at least that’s what we’d been told.

  “Sonya’s so lucky. Having a candy store named after you has got to be the best thing in the world,” Lulu said as we strolled down Seventh Avenue toward President Street.

  “If I ever open up a candy store, I’ll totally name it after you,” Finn told her. He ran his hand through his long, dark, shaggy hair.

  Finn pays way more attention to his hair when Lulu is around, I’ve noticed. He also spends tons of time getting ready in the morning, even though his wardrobe hasn’t changed. He still wears the same basic outfits: jeans or cords and T-shirts; his thin, gray hoodie when it gets cold outside; and a navy-blue puffy vest for the coldest days of winter. It simply takes him much longer to put them on these days.

  Lulu grabbed his hand and bumped shoulders with him, gazing at him with the goofiest expression I’ve ever seen.

  I worked hard to keep from rolling my eyes, but allowed myself a small smirk. Milo caught my expression and raised his eyebrows.

  “Saw that, Maggie,” he whispered.

  I could tell he thought I was being too critical of them, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Saw what?” I asked with a shrug.

  Milo just shook his head and laughed.

  “Lulu’s is the perfect name for a candy store,” said Finn. “It’s short and to the point.”

  Lulu crinkled her nose. “Don’t you mean short, to the point, and way too boring?”

  “Sorry,” said Finn. “Have you got a better idea?”

  “Sure,” said Lulu, thinking for a moment. “Lucky Lulu’s.”

  “What’s lucky about it?” asked Milo.

  “The fact that I have a candy store,” Lulu said, as though it were obvious.

  “How about Lulu’s Lollipops?” I asked. “There’s alliteration there, at least.”

  “Alliter-what?” asked Finn.

  “Alliteration,” I repeated. “You know—when two words start with the same sound. That thing we’ve been studying in English all week.”

  “Come on, Maggie. It’s Saturday,” said Finn. “Let’s not talk about school.”

  “Using a word I recently learned in school hardly constitutes ‘talking about school,’” I pointed out. “Right, Milo?”

  Milo grinned at me and shook his head slowly. “I’m not getting in between you and Finn.”

  “Lulu?” I asked.

  My friend laughed in my face. (Nice, huh?) “You’re asking me to take sides between my best friend and my boyfriend? No way.”

  “How is it a fight when there’s only one answer?” I asked.

  “Let’s talk about candy stores some more,” said Lulu. “Lulu’s Lollipops does sound cute, but won’t it be misleading if I’m selling all types of candy?”

  She had a good point, and I told her so. “Then how about Lulu’s Lollipops and More?”

  Lulu considered this as she twirled a strand of wavy black hair around her finger. “The ‘More’ is too vague. I could be selling tires or something.”

  “Tires and lollipops. Now there’s an exciting concept for a business,” Milo teased.

  “Oh, sarcasm,” Lulu said, her voice drenched in it. “I love sarcasm. Can’t get enough of it. So please don’t stop. Seriously. Keep it coming.”

  “Sorry,” said Milo.

  “No, I’m totally serious,” she said, getting right up in his face. “Keep it up.”

  “Okay, I get it,” Milo yelled, throwing up his hands. “Tough crowd.”

  “Oh, she’s vicious,” said Finn. “Be careful.”

  When Lulu socked Finn’s shoulder, he said, “Yeeouch! See what I mean?”

  “Hey, check it out,” I said as we got closer. “That new sign looks amazing. You can see it from a block away.”

  “I think that’s the point,” said Finn.

  “I know that,” I said, shoving my brother. “I’m just saying, they did an awesome job.”

  “Sonya’s dad made it,” Lulu told us. “And I think it’s more of a picture window than a sign. You know, since it makes up almost the entire glass storefront. He’s really into stained glass. It took him months to finish because some of the materials had to be imported from Italy.”

  “That sounds serious,” said Milo.

  “Yeah. He just left yesterday to go to India for a whole month. He felt so bad about missing the opening that he went all out with the window,” Lulu explained.

  The sign—excuse me—the picture window was huge, with sparkly blue glass lettering. It also featured fluffy cupcakes, frosty milk shakes, and juicy pies. All of the food had arms and legs and looked as if it were in the middle of a dessert-inspired dance party.

  “This is too excellent,” said Lulu as she opened the door. She started to say something else but stopped as soon as she took in the scene.

  I was speechless, too. Once inside, I felt like I’d stepped back in time, to the days when girls wore poodle skirts and boys greased back their hair and everybody listened to rock-and-roll music on the jukebox.

  “This is incredible!” said Lulu. “Sonya’s mom totally outdid herself.”

  She was right. Little round tables with elaborately curled iron chairs dotted the black-and-white checke
red floor. Old-timey carved wooden signs hung on the walls. They read ICE CREAM SODA 3 CENTS and SUNDAES FOR A NICKEL.

  “Think those are the real prices?” asked Finn.

  “I wish,” said Lulu.

  “Wow, that’s an awesome display,” I said, pointing to the rack of penny candy opposite the cash register. It was filled with things like candy buttons, Turkish Taffy, Chick-O-Sticks, Wack-O-Wax lips, Ice Cubes chocolates, and a bunch of other stuff I hadn’t ever seen before.

  “I feel like I just walked into 1950,” said Milo. “I half expect people to use words like ‘golly-gee willickers’ and ‘okey-dokey.’”

  “Do you think people actually said those things?” I wondered. “Because I’ve only heard them in movies.”

  “Good point,” said Milo. “Maybe that’s just how old-time teen-speak is depicted in movies and on TV.”

  “Speaking of,” I said, “did you know that when we were little, Finn thought the entire world once existed in black and white, not color? It’s all people saw before the invention of color television. Like television engineers invented not only color transmission, but the actual color spectrum.”

  Milo laughed. “For real?”

  Lulu said, “That’s adorable.”

  Finn grinned a sly grin. “It’s true. And I have plenty of embarrassing Maggie stories I could tell,” he warned. “Like, you all know how she feels about mice, right? Well, this one time when we rented a cabin in Maine …”

  I decided this was the perfect moment to change the subject. “Oh, there’s Sonya,” I said, pointing to the back of the store.

  Sonya stood behind the long white marble counter filling up straw holders with red-and-white-striped straws that looked like peppermint sticks. Her long dark hair was in two braids that hung over her shoulders. She wore a pink apron and a white paper hat, just like the other employees in the store.

  As soon as she saw us, she beamed and waved at us to come closer.

  Lulu and I reached over the counter for hugs, while the boys simply waved.

  “Thanks for coming,” Sonya said.

  “Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss this,” I told her. “How’s it going? You look so grown-up. Love your hair, too.”

  “Oh, the braids are a requirement,” said Sonya, tugging on one braid. “And speaking of official stuff—if the Department of Labor comes by and asks any questions, I do not actually work here because that would be illegal. I’m too young. I’m only helping my parents out on a volunteer basis.”

  “Okay, you may not be officially working,” said Milo. “But you sure look like an authentic soda jerk.”

  “Who are you calling a jerk?” asked Sonya, hands on her hips, clearly offended.

  Milo laughed. “I’m talking about your hat. That’s what it’s called—a soda-jerk hat.”

  “Oh, yeah. I knew that,” said Sonya. Although clearly she didn’t, because moments later she tilted her head to one side and asked, “If I’m wearing it, does that make me a jerk?”

  “You couldn’t be a jerk if you tried,” I told Sonya. “You’re as sweet as everything in that awesome candy display.”

  It’s true, too. Sonya is all bright smiles and shiny rainbows. She’s one of the nicest kids at Fiske Street Junior High, which is why she’s one of my closest friends.

  “Do you sell chocolate malteds?” asked Lulu, leaning her elbows on the counter.

  “Of course we do,” said Sonya. “Do you want one?”

  “No,” said Lulu. “I was just wondering if you had them.”

  “Didn’t you see the picture of the chocolate malted in the window?” asked Sonya.

  “The dancing one?” asked Lulu. “Of course. Except I figured maybe he was just for show. Or she. Which is it?”

  “All of our malteds are gender-neutral. The shakes are a different story,” Sonya told us, laughing at her own joke. “But what you guys should really do is try the pie. My mom is famous for them. There’s a fresh one in the oven right now; should be ready in a few minutes.”

  Pie sounded pretty good. “What kind is it?” I asked.

  “Strawberry rhubarb. My mom made ten of them from scratch this morning,” Sonya said as she untied her apron strings and stepped out from behind the counter. “Follow me. I reserved the best booth for you guys. It’s all the way in the back.”

  “Taking a break already?” Sonya’s mom, Ricki, called from the other side of the store.

  “I’ve been working since seven o’clock this morning,” Sonya cried.

  When Ricki laughed, I noticed she had the same smile as Sonya. Or vice versa, I suppose. “I’m kidding, sweetie. We’ve got things covered.” She gestured toward the two other employees at the shop. One of them looked a lot like Sonya and her mom—same dark skin and big brown eyes. She wore her hair in braids, like Sonya. They could’ve been twins, except this girl was much taller. Older, too, I think. The other person was a white guy—tall, with long blond hair that hung down his back in a low ponytail.

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  Sonya pointed to the girl with braids. “That’s my cousin Felicity. And the other guy is Joshua Marcus, who lives across the street.”

  “Oh, cool,” I said with a nod. “I thought he looked familiar.”

  “He’s cute, huh?” Sonya whispered to me.

  “I guess.” I shrugged. “It’s hard for me to tell. I don’t like old guys, so he’s not really my type.”

  “He’s only nineteen,” said Sonya. “And I’ll be thirteen in less than a month. And while a six-year age difference seems like a big deal now, when we’re older, it’s so not going to be. My mom is ten whole years younger than my dad.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, staring at Joshua. “Nineteen sounds ancient to me.”

  We made our way through the crowd to the back booth, which was empty except for the RESERVED sign on the table. Sonya plucked it up and slipped it into her back pocket.

  “Wow, VIP treatment,” said Lulu, sliding into the booth. “How fancy.”

  “Only the best for my friends,” said Sonya.

  “This place is packed,” I said as an entire baseball team streamed in through the front door, cleats still on and shirts untucked, with mud streaked on most of their pants.

  “Yeah, it’s a good sign, huh?” said Sonya. “I’m so excited for my mom. She’s wanted to open a place like this forever.”

  Just then Ricki walked up to us while carefully balancing a gorgeous pie on a shiny silver tray. “Hi, everyone. This is fresh out of the oven. Who’d like the first slice?” she asked.

  Just looking at the pie—the flaky brown crust, the bright, sweet-looking strawberries bursting out of the top—made my mouth water.

  And since no one else spoke up, I said, “I’ll have it.”

  Sonya’s mom set the platter down with a wink. “Please be my guest—and be honest: this is a new recipe, and I’d love to get your opinion.” She placed a slice on a plate and set it down in front of me.

  I took a generous forkful, raised it to my lips, bit down, and almost choked.

  Ricki cringed. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean that honest.”

  I tried to smile politely as I spit the crust out into my napkin. Except it’s hard to be polite while spitting. Especially while spitting out baked goods directly in front of the actual baker.

  Sonya must’ve thought I was kidding around, because she snapped, “That’s not funny, Maggie. Someone might see you.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” I said, looking around the shop. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying attention to our table. “But there’s something wrong with that pie. It tastes like the ocean at Coney Island.”

  “Like medical waste?” asked Milo.

  I elbowed him and clarified. “No, like salt.”

  Finn pulled the pie closer to him, took a tiny slice of crust, and set it on the tip of his tongue.

  Immediately, his face twisted into an expression of disgust as he fought his gag reflex. “She’s right,” h
e said with a cough. “It’s nasty.”

  Sonya tasted the pie, too, and spit it out fast. “Mom,” she whispered. “We’ve got a big problem.”

  Ricki sat down at the booth and took a forkful for herself. After chewing and forcing herself to swallow, she said, “Blech. Something went horribly wrong. Let me have that.” She whisked the pie away from us as though it were a ticking time bomb.

  “The shakes are delicious, I swear,” said Sonya. “Especially the chocolate banana. Can I get you one on the house?”

  “Yuck,” I said, crinkling my nose.

  “But you love chocolate and bananas,” said Sonya.

  “I love chocolate and bananas on their own, but not mixed together,” I explained.

  “You are so weird,” Lulu said.

  “I feel the same way,” said Finn.

  “That your sister is a weirdo?” asked Lulu.

  “No, that banana-flavored anything is disgusting,” said Finn.

  “Thank you.” My brother and I high-fived across the table. Lulu and Milo looked at each other and shook their heads, like they thought they were both dating the craziest kids in town. I felt like I was starring in some corny teen movie. And that wasn’t a bad thing.

  “What about other fruit, like strawberries or raspberries?” Sonya asked.

  “They’re great on their own, but I don’t understand why it’s necessary to put them in other stuff,” I said.

  Sonya cracked up. “Know what? I’m going to make you the best shake you’ve ever had.”

  “What are you putting in it?” I asked.

  “I’ll surprise you,” she said, heading back to the counter.

  I got up and followed her.

  “Afraid I’m gonna try to sneak some fruit into your milk shake?” Sonya asked.

  “No, I just want to see how it’s done,” I said.

  Sonya stepped behind the counter while I hopped onto a stool.

  “This is my cousin Felicity,” Sonya said. “Felicity, this is Maggie Brooklyn. Will you make her a chocolate malted?”

  “And hold the banana,” I added.

  “Sure, boss. Coming right up,” said Felicity as she poured milk, chocolate syrup, ice cream, and malted powder into a high-tech blender.

  As soon as she punched the ON button the machine whirred to life, pulverizing that sugary goodness like there was no tomorrow.