The Gummy Bear Trail

Missing Gummy Bears

I had exactly eight hours to submit my recipe for a new gummy bear to my boss. If she liked it, the lead confectioner job would be mine. If she didn't, well, I'd be stuck making boring old gumdrops forever. So far, things were looking pretty grim. No ideas. Not even in my dreams. I yawned as I slipped out of bed.

Maybe a handful of classic gummies would do the trick. I thought back to the shiny new bag I'd brought home the night before. But when I arrived in the kitchen, the rainbow-colored package was ripped to shreds and the bears were missing. I lived alone, had no neighbors who could have strolled in for a snack. In a panic, I tore up half the room, but couldn't find a single gummy or even a clue.

And who would break in to steal one bag of plain old gummies? I checked the windows anyway, and—ouch—I smashed my finger. In the living room, I snapped off a bit of aloe branch for the healing gel, and then I saw it: A bear sitting inside the plant. I dusted it off and looked it in the eye. Where are your friends?

So the hunt began, and I scoured every inch of the house and backyard. I found a bear near a dusty crumb of crystallized sugar, another in the rose bush, one in the pocket of my apron, and finally, another near the attic door. I'd never been inside. I didn't like dark, creepy, cobwebs or spiders. But today, I didn't have a choice. The gummies were leading me there. I could feel it.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. And I gasped in surprise. It wasn't creepy at all. It was a bright little sitting room, colorful, and scented like fresh lemons. But what really caught my attention was the massive notebook on the sofa. The notes and recipes inside told me the writer was Lolly Lemondrop. My heart pounded a mile a minute. The famous confectioner who'd died... gulp... a month before I started renting this house. And the notes in her notebook matched the hiding places of the bears: aloe, rose, sugar. A new gummy bear. I rushed downstairs to test the recipe, then added mint as my own special touch. As I tasted them, a gust of wind whipped through the half-open window, carrying with it the scent of lemon. And I smiled.

Later that day, my boss tasted the rose-colored bears. Her eyes lit up as she chewed—and believe me, that was big. My boss was a tough customer, known to throw bears across the room if they weren't perfect.

And then she winked and said, "I think Lolly would be proud."

I sucked in a breath and bit my lip. She knew. But how?