“Oh, hi,” I said.
“Morning,” Jim said.
“I thought my dad said the roof was done.”
“It is, Jax,” Jim said, winking at me. He never told my parents about that day he picked me up in the flood, but he called me Jax every now and then just to show me he remembered, which felt like a typical, creepy kidnapper move.
“So, what are you doing here?” I said.
“Tris!” Mom yelled from the top of the stairs. “‘What are you doing here?’ Really?”
“Sorry,” I said more to her than to Jim. It was weird the way he was just sitting there drinking his coffee in our kitchen like he belonged there. Why did I have to play host?
“No apology necessary. You were curious. Curiosity is useful. Certainly more useful than manners,” Jim said, winking again.
“Thanks,” I said, though I wasn’t at all sure he’d meant what he’d said as a compliment. The wink had thrown me. Usually, a wink means the winker and winkie have a secret, like when he’d called me Jax. But what did this wink mean? It could have meant: both you and I know that asking a direct question isn’t offensive even if your mother doesn’t. But then it also could have meant: both you and I know that you’re just a rude kid, and I’m making fun of you for it.
“I’m actually here for you,” Jim said and then took a swig of coffee. “Winnie told me about your doughnut business.”
“She did?”
I hadn’t expected Winnie to be talking up the doughnuts around town, but it was great news that she was. Starting Your Own Business for Dummies says the best kind of advertising is word-of-mouth because it’s free and creates something called buzz.
“Yeah, so she wanted me to get the process rolling on your business license.” He leaned forward and pulled a square of folded paper out of the back pocket of his jeans.
“Business license? For a little stand.”
“If you’re selling stuff, you need a license.”
This had to be some kind of joke he and Winnie had cooked up. No way a kid needed a business license, but I decided to play along. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say I need a business license. What’s that got to do with you?”
“As mayor, I’m on the Chamber of Commerce,” he said, his beard stretching wide with his smile.
Of course! Jim the Kidnapper/Carpenter was also the mayor. How had I not seen that coming? Jim the Kidnapper was the mayor, and a twelve-year-old trying to sell doughnuts on the street out of a cardboard box needed a business license.
This wasn’t a joke. This was Petersville.
“Yeah, been almost five years now. Truth is nobody else wants the job, and I’m not too bad at it.” Jim thumped his belly like the extra pounds in there had something to do with his success.
“Okay, fine. I give up. You’re the mayor, and I need a business license. Can you just tell me what I need to do to get this done as fast as possible?”
All I really cared about was that this wasn’t going to slow us down. We had a timeline: get funding; order ingredients; create buzz; grand opening. We didn’t have time for paperwork.
“You just need to present your business plan to the Chamber of Commerce.”
That minute, the front door swung open, and Josh burst through holding a gigantic, stuffed…thing. It looked like something you’d win at a carnival, big and colorful and useless. It was almost as tall as he was, and THE DOUGHNUT STOP was stitched across it in red letters.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s…one big pillow.”
“It’s a doughnut,” Josh grumbled.
“Oh, right, sorry. Now I see it,” I said.
“I know. I know. I told her not to, but she felt bad that she doesn’t have money to invest, so she did this.”
“Your mom?” I asked.
He nodded. “I think she stayed up all night making it. I couldn’t not take it.”
“I get it,” I said. Not just what it meant about his mom, but what it meant about him.
“I like it,” Jim said, cocking his head to one side and studying the doughnut.
“You do?” Josh turned it around to look at the front of it.
“It would be great advertising if we can figure out the right place to put it,” I said.
“We could strap it to the front of my truck,” Jim suggested as he combed his fingers through his beard.
I laughed.
“I’m being serious,” he said.
“Really?” I said.
“Sure.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch.”
“But you’ll want us to pay you, right?” He was offering to let us use his truck as a billboard. Of course he’d want something in return.
Jim shook his head.
“I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”
“Why not?” he said with a shrug.
I didn’t say anything. I’d never met a “why not?” person before. In the city, there’s generally more of a “why should I?” kind of vibe.
“Thanks so much,” Josh said, appreciative, but not at all surprised. He must have seen this “why not” thing before.
“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “That would be great. Talk about buzz. A giant doughnut strapped to the front of the mayor’s car is sure to get people excited.”
“Now we just need to get this business license squared away.” Jim tapped the folded-up paper.
“What business license?” Josh said. “Aren’t we doing the investor pitch now?”
Suddenly, I had an idea about how to get Jim what he needed for the license and stay on schedule.
“We’re actually presenting our business plan to my parents this morning,” I said to Jim. “What if you just stayed for that? Then you could get all the information you need for the license.”
“Sounds good to me. Just gotta make sure Harley can get over here.”
“Harley?” I said.
“Harley Turnby. He’s the other half of the Chamber of Commerce. In fact, if we don’t agree, he’s the deciding vote.”
This seemed like good news. How tough could getting a business license be if Mr. Turnby
