And even if we could afford to hire people and teach them to make doughnuts, where would we put them? It’s not as if my parents were going to give up our kitchen entirely to doughnut-making, and there wasn’t enough room in Josh’s kitchen. In New York City, Mom would rent a commercial kitchen when she had a big catering job, but that wasn’t an option in Petersville.

Even with $100,000, I had no clue how to solve our supply problem.

The Doughnut Stop was in serious trouble.

Jackson was on the screen now, explaining about how he’d use the prize money to start a pho place, one of those Vietnamese restaurants where you choose the ingredients and they cook them into a soup right in front of you. Fast-food pho.

I stood up. I had to get out of there, away from Jackson, because even though he didn’t know the rules for testing meat doneness, he was full of ideas, which made me feel even worse for not having any of my own.

• • •

Mom was flipping through a cookbook when I walked into the kitchen.

“Where’s Jim?” I asked.

She waved in the direction of the basement door.

“The noise back?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

For the past few weeks, every couple of days, it sounded like a motorcycle was revving its engine in the basement, but as soon as someone got to the bottom of the stairs, it would stop. The Purple Demon likes to change things up.

“Oh, hey!” Mom looked up. “I saw the magazine. The cover! So amazing.”

“Yeah.”

She studied my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” My parents already thought I took The Doughnut Stop too seriously. It didn’t help that during the failed more-doughnuts-less-sleep experiment, I’d passed out in history, sliced my chin open, and ended up needing stitches and a tetanus shot. It wasn’t the doughnuts’ fault that a screw was sticking out of my desk, but they blamed them anyway.

The basement door swung open, and Jim appeared, his brown hair and beard gray with soot.

Mom jumped up. “So?”

“It’s not the boiler. Turned it off. Took it apart. Put it back together. There’s nothing in there that would cause that kind of noise.”

“What about the generator?”

Just then, we heard Zoe shout, “You can’t cut it!”

“Okay, Zo Zo!” Mom called. “Turn it off now!”

“I didn’t check the generator, but I can’t now.” Jim untied a sweatshirt from around his waist. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Mom grabbed a sweatshirt sleeve. “Please, I’m begging you. Check the generator before you go. I’ll whip up those hazelnut scones you love so much.”

“Well, now you’re not playing fair, but I can’t, not even for hazelnut scones. I’ve got to get ready for the meeting.”

“Oh, fine.” Mom let go of the sweatshirt.

“Almost forgot. Can you sell coffee and tea tonight?”

“I could…if you tell us what the surprise is. Tell me it’s a farmers’ market.” Mom crossed her fingers on both hands.