Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why had he done that? That was the stupidest thing he had ever done. But the thought had nagged at him like an unfinished candy at Halloween and he had to do something about it! Wonka found himself pacing the foyer, completely at a loss for what to do now. Worse yet, he had just… thrown her out afterward. There was no sense in having just another awkward moment, but this was ridiculous. That's right Willy, slam the door in her face! He was tapping his cane fervently on the floor, so much so that all the Nerds inside had shaken themselves loose of years of entrapment and were now shifting about noisily with every step he took. Well, you couldn't change the past, and Wonka knew that quite well. At the very least, with any luck, Veronica would be discovering the contents of her suitcase soon…

Veronica had opened her bag and, after pulling out Charlie's socks and the jar of buttons, thought it best to just upend the whole bag and dump everything on her bed. There was the pillow, the boots, the gloves, the jacket, a rubber duck, a pair of enormous sunglasses, exactly thirteen buttons from a computer keyboard (All W's), a potted plant that was now spilling dirt all over her clothes, three towels, a spark plug, seven keys, an encyclopedia (Volume W), and a single chocolate rose. Veronica looked at all the unexpected additions incredulously.

"How did he…" She noticed the scrap of paper tacked to the jacket and, brushing the dirt off, she picked it up and read.

Veronica,

Thank you for spending Valentine's Day with me.

It was the most super-cool fun holiday I've ever

had. We should do it again sometime. Please

return these things to me ASAP. Thanks a bunch,

WW

P.S. Not the chocolate rose. You keep that one.

Veronica smiled. She picked up the chocolate rose and inhaled, expecting to smell chocolate. But instead the most wonderful scent of rose surrounded her. She was too enamored by it to eat it. She looked at the mess now lying on her bed, then picked up a few things and tried to brush the dirt off them. Next she rescued the potted plant and placed it on the table next to her bed. And then…

She hadn't played dress-up since she was about seven years old. So why she was now tromping around her house in Willy Wonka's coat, shoes, gloves, and glasses was anybody's guess. She had grabbed a meterstick from the back of her closet and strode around the room, using it as a cane. She found herself tripping all over the place, like when she was young and tried to put on her mother's shoes. Veronica never had small feet, so, looking down at the boots, she had to suppress a laugh. Willy Wonka's feet were huge! Eventually, when the novelty wore off, and she had put aside the glasses, boots, 'cane', and gloves, she collapsed on her sofa in his coat and pulled it as tight as she could around her. It was only now that she appreciated how thin he was, because it seemed to be quite a good fit for her slim frame. It smelled like chocolate, of course, but also of some strange exotic spice… and just a hint of peanuts. Veronica sighed. Of course this meant that she would have to go back and return these things… Somehow she was both looking forward to and dreading that trip. For as much as it meant going back to where she belonged, and yes, now that she thought about it, she knew she belonged there, it also meant that she would have to leave again, say goodbye again, and go through what she knew she was going to go through again. She was going to miss him. Miss being woken in the morning by a jab of his cane, miss the constant smell of some wondrous candy, miss breakfast at the Bucket's, and even miss his determined ignorance of her when he was working. She pulled his jacket up around her even more and sighed again. Maybe she could convince him to let her keep the jacket.

Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, the amazing Chocolatier...

A letter arrived in the mail for Veronica the next day. It had no return address, and was not signed. But it requested she report to the offices of the European Health Agency immediately the next morning. She read and re-read the letter skeptically several times. Finally she decided that it would probably be best if she showed up, just in case. A fleeting sense of worry passed over her. What if they had re-read her file on Wonka's factory? They would discover all the things she conveniently failed to mention; the river, the meadow, the Oompa Loompas… just to name a few. Then she would really be in trouble, and so would Wonka. But once a presentation had been made to the Health Advisory Board, files were rarely reopened, so Veronica dismissed this fear as needless. She had grown quite fond of Wonka's jacket, and was still wearing it when she left the house that day. She was going to get chocolate, the first time she would have to pay for it since she had met Wonka. She sighed. Eventually she wouldn't even be able to afford her weekly treat, for the first time since she was five. Well… unless she found a new job. But this was a tiny town, and there wasn't really a use for a displaced health inspector, even one who had lived here her whole life. The familiar bell jingled as she entered the corner store, formerly Wonka's original candy shop. She looked around. Though it still bore its whimsical appearance, she knew that the magic had left this place long ago. It was difficult for her to imagine that, all the while she was growing up, even when she was a tiny girl, five years old, the man who owned the coat that she was now wearing, the man who woke her every morning with a jab of his cane and a "wake up sleepyhead!" the man who had swept her off her feet just the morning before and then run off, embarrassed, had toiled in this same place, had walked this floor, and she knew it, but never saw him. She had known of him even then, at five years old. And what if she would have seen him on that one last day? Would any of this have even happened now? Because, to Willy Wonka, Veronica Lightfoot didn't exist until she smiled at him through the gate on that first day. What if he would have seen the little girl? Would she still be wearing his coat? She hugged it to her and approached the counter. The elderly gentleman who came to serve her looked at her for a moment, no, ogled her was more like it.

"Where did you get that coat, Miss?" He asked, almost whispering.

"This coat? Uhh…" Veronica cast about frantically for an answer. None came.

"You're a friend of Willy Wonka's, or else you want to look like you are." The man said. "Which is it?"

"I'm a friend."

"Nonsense. Willy Wonka has no friends. And he certainly doesn't have a girlfriend to wander around in his clothes… Wonka has a private tailor. Now are you going to tell me how you really got that coat?"

Neither the elderly gentleman nor Veronica noticed the shadowy looking man in the corner, listening to their conversation. The man smiled nastily, then got up and exited the store, not saying a word.

"I told you, I'm a friend of Wonka's. I spent the holiday with him and his apprentice. My name is Veronica Lightfoot and I am… was a health inspector for the EHA." Veronica stood as straight as she could. "All I wanted was to buy a bar of chocolate. I'm in here every week, I'm sure you recognize me."

"That I do, lady, that I do. But that coat perplexes me. Now, I know for a fact that no one enters that factory. If they did, I would know about it. I used to work there. Now I work here. Only job left for those of us who were loyal to Wonka and wanted to continue working for him. Now, Miss Lightfoot, will you tell me how you really got that coat? I'm afraid I can't sell you a thing unless I know you aren't a spy for Slugworth or one of those other no good cheating copycats."

"Am I going to have to bring Willy Wonka himself here to tell you?" Veronica asked, perplexed. Then she remembered the note. She fished it out of the pocket of the coat and handed it to the man at the counter. He read it, and his eyes widened.

"That's Willy Wonka's handwriting. And I assume he's talking about you. In that case, we should be celebrating! You know, it broke my heart to see that poor boy all alone in that big factory. He handed out the pink slips personally. I was the last one to leave before he made the public announcement. I can remember him… sitting in that big boardroom all alone, exhausted from weeks of endless searching for whoever was stealing his ideas. But there were too many of them. He never found them all. Listen, Miss, you come in here whenever you like and the candy's on the house. I'm sure Mr. Wonka won't mind." The man smiled and handed her her usual chocolate bar. Veronica grinned. She was about to leave, but suddenly turned back to the man behind the counter.

"I'd like that note back please. I'd rather like to keep it." Her ears went a little pink as the man handed her the slip of paper.

Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, the amazing Chocolatier...

The next morning Veronica regrettably had to leave Wonka's coat behind, dressing herself in the stiff khaki skirt and white blouse that her old job required. She slipped her trim black coat over her shoulders, pushed her glasses up on her nose, just slightly, and strode out the door with a sigh. She felt so drab and unexciting, and missed the stares of passerby as she strode through the streets. The wine colored coat really did flatter her… She approached a building at the end of a narrow, twisting street. The building was large and squarish, with "EHA" in bold letters above the door. Veronica's thoughts flashed to all the other things EHA could stand for. 'Economic Hell Ahead' was her favorite, and probably the most descriptive title she could bestow on the agency. She giggled. Ever since she had come here looking for a job, nearly six years ago, she had known this building to hold nothing but misery for her. But she had had no choice then. Her mother had just died, and there was no way for an unemployed, 20 year old Veronica to keep going to school and keep a home to go back to during the summer. So she had given up her dreams and come instead here. No wonder she had grown up so fast… But now with friends like Wonka, she knew that she didn't have to be a slave to her job. It was time to put this behind her, once and for all, and move on.

Most of the building was still dark, being very early in the morning. Veronica was greeted at the door by one of her former coworkers, and he led her into a dimly lit room already occupied by one individual. Veronica thought he looked vaguely familiar, but decided she must have seen him on the street somewhere during one of her frequent walks. He was an older gentleman, very thin and balding, and he had a rather unpleasant glint in his eye. Veronica shivered.

"Good morning, Miss Lightfoot. Good to see you back here again. To be very frank, we have a proposition for you. Please sit down."

Veronica remained standing, looking uneasily at the two men.

"What sort of proposition?" She asked.

"Word has been spreading that you are becoming something of a regular at Wonka's candy factory. It seems a little odd that, after 16 years, he would let in a woman that he barely knows for weeks at a time. Don't you think so?"

"You sent me there. He had to let me in."

"Oh come now, Veronica… We know how you've been spending your newly found free time. I am prepared to offer you your job back… with a considerable raise. Would you like that?"

"Not especially."

"Ahh, but we also know you'll be needing the money in the future. Don't pretend the wolves aren't already at the door, darling."

"I'll have a new job soon."

"Not if we can help it." The thin man rose and shut the door. Veronica could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up. What was going on?

"You are going to help us, Veronica dear. Or you will be sincerely sorry. The agency wants to know a little more about how Wonka produces those miraculous chocolates of his. If we don't get the info… we could stage a raid, close his doors… but we think it would be much easier for you to tell us. Don't you think?"

"I wouldn't tell you anything. And you know it."

"Oh, but you will." The thin man rose and looked at Veronica, nasty glint flickering in his eye. "My name is Slugworth, and I am prepared to pay you a considerable fortune to smuggle out the secrets of the Wonka candy factory. If you don't… Well, let's just say you wouldn't want to let the family down, would you?" He grinned, showing a set of stained and crooked teeth.
"I have no family. There's no one for you to hurt. Just me. And I'm prepared to handle anything."

"No, no, no, child. You don't understand. You aren't as alone in this world as you think. Have a look." And Slugworth produced from his pocket a stained and torn picture. He stood, looking as sour as ever, with a smiling young woman… Veronica's mother. "Understand now?"

It couldn't be. Veronica shrank towards the door.

"No…" She whispered.

"I'm not surprised, you never were exactly Daddy's little girl, were you? But then, your mother left me when you were so young. Claimed I was far too obsessed with the secrets of Wonka's chocolate. But then… so are you."

"If I have an interest in Wonka, it's not simply for his secrets."

"We didn't think so. But we have insurance, just in case." He also procured a large roll of paper from his coat.

"The deed to your house, Miss… Lightfoot. I understand you wish to preserve your mother's dreams, ergo her memory, the best you can? I can take it away. Instantly. You won't have a home to go to; your precious Mr. Wonka won't have a factory you can seek refuge in. So… what is your decision, Veronica? You could be the heir to a fortune in chocolate… or you could just fade away with Mr. Bittersweet and Nuts."

"I have no other choice?" Veronica looked at them, desperately afraid. But she already knew her answer. It was as simple as that. "Then take your threats and go to hell. As far as I'm concerned… my father died long before I can remember. And I have no loyalty to one who would crush the dreams of others if he couldn't fulfill his own the right way." She didn't wait for a reaction; she simply turned on her heel and strode away.

Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, the amazing Chocolatier...

She hit the front doors, and started running. Home, to gather up everything Wonka had apparently loaned her, and then… to him. She had to tell someone. As she packed her suitcase with everything she needed to return, she stopped and stole a glance at the coffee table beside her couch. On it rested a picture of herself and her mother. Beside it lay the chocolate rose. Veronica felt tears burning her eyes and blurring her vision, and it drove her on faster. It wasn't long before everything she owned was stowed in the trunk of her car… something she rarely used, but this was an emergency. She turned and looked at the gutted remains of her mother's flat, now bereft of any life they may have lived there. Then she ran out the door, locked it for what she hoped would be the last time, and leapt in her car, speeding to the very gates of Wonka's factory and honking her horn to be let in.