Guilty as Cinnamon

by Leslie Budewitz

  “Holy macaroni.” Electric, like the old one, and slightly larger. Brass exterior, ceramic insert. Not a crack to be seen.

  “Not much call for those,” the shop owner said. “Too big. Came from a tea shop in Victoria. I can give you a good price. The Russians call it a samovar.”

  And I called it perfect.

  * * *

  OUR first customer Saturday morning was Danielle Bordeaux. “What a tangled mess. I knew I shouldn’t have hired Melissa—Lynette to you—in the first place, but I never imagined a mistake fifteen years ago would lead to all this.”

  “Funny, isn’t it? We convince ourselves they’ll work out, we can train them, yada yada yada, and those are always the hires that bite us in the bittersweet. Danielle, when you called Glassy last Friday, after I came into your place—”

  “I thought he was covering for Alex,” she said. “That he knew Alex had killed Tamara. And I told him to stay away from you, or I’d take the gloves off.”

  “You weren’t afraid that Glassy would come after you?”

  “He’s been in my kitchen. He knows what I can do with a knife.” Her lips curved in a wry twist, and I almost laughed out loud.

  “We’re having a memorial service for Tamara at the restaurant next week,” she continued. Makeup hadn’t covered the circles under her eyes. “I hope you’ll come. I’m pulling the plug on Tamarack.”

  “Did the building have electrical problems?”

  “No. You were right. It was Patel. He got in through the shared access in the basement, to try to run Tamara off. Ashley, to him. She had a great idea, but the best concept won’t fly without the right chef. And I’m losing my taste for growing the business.”

  “If you change your mind, give me a call. I’m thinking of hanging out a new shingle: Pepper Reece, Spice Merchant and Ghostbuster.”

  She left carrying a box of tea and a Spice Shop mug, on the house.

  As always, the spring sunshine brought Seattleites out in droves, and we hustled all morning. I’d learned my lesson about hiring in desperation, but we desperately needed help.

  “Cinnamon?” a woman said, reaching for a jar of our custom blend. “I always think of that as a fall spice.”

  “It’s a spice for all seasons. You can make do without Celtic salt and smoked salt, three kinds of paprika, and all those exotic chile peppers.” I’d debated long and hard whether to keep carrying ghost peppers, aka bhut capsicum, wondering if they were worth the trouble. But then I realized I was trying to make myself responsible for something that had nothing to do with me. I pictured the bumper sticker: BHUT C DOESN’T KILL PEOPLE—PEOPLE KILL PEOPLE. And I doubted Tamara would want me to banish them from our shelves. “But you can’t make decent toast without cinnamon.”

  Spencer and Tracy came in to give me an update. While they were there, Tag appeared, wearing off-duty jeans and a blue Henley.

  “Sorry about your white sweater,” I said.

  “A worthy sacrifice.” He gave me that heart-melting smile, but the air between us had changed, and I suspected I wouldn’t be seeing as much of him in the future.

  “All these years, I blamed you for losing a witness. Not only did you have nothing to do with it, she was under our noses the whole time.” Tracy extended his hand.

  Tag took it, and they shook. “Thanks. But if I’d been quicker on the uptake back then, Tamara Langston—or Ashley Brown—might still be alive.”

  “You’re the one always telling me we aren’t responsible for other people’s choices,” I said.

  “Speaking of choices,” Spencer said. “My daughter decided to be a nanny in Switzerland for a year. It’s a great opportunity, but she could have learned a lot about retail from you.”

  The compliment almost made up for the loss.

  Sandra and I took advantage of a brief lull after lunch to polish our ideas for the Market’s spring festival. The time I’d spent investigating had left us seriously behind.

  “One more thing, boss.” An impish grin crossed Sandra’s face. “We have a gift for you.”

  She handed me a package wrapped in brown paper and kitchen twine. A teeny warning bell went off in my brain.

  The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating. “Between this and the adventures of Brother Cadfael, I’m sure I’ll learn everything I need to know. Thanks.”

  “And this.” She drew a small item out of her apron pocket. A new watch battery.

  “Thanks.” My phone buzzed, and I glanced down at the text. “Dinner and bowling?” it read. “This time, you choose the food.”

  I texted Ben back. “Staff party at Zak’s gig tonight. Join us?”

  The reply was nearly instant. “It’s a date!”

  A nice, safe group date.

  But I had one more question. “How old are you?”

  A moment later, the reply: “The curse of a youthful face. Forty-one. Do you mind dating an older man?”

  Turns out this don’t-judge-a-book bit goes both ways. I decided to keep my age—and my misread of his—secret a little while longer.

  Midafternoon, Reed stuck his head in the office to let me know there was a customer out front asking for me.

  “Pepper. I came to apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t say “no apology needed” and mean it, even if that was what Alex wanted to hear.

  “Everything Glassy did was wrong, from paying off Melissa—Lynette—to silencing Tamara. But he was right about one thing: We really were friends.” His throat seemed to collapse on the words, and every handsome feature radiated sadness and regret. “I realized pretty quickly after we met that you didn’t know about the past—that for reasons of his own, your ex would never tell you. I’m far from perfect, but I’m not the man I was back then.”

  I nodded. I’d known that. My judgment wasn’t as flawed as I’d feared.

  “I’m taking a break for a few months,” he continued. “Travel, try to figure out what matters to me, what’s next.”

  “What about the restaurants? All your employees?”

  “Barbara—Ops—and my executive chefs will hold down the fort. We’re taking over Tamarind, Patel’s place, so those jobs are safe, too.” He held a shopping basket in one hand, a few bags of cinnamon sticks inside. “Help me choose gifts for my staff?”

  “With pleasure.” We picked out cookbooks, pepper mills, salt cellars, and for a newlywed server, the heart-shaped espresso cups. Every employee got a package of cinnamon sticks and a jar of my favorite Puget Sound sea salt. (Despite my wisecrack that morning to the cinnamon buyer, I really do believe every kitchen needs honest-to-goodness genuine sea salt.)

  I walked him outside, hopeful that the time away would be everything he wanted. There’s a subtle difference between creating yourself, as we all do every day, and creating an image to live up to, as he had. He gave my cheek a good-bye kiss, and I turned back to my shop. Plucked a pot of rosemary off the rack and took a good whiff. A good addition to my deck garden.

  “You’re the owner, aren’t you? Are you still hiring? My sister saw your sign.”

  A pleasant alto caught my attention. The speaker was a woman about thirty, with smooth, dark skin and an engaging expression, her hair swept up in a lobster roll.

  “It’s my dream job,” she said. “Every life needs a little more spice, don’t you think?”

  “Pepper Reece.” I held out my hand.

  She took it in both hers, a slim gold wedding ring glinting on the left. “Cayenne. Cayenne Cooper.”

  As we headed inside, I reached out to the HIRING sign taped to the front window and tore it down.

  * * *

  AND in the end, what do I believe about ghosts, be it bhuts like the ones Seetha saw and the little lady who appeared to me, or your standard American variety? I don’t know—and it doesn’t mat
ter. Because the world—like the Market—is a strange and wonderful place, where anything is possible.

  Afterword

  Death by ghost chile is remotely possible, but highly unlikely. If it were to happen, the action would probably be as Dr. Locke described. The peppers can be highly inflammatory; if you decide to cook with them, try making the oil Pepper and Alex concocted, or follow your own spice merchant’s recommendations. Start small, and glove up! And whatever you do, don’t get them anywhere near your eyes. As anyone who’s ever made salsa can attest, even the oils from the mildest peppers can sizzle those tender tissues!

  Recipes and Spice Notes

  The Seattle Spice Shop recommends . . .

  Pepper recommends keeping a jar of an all-purpose curry close at hand for spicing up vegetables or sprinkling on deviled eggs. This recipe has plenty of flavor and not a lot of heat.

  CURRY

  1 tablespoon coriander

  1 tablespoon turmeric

  1½ teaspoons cayenne

  1½ teaspoons ground cloves

  1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon

  1½ teaspoons ground ginger

  Mix together and store in a tightly closed jar.

  Makes ¼ cup.

  Optional additions: cumin, cardamom, yellow mustard, or black pepper

  For a quick side dish, add a tablespoon to cooked garbanzo beans along with lemon, cilantro, and a diced tomato.

  GARAM MASALA

  Another blend that varies with the cook. Pepper and Sandra created the Spice Shop’s Garam Masala to contrast with the hotter curry. It’s especially yummy on shrimp or roasted nuts (recipe below).

  4 teaspoons ground fennel seeds

  2½ teaspoons cinnamon

  2½ teaspoons ground caraway seeds

  ½ teaspoon black pepper

  ½ teaspoon ground cloves

  ½ teaspoon ground cardamom

  If your spices are whole, grind them in a coffee grinder. (Clean it first by grinding a tablespoon of rice to a fine powder and wiping out the grit; this also sharpens the blades.) Mix together thoroughly in a small bowl. Store in a tightly closed jar.

  Makes about half a cup.

  At home with Pepper

  FALAFEL BURGERS WITH LEMON-TAHINI SAUCE

  Pepper finally persuaded the owner of her favorite Middle Eastern restaurant to share his recipe, though she prefers pan grilling to deep-frying, for a healthier option and a cleaner kitchen. These burgers are equally good with or without the pita—she often serves them on a salad of greens, tomatoes, black olives, and sliced red onions, drizzled with the lemon-tahini sauce. Panko bread crumbs are a Japanese style, coarser than typical bread crumbs, readily available in the baking aisle of most groceries.

  FOR THE LEMON-TAHINI SAUCE:

  ⅓ cup tahini

  ¼ cup lemon juice

  3 tablespoons plain yogurt (Greek yogurt is too thick; choose a thinner variety for a pourable sauce)

  1 clove garlic

  Salt and freshly ground pepper

  FOR THE FALAFEL BURGERS:

  2 14-ounce cans garbanzo beans, aka chickpeas, rinsed and drained

  ½ red onion, diced

  2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf (Italian) parsley

  6 fresh mint leaves

  2 cloves garlic

  Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon

  1 tablespoon ground cumin

  2 teaspoons ground coriander

  1 teaspoon paprika

  1 teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon pepper

  1 egg, lightly beaten

  ½ cup panko bread crumbs

  Nonstick cooking spray

  4 whole wheat pita breads, toasted, cut in half, and split to form pockets

  ½ red onion, thinly sliced

  2 Roma tomatoes, sliced

  2 cups salad greens or romaine leaves, torn into bite-sized pieces

  Mint sprigs, for garnish

  Make the sauce: Combine the tahini, lemon juice, yogurt, and garlic in a blender or a small food processor. Puree until smooth. Season with salt and pepper to your own taste.

  Make the burgers: Combine the garbanzo beans, onion, parsley, mint, garlic, lemon zest and juice, cumin, coriander, paprika, salt, and pepper in a food processor. Process until smooth. Place the mixture in a large bowl. Add the egg and bread crumbs, and stir to combine. Form into eight patties.

  Heat a frying pan over medium and coat with cooking spray. Cook the burgers, carefully turning once, until golden brown, about 4 minutes a side.

  To serve, put each burger in a pita pocket, top with a generous helping of sauce, and fill with red onion, tomato slices, and greens. Garnish the pockets or plate with a mint sprig.

  Serves 8.

  A classic from Ripe

  ARUGULA FENNEL SALAD WITH DOUBLE MUSTARD VINAIGRETTE

  Laurel adds a little heat to her lunch-goers’ day by garnishing this salad with a very hot chile. The pepperoncini in the salad itself are mild, made milder by pickling, so no need to worry about entering the ghost realm prematurely!

  FOR THE SALAD:

  ½ pound baby arugula

  1 small fennel bulb, with fronds

  ½ English cucumber

  4 small pepperoncini

  ¼ cup fresh flat-leaf (Italian) parsley

  ¼ cup fresh dill

  FOR THE DRESSING:

  1 heaping teaspoon grain mustard

  1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

  Juice of 1 lemon (3 tablespoons)

  2 tablespoons olive oil

  Salt and pepper

  Make the salad: Wash and spin arugula and place in a serving bowl. A large, flat bowl is ideal.

  Remove the outer layer of the fennel bulb and chop off the top with fronds. Chop 2 to 3 tablespoons of fronds for garnish. Cut off the tough, flat bottom end of the bulb, and cut the bulb in half. Lay each half on your cutting board, cut side down, and slice thinly.

  English cucumbers typically come wrapped in plastic; unwrap yours, scrub it with a vegetable brush, and peel it in ¼ inch strips, leaving ¼ inch of peel, alternating with ¼ inch of flesh, continuing around the cucumber. Cut it in half lengthwise and slice ¼ inch thick.

  Remove and discard the seeds from the pepperoncini, then slice as thinly as possible.

  Roughly chop the parsley and dill.

  Add all the vegetables and herbs to the salad bowl except the fennel fronds, and toss to combine.

  Make the dressing: Stir the mustards and lemon juice together in a small bowl or measuring cup. Add the olive oil in a stream, whisking the ingredients together until the dressing thickens or emulsifies. (Pouring the oil in gradually keeps it from separating.) Season with salt and pepper to taste.

  Toss the salad with the dressing. Garnish with the fennel fronds.

  Serves 6 as a side salad or first course.

  Breakfast on the houseboat

  These baked sausages and muffins are excellent alongside eggs scrambled with green onions, red bell pepper, and the Seattle Spice Shop’s Herbes de Provence (recipe in Assault and Pepper).

  SPICY MORNING SAUSAGE

  A tip from Laurel: Let the sausage sit on the counter, wrapped or covered, for about thirty minutes so your hands don’t freeze when you mix it!

  1 pound lean ground pork sausage

  ½ teaspoon salt (kosher or flakes pack the best flavor punch)

  1 teaspoon red pepper flakes

  1 teaspoon fennel seeds, toasted (see below)

  ½ teaspoon cayenne

  ½ cup panko bread crumbs

  ½ cup grated Parmesan

  Nonstick cooking spray

  Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

  Toast the fennel seeds by heating them in a small, heavy frying pan over medium heat, about five minutes, stirring often. They will tu
rn golden brown and give your kitchen a lovely fragrance.

  In a large bowl, break up the sausage with a spoon or your hands. Mix in the salt, pepper flakes, fennel seeds, cayenne, bread crumbs, and Parmesan. Form into small patties, about two inches across and half an inch thick.

  Spray a glass or ceramic baking dish with nonstick cooking spray. Lay the patties in the dish, an inch or two apart. Bake about 20 minutes or until golden brown but slightly tender to the touch in the middle. You may want to stick a knife in one to make sure they are thoroughly cooked and hot.

  Makes about 12 patties. They reheat nicely and freeze well.

  DATE-BRAN MUFFINS

  ¼ cup chopped dates

  ½ cup hot water

  1½ cups wheat bran

  1 cup whole wheat flour

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  ½ teaspoon baking soda

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

  ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg

  ½ teaspoon ground cloves

  ⅓ cup vegetable oil

  1 egg

  1 cup buttermilk

  ½ cup chopped dates, or more

  Nonstick cooking spray

  Pour hot water over the ¼ cup dates; set aside. (Do not drain.)

  Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

  In a large bowl, mix wheat bran, flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and spices.

  Pour the date-water mixture into a blender or food processor. Add the oil, egg, and buttermilk, and blend about 1 minute, until smooth. Pour into the flour mixture, along with the ½ cup dates. Stir until blended. The batter will be thick and lumpy.

  Coat a muffin pan with nonstick cooking spray. Spoon batter into prepared muffin tin. Bake 20 to 22 minutes or until a knife or toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Allow muffins to cool in the pan about 5 minutes before serving in a pretty bowl or a basket lined with a colorful napkin.