A Spicy Secret

by D. Savannah George

  “OK, truth be told, I have a meeting with John Palmer on Monday to discuss this very issue. Since the Swanns are still the owners—and I’m still a renter—technically they’re supposed to have it replaced. But since we’re in the process of transferring ownership, and since I’ve been here quite a while, I’d feel bad if they paid for the whole thing. I figure I can put the furnace in with the house mortgage.”

  “That’s all well and good, but right now I can’t feel my fingers!” Annie whined.

  “Fine. Why don’t we take the mystery recipes over to Grey Gables, count them, and do all that other stuff that the Hook and Needle Club ladies mentioned? Would that make you happy?”

  “Yes. Except I’ll have to strip out of all these extra layers.”

  Alice grunted. “There’s no pleasing you. But fine. I will risk hurting my ankle again and make the treacherous walk to your house. But you’re carrying the recipes.”

  ****

  “See, isn’t this much more pleasant?” Annie asked. The pair sat in the library, drinking hot cocoa and munching on goldfish crackers.

  “Yes, but I’m wondering when you reverted back to third grade.”

  “Third grade? What are you talking about?” Annie protested.

  “Goldfish crackers,” Alice said around a mouthful of them. “I thought only kids ate these.”

  “Well, apparently, and despite your vast maturity, you don’t seem to mind. You can’t even speak without spewing crumbs of them. Anyway, I thought they sounded good, so I bought some.”

  Alice swallowed, took a sip of cocoa, and then said, “Well, you’re right. They’re good. But as your best friend, I have every right to tease you.”

  “I can’t argue with that logic,” Annie replied. “Let’s do some sleuthing.”

  They took their favorite positions, cross-legged on the floor, and spread the recipes around them.

  “Have you got that notebook?” Alice asked.

  “Now you bring it up, after I’ve gotten all comfortable,” Annie said, getting up and going over to the desk where she rummaged around. Then she remembered she’d left the notebook in her project tote, so she had to go to the hallway. A few minutes later, she plopped back down on the floor. “Ready. Oh! And I forgot to tell you—when I took the box of stuff to Cecil Lewey, I asked if he could remember anyone staying in the carriage house. And he said no. So that probably narrows it down to someone who was there either after the Swanns bought it, or before my grandparents did.”

  “Well, that reminds me of something!” Alice exclaimed. “I’ve been thinking—if Betsy packed up the box of files when Charles retired, why would the blueprints for the renovation of the carriage house—which would be needed to complete it—be in that box?” Alice asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Gram just packed them away when everything was finished.” Annie narrowed her eyes. She then told Alice what Cecil had said about her grandparents’ fight. “I bet that’s what she did, wanting to irk him a bit. I didn’t pay much attention before—but that box did seem to have an awful lot of tape on it.”

  ****

  A few hours later, the recipes were stacked in neat piles and had been cataloged, thanks to Annie and her notebook.

  “OK, so what do we have?” Alice asked. “Besides a terrible thirst, that is; I’d love some tea or more hot cocoa.”

  “You know where the kitchen is,” Annie retorted. Then she grinned. “I agree. It’s time for some tea. And perhaps some vittles. I’m feeling a mite peckish.”

  “Peckish? You know, some days I forget you’re from Texas, and then you go and say something like that,” Alice said, putting her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t have put it like that, but I agree.”

  Alice sat at the kitchen table and looked over their notes while Annie started a pot of tea and pulled plates from the cupboard and food from the refrigerator.

  “How’s a ham sandwich sound?” Annie asked, putting bread on the plates and opening a jar of mayonnaise.

  “Sounds great.”

  “That is great,” Annie said, “because I’ve already started making it.”

  “I knew you could read my mind,” Alice retorted. “OK, we’ve got fifty-three recipes. Of those, eleven are completely legible.”

  “And you’ve made two of those,” Annie said, laying a slice of cheese on the bread.

  “Yes, the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and the fudge bars—which tasted awesome, may I remind you?” Alice wagged her finger in Annie’s direction. “And twenty-three are partially legible—”

  “Like the one you made that first meeting.”

  “Yes, like that. And the remaining nineteen are incomprehensible scribbles.”

  “Promise you won’t even attempt those,” Annie joked, putting some chips on their plates.

  “I promise, though it pains me to do so.”

  “Thank you.” Annie plunked the two plates on the table and turned to the stove to pour their tea.

  “Of the thirty-four that I can mostly read, it looks like we have eight dessert recipes, six appetizers, seven entrées, and thirteen side dishes.”

  Annie brought two mugs of tea to the table, sat down, and took a bite out of her sandwich. “But we don’t know what all of them actually are, do we?”

  “Nope,” Alice replied, picking up her own sandwich and taking a big bite. “Yum—that’s good.” She took a big sip of tea and then added, “I’m only guessing on the categories based on the ingredients and preparation instructions.”

  The friends continued to chat as they polished off their food. Annie refilled their tea mugs, and they went back to the library to compare the handwriting on the recipes.

  After a few minutes, Alice said, “I’m no expert, but some of these are definitely written by the same person. I’m not so sure about some of the others.”

  Annie squinted at the two she held. “And these look almost the same, but these marks look like they might have been added later, possibly by someone different.”

  Alice peered over her shoulder. “Yeah, they do. I hadn’t even noticed that.”

  Annie heaved a sigh. “And we’re still no closer to solving this mystery than we were before.”

  “Buck up. When I talk to John about the furnace, I’ll ask him about the handwriting expert. Maybe that person will have some ideas,” Alice said.

  “I hope so. Because I’m slap out of them.”

  “Another Texanism,” Alice said. “By the way, do you care if I spend the night? It’s really cold at my place.”

  “Sure, and you can use this while you’re here,” Annie said, grabbing a pillow from the window seat and chucking it her way.

  Alice grabbed it, laid down on her side, and pretended to snore.

  12

  On the first Thursday in February, Kate stood in front of the tracking poster, her hands on her hips.

  “Why are you glaring at the poster like that?” Mary Beth asked. “It really is a nice design.”

  Kate turned to her, still glaring. “Because it’s already February, and we’ve only gotten seven more blankets since Norma, Valerie and Stella gave their nine, plus my one. And no one brought any to the Hook and Needle Club meeting this week. That means we only have seventeen total, and we have almost thirty-five more blankets to color on this thing. That means we need one hundred and three more actual blankets! In four months! I don’t know why I thought we could possibly make that many!”

  “Kate, Kate, Kate …” Mary Beth put her hands on her shoulders and then drew her in for a hug. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll collect plenty of blankets. And even if we don’t meet the goal, we’ll still be doing good for those poor orphans.” Kate felt herself start to cry, her shoulders shaking, and Mary Beth pulled away, holding her at arm’s length.

  “Aw, honey, why are you crying?” Kate kept her head down, trying to hide her tears, and felt Mary Beth leading her to the chairs. A tissue got pressed into her hands after she sat down. “What is it? Surely y
ou aren’t crying over the blankets. What else has got you feeling so down?”

  The younger woman couldn’t help it—she started to deeply sob. “It’s not the blankets. Well, maybe them too. I’m just—it’s just—I mean—” She stopped talking, too overcome with tears to continue.

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Mary Beth said in a soothing voice. Kate felt her stroke her back, just like she’d do for Vanessa when she was upset, and that made her cry even harder.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing the now-shredded tissue to her face.

  Mary Beth handed her the full box of tissues. “Seriously, it’s OK. Just tell me before I imagine the worst and start kicking some booty.”

  Kate smiled a little through her tears. Before she could speak, Annie breezed in carrying a couple of big plastic bags, stopping short when she saw Kate’s distress.

  “What’s wrong, Kate? Why are you crying? Mary Beth, why is she crying?” she demanded.

  “I have no idea, but I think she was about to tell me,” Mary Beth said.

  Annie plunked herself down on the chair on Kate’s other side, dropping the bags at her feet. She didn’t even bother to remove her coat.

  “It’s just ….” Kate blew her nose. “I feel so silly. But Vanessa has decided she wants to learn to drive, and she wants her very own car. And she’s asked Harry to buy one for her. For some reason, I had no problem with her friends driving her around, but her own car? That means she’s really growing up. She’s never had any interest in having a car before.”

  “When did she tell you this?” Annie asked.

  “This past Saturday.”

  “Kate! It’s Thursday! Why didn’t you mention anything sooner?” Mary Beth scolded.

  “I don’t know,” she sniffled into another tissue. “I guess because I feel dumb. And I didn’t want to start crying at work. And yet here I am, crying. I’ve been crying myself to sleep, and crying after Vanessa goes to school, and choking up.”

  “Oh, honey,” Annie said. “I know exactly how you feel. I thought I would just die when LeeAnn went off to her first sleepover camp. I cried so much that Wayne joked that he should invest in a tissue company. And that was just camp. I had to keep reminding myself that all parents have to let their kids go sometime.”

  “And she’s a smart girl to ask Harry for a car,” Mary Beth said. “It’s something they can do together that they’ll actually both like: look for cars.”

  Kate started another round of tears. Mary Beth and Annie just looked at each other.

  “I wanted to take her shopping for a car. I took her shopping for her first bra, and a dress for her first communion, and her Halloween costumes. And he—”

  “We get it,” Mary Beth said, interrupting. “You did all the things with and for her that a mom should do. Don’t you think you should let Harry do this thing a dad should do?”

  Kate sniffled some more and said, “Yes, I suppose so. He wants to do it this Saturday. She’s excited. He’s excited. And apparently he’s been putting money away for years to buy her a car. Who knew? The man won’t help me out when she needs new shoes, but he’s been saving for a car. And apparently he’s got enough money that she won’t have a car payment.”

  “Well, think of it this way: It means Harry does care for her more than he lets on,” Mary Beth said. “Let them have their fun. And let him pay for a car. You know Vanessa will always be your little girl.”

  “And you won’t have to worry about her driving,” Annie said. “LeeAnn could be so scatterbrained; I cringed every time she drove somewhere. But she never had an accident. And Vanessa is so much more together than my daughter was.”

  “It’s true that she is very responsible,” Kate said, drying her tears and finally looking at them. But then she noticed the tracking poster and started crying all over again. “But wh … what about the blankets?”

  “Kate’s worried we won’t meet our goal,” Mary Beth mock-whispered to Annie over Kate’s head.

  “Oh, Kate! Of course we’ll meet our goal. In fact, I just stopped in today to drop off the two blankets I’ve finished so far!” Annie reached into one of the bags and pulled out the green shell-stitch blanket she had made and handed it to Kate. She then reached into the other bag and pulled out the blue-and-white afghan. “I finished the blue-and-white one a few weeks ago, but kept forgetting to bring it in. So here you go! Two more for the cause!”

  She stood up, walked over to the poster, and grabbed a yellow marker to fill in the space. “There!” she said cheerily, signing her name in the area she’d filled in. “Now we’re up to nineteen! I also stopped in to pick up copies of your beautiful crochet pattern. I promised the ladies over at Ocean View Assisted Living that I’d bring them some supplies. I think about six or seven of them want to get involved. I’m also going to give them a bunch of the yarn LeeAnn sent me over a year ago. I don’t think I’ll ever use it all, no matter how hard I try, and heaven knows you two keep stocking yarn I want to buy.”

  “I hadn’t even thought about Ocean View,” Kate hiccupped. “Mary Beth said that Katrina had brought in a few of the ladies from Seaside Hills, including a resident she hadn’t met—her name is Kathleen, I think.”

  “No, I don’t think that’s right,” Mary Beth said. “Maybe Katy?”

  “I’m sure it will come to you,” Annie laughed. “Anyway, someone had already taken a poster to Ocean View.”

  “Who? And why were you there?” Kate said, hiccupping some more and wiping away the last of her tears. “Ugh. I hate the hiccups. It’s the worst part about crying. Well, that and the terribly attractive puffy eyes.”

  “I especially love getting a red nose,” Mary Beth said, hugging Kate again.

  “Crying is not fun, but occasionally, we need to let it out,” said Annie. I know this sounds corny, but tears truly do cleanse the soul.” Annie leaned in, smooshing Kate from the other side. She let go and leaned back in her chair. “I have no idea who put up that poster at Ocean View. I’d gone there to visit Cecil Lewey. You know he used to work with my grandfather. Oh, and I told him about the recipes, but he said he didn’t remember anyone living in the carriage house while Gram and Grandpa owned it.”

  “So, that means we’re looking at someone who lived there either during the Swanns’ tenure or before your grandparents bought Grey Gables—right?” Mary Beth said.

  “I think so. Anyway, Cecil mentioned that some of the ‘inmates’—yes, that’s what they call themselves—really wanted to participate in the project, so I figured I’d help them out. I meant to go sooner, but time got away from me.”

  “That’s nice,” Kate said, her voice muffled by yet another tissue. She managed a weak laugh and added, “I mean, not that they call themselves inmates, but that you’re taking them stuff.”

  She jumped up, seeming to be mostly back to her old self. “Do they need needles? Will anyone be doing knitting? The girls picked out an easy pattern for the teen club to knit. Let me just get you some copies.” She dashed into the back room and then returned and handed them to Annie. “And here’s my card. Be sure to have them call the store if they need any help.”

  “And you be sure to call me if you have any more crying jags about your baby growing up. Or come on over to Grey Gables. We can cry together. My baby has eight-year-old babies of her own. How do you think that makes me feel?” Annie said, smiling. “All right. I gotta run. I can’t keep the inmates waiting. I hear they start banging cups or something.”

  ****

  As Kate unpacked and stocked yet another shipment of yarn that afternoon, she realized she’d been more than silly to worry about making their goal. If just half the skeins of yarn they’d sold were used, they’d probably be able to put the blankets end to end and reach Haiti from Maine. Plus, as Mary Beth said, it was only February. The mission group wasn’t leaving until June. And she felt better knowing that Annie had cried over her daughter going to camp. She couldn’t imagine Annie ever crying over anything.
/>
  “Guess it’s just a mom thing,” Kate said aloud.

  “What’s a mom thing?” Mary Beth asked as she walked over to help Kate with the new stock.

  “Crying over your baby getting older.”

  “I don’t know personally,” Mary Beth said, “but I think it probably is.”

  Vanessa barged into the store. Once again, it sounded like the bell would fall off. She chattered away as she dropped her bag behind the counter and shucked off her puffy pink coat.

  “Mom, can you believe it? Dad is actually going to take me to look at cars, and he’s actually gonna buy one for me! What do you think I should get? I reeeeally want you to go too, but that would be just weird because—well, it would be. But this almost makes up for all the terrible things he’s done. What color do you like? I kinda like green. Or maybe blue. Oh wait, white. No, white gets dirty. Oh, hey, Mary Beth. So, Mom, will you look at cars on the Internet with me tonight? He’s taking me to Portland because he says they’ll have a better selection, and then we’ll eat somewhere nice. I am so excited!”

  “If you plan on standing there, the least you could do is help your mother and me with this shipment,” Mary Beth said dryly when Vanessa took a rare break to breathe.

  “OK, sure, no problem.” She babbled nonstop until the store closed, and Mary Beth shooed them both out to go home.

  “See,” she whispered to Kate, “Vanessa is definitely still your little girl.”

  ****

  Kate got home from work at four thirty that Saturday afternoon. Vanessa and Harry hadn’t gotten back from Portland yet. She wanted to call her daughter to check in, but she figured that was a bad idea. She tried working on a blanket—just a few more rows and her third one would be done—but she kept putting the crochet hook down and staring off into space. She tried to watch something on TV and got the same results.

  She finally decided to give Annie a call. The phone rang quite a few times before Annie picked up, sounding breathless.

  “Annie, it’s Kate. Am I interrupting something?”