A Spicy Secret (11 page)

Everyone was so engrossed in their work—even Mary Beth, who had joined the knitting group—that the bell over the door startled everyone. The first mother to arrive, Mackenzie’s mom, Sylvia Martel, stood just inside the door, shaking off flakes of snow. They’d been so engrossed that no one had noticed the fresh snowfall.

Soon Gwen and all the teens had donned their winter wraps and left, chatting and carrying their projects, patterns and hooks or needles. Mary Beth, Kate, and Vanessa were the only ones left.

“That went really well,” Kate said. She walked over to her daughter and gave her a big hug. “You did good, Vanessa—really good. I’m quite proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mary Beth chuckled. “Let’s clean up and go home.”

11

Thursday morning, Annie remembered the box that held the contents of her grandfather’s desk, which she’d placed under Gram’s desk in the library to get it out of the way—mainly because she bashed her knees into it when she sat down to email her daughter and some friends. She’d finished sewing together the blue-and-white sampler afghan the day before and figured she should catch up on her correspondence.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she exclaimed, rubbing her kneecaps. “Why didn’t you remind me I’d put that box there?” she asked Boots, who of course lounged on the desk, her tail lazily smacking the mail and Annie’s laptop. “Fine help you are, as usual,” she grumbled, dragging the box out. “Guess I should do something with this.”

She decided the easiest thing would be to call Carla and get her opinion, so she looked up the number and dialed it.

“Stony Point Animal Shelter,” a cheery voice answered.

Annie pulled the phone away from her face and looked at it quizzically. Yes, she’d dialed the right number.

“Um, Carla?”

“Yes, this is Carla.”

“Hi, it’s Annie Dawson. You sound so happy.”

“Well, I am! I just got word that all the shelter permits have been approved, as well as our government nonprofit status!” Carla told her. “That means I can accept donations and apply for grants and be a part of animal-rescue networks. We can share ideas, adopt pets out to other areas, and even request transports from Pilots N Paws.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Annie said, still taken aback at how excited Carla sounded. “But what is that pilot thing?”

“It’s a group of pilots and plane owners who volunteer to transport animals to areas of the country where they can be adopted. I read about one man who has actually transported more than a thousand animals to new homes.”

“Wow!”

“I know! I’m just beside myself to have all this done. Now I can actually do more for the animals.” She paused, and then said, “I know you didn’t call to hear all that. What can I do for you?”

“Well, you know that my grandpa, Charles Holden, was Stony Point’s vet for years and years?”

“Yes,” Carla replied.

“Well, I found a box of his old patient files, and I have no idea what to do with them. What do you suggest? You wouldn’t want them, would you?”

Carla laughed. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I have
way
too much paperwork of my own to deal with. You could call a veterinary museum and see if they’re interested. I don’t know of any offhand, but I’m sure you could find one online.”

Annie heard a chorus of loud barks in the background.

“Oops, gotta go. The troops are getting restless. I better go see what they’re up to,” Carla said. “Thanks for calling. And good luck with that.”

Annie ended the call and then sighed. She fired up the computer and looked up veterinary museums. Google came back with over thirteen million results, so she called the first one on the list: the American Museum of Veterinary Medicine.

A male voice answered, and Annie explained why she had called. “So, do you think you might be interested in taking them?” she asked when she had finished.

“Unfortunately, no. We would not find old patient files useful, and we don’t have room in our collection for any. If you had old equipment, that might be a different story,” the man told her.

“Nope, no equipment. Grandpa sold all of it when he retired,” she answered, pushing her hair back from her face.

“Well, best of luck to you,” he said, hanging up.

Annie sighed. “Now what, Boots? Should I go see Cecil Lewey? Not that he’ll have room for these at the assisted-living center.”

Cecil, a Native American of the Passamaquoddy tribe, had assisted her grandfather from time to time in his veterinary practice and had considered Charlie to be almost a brother.

Annie jumped up, startling Boots, who hissed at her. “But I bet he’d enjoy seeing them, anyway,” she told the feline.

****

An hour later, she pulled into the parking lot at Ocean View Assisted Living. Even in winter, the views of the harbor from the hillside were just spectacular. She took a brief moment to enjoy the view, and then toted the box up to the reception desk in the large common room.

“May I help you?” The woman at the desk smiled at Annie. Her name tag read “Steph.”

“Yes, I think. I’m here to see Cecil Lewey, if he’s available. I probably should have called first.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” Steph told her. “I can see if he’s around. He usually doesn’t take his nap until after lunch, and we won’t start serving lunch for another 45 minutes. May I tell him who’s here to see him?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Annie said, placing the box on the floor. “That thing was getting heavy. I’m Annie Dawson. Cecil used to work with my grandfather, Charles Holden.”

“Oh, yes, Annie! Cecil has talked about you a lot. Well, more about your grandfather, but it’s very nice to meet you.” Steph stuck out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Stephanie Thompson, one of the activity directors here. If you’ll just grab a seat, I’ll see if I can find Cecil for you.”

“Thank you,” Annie said, picking up her box and heading to a table near the window so she could take in more of the spectacular view. She had pretty much zoned out when she felt someone standing nearby.

“Annie?” she heard a melodious voice say.

“Cecil!” she said, jumping up to give him a hug. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been by to see you in a while.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” he said, sitting down in the chair next to hers. “I hear you gals at the Hook and Needle Club have been causing trouble again.”

“What? Us?” she replied as she sat down. “And where did you hear that?”

He angled his head toward a bulletin board with a Blanket Haiti poster tacked to it. “Quite a few of the ladies are practically dying to come by A Stitch in Time to buy some yarn, but our van driver’s been out sick and no one else has the proper license or something.”

“Well, I could probably bring some yarn by if they need me to.”

“I’m sure that would be appreciated, but I think they just need a field trip. We’re all going a mite stir crazy. They won’t let us walk the grounds in this weather, and who can blame them? Someone would probably break a hip.” His dark eyes twinkled. “So what do you have there?” he asked, pointing to the box at Annie’s feet.

“I found this in the attic at Grey Gables. It’s chock-full of old patient files. I guess Grandpa made Gram pack up his desk in the carriage house when he retired.”

Cecil nodded. “That he did. And he made her label it too. I don’t think I ever saw your grandmother so cross.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, best I recall, it was the day he sold off his equipment, so he was acting pretty cranky to begin with. Betsy said she didn’t think he’d ever need the files again, so why keep ’em, and he said something along the lines of ‘I don’t think you’ll ever need all that junk you’ve got in the attic either, so you can for dang sure find room up there for one tiny little box.’ I had to stifle my laughter when each of them went away, muttering.”

“But Gram went ahead and packed everything up anyway.”

“Yes, finally,” Cecil said. “For a bit there I wondered if their marriage would survive his retirement—both of them being so independent—but the next time I saw them, they were cooing like lovebirds.”

“I love hearing stories about my grandparents,” Annie said. “Even stories like that. Anyway, I found this box and didn’t quite know what to do with it. Carla at the shelter said she didn’t want it, and a vet museum said they had no use for old files, so I thought maybe you’d like to look through them. Of course, you don’t have to keep them, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to see them before I recycled everything. Of course, if you
want
to keep any of it, you’re welcome to.”

Cecil laughed and put his hand on her arm.

“You are so very much like your grandmother,” he said. “Tell you what. Why don’t you leave them with me? I’m sure I’ll enjoy looking through them, and there may be a few I’d like to hang on to. And I’ll take care of the recycling.”

“Oh, would you?” Annie realized she’d clasped her hands together like a little girl begging Santa for a very special Christmas gift.

“Yes, Annie, I will,” he said, running fingers through his gray hair. “I’m sure I will thoroughly enjoy looking through these and taking a walk down the old memory lane. And some of the other inmates here might like it too.”

“Inmates?” Annie laughed.

“Yeah, don’t tell Steph, but we call her and the others our jailers.” Cecil winked.

“I have another question for you,” Annie said. “Do you remember anyone ever staying upstairs in the carriage house during the time you worked with Grandpa?”

“What do you mean by staying?” Cecil’s face sported a puzzled look.

“Spending the night, living there, or anything like that?”

“Not really,” Cecil said. “Your mother might have played up there when she was little, but other than that, I don’t recall anyone ever really being up there. Your grandfather and I would use the bathroom on occasion, and seems like it was furnished enough that someone
could
have. But no—I don’t think anyone ever really stayed there until Betsy sold the place to that couple from New York. Why do you ask?”

Annie told him about the discovery of the recipes and other items.

“Hmmm,” he said, just as a bell chimed. “Well, that means it’s lunch. It was so nice to see you, Annie. Come by and visit anytime. And good luck figuring out that mystery.”

“I will, and thanks,” she said as he pulled her into a hug and started walking down the hall. “Wait, what about your box?” she called.

He turned and smiled. “I’ll have a jailer take it to my room.”

****

“This is ridiculous,” Annie said. It was Saturday, and she sat in Alice’s sitting room, shivering under three layers of sweaters, a turtleneck, and a pair of leggings under some sweatpants. “Why don’t you just replace the furnace already? I don’t mind helping you clean and sort, but this is inhumane. There’s got to be a law against such treatment, or at least the Geneva Convention! I’m freezing!”

“Yeah, yeah, the Geneva Convention specifically states, ‘Alice MacFarlane is expressly prohibited from making Annie Dawson work where it’s cold.’”

Annie responded by throwing a wadded-up skirt at her friend, who grabbed it and tossed it in one of the boxes that were now the bins for recycling her discarded clothing.

“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.