A Spicy Secret (16 page)

Peggy had apparently found her true calling: catering events. Linda told Kate that she’d never seen anything like it.

“If Jeff wouldn’t kill me, I would hire Peggy to be my catering director,” Linda had said. “Heck, I still might. There’s no reason we couldn’t work with The Cup & Saucer on events.”

The beautifully decorated table was covered with trays of finger foods and sweets, along with confetti, streamers and small bouquets of flowers from the local florist. Linda and her staff stood by to hand out drinks and make sure the trays stayed filled.

Gwen sat in a paisley-covered wingback chair and was still the center of attention; everyone who walked in the room gave her a hug.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Kate told Gwen.

“Wouldn’t miss it!” Gwen said. “I’m glad I’m able to make our meetings now, but the Teen Hook and Needle Club meetings on the same day was just a bit more than I’ve been ready for yet. How are they doing without me?”

“Oh, they talk about you constantly,” Kate told her. “It’s ‘Mrs. Palmer this’ and ‘Mrs. Palmer that’ and ‘Mrs. Palmer said
this
is how you do this stitch.’ They’ll be really excited to see you. Most of them should be here any minute.”

Gwen looked at her watch. “What time is Annie supposed to arrive with Alice? It’s already six forty-five.”

“At seven. Hopefully everyone else will get here before they do. But knowing Alice, she and Annie will probably be late.”

“Do you think she suspects anything?”

“I hope not,” Kate laughed. “If she does, she hasn’t let on.”

More people trickled in, including Vanessa and her friends; Kate left Gwen to go welcome them. Ally, one of the inn’s waitresses, circulated the room, taking empty glasses back to the kitchen.

At five minutes until seven, Kate tapped a spoon against a glass, and the room quieted down. “OK, everybody, quiet voices please. Annie and Alice should be here any second. Rachel, the front desk clerk, is going to call my cellphone when they walk in. Everyone, make sure you have a glass in hand so we can toast Alice when she arrives.”

She’d barely stopped talking when her phone rang. “OK everyone, they’re here! Places!”

The assemblage immediately stopped talking, shuffled around so they faced the doors that Kate had hastily closed, and raised their glasses.

They could hear Alice’s voice echo around the lobby. “Annie, I don’t see why you insisted I dress up for dinner. You know they don’t have a dress code here.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. They let everyone in,” they heard Annie reply. “I just wanted us to have a nice dinner. All we’ve eaten lately is soup.”

“Why aren’t we going to the dining room? Why are we going to the library? Why are you dragging me through all creation?”

They heard a fumbling at the doors, Annie saying, “Hush,” and then the doors swung open.

Everyone yelled “Surprise!”

Alice’s face went pale. Kate handed her a glass of champagne, which she downed in one gulp.

“What am I being surprised for? I’m not dying, am I?” she asked, to a chorus of laughter.

“No, dear Alice, we are throwing you a housewarming party!” Annie said, escorting her into the room.

“Hear, hear!” several in the room called out as Annie led Alice to the fireplace and the covered easel.

“And since we
all
know you do not need a single thing, and since none of us had time to make you something special, we got you this!”

With a flourish, Annie removed the gold damask to reveal the framed blueprint of the carriage house. Alice burst into tears.

****

“I still can’t believe you guys did this,” Alice said a few hours later. “And that I burst into tears. How embarrassing.”

Most of the guests—and the food—were gone, but the core Hook and Needle Club members and some of the teens still remained.

“So you had no idea we had this in the works?” Kate asked.

“Nope, not a clue.” Alice nibbled on a petit four. “I never in a million years would have guessed that you’d throw me a housewarming party, especially since I’ve lived there for so long already.”

“But now it’s yours,” Kate said. “We decided it would make for a perfect celebration. Besides, it’s not like you had a party when you moved in.”

“No. No, I did not. I wouldn’t have wanted one either.” She took a few bites of a watercress sandwich, and after swallowing, said, “Seriously. How did you guys pull this off?”

“Remember that day I got you to come with me to talk about some redecorating after a meeting?” Gwen asked.

“Yeah?”

“And I’d handed out information about the orphanage?” Kate added.

“I guess. So?”

“Well, yours had info about the orphanage. Everyone else’s told them to come back in fifteen minutes so we could start planning this party.”

“For once in my life, I am practically speechless. And I love that you had one of the blueprints framed.”

“That was Annie’s idea,” Kate told her. “She said she could get it from your house and you’d never know.”

“Well, she sure did,” Alice admitted. “You guys are the best!”

16

The weeks passed quickly for the members of the Hook and Needle Club. They continued to collect and make blankets, and the tracking poster slowly filled up. The weather began to improve until spring temperatures arrived around Memorial Day, and the foliage began to bloom.

The smells of spring are salve for a soul weary of winter,
Annie thought as she ambled through her garden, and then she wondered when was the last time that she had waxed so poetic. But it was true. The smells of honeysuckle, roses, lilacs, hyacinths, and Easter lilies all made her smile and made her heart feel lighter. And she wasn’t the only one; everyone’s spirits seemed elevated with the arrival of spring.

By the first Hook and Needle Club meeting in June, they only lacked ten blankets to meet their goal. Ian had stopped attending the meetings, deciding it was pointless for him to continue. Stella had sent Jason on a few errands, so just regulars were in attendance.

“Kate, you look beside yourself with happiness,” Annie told her as they all admired the poster. “Look at what we’ve accomplished!”

“Oh, I am. Very much so. I had my doubts along the way, but we’re so close, there’s no way we won’t meet the goal.”

“I agree,” chimed in Mary Beth. “And I have exciting news to share, which no doubt Kate won’t tell you because she’s too modest to tell anyone.”

Annie noticed that Kate started blushing. Mary Beth ignored her and continued. “Our very own Kate Stevens has put together
ten
books of her crochet patterns, and we’re shopping them around to see who might be interested in publishing them.”

The ladies in the circle started clapping, making Kate blush even more.

“It’s about time, Kate,” Annie said. “Share that gift of yours with a larger audience.”

After the congratulations died down, Alice spoke up. “I am so frustrated with our lack of progress in solving this mystery. It has never taken us this long. Anyway, I brought everything Annie and I found with me. I haven’t paid much attention to anything but the recipes, which clearly have been no help.”

“But that didn’t stop you from making us try them,” Peggy said.

Alice ignored her and continued. “It occurred to me that the other items might spark an idea.”

She pulled everything out of her bag and spread it on the table: the square of brown fabric, the spatula, the bottle of spices, the knife, the mason jar, and the recipes, which she’d placed in folders and kept organized after she and Annie had gone through them.

“Hmmm … I wonder if that knife was used in a murder,” Peggy said.

“Murder? Gosh, I hope not!” Alice said.

“I wonder if I should ask Chief Edwards to look into that,” Annie said. “Maybe it could help him with an unsolved crime.”

“I, for one, doubt that knife was used to murder anyone,” Stella said, her knitting needles clacking furiously. “Not that it couldn’t be used to hurt someone, but it would require a lot of work to do so. The blade is too short. Anyway, it looks like a tourné knife to me.”

“What’s that?” Peggy asked, picking it up to peer at it.

“A specialized paring knife. They’re used to cut decorative garnishes, like for radishes and mushrooms. My cook back in New York had one. They’re not usually found in a typical kitchen.”

“What about this old spatula?” Mary Beth asked, waving it around. “Alice, did you use this when making the recipes? Maybe it’s what caused the disgusting tastes.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I did not,” Alice retorted.

The ladies picked up the items and started passing them around the circle. When the bottle got to Stella, she suddenly went very still.

“I know this name and this label!” she exclaimed, touching the ornate label carefully. “The Spice Café used to be a well-known and very elegant restaurant in New York. My father took me there to celebrate my sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays.” Stella paused, a faraway look in her eye. “Going there made me feel very grown up. Unfortunately, by my eighteenth birthday, the place had closed. I remember feeling so very disappointed.”

“It never even occurred to me that these could have been recipes from a restaurant,” Alice said. “And I never thought about the label. We had such a problem just opening the jar with the recipes inside that I never tried to open the bottle.”

“And I don’t believe you ever mentioned the name,” Stella said. “I definitely would have recognized it. The restaurant called itself The Spice Café because their claim to fame was a special, expensive spice in most of their recipes.”

“Which spice?” Peggy asked.

“I have no idea,” Stella said. “They kept it a closely guarded secret.”

****

That afternoon, Annie and Alice used Annie’s laptop to research the restaurant. Annie sat at Gram’s desk, and Alice had pulled up a chair to sit next to her.

After a few clicks, Annie turned the screen to show Alice. “OK, a search for ‘The Spice Café’ isn’t helping. There are over ninety-three thousand results.”

“Well, try ‘The Spice Café in New York City.’”

“All right.” Annie typed it in, and then clicked through a number of links. “No good. Fewer results, but none of them appear to be what we’re looking for.”

Alice sighed. “OK, so it went out of business in the year between Stella’s seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays. How old do you think she is?”

“Well, I know she and Gram used to be close, so they have to be about the same age. Gram was born in 1922. I think Stella is a couple of years younger; maybe she was born in 1923 or 1924.”

“OK, so look for The Spice Café in New York in— uh—1938.”

“Bingo,” Annie said after a few taps. She pulled up some newspaper articles about the restaurant. “Stella wasn’t kidding! It looks like The Spice Café really was a famous restaurant. Look at these reviews!”

They scrolled through review after review, all of them glowing.

“Amazing tastes … don’t know how they do it … won’t share their secrets … have to reserve your table at least a month in advance,” Alice read.

“Oh, look, here’s an article from 1935 about the restaurant,” Annie said. She read part of the article aloud. “‘Earl Snyder and Francis Bowman have opened a new concept in eating. The Spice Café serves traditional French dishes like bouillabaisse and rouille, along with seafood dishes like cod and striped bass. Their dessert menu includes homemade favorites like fudge, along with more traditional items like rice pudding, custards, and cheesecake. Mr. Snyder tells this reporter that the name of the restaurant comes from a secret spice they include in many of their recipes.’”

“I wonder if the fudge I made was similar to their fudge!” Alice exclaimed.

“Could be,” Annie replied, scrolling through more articles. “Uh, oh. Here’s one from January 1942. ‘This reviewer is disappointed to say that The Spice Café, long one of my favorite restaurants in our fair city, is no longer serving the best food in town. On a recent evening, hardly anyone frequented the café, and their normally excellent braised chicken with risotto can only be described as a fiasco.’ And here’s one from later in the same year: ‘Francis Bowman has permanently closed The Spice Café, once one of New York’s finest and most famous restaurants.’ That’s sad.”

“Sad, yes, but what happened to the other owner, Earl? Why would such a famous restaurant go under?” Alice asked.

“I would guess it closed because the food quality went downhill,” Annie replied. “I mean, look at all these terrible reviews. Maybe that bottle of spice had something to do with it.”

“Or maybe Mr. Snyder did the cooking, and after he left, Mr. Bowman hired lousy chefs.”

“But why would a co-owner just leave?”

“Could be anything. Happens all the time in the food industry,” Alice said. “See if you can find anything on Mr. Bowman.”

After some more typing and clicking around, Annie announced, “Here’s his obituary. It says that Francis Bowman died in 1956 with no heirs or family. That’s also very sad.”

“Is there no mention of The Spice Café?”

“Nope. It just says that he had owned various restaurants.”

Alice leaned back in her chair. “OK,” she said. “So Francis Bowman is a dead end. Literally. So what about Earl Snyder?”

After a few more minutes of Annie clicking around and reading articles, she had the answer. “Earl and his wife Camilla opened another restaurant in New York, called Earl’s Diner. Looks like it wasn’t quite as successful as their other venture. According to their obituaries, their son Harold and his family inherited the restaurant, and they have a daughter, Kathryn Snyder, who lives—” Annie stopped in mid-sentence, stunned.

“Where?” Alice demanded.

“Right here in Stony Point!”

****

“A Kathryn Snyder is a resident at Seaside Hills Assisted Living, and she’s ninety-one, which puts her around the right age, but it’s possible she’s not the Kathryn we’re looking for,” Annie said after she hung up the phone. “You remember Katrina, the activities director? Well, she said Kathryn’s napping right now, but that we could stop by in an hour or so. I wonder if this Kathryn is the same person that Mary Beth and Kate said had stopped by A Stitch in Time. They couldn’t remember her name, but I’m pretty sure it started with a K.”

Alice sunk back into Annie’s floral couch with a sigh. “Maybe it is! However, I don’t know if I can wait that long. And I sure hope this is the right Kathryn. This mystery is driving me crazy! Not to mention, I’m not exactly thrilled that my baking mojo has been so off lately. Maybe Kathryn can explain why.”

“You’re telling me. I want the old Alice back! The one who bakes things that taste divine, not the one who makes the repulsive stuff you’ve been foisting on us lately.”

Annie ducked as her friend chucked a decorative pillow at her.

****

An hour later, the two friends arrived at Seaside Hills Assisted Living in Annie’s trusted Malibu. They would have taken Alice’s perky red Mustang, but Alice had just washed it, and she felt certain it would rain the second she drove it anywhere.

Alice had wrapped all of the items in the brown cloth and stashed it in her bag, which she retrieved from the backseat as soon as Annie parked.

When they entered the common room, a short, slender elderly woman stood up to greet them. She wore a plain, green linen dress with a white sweater over her shoulders.

“Are you Kathryn Snyder?” Alice asked.

“Yes, dear, I am,” she said, reaching out a hand for them both to shake. “But you can call me Kitty. My mother’s the only one who ever called me Kathryn, and then only when I had done something bad.”

“It’s so very nice to meet you. I’m Annie Dawson, and this is my friend, Alice MacFarlane.”

Kitty led them to a small table near the window, which gave them a good view of the garden and all the beautiful flowers.

“So, how may I help you?” she asked after they’d been seated. “Katrina only said you had some questions for me.”

“Yes, we do,” said Alice. “Have you bought crafting supplies from A Stitch in Time?”

Kitty looked surprised. “Why yes, I have. I’ve knitted a few blankets for the Haiti project. The owner is just the sweetest thing.” She paused, and then added, “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

“Not really,” Alice said, “but I’m not quite sure where to start.” She pulled the cloth-wrapped package from her bag, opened it, and began to spread everything on the table.

Kitty’s eyes got bigger and bigger as each new item emerged and was placed on the square of faded brown fabric: the spatula and bottle of spices, the dull knife and the mason jar, and then the file folders with the recipes.

“Do you recognize any of this?” Alice asked.

“Indeed I do,” Kitty said as she covered her eyes with her hands and started to cry.

Annie got up and retrieved a box of tissues from a nearby table, handing them to the distressed woman.

“Thank you,” Kitty said, uncovering her face and taking one. “You must have found these in Captain Grey’s carriage house.”

“Yes, we did. I live in the carriage house now, and Annie owns Grey Gables,” said Alice. “Did you live there? Was it you who hid these things beneath the floorboard of the bedroom?”

“How much do you know about these things?” Kitty asked, wiping her eyes and clenching the tissue in her left hand.

“We know that they came from The Spice Café in New York City, which was owned by Earl Snyder and Francis Bowman, and closed in 1942. Are you Earl’s daughter?” Annie asked gently. “What happened to the restaurant? And how did you end up here?”

Kitty sighed and straightened her shoulders.

“Yes, I’m Earl Snyder’s daughter. You want to know how I came to be here in Stony Point? Well, it’s kind of a long story, and it’s one I’m not terribly proud of.”

Alice reached out and held Kitty’s right hand. “We have plenty of time, and we’d love to hear your story, if you don’t mind telling us.”

Kitty smiled wistfully and wiped her eyes again. “When I was younger, my parents owned a small restaurant. Papa had been in the war, and he fell in love with saffron when he was stationed in Italy and worked as an Army cook. He brought some back with him—oh, I guess it would have been in 1918 or so. Before I was born, anyway.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever bought saffron or used it in a recipe,” Alice said.

“Most likely not, dear. Saffron is the world’s most expensive spice. Just a tiny bit costs an astonishing amount of money. It can take up to 250,000 purple saffron crocus flowers to make just one pound of the spice.” She took another tissue and wiped her eyes again.

“But Papa brought some back with him and experimented until he came up with his very own secret spice recipe. Of course, the main ingredient is saffron, but he included other spices as well. After that, Papa experimented some more and figured out how to use his spice in various dishes, things you wouldn’t expect.”

“Like bread pudding?” Alice asked, suddenly realizing why her attempts had fallen short.

“Yes, indeed, like bread pudding,” Kitty smiled. “Francis Bowman was a regular customer at my parents’ restaurant, and he convinced Papa to partner with him. Mr. Bowman seemed like a good businessman, and he had all kinds of ideas about how to make the restaurant bigger. In 1935, when I was thirteen, they opened The Spice Café. Papa ran the kitchen, and Mr. Bowman took care of the books. He was very smart, and his ideas helped the restaurant greatly. The Depression didn’t seem to affect us at all.” As she talked, Kitty’s hands caressed the items one by one. She picked up the spice bottle and said, “We only made up one bottle at a time to prevent anyone from duplicating it. This is the only one left in the world.”