A Spicy Secret (2 page)

“Indeed, you do,” her friend teased back. “And I certainly have never helped you move
anything
at Grey Gables, have I?”

“Not that I can recall right now,” Annie retorted playfully, remembering the dozens of times Alice had helped her move boxes, chests, and myriad other things to or from the attic at Grey Gables. “Now, with all that out of the way, we can move this rug and see what’s under there. But you’ve got to help me. I am
not
going to roll it up by myself.” She surveyed the near-empty room and then added dryly, “Despite your life-threatening injury, I’m fairly certain you can sit on the floor and help.”

“Fine, I’ll help,” Alice mock-grumbled, gingerly getting down and grabbing the end of the floral monstrosity. “One, two, three,” she chanted, and they both started rolling, perfectly in time as if they’d been rolling rugs together all their lives.

Dust rose as they inched along, making them both cough.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Alice asked when Annie stopped inexplicably, mere feet from the end.

“I have no idea. The rug is stuck on something.”

Annie wiped her hands on her jeans and then ran one hand under the rolled edge.

“Just what I figured; some threads are caught. Hang on a second and don’t let this thing go,” she directed. “I can just see the headline in
The Point
: ‘Local woman flattened by runaway rug; best friend to blame for her demise.’”

“Forget
flattened
. You’re lucky I’m holding this side, or you would get
smacked,
” Alice said.

Annie ignored her and carefully lifted each tiny thread from a floorboard. “OK, I’m done.”

The two finished the task, and with Annie doing most of the heavy lifting, leaned the rug against the wall.

“Hey, Annie, look at that board,” Alice said from her spot on the floor, pointing at a piece of a plank about eighteen inches in length. “It’s a completely different finish, and doesn’t even look like the same kind of lumber.”

Annie examined the plank of the old wooden floor. “It looks like Grandpa or someone had to do some repair work on the floor,” Annie said. “Doesn’t look like they did a very good job of it, either. See? This part of the plank wasn’t nailed in as securely as the original boards. It warped a bit, and now it’s loose.”

Annie kneeled down to run her fingers along the side of the board; Alice scooted over next to her, doing the same. Annie put pressure on the opposite end of the plank, and the slight warp helped pop the board out with just a little tugging.

“Look at that!” Alice exclaimed when the light revealed a small hidey-hole beneath the board. The friends began pulling out the contents—a faded brown fabric square wrapped around a spatula, a dull knife, a small bottle with an ornate label that said “The Spice Café,” and a dusty old mason jar, the ring and lid long since rusted together. Once they cleaned off the jar, they could easily see the contents—small sheets of paper, most with handwriting on them.

“Try to get it open,” Annie implored as Alice wrestled with it.

“I’m trying, but it’s stuck.”

Annie and Alice decided to take their newly found treasures to the kitchen, where they worked to open the jar. After several attempts—banging the jar upside down and running hot water over the ring—it loosened enough that they could remove it. Finally, they used a knife to pry up the lid a tiny bit until it gave way so unexpectedly that the jar’s contents flew all over the floor.

“Well, this certainly
is
odd,” Alice said, attempting to collect the sheets into a tidy pile. “Looks like this jar is full of recipes. But they are pretty smudged, and there are lots of question marks and other odd squiggles.”

“Why would anyone hide a jar full of recipes under a floorboard?” Annie asked, wiping her forehead and squinting at a recipe that appeared to have been written in the dark.

“Well, Annie, m’ dear,” Alice said, “in addition to a nice cleared floor for Wally to work on, it looks like we’ve got ourselves another mystery!”

****

After Alice and Annie shared the story of their discovery, Peggy, excited as usual at the prospect of a mystery, asked, “Why would someone hide recipes in the floor? It’s not money or jewels or a treasure map or a dead body.”

The ladies laughed, and Alice said, “I for one am glad it’s not a dead body. But it’s just recipes, for heaven’s sake, and in the carriage house! Why would anyone feel the need to hide them?”

“And more importantly, who would do that?” asked Stella, brushing imaginary lint off her slacks. “I would assume someone who lived in the carriage house would have done the hiding, but I certainly can’t imagine why.”

Kate stopped unpacking and pricing a shipment of buttons and leaned over one of the empty chairs. “That really is strange,” she said.

“And why would anyone hide recipes that are so awful?” Mary Beth chimed in.

“Maybe I didn’t get the recipe right,” Alice said, “or maybe something is missing from the recipe. It was sort of hard to make out everything.”

The ladies continued chatting, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. After a few minutes, Gwen stood and discreetly gathered the others’ plates still laden with Alice’s “experiment” and took them into the back room to quietly empty them in the store’s big trash can before settling back down with her knitting.

“That certainly is odd,” Kate interjected, “but we have other important things to discuss. I know what our next group project could be.” Her face glowed, just like it did every time she got excited about something. She picked up a stack of the latest edition of
The Point
and handed them out. “Clearly our esteemed editor, Mike Malone, had to dig to fill up even this one sheet, but look.” She tapped the story on the front page, at the very top. “Some members of the Stony Point Community Church are going on a mission trip this June to Haiti. They plan to work in an orphanage and help build a school.”

By now, Kate’s face was so bright that she could have stood in for the light at Butler’s Lighthouse.

“And how, pray tell, do we fit in?” asked Gwen, no-nonsense as always.

“We-e-e-e-ell …” Kate drew the word out into four or five syllables, prompting Alice to throw a wadded-up napkin at her. “OK, I surrender! Our next project should be making blankets for the orphans. We can get the ladies at the senior center involved, and maybe the high school students too. I bet we could make a bunch of blankets by the time the volunteers go—maybe even one for each child.”

As Kate talked, Annie smoothed her copy of
The Point
and read the short article, which included a map of Haiti and a photo of the church’s pastor, to herself:

Reverend Roy Wallace from Stony Point Community Church will be leading a mission this June to Haiti, one of the poorest and least-developed countries in the world.

“I have been reading a lot about Haiti,” Reverend Wallace said. “In recent years, the island has struggled with political upheaval, health crises, hurricanes, and that terrible earthquake. The children are the ones suffering the most—so many of them have been orphaned. Since children truly are our future, we plan to visit an orphanage that currently houses about a hundred orphans and assist the organizers in any way we can.”

Reverend Wallace said that the group also plans to help build a school at the orphanage.

“We hope the community will pitch in and help us with raising funds for building supplies and to help pay for our trip.”

Annie felt overwhelmed with the thought of making one hundred blankets in less than six months, and she was also heartbroken that so many children had to live without parents. The story also made her think of her own missionary parents, who had spent so many years selflessly serving others.

“Don’t forget the people working with the kids,” Annie said suddenly. “I bet they could use blankets too.”

“Indeed, they probably could,” said Stella. “I say we find out if they do and get started right away—on the blankets
and
our new mystery.”

2

The morning after the Hook and Needle Club meeting, Mary Beth and Kate sat at the table in the back room of A Stitch in Time, enjoying a cup of hot tea before they opened the store. Part office, part kitchen, part stockroom, and part break room, the space defied any and all attempts to keep it tidy. Even though business was slow, and they weren’t ordering as much as they did during spring and summer, it seemed that wayward items ended up cluttering the space until both ladies wanted to scream.

“Seriously, how does this happen?” asked Mary Beth. “Thank goodness for my SUV. It feels like I take boxes to the recycling station every single day, and there’s always more!”

“It’s almost like they’ve told their cardboard friends that this is a good place to hang out,” replied Kate. “And I swear I stock new items as soon as they come in, or store them on the shelves back here with the rest of our extra inventory, so where did this pile of embroidery thread come from? And it seems like pens usually walk off, so how did we end up with so many back here?”

“Beats me. We have to keep some boxes to pack up the blankets for the mission trip, and for when we have to ship something, but this many?”

Kate sighed and then brightened. “Speaking of the mission trip,” she said, “what do you think about using the store as a drop-off point for donations? That way, there would always be a place during business hours for people to bring the blankets they’ve made.”

“That’s a great idea. I knew I hired you for some reason other than your mad crochet skills!”

“Mad, huh? That means good, right?”

Mary Beth laughed. “It definitely means good. I think I’ve been hanging out with your daughter too much.”

“Speaking of my lovely daughter, Vanessa mentioned last night that she has to do some sort of advertising project for her language arts class. I bet she and Mackenzie would be happy to make a flyer or something, if Mrs. Petersen lets them.”

“That would be fabulous,” Mary Beth said, looking at her watch. “Oops, opening time. Why don’t you clean up back here a little while I open up.”

“Gee, thanks. You are so good to me,” Kate teased as the older woman washed out her mug and placed it in the drying rack next to the sink. She looked down at the trash can and groaned. “Ugh. The concoction Alice brought in yesterday is still in here. That’s going out first thing.”

Mary Beth started laughing. “I don’t even think the stray cats will touch it.”

Mary Beth went to the safe to get out the cash box before flipping on the light switches for the sales floor. In a few moments, Kate could hear the strains of music from the oldies station Mary Beth liked listening to.

Kate looked at her watch, and since school hadn’t started yet, decided to call Vanessa. The school board hadn’t been crazy about the idea, but had admitted—after parental pressure, of course—that cellphones at school could actually be good, at least from a safety standpoint. The kids had to leave their phones turned off during classes, of course, but were allowed to use them before and after school and at lunchtime.

Kate picked up her phone and chose Vanessa’s name on her favorites list. There was just one ring before she heard her daughter’s cheery voice.

“Hey, it’s Vanessa. Well, my voicemail anyway. Close enough. You know what to do if you want me to call you back. If you don’t, oh well. Have a super lovely day.”

“Vanessa, it’s your mom,” Kate said as soon as it beeped and before she could stop herself. She knew how ridiculous she sounded. Of course her daughter recognized her own mother’s voice, but she still said it every time, so she continued: “OK, you knew that. Didn’t you tell me that your language arts teacher wanted you to create some sort of advertising promotion? Well, we could use your help at the store. We’re going to be making and collecting blankets for an orphanage in Haiti. Mary Beth and I thought you could make a flyer or something, if your teacher approves. Call me back when you get a chance.”

She hung up, surveyed the room, and started tidying.

****

A little after noon, Kate joined Mary Beth in the front of the store to take a break and eat lunch. On slow days, they both liked to eat in the circle of comfy chairs near the window, surrounded by all the beautiful yarns and threads and paraphernalia needed to craft practically anything.

Kate handed Mary Beth the brown bag she’d shoved into the fridge that morning and opened her own tote, a mini cooler that looked like a paisley purse with “K” embroidered on the front.

“Thanks, dear,” Mary Beth said. She put her knitting on the chair next to her, opened the bag, and pulled out yogurt and a spoon. She had decided to try to lose some weight over the winter, and since it was too cold to exercise outside, she figured she’d try eating healthier. “What haute cuisine do you have today?”

“A ham sandwich, carrots, and chips,” Kate replied.

Mary Beth finished her yogurt and pulled out a plastic container of pasta salad. “This is better than what we had for lunch yesterday,” she said. “I hope Alice doesn’t think trying out more of those recipes she found will help solve the mystery of where they came from.”

“It
is
peculiar to hide recipes; it might be fun to figure out where they came from. I just really can’t imagine why someone would hide them, and believe me, I’ve tried to think of a reason.” Kate took a few bites of her sandwich. “Get any customers this morning?”

“Just a couple, and only one bought something. It’s been so slow. I’m glad we don’t have many days like this.” Mary Beth sighed. “At least it gave me some time to start a blanket.” She held up her knitting for Kate to see.

“Oh, it’s so pretty!” Kate exclaimed. “I especially like how the gradients go from light pink to dark purple.”

“I love it too. It’s expensive yarn, but that’s one perk of owning my own shop. I get it at cost!”

Kate started to reply, but her cellphone rang.

“It’s Vanessa!” she said, punching the button to answer.

Mary Beth stole a couple of Kate’s chips while the younger woman was distracted.

“Yes, the mission trip Reverend Wallace is leading.” Kate paused and then said, “Uh-huh. You can have the original for your class, and we’ll make copies.” Kate paused again and took a bite of carrot as she listened to her daughter. “Of course Mackenzie can help.” Kate contributed another “Uh-huh” and “OK” to the conversation before finally saying, “See you after school.”

“I take it her teacher is OK with the idea?” Mary Beth asked as soon as Kate finished the call.

“More than OK. Vanessa said Mrs. Petersen is thrilled. Something about ‘real-world application,’ and ‘happy to support,’ and I’m not sure what else. That child can talk a mile a minute sometimes.”

“I think she gets that from Mackenzie. After all, her best friend is a cheerleader,” Mary Beth said. “Being peppy is in the job description.”

“Yeah, but a teenager is hard enough to keep up with. I’d at least like to understand her. Thank heavens Vanessa isn’t a cheerleader. Can you imagine me a cheerleader’s mom?”

The two laughed at the thought, imagining Kate with big bows in her hair, wearing a “Cheer Mom” sweatshirt, and hollering things like “Throw that swagger!”

“All right. It’s time for you to stop lollygagging,” Mary Beth teased. “Quit being a diva and get back to work.”

Kate laughed. She threw away the remnants of their lunches and continued with her tasks.

****

By four o’clock, the back room was as clean as it could be, considering. The trash had been carried to the dumpster, and Kate had sorted the wayward embroidery floss and put the skeins where they belonged in the display case. The vast array of pens—anything from plain ballpoint pens to a promotional pen from a dentist in Wiscasset to colorful felt-tips—had been tested on scraps of paper. The dry ones had been thrown away, while those that had passed the test were either put in the penholder next to the register or stashed in Mary Beth’s desk.

She’d stacked excess inventory neatly on the shelves, opened and organized a pile of mail, color-coordinated the paper next to the copier, and broken down a bunch of boxes for Mary Beth to recycle. She’d even, in a burst of energy, scrubbed the tiny powder room, sink and microwave, and even their new refrigerator, although it really didn’t need it.

“I’m worn out,” Kate said, walking to the front and sinking down into the chair next to Mary Beth. “How’s that knitting working for you? Do you feel tired and stressed out?”

Mary Beth laughed. “I don’t know what your problem is. I feel quite rested and peaceful.”

“I just bet you do.”

“And I hear the back room looks awesome,” Mary Beth added.

“It does indeed,” Kate replied. “Did you make any more sales today?”

“A few. Mostly I’ve just knitted. I’m always so busy with the store, I don’t get—or take—enough time for my own handiwork. I’d forgotten how peaceful it feels.”

“Once I figure out the pattern, crocheting is definitely Zen-like,” Kate said, stretching her arms over her head. “There’s nothing like seeing yarn turn into something useful and beautiful.”

The bell rang as Vanessa and Mackenzie rushed in from the cold, laughing about something that had happened at school.

“Hey Mom, hey Mary Beth,” Vanessa said, putting her backpack in an empty chair.

Kate really wanted to grab a hug, but didn’t want to embarrass her daughter. Vanessa was at the prickly age where one minute she’d snuggle with her mother, and the next she’d be embarrassed by Kate just saying hello. She took a non-prickly tack. “How was school today?”

The two girls started talking at once.

“Slow down, you two,” said Mary Beth. “And one at a time. Your mom confessed to me today that she can’t understand ‘teen-speak.’”

“Ha ha, Miss Brock,” Mackenzie said, sitting down and plopping her backpack on the floor. “Mrs. Stevens, if you don’t understand us, how come you know so much about what we’re doing?”

“Mother’s intuition, I guess,” Kate replied, smiling. Her daughter’s friend was a genuinely kind person; she was one of those bright spirits that automatically cheers a person just by being in the same room.

“If that’s what you want to call it, then OK,” the girl replied with a smile. “So, what is it you want us to do?”

Kate explained about the group project and how they wanted to get the entire community involved.

“Since your teacher wants you to create an advertisement, we thought you could create a flyer that we’ll use to let everyone know about the project and how they can help. I’ll have to confirm with Reverend Wallace, but I think we’ll need about a hundred and twenty blankets in order for every child and adult at the orphanage to get one.”

The girls’ eyes went wide.

“So this flyer is super important, huh?” asked Vanessa.

“Yes it is! Mary Beth has volunteered the store as a drop-off point. And we need lots of people to participate if we’re going to make our goal,” Kate replied.

“What if we make a poster to show how many blankets we’ve collected? Would you hang something like that in the store, Miss Brock?” Mackenzie asked.

“Absolutely! That’s a great idea,” Mary Beth said.

“May I make a blanket?” Vanessa asked her mother. “I’ve never crocheted anything so big, but I’d love to try.”

“Me too!” said Mackenzie, who had been learning to cross-stitch. “I can’t crochet or knit very well, but I’ll give it a go.”

Mary Beth looked up from her own knitting and smiled. “You girls are just precious. Go pick yourself out some yarn. My treat. Oh, and for the flyer, be sure to add that I’ll give a 10 percent discount on yarn or other supplies for anyone who agrees to participate.”

“Wow! Thanks!” the girls jumped up and ran to the yarn bins, talking excitedly and fingering the different types and colors of yarn.

“That’s really generous of you,” Kate said.

“Well, it’s a great community project and all that,” Mary Beth replied. “But I’m sure they’ll make a fabulous flyer—which means we don’t have to!”

By closing time, the girls had picked out some yarn—dark green for Vanessa, light blue for Mackenzie—had chosen an afghan pattern that used simple crochet stitches from a pattern book, and had done a few practice squares. They hugged Mary Beth as Kate shooed them out the door to go home.

****

The next day, Mary Beth watched the store while Kate went to visit Reverend Wallace. Kate found him in the food pantry at the church, putting cans and other donations onto shelves. Even doing menial labor, he dressed nicely in a pair of pressed khakis and a long-sleeve polo shirt. Kate smoothed down her ankle-length paisley skirt, glad she had worn something nice. The minister was one of the kindest men she knew, but she always felt a little intimidated by his presence.

“Hello Kate! How nice to see you. What brings you here today?” he asked, climbing down from the stepladder.

“I’m here to talk about your mission trip to Haiti. The Hook and Needle Club would like to help.”

“Wonderful! Let’s step into my office where we’ll be a little more comfortable.”

He led the way to a small room near the back of the fellowship hall. Furnished in shabby but sturdy furniture, it had a view of the ocean from the windows in the left wall. A bookshelf filled the opposite wall. It was crammed with Bibles, Christian literature, dictionaries, thesauruses, concordances, and compilations of sermon notes, not to mention books on theology, prayer, evangelism, spirituality, and church history. Kate couldn’t help but feel impressed by the vast number of books.

The minister indicated she should sit, and she did, finding the faded floral wingback chair quite comfortable. Reverend Wallace sat in his desk chair, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back, almost touching the large bulletin board on the wall behind him. It was covered with photos, inspirational sayings, church bulletins, postcards, and Bible verses.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before,” she said, nervously plucking at her skirt. “That’s quite a collection of books.”

“It is, and believe it or not, I’ve read most of them. They come in handy when I’m writing my ‘Wit and Wisdom’ column for
The Point
, and for my sermons, of course
.
”