A Spicy Secret

by D. Savannah George

  “Nope. I’m good. You want some cocoa?”

  “Thanks, Kate—that sounds nice,” Gwen said, smiling. “It brings back memories of my mother; she always had a snack ready for me when I came home from school. Cocoa is just the thing on a cold day like this.”

  She looked around, and then asked where Mary Beth had gotten off to.

  “Oh, she had to go to the bank or something. Don’t quote me on this, but I think she wants the girls to be settled before she gets back.”

  Before Gwen could respond, the door opened, and the room filled with laughing teenagers.

  Gwen pulled out a fresh skein of yarn—this one was a pale green—and began casting on to start a new blanket.

  Mere moments later, the girls were all seated, sipping cocoa and munching on the snacks. Vanessa, Mackenzie, and Lily had disappeared into the back, and then reappeared. Mackenzie held ten skeins of an acrylic-blend yarn, each a different shade, while Lily carried copied instructions for knitting or crocheting a blanket.

  “Welcome to the new Teen Hook and Needle Club,” Vanessa said. “As you all know, I’m Vanessa, but what you don’t know is that I’m also Queen Boss of our club. Miss Mary Beth Brock, the owner of the store, said that’s what I am, so, uh, I guess I’m in charge—or something like that.”

  She looked around at the other girls in the circle of chairs and smiled. “And I’m pleased to introduce—if you don’t know her already—Mrs. Gwendolyn Palmer. She’s here to help the knitters. And you all know my mom, Kate Stevens. She will help those of you doing crochet. As you know, she’s like the best crocheter this side of anywhere.”

  Kate smiled, and taking a page from Ian’s book, bowed to the girls, who broke out in giggles.

  “Oh, Mom!” Vanessa said. “OK, maybe she’s the best, but she’s also slightly deranged. Moving on, everyone knows Mackenzie and Lily, who are my assistant queens.”

  The two followed Kate’s lead and bowed as well.

  “So you two are deranged as well,” Vanessa said.

  “But aren’t you supposed to bow in the presence of a queen?” Lily objected, giggling.

  “We’re not worthy!” the other girls stood up and started bowing as well.

  “OK, fine. You can bow. Whatever,” Vanessa said. “But let’s get started. To make it super easy for everyone, we picked out one pattern for all the crocheters to make, and one pattern for all the knitters to use. How many of you are going to crochet?”

  Four hands in the circle shot up.

  “OK, Lily, please give Taylor, Holly, Danielle, and Sabena each a crochet hook and a copy of the crochet pattern. And of course Lily and I will be crocheting as well, so you can ask us for help in addition to my mom.”

  Lily walked around the chairs and handed each girl a couple of sheets stapled together and a green metal crochet hook, size G.

  “And who is going to be knitting?”

  Three hands.

  “Lily, please give Hannah, Avalee, and Tessa the pattern and their needles. Mackenzie will also be knitting. Oh, and please give Mrs. Palmer a copy of the pattern as well.”

  “I’m just learning, so I doubt I’ll be able to help, but I’ll try. Mrs. Palmer knows a lot more than I do,” Mackenzie said, waving her pair of blue metal knitting needles, size 15, as Lily distributed the needles and pattern.

  “Oh! I didn’t realize everyone is going to make the same blanket. Thankfully I haven’t gotten far on this one,” Gwen replied, holding up what little she’d knitted.

  “Oh, yes. The Queenies thought it would make it easier if each group made the same thing so we could help each other if someone got stuck,” Vanessa replied. “Obviously the knitters won’t be able to assist the crocheters, or whatever, but all the knitters can help each other and so can all the crocheters!”

  Gwen nodded. “That’s actually very good thinking.” She took the pattern instructions from Lily and started reading the pattern to herself.

  “Also, we figured everyone should have a different-color yarn—you know, so we can easily tell what blanket belongs to who,” Vanessa said. “Mackenzie, will you please hand out the yarn?”

  After a few minutes of clamor and laughter, everyone had a color they were happy with.

  “When you run out of yarn, let me know and I’ll get you some more. Which reminds me, I almost forgot the most important thing! Our wonderful teacher, Mrs. Petersen, is sponsoring our club, like literally sponsoring it—she’s going to buy all the yarn and supplies we need for the project.”

  Everyone started clapping and woo-hooing.

  “I know, right? So, we all have to do the absolute best that we can to make her proud and so that she feels like her donation is worth it. But there’s one thing—well, really, two things: she doesn’t want like everyone to know, and she told me it’s just for whoever showed up today. She wants me to keep attendance and a good record of what we use so she can pay for everything at the end of the project.” Vanessa stopped and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and handed both to Mackenzie. “So, we’re gonna sign in every week to help me keep track. Oh, and if you don’t show up for 75 percent of the meetings, unless you have a really really good excuse, like a doctor’s note or something, she won’t pay for your supplies, which means you’ll have to pay for it. So, any questions?”

  A girl that Kate didn’t know raised her hand.

  “Yes, Avalee?” Vanessa said.

  “Are you serious? Mrs. Petersen is for reals buying our supplies?”

  “Yup! For reals! Any other questions?”

  The bell over the door tinkled, and Mike Malone rushed in.

  “Oh, Mike, you’re back. Decide to join the teen club?” Gwen teased.

  “Uh, no. Annie insisted I take a photograph of Vanessa Stevens and Mackenzie Martel with the blanket box. And she insists that I run it in The Point.”

  “Annie usually gets what she wants,” Gwen said, chuckling.

  Mary Beth came in just as Mike finished taking photos of the two girls by their decorated box and by the tracking poster.

  “Oh! And here is Miss Mary Beth Brock!” Vanessa said excitedly to the other girls. “She’s the owner of A Stitch in Time, and she’s letting us meet here.”

  “Hello, Teen Hook and Needle Club members!” Mary Beth said as Mike hustled out the door. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his scarf or coat.

  “Hello, Miss Brock!” a chorus of teenage voices responded. “Thank you!”

  “You are all so very welcome,” she said. “Thank you for participating in our project.”

  “OK? No more questions? Good. Let’s get started!” Vanessa said.

  The girls rearranged themselves into two groups: the knitters surrounded Gwen, who began teaching them how to cast on, and the other group enthusiastically started making a chain stitch.

  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.

  “Y
es, 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.