A Spicy Secret

by D. Savannah George

  “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.”

  She stared at it, holding the bottle tightly in both hands. Her voice became faint.

  “I practically grew up there—if I wasn’t in the kitchen, I cleaned tables or washed linens, like this napkin, or arranged flowers for the centerpieces.”

  Annie and Alice exchanged glances, and Alice mouthed, “Napkin!” Annie imagined that Alice was mentally smacking herself in the forehead. Neither one of them had even thought that the piece of cloth might be a napkin.

  “The café became a huge success, bigger than Papa had ever dreamed. Famous people like Charlie Chaplin and Dorothy Day would dine with us. Restaurant critics had nothing but good things to say. Couples got engaged in our dining room, and then they’d come back every year to celebrate their wedding anniversary. Everyone speculated about our secret ingredient, but we never told. No one told. We even concealed it as much as possible from the employees. Those who had to know about the spice also had to sign an agreement saying they would never reveal it.”

  Kitty’s face had transformed, gotten lighter, and Alice and Annie could both see the beautiful young woman she once had been.

  “Our family prospered. Papa was so proud he could finally buy us—Mother, my older brother, Harold, and me—the finest things. We moved into a beautiful brownstone, and I had my own room and books and lovely dresses. We were all so happy.”

  She set the bottle down and shook her head as if clearing away years of memories.

  “Then, in 1941, after six years of great success with the café, Mr. Bowman bilked my father out of all the restaurant’s earnings, stopped paying suppliers, and ruined our family fortune. Somehow he managed to run Papa off, so he had no money and no job. We had to move from our nice brownstone to a tenement.”

  She choked up and took another tissue from the box.

  “And worst of all, Papa’s heart ha
d broken. He loved that restaurant. He loved the people who came in to eat, and he loved how happy the food made them. He was so proud that he had been able to give us such a nice life, and he was grief-stricken that it had all been stolen from us. He wouldn’t cook anymore, not even for his family.”

  Kitty took another tissue and wiped her eyes again. Alice and Annie sat spellbound.

  “Papa didn’t do anything to Mr. Bowman, and I wanted him to get even. But Papa wouldn’t. He’d just shake his head and say we’d be OK. Meanwhile, Mr. Bowman still ran the restaurant, using Papa’s secret spice and all his recipes. I decided that since no one else would do it, I would ruin him like he ruined us. So one night, I broke into the restaurant and stole all of this.”

  Kitty reached for the pile of recipes.

  “These pages are more than mere recipes,” she said, handling the papers gently as she looked through them. “I was angry, so I stole the very recipe that made the food so wonderful and the restaurant famous—the special spice mixture. Without it, The Spice Café couldn’t make the dishes they were known for. And I stole many of those recipes too, so Mr. Bowman wouldn’t be able to even try.”

  Kitty explained that stealing the bottle and the spice recipe meant no one would be able to make any of the dishes ever again.

  “This is the spice recipe,” she said, holding up one of the smaller sheets.

  “We never could figure that one out!” said Alice. “It looks like hieroglyphics!”

  Kitty smiled. “Papa did that on purpose. Only a very few of us knew what these symbols meant. And we didn’t even include it in the other recipes—we wrote that particular ingredient and the amount needed in code.”

  “Well, I for one am very relieved,” Alice said, laughing. “I tried making a lot of those, and they mostly turned out awful. I thought I’d lost my baking mojo!”

  “I was starting to think that too,” Annie said. “I was afraid I’d have to pick up the baking torch from you, and it would have melted straightaway in my incapable hands!”

  Kitty laughed with them. “You tried to make the recipes? Of course they tasted awful—they lacked the secret spice.”

  “So what happened after you took everything?” Alice asked.

  “I didn’t know what to do, so I fled the city by bus. We stopped for a break here in Stony Point, and I decided that I’d gone far enough. No one would find me here, and besides, I was tired of riding and tired of my fellow passengers!”

  Kitty explained that she had asked around and learned that Captain Grey was looking for a housekeeper, so she applied and he hired her on the spot.

  “He was a sweet old man, not very demanding, and he let me live in the top of the carriage house. I promptly ripped up a floorboard in my bedroom and hid everything underneath it. You probably noticed the board was different.”

  Alice and Annie nodded.

  “I never could get the original piece to fit again, so I went to the sawmill and got a board to replace the plank, covered it with a rug, and tried to forget about it. I kept Grey Gables spotless and made Captain Grey the best meals I could. It was my own form of penance, I think. When he got too feeble, he sold the entire place to the Holdens—I think it was in 1946 or ’47.

  “They were very kind, but clearly did not have money to keep me on. I quickly found other work as a housekeeper, which I did until I retired. I never moved back to New York, though I was quite often homesick for the big city and the restaurants and the shopping, and of course, my family. But I was too ashamed of what I had done to tell my parents, and I knew if I saw them I wouldn’t be able to keep the secret any longer. We just stayed in touch by post, and later by telephone.”

  Annie put her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I’m sorry—this must be difficult to talk about.”

  “Actually, I’m kind of relieved,” Kitty said. “It’s been a burden, keeping this secret for so long.”

  “Is your brother still alive?” Annie asked. “Have you seen him?”

  “Oh yes. Papa gave Earl’s Diner to Harold, and Harold gave it to his kids. My brother still works a little every day. And we try to visit each other at least once a year.”

  “Well, now you have something amazing to give him and his children,” Annie said.

  “My nieces and nephews, they’re all grown up now. But yes. I will give them these recipes and teach them how to make the spice. I’ve never forgotten, you know.”

  “In that case, I happily return these to their rightful owner,” Alice said. “I will no longer try to make these recipes. I’ve decided I much prefer selling Princessa jewelry and Divine Décor—and baking what I know will come out right.”

  ****

  The Hook and Needle Club meeting was just getting under way the next week when Annie, Alice, and Kitty walked in. Everyone looked up when they came through the door.

  “Guess what, everyone?” Alice announced grandly. “We’ve solved our mystery. And here she is! Miss Kitty Snyder.”

  Epilogue

  Every parking space in downtown Stony Point had a car in it, and vehicles were parked up the side streets. A van for a Portland television station sat outside the Cultural Center, its giant microwave antenna reaching up into the blue sky of a beautiful June day.

  Inside, the Cultural Center buzzed with activity—a large, well-dressed crowd was celebrating the culmination of Blanket Haiti. Tables that Alice had beautifully decorated boasted food catered by The Cup & Saucer and Maplehurst Inn. Peggy and Linda strolled around, making sure the platters stayed full and that the guests had everything they needed.

  A guy holding a TV camera and a reporter dressed in a light summer suit stood in front of colorful blankets spilling out of boxes. A group of ladies clustered nearby, waiting nervously.

  Annie and Alice stood at the back of the room, munching on cucumber sandwiches and drinking punch. “This is so delightful, and your decorations look amazing,” Annie said.

  “They do, don’t they? I had a lot of fun doing it,” Alice replied.

  The friends looked around at all the familiar faces—the other members of the Hook and Needle Club; Vanessa, Mackenzie, and the girls in the teen group; Cecil Lewey, Steph, Janelle, and other crafters from Ocean View Assisted Living; and the Seaside Hills contingent of Joan, Frieda, Viola, Estelle, and Katrina. Even Harry Stevens was in attendance, but Annie thought he looked a mite uncomfortable in his khakis and sport coat.

  Her heart fluttered when she saw Ian walk in.

  “Annie, are you sure you don’t want to be on TV?” he asked when he reached them. “After all, you’re the one who got them here.” He put his arm around her shoulders, and for once, she didn’t feel her ears start to light up.

  “No thank you,” she laughed. “Besides, this is really Kate’s project, and Peggy really wanted the spotlight. I for one wasn’t going to stand in her way.”

  “Oh look, Alice, there’s Kitty!” Annie exclaimed when she saw the slender woman enter.

  “I’m so glad!” Alice said, taking a sip of her punch. “She told me she would try to make it, and that she hoped her family would join her.” Alice glanced at Kitty and then added, “It looks like they did, or else those people are just following her for no reason.”

  Ian chuckled. “Kitty’s the person who hid the items in the carriage house, right?”

  “Right,” Annie replied.

  Moments later, Kitty had made it through the crowd. “Alice, Annie, I’d like you to meet my family. This is my brother, Harold, and his children, Heather and Dane.” She paused as they all shook hands, and Annie introduced Ian.

  “How delightful to meet you all,” Harold rumbled. “So, you’re the ladies who found my father’s recipes?”

  “Yes, we are,” Alice said. “I own the carriage house, where Kitty lived when she first moved to Stony Point. Kitty told me you three still own Earl’s Diner. Are you using the recipes in the restaurant?” Alice asked.

  “Oh yes,” Heather said. “Dad always told us stories, but
I never really believed him until Kitty gave us everything and taught us how to make the spice mixture.”

  “And I inherited Grandpa’s love of experimentation, so I’m having a ball trying to create recipes of my own,” Dane interjected.

  Annie couldn’t help but smile at the family and how happy they looked.

  “All right, everyone,” the guy with the TV camera called out. “Please quiet down.” He checked his headset. “OK, we’re live in … three, two, one.”

  As he pointed, the reporter lifted her microphone and smiled broadly.

  “I’m Christina Archer, reporting live from the Cultural Center in Stony Point.” The pretty brunette paused and gestured to the crowd behind her. “I’m here because of an extraordinary group of women and men who came together to make the blankets you see behind me for an orphanage in Haiti. With me is Kate Stevens, who spearheaded this effort, which they dubbed ‘Blanket Haiti.’” She turned to Kate, who stood on her right. “Good evening, Kate. Please tell me how this came about.”

  “Thank you so much for coming to Stony Point, Christina. Members of our community church are leaving on a mission trip to Haiti in a week, where they will work with an orphanage and help build a school. After reading an article in January in our local paper, The Point, I felt like we just had to do something to help.”

  “And what was that?”

  “To make blankets for the children of the orphanage. The members of our local crafting group, the Hook and Needle Club, wholeheartedly agreed, and then the entire community pitched in. Peggy Carson here is one of our members.”

  “Hello, Peggy,” Christina said as Peggy walked to her left side. “What did you do for the project?”

  “I made quilts, including this one,” Peggy said, holding up a green-and-white creation. “My daughter, Emily, also helped me.”

  “Wonderful. I understand that some high school students pitched in as well.”

  “Yes, they did. Let me introduce Vanessa Stevens and Mackenzie Martel,” Peggy told her.