A Spicy Secret (5 page)

Kate turned to the girls. “Perfect! This is really wonderful. Mary Beth is going to be thrilled, and I’m sure your teacher is too. The only thing I see that needs changing is that you need to add that the church is accepting cash donations as well.”

The girls beamed and went back to drawing.

“When do you want to eat dinner?” Kate asked.

“As soon as we’re done with everything,” Vanessa said. “Thanks, Mom!”

After dinner, Vanessa and Mackenzie covered the box in brown paper and wrote ‘Blanket Haiti Blanket Drop’ in large letters on one side and drew piles of multicolored blankets on the other three.

Mackenzie’s mother arrived to pick her up a little before nine o’clock. The women chatted as the girls finished collecting the art supplies from various corners and even from under the couch, returning each item to where it belonged.

“Thanks, Mrs. Stevens, I had a lot of fun. And thanks for dinner,” Mackenzie said, putting on her winter gear.

“You’re very welcome,” Kate said, giving her a hug. “You know you can come over and make a mess on my floor anytime you’d like. But the walls are still off limits.”

“Mother!” Vanessa said, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation.

They said their goodbyes, and Kate and Vanessa collapsed onto the couch after Mackenzie and her mother had driven away.

“That was fun, huh?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, lots, but it was also tiring. I love Mackenzie, but she talks so much sometimes I just want to throttle her.”

Kate leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

“I know what you mean,” she segued. “Speaking of throttling, your father called this morning.”

“Oh no! What does he want now?”

“He wants a weekend to take you to the Maritime Museum in Bath. I told him I’d find out when you’re available.”

“Mom, do I have to?” Vanessa’s voice suddenly sounded tearful. “I don’t want to go anywhere with him, much less to that museum. We’ve been there like a hundred times already. And all Dad wants to talk about is his boat.”

“I know, honey, and I’m so sorry,” Kate said, drawing her into a hug. For once, Vanessa didn’t resist but curled up on her like she’d done as a little girl. “But he is your father, and you know how he gets if we try to ignore him. And I don’t want to be dragged to court because he’s mad.”

She kissed the top of Vanessa’s head. “And anyway, as a wise woman told me today, you’ll be fine. And when you’re eighteen you won’t have to worry about it anymore. You can decide how often you want to see him, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Vanessa smiled a little. “So, who was the wise woman?”

“Mary Beth, of course. I told her I didn’t want to be reminded that my little girl is growing up.”

“Thanks! I’ll just have to remember that if and when Dad actually takes me somewhere.”

“Good idea. Be sure to tell me when you have a free weekend, and I’ll call him in the morning.”

Kate yawned, and Vanessa followed suit soon after.

“Off to bed for both of us, I think,” Kate said. “Sleep well, darling. I love you.”

She was rewarded with a big hug and a whispered, “I love you too, Mom.”

5

The morning of the next Hook and Needle Club meeting dawned bright and cold with a cloudless pale blue sky. Annie figured even the heavens were tired of being covered up.

The weekend had been positively dismal, with biting wind, blowing snow, and not a ray of sunshine. Annie and Alice had spent a lot of time together, sipping hot cocoa and watching DVDs of old movies at Grey Gables.

They had sung
You’re the One that I Want
and had danced along to all the songs in
Grease
—though in Alice’s case, she had mostly swayed back and forth to keep from re-injuring her recuperating ankle. Just thinking about it made Annie laugh.

“You look like a cross between Stevie Wonder and the Church Lady on
Saturday Night Live
,” Annie had teased her friend.

“Well, that only proves how old you are,” Alice retorted, doing a funky hip thrust. “These moves made me
very
popular in high school.”

“I can only imagine,” Annie replied dryly, getting a pillow in her face for her trouble.

They’d eaten way too much popcorn while watching
When Harry Met Sally
and had cried while watching
Steel Magnolias.
Somehow, they’d even managed to get some work done on their blankets for the orphanage. They had also spent time talking about the mystery of the recipes, but had made no real progress in figuring out why the recipes had been placed in the hidey-hole in the second floor of the carriage house. Annie had gotten out her notebook, but ended up adding nothing but doodles.

Annie woke up later than usual that Tuesday, and she had to rush around to get ready. Even in her hurry, she still felt positively cheerful. She dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a turtleneck, covering that with a green sweater. She pulled her hair—now in an awkward growing-out stage, courtesy of her last haircut—back into metal barrettes and put on a light coating of mascara and lipstick.

Satisfied with her looks, she went downstairs for a quick breakfast, fed Boots, and packed her tote bag with a skein each of her blue and white yarn, crochet hook, and the blanket she had started—so far she’d finished eighteen squares of the first pattern, nine in each color.

She was just putting on her coat when Alice called.

“Would you mind driving me to the meeting?” her friend asked. “I have such a load to carry, and my ankle is hurting again. It’s so hard being me sometimes.”

“It’s hard being me sometimes too,” said Annie in a teasing tone of voice, “especially when I have to listen to your whining.”

“I’m not whining. I’m just stating a fact. The cold is making my ankle throb,” Alice said in response. “So, would you pretty please drive me to the meeting? Plus, you know my Mustang does not look pretty in snow tires.”

“And my car does?” Annie retorted. “Plus, in case you haven’t noticed, your Mustang
does
have snow tires on it.”

“Yeah, yeah. OK, you got me. Can I have a ride anyway?”

“No problem—as long as you don’t make me later than I already am!”

They hung up, and Annie finished buttoning her coat. She pulled on her fleece-lined gloves and wound a thick brown scarf around her neck. Five minutes later, she pulled her trusty Malibu into Alice’s driveway. The heat was on full blast, though it barely made a dent in the cold. Her breath came out in clouds of fog that coated the windows in frosty patterns that reminded her of fine lace.

She honked the horn, waiting for Alice in the idling car. She hadn’t paid much attention before, but now, after talking about the renovation and looking at the old blueprints, she noticed that her grandparents had done a remarkable job in converting the carriage house from a utilitarian building into something that truly looked like a home. The Swanns had chosen a different color scheme from Grey Gables with its white siding and gray accents. Annie made a mental note that when the carriage house needed it, she would suggest to Alice that it be painted to match Grey Gables, as she was sure it once had been.

“What could be taking that girl so long?” she asked aloud, just as Alice’s arm snaked out the front door in a come-help-me gesture.

Annie unbuckled her seat belt and got out. She left the car running in hopes that it would finally warm up.

“Yes?” she asked, peeking in the front door. “Don’t tell me you need me to carry you to the car!”

“I just need you to carry
this
,” Alice replied, handing Annie a plastic grocery bag and a Tupperware container full of cookies.

“You baked again!”

“I sure did! Another of the recipes we found,” Alice answered as she put on her coat and picked up her tote bag. “Chocolate chip and oatmeal.”

Annie got in the driver’s seat while Alice threw her things in the back and then climbed in the front.

“Are you sure trying another of those recipes was a good idea?” Annie asked as they buckled their seat belts and she backed out of the drive. “We discussed this, considering the one you made last week didn’t turn out well at all.”

“Yes, I know, but I thought I’d try another one, just in case that last dish was a temporary blip in my baking mojo. Besides, I could read practically all of the ingredients and directions on this one. I tried one, and it’s pretty good, if I say so myself!”

“You better hope you got it right this time,” said Annie. “I don’t need any of your bad baking vibes to rub off on me—not to mention what our friends will say. Though to be honest, I wish we’d recorded the looks on their faces last week. The horror! The disgust! In Stella’s case—the how-in-the-world-do-I-maintain-my-dignity look!”

“You just
wish
my excellent baking skills would rub off on you,” Alice said, punching her friend lightly in the arm. “There. That should do it.”

“I’m not sure I really want it after last week,” Annie said, brushing at her arm.

All the parking spots near A Stitch in Time were full, so Annie obligingly stopped to let Alice out near the door and drove down the street in search of a space. She found one in front of Finer Things, parked, and leaned into the backseat to retrieve her purse and tote bag. Alice had taken the Tupperware and plastic bag, but left her own tote and purse behind.

“Of course, Alice’s purse
would
be on the other side of the car,” Annie grumbled; she practically had to crawl inside to grab it.

“Hi, Annie!” she heard a familiar voice say as she scooted backward to get out, clutching Alice’s purse and bag and her own belongings.

When she stood up, Ian Butler, Stony Point’s handsome mayor, stood on the other side of the door, grinning at her. She felt her ears turn red, imagining the sight of her backside sticking out of the car, but thankful it was at least clad in a nice pair of jeans, as opposed to the shapeless khakis she’d worn the previous week.

“Oh! Hi, Ian,” she stammered. “How are you?”

“I’m well, and you?” His polite answer belied the mischievous look on his face.

“Just grabbing Alice’s things to take to the Hook and Needle Club meeting. The injury to her ankle has apparently spread to her arms as well.”

Ian laughed. “That’s our Alice for you.”

“Indeed. I’d say she didn’t care about others, but we know that’s not true. She’s just very dramatic—and occasionally forgetful.” Annie paused. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run. I’m late for the meeting.”

“What are you doing afterwards?” asked Ian. “Care to join me at The Cup & Saucer for lunch?”

“Why, yes. I’d love to,” Annie replied without thinking.

“See you in about an hour, then.” He smiled and headed across the street toward Town Hall.

Annie watched him walk away and noted that he was attractive from the front
and
the back. Then she chided herself for even thinking such thoughts about the man. Ian was just a friend, nothing more. Or was he? They had gone on a few dates, but lunch at The Cup & Saucer wouldn’t count as a date. A date would be at Maplehurst Inn or Lilia’s Tea House. But The Cup & Saucer? That would be just two friends eating lunch together. Right?

Who was Annie kidding? She glanced at Ian again, now headed through the front doors of Town Hall. She knew—spoken or unspoken—that they were becoming more than “just friends.”

Annie finally shook off her thoughts of Ian and walked to the corner of Oak Lane and Main Street and across to A Stitch in Time. The meeting was in full swing when she walked in the door. Her friends sat in their favorite spots and worked away on their various pieces, chatting away and eating cookies. Annie stuffed her scarf and gloves into the pockets of her coat, took it off, and hung it on the rack. She found an empty chair and plunked down in it, placing all of the various bags on the floor next to her feet.

“Alice, you left your tote and your purse in my car,” she called, pulling out her yarn and crochet hook.

“I knew you’d bring them in for me,” her friend responded. “Care to try a cookie? As you can tell, these turned out perfect!”

“They really did,” said Kate. “These are probably the best cookies I’ve ever eaten. And those came from the same mysterious cache of recipes as that dish from last week? Amazing!”

The other ladies murmured in agreement.

“They are delicious,” said Stella, brushing an imaginary crumb off her houndstooth jacket. “Alice, may I save a few for Jason?”

“Absolutely!” she said jubilantly. “See, I told you Annie. Last week’s mishap was a mere anomaly.”

Annie passed Alice’s tote to Alice, and Alice passed the cookies to Annie. She took out two cookies and bit into one.

“Wow, you’re right. This is very tasty,” she said, avoiding Alice’s look of triumph.

“Now that Annie is finally here, we can begin our meeting,” Mary Beth said, putting down her knitting and looking around the room. “What is everyone working on? Kate is rather anxious that we not let down Reverend Wallace and the mission trip.”

Each woman in turn showed the progress she’d made on her work. They raved over Mary Beth’s pretty yarn, and teased Annie about her tiny square. “I think the people in Haiti are the same size as us,” Peggy said, a grin pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Very funny. I’m using two granny-square patterns, and this is just one of the forty-eight squares,” Annie replied. “Once I’ve crocheted two or three squares, I can pretty much make the rest without even thinking about it. I figured it would be easy enough to make twenty-four of two stitch patterns and then stitch them together.”

Peggy was the last to share her project—a green and white quilt made of light cotton in a simple triangle pattern. Everyone agreed it would be very pretty once completed.

“I’ve been wondering about something,” Peggy said. She wore a white cardigan over her pink Cup & Saucer uniform and a pair of comfortable-looking white tennis shoes. “Isn’t Haiti a tropical island, so wouldn’t it be warm there? Do they even need blankets?”

“Good question, Peggy!” Kate set her crochet aside and faced the group. “I talked with Reverend Wallace at length about the trip. Yes, Haiti is an island, but it does get cool at night. And I looked it up—average high temperature is ninety-five, and average low is about seventy-two. It may not seem like much difference, but apparently seventy-two can feel cold when you’re used to it being much warmer.”

Annie remembered what a shock it had been to her system when she moved from Brookfield, Texas, to Stony Point, Maine. It rarely got below freezing in Texas, let alone have all that snow or the cold wind from the ocean. Someone had told her that the temperature in Stony Point had once fallen to negative thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. She shivered just thinking about it. And Texas certainly got
much
hotter than Maine—high temps in her new hometown would be around eighty degrees, while ninety-five was more the norm in Texas. So she could relate.

“Plus, the orphanage uses any funds they get to purchase medicines and food,” Kate added. “Everything’s donated; their government has been corrupt and ineffective, so it doesn’t support the many orphanages on the island.”

“I would guess there’s not much money left over for articles like blankets or other bedding, or anything else for that matter,” Stella said, looking over the top of her glasses.

“That’s exactly what the Reverend told me,” Kate replied. “He said many of the children have nothing of their own. He called me a couple days after I visited him and told me that the orphanage director—whose name I have completely forgotten—was thrilled with the thought of giving each child a blanket they could keep. It would be both useful and personal.”

“What about Annie’s idea to make blankets for the people working there?” Mary Beth asked. “And how many would they need?”

“I knew you guys would have questions, so I took some notes.” Kate got up and went to rummage around behind the counter and pulled out her notebook, flipping to the correct page. “Let’s see, the director—oh, his name is Father Bruno—said about twenty people work there at any given time, but most of them are temporary volunteers. They could use a variety of blankets and share as needed.”

“So the workers would use a blanket during their stay, and the kids could take a blanket with them if they get adopted or find another home, is that right?” Gwen asked. Her knitting needles flashed as she worked on a butter yellow blanket.

“Yes, exactly. And since it doesn’t get very cold there, they don’t really need heavy winter blankets like we use here in Maine. So hopefully no one is arm-deep in wool.”

“Nope! But I was arm-deep in flour earlier,” Alice quipped, to everyone’s laughter.

“I’m volunteering the store as a drop-off point,” Mary Beth said. She handed each member a small stack of flyers copied on different colors of paper. “I’m counting on you Hook and Needle Club ladies to put these up everywhere you go.”

She paused for a moment and then added, “Didn’t Vanessa and Mackenzie do a great job decorating the collection box and creating the flyers and poster to track our progress?”

In her haste and embarrassment over Ian, Annie hadn’t even noticed the big, colorful box on the floor next to the register or the tall poster taped to the wall just inside the door.