“Right. You’re all happy to ask me to help you find him, but tell me why? Oh, no, you couldn’t possibly. You might endanger an innocent civilian.”
“We’re not in the tit-for-tat business, Pepper.”
“Everybody is,” I said. “Whether we want to admit it or not.” I wasn’t sure I believed that, not a hundred per cent, but law enforcement types are in the information business. The gathering, not the sharing.
Greer gave me a long, hard stare, then set her cup on the table. Expression grave, eyes somber, she picked up her coat and left without another word.
At the sound of the loft door closing, Arf raised his head.
“What? Was it something I said?”
I didn’t hear the front door to the building shut, so I went down to check it. Locked.
Back upstairs, I dumped the chai in the sink and poured myself a glass of Sangiovese. The blood of St. Joseph. It fit. My blood was boiling.
IN THE law firm, I’d helped manage more than two hundred staffers—secretaries and receptionists, paralegals and billing clerks. Running a firm that size had taken a team and I’d loved it.
But not half as much, it turned out, as I love working with five people who work hard, laugh often, and report directly to me. Seeing them—Sandra, Reed, Kristen, Matt, and Cayenne— snugged into the nook sipping and nibbling made me smile. If Cody liked baked goods half as much as the rest of us did, he’d fit right in.
The Wednesday morning staff meeting is a chance to chat up new products, puzzle over problems, and stay connected. That’s why I bring treats. Sharing good food encourages collaboration. Plus it sets a tasty tone for the day.
We went over the events scheduled for the next few weeks, including the anniversary celebration. The samples we’d offered the food tour—Favorites from the Spice Shop Collection—had been a hit, so I suggested we do a repeat.
“But not the Baked Paprika Cheese,” Sandra said. “When people have to spread things themselves, the line slows and the table gets messy.”
“The floor, too,” Matt said.
“Good point.” We debated alternatives, and chose three to price. Kristen had the decorating plans in hand, and Reed had been busy promoting the event on social media.
Then we discussed the mystery of Edgar and the stolen spice. Everyone was aghast, but no one had an explanation. I revealed the new labels Fabiola, our graphic designer, had created for our winter blends. We’d be shipping packages to our Spice Club members in a few weeks.
Earlier, Cayenne had asked me if she could have a few minutes at the meeting, but before I turned things over to her, I had one more item on my list. I passed around Greer’s photographs.
“Have you seen either the man or the woman?”
Matt squinted at the photo of the woman and child in the rain. “I see rain. You can barely tell there are people in this picture.”
I asked them to keep their eyes open and keep their distance. “If you think you see one of them, let me know right away. And if I’m not around, tell Officer Buhner.”
That widened all eyes. They all knew my tug-of-war with Tag.
“Thanks. Now, Cayenne has something she’d like to share.”
All eyes turned to Cayenne, who was much loved despite her occasional impatience and smart-aleck remarks. Or because of them.
“You all know I’ve needed extra time off lately, and that I haven’t exactly been myself. Pepper’s known the reason for a while now, but it’s time to tell the rest of you.” She paused. “I’m guessing from the whispers and the looks some of you have been giving me that you think I’m pregnant. I’m not. I have MS. Multiple sclerosis.”
Sandra gasped. Kristen pressed her hands into prayer position, fingers on her lips. Even Matt, usually so calm, looked shocked.
“I can still do almost everything. But no ladders, and no heavy boxes.” She gave me an apologetic smile, no doubt recalling the day a box slipped out of her hands. I’d caught it and wrenched my shoulder.
“We may need to juggle the schedule to accommodate Cayenne’s medical appointments or if she has a flare-up,” I said. Employee scheduling can be a huge headache. Working HR, I’d found that the more predictable the schedule, the more reliable the employee, particularly those juggling other jobs or child care. But the Spice Shop staff had always been flexible.
“We’ll help out every way we can,” Kristen said. “You know that.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Sandra reached for Cayenne and they embraced, both visibly struggling not to burst into tears. So was I.
“I’m not noble,” Cayenne said, her jaw tight, her voice quivering. “I’m not brave. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I don’t want to hear stories about other people with MS. And I don’t want your medical advice.” She turned to Reed. “Except for you. Last summer, when I started falling and thought my knee was messed up, you said I should see your dad for acupuncture. Your dad.” She stopped. No one else spoke. “Your dad knew what it was right away and got me in to see a great neurologist, without scaring me. I will never forget that.”
She kissed Reed’s cheek, and he blushed.
I exhaled, then glanced up at the clock. “Time to get spicy,” I said, and wiped the back of my hand across my eyes.
The mood was subdued as each employee started the morning tasks. Reed slipped out the side door, heading to class.
I stood by the nook as Matt wrestled with the samovar and Sandra straightened a display. Rolled my shoulders and arched my back.
“Told you not to skip yoga last week,” Kristen said. “The more you miss, the harder it is to go back.”
I stuck out my
