“And you said it wouldn’t last,” I replied. The corner of Sandra’s mouth twitched. The shop’s long-time assistant manager, she hadn’t been sure about me when I went from loyal customer to owner. But we make a great team, feeding on each other’s ideas.
“I’m happy to help you cook as long as I get free samples,” her husband said, then kissed her goodbye.
“Taking bets,” I called. “What samples will be most popular?”
Five people, five opinions. I rolled my eyes.
Cayenne brought out the decorative gourds she and I had found at the farm stalls. Nothing jazzes up a buffet like goblin eggs and speckled gremlins.
“Feeling up to a full shift?” I asked quietly. This was her first day back after an extensive bout of testing related to her multiple sclerosis. She hadn’t shared last summer’s diagnosis with the rest of the staff yet, and I’d honored her request for privacy.
She nodded, the roll of red-and-black braids on top of her head bobbing. “The tests confirm that it’s the remissive type. How long remission will last, we don’t know—it could be months or years. But the rain is a relief.”
Turns out that hot, dry weather aggravates MS. And Seattle had just endured one of the hottest summers on record. “Then let it pour.”
Matt finished setting up the tea cart. He and Cayenne joined the staff last spring, and they couldn’t be more different. She’s a trained chef who, at thirty, had never held a job outside the kitchen, but longed to trade the stress of restaurant work for a more normal life. She helps Sandra and me create the recipes we give our customers, and she had begun to experiment with developing new blends. In contrast, Matt’s a retail whiz with a talent for handling difficult customers, but he’d never worked in the food business. He happily takes on the heavy jobs like wrestling a hot tea kettle or breaking down boxes and hauling out the recycling. The two of them clashed last summer when what she called “her clumsy spell”—losing her balance and dropping things—had tested his patience. But equilibrium had been restored, for now.
“Sandra and I will herd the tour guests and keep the table stocked,” I told the staff. “Other customers could be tempted to crash the party, so let’s give them their own treat. Cayenne, would you find a bowl for these?” I handed her a bag of our spiced glazed nuts and pretzel mix—I’d whipped up a double batch earlier in the week for exactly this purpose.
“Good thinking, boss,” she said, using Sandra’s nickname for me.
“I have my moments.”
Then I gave the display of seasonal blends a once-over. It looked good—heavy on fall faves, along with the chai masala and baking blends. We pack our blends in small bags and containers with custom labels, but also keep bulk supplies behind the front counter. A rack mounted on the end of the cookbook shelves holds our signature recipes, including a few highlighting the featured blends.
Moments before our ten o’clock opening, Sandra pulled me aside. “What’s up, boss? Not your usual sparky self.”
“Laurel got some news yesterday,” I said. “About her husband’s murder.”
“A break in the case?” Sandra asked. Laurel is a good customer and the staff all like her. Though Sandra isn’t part of Flick Chicks, my weekly movie night with Kristen, Laurel, and two other friends, she always enjoys hearing about the movie and the food, and giving me ideas for what to serve when it’s my turn.
“Cross your fingers,” I said. Then it was time to unlock the door. I packed up my troubles in my old kit bag, whatever that is, and prepared to smile, smile, smile.
THE rain gods were in a good mood, pulling back the clouds in time for the tour guide to give the Market trek the go-ahead. Now, ten people crowded around as I told the story of Seattle Spice. Then Sandra described the process of developing our blends. Some, she said, are updates of classics, like our pie spice, poultry blend, and curries. Others were prompted by recipes we’ve dug up. A few are pure invention.
“Questions?” I asked.
Sure enough, the first question was the one we get most often. “How long should you keep spices?” a woman in a stylish black raincoat asked.
“A year is a good general rule,” I said. “Whole spices last longer than ground, so a grinder is a good investment. Make sure you store your spices in tightly closed containers, out of the light and heat. Taste them occasionally. If you’re not sure, replace it. Don’t try to make up for the age of a spice by using more—some flavors may be fine, but others may go off. If it’s worth using, it’s worth using fresh.”
“Those grape, cheese, and prosciutto skewers are fabulous,” another woman said, her accent screaming Texas. “What did you use to marinate that mozzarella?”
“Olive oil and our Italian herb blend,” I said. “We also used it in the stuffed mushrooms. You’ve got recipes for everything we served today in your gift bags, along with a discount coupon for our Spice of the Month Club, and a special treat—a bag of our Glazed Spiced Nuts.”
“I never thought of putting herbs in shortbread,” the woman in the black raincoat said. “You’re setting my imagination spinning.”
“Mission accomplished,” I replied. “Thank you for coming in. The staff will help you any way we can. And remember, it really is okay to play with your food.”
They laughed and dispersed, perusing our displays, flipping through books, and eyeing spice and tea accessories. Sandra offered shopping baskets.
I bent over to pick up a dropped napkin, a custom design featuring our shop logo.
A pair of black bike shoes strode into view, attached to a very fine pair of legs clad in black
