Read Online [SS01] Assault and Pepper by Leslie Budewitz - Free Book Online

life.
    “Celebrate yourself.” She raised one foot in her chic Mary Jane. “They’re on sale. The shop’s right around the corner. Tell ’em I sent you.”
    Ten minutes later, I strolled back up First Avenue with Fabiola’s file folder in my tote, next to my comfy black climbers, and tutu pink Mary Janes on my feet.
    Change your shoes, change your life.

Six

    The Travels of Marco Polo introduced Europeans to Oriental spices, but many doubted his eye-popping tales. Not Christopher Columbus, who carried an annotated copy on his own travels.
    At lunchtime, the Market hops. That’s when office workers swing by to grab a slice of pizza at DeLaurenti’s, a sandwich at Three Girls, or a guess-what at Piroshky-Piroshky. Then they pick up produce, fish, meat, and cheese for the evening, and the seasonings to make it a meal.
    We hum extra loud on Thursdays and Fridays. When people have more time to cook—say on the weekends—they want to be more adventurous. And at the Spice Shop, “Adventure” is our middle name.
    Or it would be when we had our new labels.
    I tossed my tote and Fabiola’s file on the desk in the coffin-sized office, snatched up my apron, and joined the crew on the shop floor.
    “Move those to the front counter, where customers can enjoy them,” I said at the sight of a giant bouquet of sunflowers stuffed in an old pickle jar on the mixing table.
    “Nope. Those are for you,” Kristen said, a glint in her gray-green eyes.
    I reached for the flowers. No card.
    “Mr. Howard brought them by,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and her hips at the same time. “Hoping to catch you.”
    A faint warmth crawled up my cheeks.
    “Go sell something,” I said, waving my hand. Embarrassed about a boy in front of my BFF, at forty-two? Heck, yeah. Never too old for that. I slid into the nook to admire the flowers before retreating to the office to make a quick call. Or rather, to leave Alex a quick happy voice mail.
    Back on the floor, I tended to customers. “That’s going to be a spicy dish,” I told a twenty-something in a splashy red-and-yellow print dress carrying a recipe torn from a magazine. I grabbed a book on Indian cooking and flipped to a page showing bowls of creamy, herbed yogurt. “Cool it down by pairing it with a raita, a dipping sauce for fresh pita bread or pita chips. It’s easy: grated cucumber, yogurt, chopped mint, and a touch of cayenne and cumin.”
    “Won’t the spices make it hot?” Her long blond hair brushed her upper arm as she tilted her head.
    “Use just enough for flavor, not enough for heat. With so much cayenne and cumin in the stew, putting a little in the raita will tie the two dishes together. You can get fresh mint from Herb the Herb Man across the street.” Herb, another Market regular.
    “Lord love the new cooks,” Sandra said a few minutes later as our customer left through the side door, the raita recipe scribbled on a card tucked inside her shopping bag.
    “First meal for her boyfriend’s parents,” I said. “If they like it, we’ll be heroes.”
    The deli manager at DeLaurenti’s had delivered a mouthwatering assortment of sandwiches, meats, and cheeses, refusing to let me pay. Tragedy evokes generosity. I poured a tall glass of iced tea, returned to the mixing booth, and pondered my choices.
    Not for long, though. I was starving.
    I’d finished a mini roasted pepper, basil, and mozzarella panini and was contemplating a second when Reed pointed out that the CSI unit had returned to the corner outside.
    What now?
And what about the makeshift memorial? By this time of day, the street men would have scattered to the park or their favorite panhandling corners. I doubted Sam would want this one today.
    Sam
. The hat.
    Whoa, Pepper
.
You’ve got enough to do without asking questions here
.
Let it go
.
    But I got all fired up again when I saw the bike patrol officer standing guard over the CSI unit. They could do the job themselves without the ever-watchful