She asked him the next time he came to the Smithsonian to escort her to lunch.
“You’ve already seen my only rare vanilla plants. I don’t want you to be disappointed,” he said gently.
“Oh, but there may be other herbs and rare plants the Smithsonian doesn’t have in their collection. Dr. Norwood would welcome anything I could find as an excuse to offer me a permanent position. Please, Gray.”
And like magic, he conceded. He was apologetic as he explained that the backlog of work that had accumulated during his illness required him to stay in town, but that was exactly how she wanted it. Gray sent word to Lester Jenkins, the groundskeeper who lived at the farmhouse, to expect her that weekend. Mr. Jenkins would pick her up at the dock and sail her back home.
All she had to do was make a thorough search of Windover Landing, and then she could put this entire distasteful episode behind her.
Gray waited until his housekeeper had left to do her weekly shopping to invite Otis into the library. They were alone in the townhouse, but he locked the door anyway. Caution came naturally to him, even during times when secrecy wasn’t important.
But today it was, as Otis had been spying for him again. The younger man sat on the opposite side of Gray’s desk and leaned forward to report what he’d learned.
“The Magruders are using a recipe cooked up by a German chemist,” he said in a low voice, reaching into his pocket to extract a slip of paper. “They’re using wood-tar creosote frompine trees to make the extract. They cut a deal with a paper mill down in North Carolina to get the wood pulp.”
Gray studied the recipe, grim satisfaction running through him at this tangible proof that the Magruders were using a wood byproduct to make their imitation vanilla extract. Their product had the same look and scent of real vanilla, but the taste wasn’t there yet. Clyde Magruder had an army of chemists working on the solution, and Gray planned to stop them.
“The meeting of the Food and Spice Association is next week,” he said. “I’ll be there to sound the alarm. The food industry needs to start policing ourselves, or the government will do it for us.”
The Food and Spice Association was the most likely group to pressure the Magruders to clean up their act. Once a year, the professional association brought rival companies together to share information and advocate for conditions favorable to their industry. Gray had secured a prime spot at the podium to discuss the problem of artificial flavorings. So far, their industry had avoided government interference, but passing off wood-tar as a food product was asking for trouble.
And Gray already had enough of that without asking for more.
His gaze tracked to the spice map tacked on the wall, and a helpless smile curved his mouth. Where was Annabelle at this very moment? With all his heart, he hoped she would find something wonderful in his greenhouses in Windover Landing. It would thrill him beyond words if one of the hundreds of specimens he’d shipped home over the years proved to be of value to her.
He wished she wasn’t so obsessive about pleasing the Smithsonian. She didn’t need to be. If she would marry him, he could keep her and Elaine in the lap of luxury. He’d always been decisive, and after a proper courtship, he had every intention of marrying her. A proposal at this point would be premature, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t begin planning for it.
It was still an hour before the banks closed, and he wantedto get his mother’s engagement ring out of the vault. After decades of sitting in a locked bank vault, it was time for that ring to shine on another woman’s hand.
He retrieved the tiny key for the family’s safe deposit box and handed it to Otis. “When you deliver the next round ofPelicancontracts to the bank, please get my mother’s engagement ring from the vault.”
It was time to start planning.
Fifteen
Annabelle asked the housekeeper for a tour of the farmhouse at Windover Landing. “I didn’t get a chance to see much of it the last time I was here,” she explained as she arrived at the house.
Lester and Tabitha Jenkins lived year-round in the farmhouse. Lester was tall and gangly, with leathery skin and deep grooves along the side of his mouth. He was a man of few words, but his wife was the opposite, a short magpie of a woman who chattered from the moment Annabelle arrived.
“This place is so big with just me and Lester rattling around most of the year,” Tabitha said as she led Annabelle through the ground floor. “Old Mr. Delacroix used to come out a lot. Loved the plants, he did. Don’t see so much of Mr. Gray, but he usually pops in once or twice a month, mostly because I suspect that I’m a better cook than that woman he’s got cooking for him in town.”
Tabitha rattled on, but Annabelle was all eyes as she scanned the interior. Simple white wainscoting lined all the rooms, which boasted tall ceilings and sparse furniture. The only exception was a library with an entire wall of well-thumbed books and maps. There was no desk, no filing cabinets, and no locked cupboards.
Annabelle smiled as she took a few steps into the room. “I suppose you must have plenty of time for reading during the winters.”
“Neither Lester nor I are much for reading,” Tabitha admitted. “I can manage a cookbook recipe, but Lester doesn’t care for reading at all.”
Did that mean he couldn’t read? It was none of Annabelle’s business, other than that perhaps a man engaged in treason might find it convenient to have servants unable to read incriminating letters.
The older woman ushered Annabelle out of the library and into the kitchen, which was lined with fine copper pots and pans dangling from a rack and bottles of Delacroix spices on the two shelves over the countertop.
“Is there anything special you’d like me to cook while you’re here?” Tabitha asked. “I expect you might like a nice roasted chicken. Doesn’t that sound good? Everyone loves a roasted chicken, especially with mashed potatoes. And, of course, I’ll bake a pan of gingerbread. Mr. Gray loves my gingerbread, so I’ll send a loaf home with you. Just you watch for how his eyes light up when he gets a peek at it.”
It was impossible to get a word in edgewise, but Annabelle needed to start exploring the attic and get another look at the library. Lester sent her a sympathetic nod as he carried her overnight bag upstairs. She finally managed to extricate herself from Tabitha’s chatter and settled in the library.
There were a few books about the Civil War, reference manuals about herbs and vegetables, and plenty of old issues of theFarmer’s Almanac, but nothing relating to the Caribbean or Cuba. There also wasn’t a telephone or telegraph machine, for there were no wires marring the view anywhere on this isolated estate. Windover Landing simply showed no sign of being a headquarters for espionage or treason.
The attic proved uncomfortably hot. The coating of dust onthe trunks and old furniture was a good indication that this place was rarely touched, but it still needed searching if she was to fully exonerate Gray. The trunks contained winter blankets and old tools, but no paperwork or anything else suspicious. Afterward she had a nose twitching with dust but a growing sense of hope.
