The Key Ingredient by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online Page B

going to break a hundred again today. And so early in the year.”
    Annie stepped aside and ushered her into the town house. She’d fussed over the housekeeping, and now she was grateful for Martin’s fresh flowers, adding a touch of elegance. “Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink? I have a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge.”
    â€œOh, that sounds good. Caffeine-­free? I’m off caffeine. And the tannin bothers me, too. Is it tannin-­free?”
    â€œSorry, no.” No matter how long she lived here, Annie would never get used to the myriad dietary quirks of Southern Californians.
    â€œMaybe just some water, then. If it’s bottled. I’m early,” CJ said apologetically. “Traffic is so unpredictable, I gave myself plenty of time.”
    â€œNo problem,” Annie assured her. “My grandmother used to always say, if you can’t be on time, be early.” She went to the fridge while the reporter put down her things and took a seat on the sofa.
    At least Annie could impress with the water. A sponsor had sent samples of their fourteen-­dollar-­a-­bottle mineral water, sourced from an aquifer fifteen hundred feet underground in the Andes and bottled before the air touched it.
    â€œWhat a great kitchen,” CJ remarked, looking around.
    â€œThanks. It’s where all the delicious things happen,” Annie said, handing CJ the chilled bottle.
    â€œI can imagine. So, your grandmother,” CJ said, studying a vintage cookbook on the coffee table. “The same one who wrote this book, right?” She put her phone in recording mode and set it on the coffee table. “Let’s talk about her.”
    Annie loved talking about Gran. She missed her every day, but the remembrances kept her alive in Annie’s heart. “Gran published it back in the sixties. Her name was Anastasia Carnaby Rush. My grandfather called her Sugar, in honor of the family maple syrup brand, Sugar Rush.”
    â€œLove it. So is this the one?” CJ paged through the book.
    â€œIt was a regional bestseller in Vermont and New England for years. It’s out of print now, but I can send you a digital copy.”
    â€œGreat. Was she trained as a chef?”
    â€œSelf-­taught,” Annie said. “She had a degree in English, but cooking was her greatest love.” Even now, long after her grandmother had died, Annie could picture her in the sunny farmhouse kitchen, happily turning out meals for the family every day of the year. “Gran had a special way with food,” Annie continued. “She used to say that every recipe had a key ingredient. That’s the ingredient that defines the dish.”
    â€œGot it. So that’s why each episode of the show focuses on one ingredient. Was it hard to pitch the idea to the network?”
    Annie chuckled. “The pitch wasn’t hard. I mean, come on, Martin Harlow.” She showed off another cookbook—­Martin’s latest. The cover featured a photo of him looking even more delicious than the melty, golden-­crusted marionberry pie he was making.
    â€œExactly. He’s the perfect combination of Wild West cowboy and Cordon Bleu chef.” CJ beamed, making no secret of her admiration. She perused the magazines on the coffee table. Us Weekly . TV Guide . Variety—­ all had featured the show in the past six months. “Are these the latest articles?”
    â€œYes. Help yourself to anything that catches your eye.” Annie’s other prized book lay nearby—­a copy of Lord of the Flies , a vintage clothbound volume in a sturdy slipcase, one of three copies she possessed. She hoped the reporter wouldn’t ask about that.
    CJ focused on other things—­a multipage spread in Entertainment Weekly featuring Martin cooking in his signature faded jeans and butcher’s apron over a snug white T-­shirt, offering a glimpse of his toned and