Mrs. Sharpe pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “Miss Larkin! How wonderful to see a lady working in a professional position. We need all the allies we can get in our campaign against dishonest and adulterated food.” She turned her attention to Gray, a single eyebrow raised a little skeptically. “And you are?”

“Gray Delacroix, from Delacroix Global Spice,” he said. “Thank you for seeing us.”

Mrs. Sharpe’s smile chilled. “You are to be congratulated on the quality of your spices. All your products are marvelous, your political views much less so. We eagerly await your change of heart regarding food purity laws.”

It appeared Mrs. Sharpe was a grandmother with fangs.

Before he could reply, Annabelle stepped to his side and took his hand in hers. He instinctively tried to withdraw it, but she squeezed harder.

“I’ve told him the same thing over and over,” Annabelle said in an amused tone. “I think at last he is beginning to see the light. That’s why he agreed to come with me today. Isn’t that right . . . darling?”

He stiffened at the endearment, but Annabelle’s instinct was a good one. His political views put him at a disadvantage with Mrs. Sharpe, but Annabelle was off to a flying start. If it killed him, he would get on Mrs. Sharpe’s good side, for this woman could use her magazine to launch a salvo directly at the Magruders and any other company that misbranded their food.

“Miss Larkin has been a good influence on me,” he said, patting Annabelle’s hand. “I’m eager to hear more of what Good Housekeeping has to say on food purity laws.”

The matronly woman brightened. “Excellent! But first let’s get acquainted. I’ve asked the secretary to set up tea for us in the conference room before we get down to business.”

It was unlike any conference room he’d ever seen. It was huge, with a full kitchen installed along one side of the room. In addition to a typical stove, icebox, and sink, the counters held scales, test tubes, thermometers, and chemistry manuals. A long table dominated the other side of the room, covered with a lace cloth. With bone china plates and an assortment of delicacies, the “tea” looked like it had come from Buckingham Palace. Petite sandwiches, tarts, and scones were arranged with artistic flare.

As soon as they were seated, Mrs. Sharpe did the honors, pouring from a porcelain teapot into cups with elaborate grace.

“I must apologize for the honey,” Mrs. Sharpe said as she passed a tray holding cream, sugar, and a pot of honey. “While most of the delicacies here come from the surrounding area, I’m afraid the local honey harvest was poor this year. We had to import it from Ohio, and it lacks the geographic integrity of local honey.”

Annabelle seemed baffled by this statement. “The honey looks perfectly fine.”