A small crate of vanilla beans sat on the worktable. They arrived from Madagascar in a dried state, looking brown, shriveled, and a little oily. He used a blade to slice a bean down the center, then grabbed a butter knife to scrape out the seeds.

“Give me your hand,” he said, then spread the grainy paste on her fingertip.

She looked delighted as she touched, smelled, and scrutinized the oily seeds. “Can I taste it?”

“Please,” he said with pride. “The grains are only a piece of the flavor. I’ll show you how we prepare the mash.”

He chopped the skin of the vanilla pod into one-inch sections, then added it to the paste. “We prepare several pounds of vanilla pods just like this. Scrape out the seeds, chop the skins, then add it to a screen. We use a cold infusion of water and alcohol to continually bathe the mash. That’s what’s going on in those tanks behind you. A pump is circulating the liquid through the mash, and over time it absorbs the flavor.”

“It sounds like a coffee percolator.”

He smiled. “It’s exactly like a coffee percolator, but with cold water instead of hot. It would be faster if we heated the water, but it would destroy what makes our extract so fine.”

“I’ll bet you charge a lot for it.”

“It’s the best. Of course I charge a lot for it.”

“Do you have this process written down anywhere?”

His headache started to pound. “No. And if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“You don’t have to sound so gruff,” she said. “I was merely curious.”

Other people took shortcuts. Heating vanilla pods was one way to reduce costs, and of course, the Magruders avoided the hassle of dealing with vanilla pods altogether by using chemicals instead. Thinking about the Magruders made his head hurt even worse, and he pushed the thoughts away.

“Can I see the rest of your facility?” Annabelle asked.

It was a strange question. The vanilla distillery was the only unique operation he had. He’d wanted to show it to her as a sign of trust, but she didn’t seem all that interested. Instead she was looking out the windows at the main factory and the storage sheds.

“You already saw the spice bottling. There’s not much else to see.”

“But there were some rooms near the front of the factory. And the sheds. What’s in there?”

“Follow me.” He ushered her outside and toward the first shed, hauling the sliding door open. “Wagons,” he said shortly. He dragged the door shut and went to the next, opening both double doors so she could look to her heart’s content, because the cold-press extraction of vanilla obviously didn’t excite her. “Hardware, cleaning supplies, and a roller mill in need of repair. Come on, let’s go see the rest of the main factory.”