Sugar and Spice

2025 Write Now Winner - Grades 7 & 8

Somewhere in the bustling depths of New York City, past hordes of cars and neon lights, a cozy, humble café brimmed with lamplight and laughter. Jazz music played softly from above, an underlying melody beneath the chorus of conversation buzzing throughout the café. It was too small for everyone, but nobody minded. Customers clustered around lamplit tables, playing cards or sipping lattes. It was challenging for Evelyn, the warmly spirited barista, to keep up with business, but the late-night bustle of the shop was home to her.

Evelyn was a plump, middle-aged woman working every night, taking order upon order in a whirl of coffee, cream, sugar, and spice. In waves past her shoulders, Evelyn's blonde hair was streaked with a caramel touch, like driftwood on sand, and her skin was smooth as sunkissed chocolate. A tiring job, but in her café's rhythm, Evelyn enjoyed coffeemaking's art. Anyone who met her said she was impossibly kind. She always had a twinkle in her eyes and music in her step, wearing a mysterious smile with light behind her hazel eyes. Rumor was she put some magical ingredient in her coffee.

Tonight was splendidly warm, and summer breezes wandered through open windows. The café was busy as ever, with customers streaming in and out with laughing friends. Still, she found time to read the newspaper, which had a curious headline. "Ten possibly connected deaths this month." A customer spotted the headline and gasped, "That's horrible!" Evelyn nodded, serving her an iced coffee. "Strange... no one knows the culprit," Evelyn remarked out loud. She stowed the newspaper. More important things awaited. "The usual?" she asked a customer, who nodded.

As she was mixing a cappuccino, a man in his mid-thirties walked into the café, clad in a beige overcoat and shining black boots. His face was hidden by a hat, but his glasses were visible in its shadow. He glanced at the shop's sign. "Sugar or Spice. Creative café name," he remarked. Evelyn chuckled wryly. "You never know which one you're gonna get. If you're lucky, you might get a sprinkle of both." She smiled with a twinkle in her eye as she took his order. Might as well see what he's up to, she thought. He settled into a side booth and ruffled open his newspaper. "You're a new customer. Your friends tell you about this place?" she interrogated him.

He shook his head at his newspaper. "Word on the street. I've been told there's something divine about your coffee, some magic in the grounds."

"Well, I do grind the beans when fresh, and I add a little cinnamon, and then there's my secret ingredient..." she trailed off mysteriously. 

"What's the secret ingredient?" he inquired, now intrigued. 

"Now, I can't tell you that," Evelyn wagged her finger at him teasingly. "Then it wouldn't be secret." She hummed as she poured the creamer into his cup.

"I don't suppose it's love, is it?"

Evelyn smiled with a faraway look in her eyes. "Yeah. Something like that."

After a quiet pause, the man continued to read the New York Times.

"Something interesting in that newspaper?"

He nodded and pointed to a photo. "Some astronaut died. Edward. T. Tuffinson. Murdered right here in the Big Apple a few weeks ago, two months after his space mission." 

Evelyn looked surprised. "Edward? He came every morning for black coffee, you know. Never knew he was an astronaut." She scanned the remainder of the article. "How tragic."

"Death by cyanide poisoning. Strange. A week after that, the same thing happened to some fellow, Frank Charleston, in the same part of the city. The police think the cases are connected to eight disappearances around here." 

Eight linked disappearances? A small chill went down her spine as Evelyn stirred a sugar cube into the now piping-hot latte. "Could be a coincidence. You know, in big cities like this, crime's not too uncommon. With so many people, how can you know?" 

Evelyn carefully watched the man's expression for a reaction, but he only shrugged indifferently, "Who knows?"

She swirled the latte til the creamer mixed with the coffee into a solid warm, brown color. A cup of harmony, with a dash of bitter. "Say, what's your name?" Evelyn tilted the cup and poured a thin stream of cream into the latte.

"Richard," the man replied.

Richard, she thought. Richard, Richard, Richard.

"Why?" he asked, leaning

"If your name's ever in the headlines, I'd like to know."

"Well, I'd hope I'm not in the headlines, given the murders."

"I meant if you cracked the case," Evelyn said. Had Richard thought she was accusing him?

"Well, if that ever happens, you know my name."

A comfortable silence passed as Evelyn finished her careful pouring. 

"You know," Richard began, "you've only shown me sugar all night. You sure you got spice?" 

"Don't worry, I'll give you spice," Evelyn replied mischievously, a devious grin dancing across her face. She tossed a pinch of cinnamon into his drink for dramatic effect. 

"Come on," Richard said, "if you do have coffee magic, show me already."

"If you insist," Evelyn rolled her eyes teasingly.

She spun around behind the counter in a whirl of nutmeg, ginger, and cloves, almost like a dance. The air transformed as she tossed in countless spices, rich with the aroma of a coffee shop. Coriander, sugar, bitter almond, and all fragrances of nostalgia.

At last, Richard's latte was ready, a cup of warmth, love, and a unique but strong scent. "This smells so much like bitter almonds," he remarked as he sipped. Evelyn waited, watching as he drank until realization hit him like an arrow. "Cyanide," he croaked, then collapsed. 

Still wearing the mischievous, mysterious smile, she swiftly brought him to the back of the coffee shop. Eyes gleaming, she remarked, "You're even better than that astronaut. The perfect secret ingredient." The next morning, a new jar of spice sat on her shelf, labeled: "Rich(ard) spice, custom blend."