The Mystery Ingredient

The Mystery Ingredient

Bill M. Woznik

On a brisk winter evening that saw her walk into my office, I learned that crime is not limited to theft of money or jewelry. Crime can also be sweet.

She knocked on my door in tears, clad in a long brown trench coat with a fedora and shoes to match. Her face was stained with the salty mix of mascara and tears that even now ran freshly down her slightly pink cheekbones.

I poured her a hot cup of joe with two sugars to help her calm down along with a soft tissue. She told me between sobs that her bakery had been robbed. I prepared myself to head outside in the bitter cold in search of yet another theft of valuable jewelry. What was taken, I asked. She held out the business card that identified her as Molly Molasses. I gasped as I clumsily handled the card in awe. Can it be? The world-famous Molly Molasses, heir to the Molly's Munchies family confectionary and creator of Molly's Mistletoe Kiss cookies is now sitting in my small, cramped office?

Molly shook her head and told me that the thief had broken into her office and taken the secret ingredient that put the kiss in the cookies. I tried to keep myself from laughing, even forcing myself to hold back the smirk that even now tugged my grizzled cheeks upward. Surely, she could not be serious. To waste my time looking for an ingredient.

With a sigh, she went into her purse and withdrew a blank check and a feathertail pen. “How much is your time worth? As I am sure you know, money is not an object of concern.” I fumbled my mug of coffee and placed it on my desk. I scratched my 5-o clock shadow as I mused how much I can get for this waste of time.

Okay, I muttered and told her an amount that should easily cover a few meals along with an office renovation. She signed the check and placed it in my outstretched palm. She got up to exit my office after she finished her joe. I stopped her and asked what the secret ingredient is. Molly smiled and turned to me once more. “If I told you that, it would not be a secret.” She patted my cheek and walked out the doorway. I put down my coffee mug and considered adding the small sifter of brandy hidden in the recesses of my desk bottom drawer. I decided against self-medicating with alcohol and sat down once I pocketed the complete check; this might be a long week.

I woke early the next day, and after a cool shower, 2 slices of buttered toast and o.j., I was ready to tackle the case. I stopped at Molly's Confectionary, hoping I would easily solve this case with one-stop. I quickly flashed my P.I. badge to the sleepy front desk clerk who waved me along to the back area where the sweets were prepared. I needed to find the secret ingredient and why it was stolen. I asked the line workers if they had any idea what the secret ingredient was. They shrugged, saying Molly kept that secret to herself, confiding only with her best bakers. When pressed, they ventured guesses such as ginger or molasses or even a drop of lemon perhaps, but they did not know. I silently wished I owned a polygraph test so I could return to my office and cash my check. I could have cashed the check and moved on to my next case, but that was not my style. I always cash the check once the case was solved and this case was no different. After meeting Molly, even I was curious as to what the secret ingredient could be.

I was directed to the back offices of the higher-ups who should possess more knowledge that can solve the mystery. I met Samuel Sweet, who told me the ingredient could be honey since he had been aware of a shortage of the sweet produced by honeybees. Next, I came across Joan Jelly, who said she was sure the ingredient had to be mint julep, but the answer had me no closer to my renovated office. Lastly, I met Bobb Apple, who told me he knew of a small USB device that Molly guarded with her life. He only saw the device once or twice and never saw it again. With a spark of hope ignited in my soul, I asked Mister Apple if he had any idea who would want to steal the secret ingredient. He lightly chuckled and said who would not want the ingredient. Even he would not mind having the ingredient so he might start his successful bakery. I decided to see what all the fuss was about and purchased a small box of Molly’s cookies.

After a round of questions that had me feeling no closer to a solution, I decided to head home for last night’s leftovers and a mug of boozy hot cocoa. Okay, it was more booze than cocoa, but I digress. I looked down at the small red and green wrapped box in my hand and decided to try one cookie before I reached home. After all, one cookie would surely not spoil my appetite for leftovers nor my boozy cocoa.

I inspected the round cookie, it had no outstandingly unique features that I could tell. It seemed to my eyes to be an ordinary chocolate chip cookie. For one brief instant, I wished I had a glass of milk to go alongside my purchase. I felt almost like a kid again. I shook off the feeling of nostalgia and reminded myself that I had a job to do. I took a bite of the cookie and chewed slowly, expecting to have my palate greeted with ginger to accompany the chocolate chips. Yes, I tasted the sweet chocolate almost immediately after biting into the cookie. Okay, I concluded, just an ordinary chocolate chip cookie that was not in any way special. Molly might have pilfered these from her local supermarket shelf. Wait. Yes, there it was. An unmistakable heat on the tip of my tongue quickly spread to my throat. It was not an insane heat that would not be cured by water, but it did come as a surprise to my tastebuds. Now I was wishing for a glass of milk for a different reason than mere nostalgia. Before I knew it, the burning was gone, and I swallowed the bit of uniquely tasty cookie I bit off. I knew in that instant I could polish off the entire box before I reached home, leftovers forgotten in my mind now. Oh, these were good. Now I had to find out what was the secret behind the heat in those cookies.

Once I reached my small 1-bedroom apartment, I planted myself at my computer. Since Molly was not talking and neither were any of her employed staff, I had to perform research online. That cookie even got my mind off my booze for now, what had Molly gotten her hands on? I typed in Molly Molasses in the search bar and my search was underway. Not much, just 2 links that went to the same website: the company website.

I clicked on the first link and was quickly taken to the webpage of Molly’s Confectionary. The site had a brief company history, when it had been ordained, who owned the company, and a brief list of Molly’s goods. Some cakes, the Mistletoe Kisses, and bottles of water and soda. What the heck was going on? Molly could not have gotten world-famous just by selling a select number of cakes and cookies. I looked at the sidebar, hoping for a list of ingredients in the cookies and cakes that someone had maybe forgotten to delete… nothing. This was almost as good as someone trying to hide their identity online. Clean as a whistle, and whistle I did, loudly.

I decided to find out how the company started. I entered Molly’s Confectionary history in the search bar, and I had more luck than before. I directed my mouse to the first results and found that Molly Molasses was not her name, but Molly Molassini. She is of Italian descent from the Molassini family. Originally the location was called Molassini Sinful Treats. Maybe I would find a recipe for the secret heat within the cookies. No recipe, but upon closer inspection, I saw a picture of her grandfather, Michelangelo, standing in a field, holding what looked like a small round fruit in his hand? I had trouble making it out since the picture was old and faded. Underneath the picture it said, Calabria, Italy, 1892. I had more questions than answers at that moment swirling in my mind. What was in Calabria that Michelangelo Molassini used in his so-called sinful treats? What was that fruit that had such spice? At that moment I had it. It was not a fruit but a pepper. What kind of pepper was used to make the sweets that people could not beat? Since Molly had been so protective of the ingredient, it had to be unique, possibly one of a kind. I decided to do a search using the picture and I found what puts the kiss in the Mistletoe Kisses: the Bocio de Satana or Satan’s kiss, sneaky. A hellacious secret, hidden within a sweet treat, diabolical.

I found the secret ingredient, now who would want to steal the secret, and most importantly, why? I decided to do some digging into the Molassini family history. My search was soon rewarded with a picture of the family, Michelangelo, Molly as a baby, her father and mother, and an older sister? The sister looked familiar to me and with a closer look, I realized why she looked familiar. I had met her earlier and questioned her in the factory. Joan Jelly! This says that her name was Joan Molassini. I logged off and with my urge to drink defeated, went to sleep.

I left my home the next morning without toast or o.j. and I left so quick I do not think I showered. My excitement level had reached a peak as I walked past the front desk without even reaching for my badge. I had to talk to Molly urgently and I felt like the newly found information would burst from my head. I noticed Joan at her post, ensuring each cookie box had been properly wrapped. I would certainly like a few words with her.

Molly greeted me with a firm handshake, and we were soon alone in the confines of her office. I could not sit still and began to pace as I started to speak. My first words were Molly I know the secret. She gasped loudly and shook her head. “How did you find out?” “A good detective never betrays his sources. I will not say it since I am sure the walls can hear here. I also know who took your secret ingredient.”

Before I could explain, the door burst open and there was Joan with a sneer on her lips. “You always had it better than me Molly. I should have been the heir and become famous”, Joan cried. “What are you talking about, Joan?” Molly said in confusion. “I should have been given the family business. After all, I knew the silly little secret that made you famous for years and because I was considered a problem child, mom and dad shipped me off to distant relatives. I tracked you down Molly and I knew that without this formula, you are nothing and you would be ruined. Just wait till the world knows your secret!” Joan now held the small storage device between her index finger and her thumb. “Joan, that is enough. Hand over the USB Joan.” I said as I moved toward Joan. Defiant, Joan held aloft the storage stick in her hand, “Not before I share this with the public and ruin the family business.” She shouted, refusing to cooperate. “Freeze!” A shout from behind Joan. Of course, I contacted the authorities to make sure Joan would not escape. Defeated, Joan gave the police the USB and she was led away in new matching bracelets of silver. Even though the case was closed, I could not help but think the missing ingredient was not the spice but the presence of nurturing parents. With that, maybe Joan would not have been so “jelly”.

I knew I can now return to refurbish my office and enjoy my booze at last. Molly thanked me and bid me a good night.

Even though I now know the secret kiss in Molly’s cookies, I was not telling anyone ever. If anyone wanted to know, they could find out just like I did. I looked at the opened box of cookies and knew this time I should go buy myself a bottle of moo juice. No, this time I will finish that box with my booze. It is going to be a great night.