Ginger Snapped

by Gail Oust

  After casting a sweeping glance over the room to make sure the other diners weren’t within earshot, Matt leaned forward and spoke, his voice low, urgent. “Look, Piper, Shirley and I had an on-again, off-again affair that lasted several years, but I’d never do anything to harm her. Never,” he repeated fiercely.

  I believed he was telling the truth, but my interrogation still wasn’t finished. “One last question, Matt, do you have any idea who might have wanted her dead?”

  “No, but I hope they find the bastard who did this and hang him out to dry.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw CJ enter the Grille Room and pause to speak to the bartender. “Do you have an alibi for the weekend Shirley was killed?” I asked as I rose to my feet.

  “You said one question, Piper; that makes two.” Matt picked up his menu, a signal it was time for me to leave. “This dining room is for members only and their guests. As far as I know, you’re neither.”

  I manufactured a smile. “Sorry, my memory’s not what it used to be. Must be old age creeping up on me.”

  “Hey there, Scooter.” CJ flashed his megawatt smile as I passed him on my way out. “What’s the occasion? Homesick for your old stomping grounds?”

  “Nice shirt,” I said, eyeing his pink golf shirt with its purple stripes and collar. “Amber pick it out?” The CJ Prescott I used to be married to wouldn’t be caught dead in such girlie colors.

  “Amber said it lent me a more youthful flair.” He picked up a tumbler the bartender handed him, which I assumed contained Wild Turkey. “I told Lindsey to invite some friends over for a post-prom party and to spend the night. This way we don’t have to worry about her bein’ on the road knowin’ some kids been drinkin’ and partyin’.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” I said, nodding approval. “Be sure you and Amber keep a visible presence and put the brakes on before things get out of hand.”

  He took a swig of bourbon. “Got plenty of food ordered, house has a good sound system, and the pool’s heated, so the kids can bring their swimsuits for a dip.”

  “That ought to earn you Father of the Year Award. Just remember to hide the key to your liquor cabinet—unless you want a repeat of last year.”

  I had the satisfaction of seeing my parting remark wipe the insufferable grin from his face. My satisfaction faded quickly with the realization Matt still withheld his alibi. Conclusion by exclusion had failed to rule him out as a person of interest this round. But I refused to go down for the count.

  CHAPTER 24

  ALL OF A sudden it was prom night.

  “I wish your grandmother could see how pretty you look.” I stepped back to admire my daughter’s reflection in the mirror. That afternoon, Reba Mae had fashioned Lindsey’s long blond hair in a soft, romantic do that she referred to as “messy” chignon. Lindsey’s dress was a deceptively simple princess style, strapless with a flowing floor-length chiffon skirt. Simple on a hanger, but stunning on the wearer. “She’d be happy you choose a gown that shade of blue.”

  “It brings out the color of my eyes.”

  We burst out laughing at Melly’s familiar phrase whenever she referred to her favorite silk blouse.

  I reached for my camera. “Now slip into your shoes and let me take some pictures.”

  Lindsey, careful not to wrinkle her gown, sat on the edge of the bed and donned a pair of shimmery open-toe sandals with a thin ankle strap. Then she stood and twirled ready to pose for pictures.

  Snap! Snap!

  The shutter of the camera clicked and captured Lindsey’s shocked expression as she toppled to one side. She managed, barely, to break her fall by grabbing on to the dresser. “My shoe,” she gasped.

  We stared in openmouthed horror at a glittery heel no longer attached to the sole of the shoe.

  “I’m jinxed!” Lindsey wailed. “Ever since you offered to chaperone prom, I knew that I was headed for disaster. Why is this happening to me? First Sean and I almost broke up—now this?”

  I picked up the heel and examined it. “Maybe if we try gluing…”

  “And then what? Have it fall off on the dance floor?”

  “What about a pair from your closet?” I suggested, trying to halt the tsunami I saw building. “You have a long dress. No one will notice your shoes aren’t perfect.”

  “M-Mother!” she wailed again, louder this time, “I don’t believe you said that! I can’t go to prom now; that’s all there is to it. The whole night is ruined. Ruined!”

  Casey, who observed the drama from a rug on the floor, rested his head on his paws, one ear cocked sympathetically.

  “Honey, calm down. We’ll think of something.”

  Lindsey plopped down on the bed, no longer concerned about wrinkles. “This will teach me never to buy knockoff Stuart Weitzmans at a discount shoe store.”

  “Let’s focus, all right.” I paced back and forth. Sad to say, but there was nowhere near Brandywine Creek to purchase fancy dress shoes at a moment’s notice. “Maybe you could borrow a pair. Let’s call Reba Mae.”

  “Her feet are bigger than mine.”

  “Right, right. What about your friend Taylor?”

  Lindsey’s eyes pooled with tears. “Taylor’s feet are small; so are yours.”

  “How about Amber? She must have a closet filled with shoes.”

  “I wear a narrow; her feet are wide.” A big, fat tear rolled down Lindsey’s cheek.

  Too big, too small, too wide, when what we needed was “just right.” I was trapped in “The Story of the Three Bears.” Sinking down next to Lindsey, I covered my ears to block out the chorus of “woe is me.”

  “Sean will be here in half an hour,” she said, sniffling. “What am I supposed to do? Go to prom barefoot?” She unbuckled the offending sandal and hurled it across the room.

  Casey yelped and dove for cover under the bed.

  Then the solution struck me like the proverbial bolt out of the blue. Amber Leigh Ames-Prescott wasn’t the only person who had a closet filled with shoes. I knew of someone else who did—Shirley Randolph. And if I remembered correctly, she wore a size 7½ N, the same size as Lindsey.

  “Dry your eyes,” I said, racing from the room. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Minutes later I was at Shirley’s. Thankfully, I still had the house key Ned had loaned me days ago. I let myself in the front door and ran upstairs. Even in my haste, I noticed the stuffy, unlived-in odor. I made a mental note to come over, clean out the refrigerator, and air out the place. Upon reaching Shirley’s bedroom, I threw open the closet door and heaved a sigh. Her abundant supply of shoes had been undisturbed since my previous visit—and they were, as I remembered, 7 ½ N. All that was left for me to do was find a pair that would complement Lindsey’s prom dress.

  Red shoes, blue shoes, flats, and heels. Wedges, pumps, and sandals. I was nearly ready to admit defeat when I found what I was searching for in a far corner. I opened the lid of a shoe box and discovered the answer to my prayers. Nestled inside protective coverings were a prom-goer’s dream—the real McCoy, not knockoffs. I carefully removed one of the shoes and inspected it. Glittery, strappy, stiletto heels. The only drawback as far as I could tell was this pair had toes while Lindsey’s were sandals. I turned the shoe over and examined the sole. The shoes were brand-new, never worn. A small, black plastic object dropped on the floor. Thinking it a gadget used for quality control or a gizmo to protect against shoplifting, I absentmindedly stuck it in the pocket of my jeans. As I hurried home, I made a silent pledge I’d return the borrowed-not-stolen shoes the very next day.

  * * *

  With disaster narrowly diverted and Lindsey and Sean on their way to dinner at Antonio’s—not Billy’s Buffet Barn—it was time for me to get ready for my “date.” I’d offered to meet McBride at the country club, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, he insisted on escorting me.

  I’d no sooner finished showering when Reba Mae pounded up the back staircase determined to tame my unruly curls int
o submission.

  “I have to hand it to you, girlfriend, you’re a magician when it comes to hair,” I told her as she shoved another pin in my updo.

  “Damn straight,” she replied. “Now sit still and watch me morph from hairdresser into makeup artist.”

  “Go easy,” I cautioned. “I want McBride to recognize me.”

  “Never fear, hon.” Reba Mae picked up a bottle of foundation and a small sponge and went to work.

  My friend knew her stuff. When Reba Mae stepped back to inspect her handiwork, I gazed at myself in the bedroom mirror. The woman staring back was still me, but a new, improved, glamorized version. Nary a freckle peeked through the expertly applied foundation. And my smoky eyes rivaled those of a runway model.

  “Now let me see you in your dress.”

  I donned an evening gown I’d been saving for a special occasion. Thanks to jogging, the dress fit better now than the day I bought it. The moss green sheath made from shimmery fabric draped low in the back, nearly to my waist, and had a thigh-length slit up one side. Elegant yet simple. I’d bought it for a bar association dinner dance. Instead of dancing the night away with my husband, after CJ announced his need for “space” I’d sat out the evening at home—alone.

  Reba Mae gave a maternal nod of approval. She handed me a pair of sparkling chandelier earrings. “A dress like that doesn’t need much jewelry.”

  I fastened on the earrings, slipped into silver heels, then hugged Reba Mae. “Thanks to you, I feel like I’m eighteen again, not forty-something.”

  Casey, who had been watching from the foot of the bed, thumped his tail against the floor in a show of approval.

  At a knock on the door, I spritzed on my favorite perfume. “Showtime,” I said, grabbing my evening bag and a wrap.

  “Lead the way, honeybun.”

  With Reba Mae following close behind, I carefully navigated the stairs conscious of my long dress and high heels. I didn’t want a detour to the emergency room to mar my grand entrance.

  “I brought my camera along to take pictures of the good-lookin’ couple.”

  “Hush!” I hissed. “We’re chaperones, not teenagers going to prom.”

  Reminding myself there was no need to feel nervous, I opened Spice It Up!’s front door. My pulse kicked up a notch at the sight of McBride in a tux.

  “My, my, my,” Reba Mae drawled. “Don’t you look all 007.”

  “I like my martinis shaken, not stirred, but prefer a cold beer.” He flashed that dimple-winking smile that never failed to make me weak in the knees and handed me a plastic florist’s box. “I didn’t want you to be the only girl at the prom without a corsage.”

  I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “You shouldn’t have,” I protested.

  Reba Mae clicked off a series of pictures as I slipped on a wrist corsage of deep red sweetheart roses and baby’s breath. “You two better get a move on or you’re going to be late. Don’t worry about the shop, Piper; I’ll lock up. You kids have fun, you hear.”

  McBride offered his arm. “Your chariot awaits.”

  Distracted by McBride in a tux and the sweetheart roses, I’d failed to notice a late-model Lincoln sedan waiting at the curb. I’d expected to be practically airlifted to reach the seat of his Ford F-150 pickup, not riding in luxury. “So what’s the deal, McBride? You take up grand theft auto to supplement your income?”

  “Now there’s a thought.” McBride saw me settled into a cushy leather seat, then rounded the hood of the car and climbed inside. “I happen to have a very generous friend who decided my date should ride in style.”

  “Does your generous friend have a name?”

  “S. W. Hoyt.”

  “My Harley-Davidson buddy?”

  “One and the same.” McBride chuckled. “Sebastian W., commonly known as Hoyt, was CEO of an electronics firm before he sold his company for a substantial profit and retired early.”

  I was still processing this piece of information when we arrived at the country club. McBride valet parked, then came around to open the passenger door. “You do know, don’t you,” he whispered, “that you’re going to be the center of attention in that dress. You look … beautiful.”

  To lighten the mood, I batted my lashes and vamped it up with my best Mae West imitation: “‘It’s better to be looked over than overlooked.’”

  Behind us, a parade of limos dispensed laughing and happy couples. Conscious of McBride’s hand resting on the small of my back, I made my way into the main dining room.

  “I always wanted to visit Paris. Looks like I finally get my chance.” In keeping with the Midnight in Paris theme, bistro tables had replaced the regular dining tables. Reasonable facsimiles of the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe, courtesy of the industrial arts department, stood at opposite ends of the room. A giant crescent moon was suspended from the ceiling; pots of ficus sparkled with hundreds of miniature LED lights. Red-and-white checkered tablecloths had transformed the adjacent Grille Room into a sidewalk café. “The students did an amazing job.”

  “I see Mary Beth waving at us.” McBride steered me to where a small group of parents had gathered.

  Mary Beth, clipboard in hand, put check marks next to our names. “I’m happy y’all heeded my advice and wore formal attire. The object is to blend in, to be as inconspicuous as possible. I’ve assigned each set of chaperones a specific quadrant to patrol. Keep an eye out for liquor. Boys like to sneak in a flask and spike the punch. Be on the lookout for couples sneaking off. We won’t tolerate any hanky-panky.”

  “Hanky-panky…?” McBride echoed in a voice low enough for my ears alone.

  “It’s a technical term,” I whispered back. “She means fondling or groping.”

  “Spoilsport,” he grumbled.

  Mary Beth’s sermon over, the chaperones drifted to their assigned locations. Matt Wainwright was present, too, but maintained a healthy distance from his wife. At a signal from Mary Beth, the DJ stepped up to the mic, and the prom was in full swing.

  “Let me get us some punch.”

  If I wondered that McBride might be out of his element at a high school dance, I was mistaken. He seemed as at ease in a tuxedo as in worn denim. I noticed more than one teenage girl watching his progress and casting envious glances in my direction.

  I caught sight of Lindsey and Sean bobbing about on the dance floor along with their friends Taylor and Joey. Brittany Hughes, another friend of Lindsey’s, waved when she saw me. Mary Beth flitted about, stopping here and there to speak to various people. She looked tense and unsmiling.

  McBride returned with two plastic glasses of pale pink liquid and handed one to me. “Cheers,” he said, tapping his cup to mine. “Here’s to our first date.”

  “Cheers,” I said, taking a sip. “I hope you didn’t go to a big expense renting a tux. You were lucky to find one that fits as though it were made for you.”

  “It was.” He watched the dancers bounce and gyrate. “The tux is a holdover from my years with Miami-Dade PD. A starlet, Jennifer Jade, had received death threats. I was assigned to be her escort for the premiere of her new movie. Her publicist objected to her ‘bodyguard’ being photographed in an ill-fitting rented tux, so the studio sprang for one. Haven’t had much call to use it since—until tonight.”

  The DJ shifted gears from rock to romantic. “All right, you guys,” he spoke into the mic. “Time for you to step up and let your dates know that you’re with the prettiest girl in the room.”

  The sexy, seductive, yet upbeat strains of Frankie Valli’s hit “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” drifted from the speakers. “Shall we?” McBride asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took my empty cup and set it on a nearby bistro table.

  Mutely, I let him lead me onto the dance floor and slide his arm around my waist. I could feel the heat of his palm burn through the thin fabric of my gown as we swayed to the music. He’d once claimed he wasn’t a dancer. Maybe he didn’t do the shag or polka, but he wasn’t a novice when it came to a
slow dance. He moved with a natural athleticism.

  “I often wondered what this would be like,” he said.

  I smiled up at him. “A prom?”

  “No,” he said, then paused as though searching for the right words. “I wondered what it would be like, just the two of us, enjoying each other’s company like a normal couple.”

  My smile wavered. “I hope you’re not disappointed,” I said in a voice that didn’t sound quite like mine.

  “On the contrary…”

  I didn’t want the song to end. A haze seemed to descend over the room. I forgot I was in a room filled with teenagers. I was acutely aware of McBride’s body pressed against mine, the citrusy scent of his aftershave, the—

  “Just a freaking minute!” a woman shrieked.

  McBride and I jerked apart in time to see Mary Beth physically separate two boys who were about to come to blows.

  “Not on my watch, you don’t!” She grabbed the larger of the boys by the scruff of his neck, the other by his ear, and marched them off the dance floor. Although both boys easily towered over and outweighed her, they were no match for her fury.

  McBride and I looked at each other as the same thought crossed our minds. The woman was strong as an ox. Strong enough to lift and move a body?

  At last, the prom wound down and it was time to leave. McBride and I were both quiet on the short ride to my apartment. McBride parked at the entrance to Spice It Up!

  “Care to come in for a nightcap?” I asked, wanting to prolong the evening.

  “Thought you’d never ask.” He sprang out of the car and came around to the passenger side. Taking my hand, he helped me to my feet and escorted me to the door …

  … and kissed me.

  Kissed me right there on the sidewalk. Did the earth quiver? Crazy, but I could swear that I saw fireworks, shooting stars, and skyrockets. Longing flooded through me like a storm surge after a hurricane, bringing with it the sense of being in exactly the right place with exactly the right man. The kiss ended leaving me giddy. My hands shook slightly as I unlocked the door and led him inside.