Sweet Ginger Poison glm-1

by Robert Burton Robinson

  “Good idea. We’ve got to get it right.”

  And you don’t think I can get it right, do you, Kip? “We will.”

  “Okay. Keep me updated.” The mayor turned his chair to the side and began to type on his computer.

  Daniel took that as a signal that he should leave. So he did.

  As he walked down the stairs, he began to hope that Navy had notdied from an accident—that it had been murder.

  And if it was, he would singlehandedly solve the crime.

  Chapter 7

  Ginger walked into the living room and sat down in her favorite old rocking chair with a hot cup of green tea. Drinking it from her fine china always made it taste better somehow.

  People tend to save the good china for special occasions—like Thanksgiving and Christmas. But Ginger had decided some years ago that everyday should a special occasion. Although the hope of a long life wasn’t quite as appealing as it used to be.

  She looked over at his recliner in the corner. She had not moved it since he died two years ago. She smiled, remembering how he had insisted that it stay at that exact angle in reference to the position of the TV.

  And oh how Lester loved his TV shows. Ginger didn’t care for some of them, but she usually watched anyway—just to be in the room with him. Occasionally he would return the favor and suffer through one of her beloved cooking shows.

  It was after one o’clock and she had not eaten lunch. On those days when she was creating a new recipe, she never bothered to eat lunch, since she would spend the afternoon tasting all her little trials. The second batch of six mini-cakes was in the oven.

  Ginger held the dainty gold-rimmed cup under her nose and slowly inhaled the steamy aroma. As she sipped on it, she began to think about Navy.

  It wasn’t an accident—it was murder. She could just feel it. But what did she know about murders, investigations, autopsies, and the like? Probably no more than anyone else who had watched a lot of TV.

  Actually, she did have something most people don’t have—a keen set of senses. She wondered what percentage of the population had the ability to walk into a house and immediately know whether there was a dog or cat inside, whether anyone had eversmoked in the house, and exactly what food had been set out on the dinner table.

  One time she had nearly blurted out, “Oh, Phyllis, there’s way too much garlic in that meatloaf.” It would have only been to help her do better next time. But women don’t appreciate being helped in that manner—especially in front of several other guests.

  Ginger had known from a young age that her sense of smell and taste were highly sensitive. She later realized that her other senses were quite powerful as well. But she had certainly never used them to solve a crime.

  That morning, after calling the chief at his office, she began to work out her own timeline of the murder. She called him back, but got no answer. And when she called the third time a few minutes later, he was quite rude to her. Ginger wished she had asked the nursing home cook for the information when she and Elijah questioned her.

  But at least the chief answered her question. According to his notes, the cook said that Navy had arrived at the nursing home a little before 7:30 a.m.

  Ginger had written it down in a small spiral notebook, and then questioned Addie as to what time he left the bakery. Addie told her it was about ten after seven.

  She picked up the notebook and opened it. So, Navy had driven away from the bakery at 7:10 a.m. and arrived at the nursing home at approximately 7:25 a.m. Ginger stared at her notes. Why had it taken Navy fifteen minutes to make a five-minute trip?

  The oven timer buzzer went off. Ginger sat the cup and the notebook on the lamp table next to her chair, hopped up, and went into the kitchen.

  She put on the oven mitts and took the mini-cake tray out of the oven.

  Her cell phone rang. She removed the mitts and took the phone out of her pocket. The caller ID said ‘Jane Appletree.’

  “Hi, Jane.”

  “Hey, Ginger. Are we still on for tonight?”

  Saturday nights and Tuesday nights at 6:00 p.m. were the regular meeting times for The Domino Girls Club: Ginger, Jane, Barb, and Ethel.

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Because of the murder.”

  Ginger hesitated. “Who said it was a murder?”

  “It’s all over town.”

  Ginger knew what that meant. Jane was telling everybody who came into her diner. The woman just loved to gossip. And if there was nothing to gossip about then she’d just blab about anything. To make matters worse, she was a ‘loud talker.’ She had never learned how to hold her voice down. And it wasn’t that she was hard of hearing—not by any means. She could hear whispering from across a crowded room.

  Occasionally a customer would take offense to her loud mouth. One time, a man who just wanted to eat his meal in peace got tired of hearing Jane go on and on, complaining about her high electric bills. He finally stormed out in disgust—but not before yelling, “Why don’t you just strap a little windmill on that mouth of yours and generate your own electricity?” Oddly, it didn’t seem to bother her at all. She just went right on talking.

  “Who told you he was murdered, Jane?”

  “So, I’m right?”

  “No. I’mnot saying he was murdered. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “Well, what about the panties? Who do think they belong to?”

  “You’ve been talking to a deputy, haven’t you, Jane?”

  “Oh, I never reveal my sources,” said Jane, with a sly smile in her voice.

  “Well, I need to go. I’m working on a new recipe.”

  “Are we gonna get a sample tonight?”

  She knew that Jane would tell everybody about the new cake. She always did. Luckily, so far at least, Jane had always given glowing reviews. By the first of the next month, folks would be waiting in line to get a taste of the new one they had heard so much about.

  “Yes, assuming I get it perfected by then.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will, Ginger. You always do.”

  “Thanks. See you tonight.”

  “See ya.”

  Ginger looked at the six cakes. Which one should she try first?

  It was not easy to come up with a unique, new recipe each and every month. Sometimes she wished she had never started this cake of the month thing. Although, she knew she could begin to recycle old ones if necessary. She doubted that people would remember one from a year ago.

  Ginger often named the new cake before she even began to experiment with the ingredients. She found that an interesting or unusual name inspired her to do her best work. This one would be called ‘Firecraker Cocoa Cake.’

  She used a spatula to remove one of the cakes from its pan. The color looked about right. A small amount of paprika, along with the cocoa, had given it a reddish-brown hue.

  Ginger took pride in making her cakes as nutritious as possible. After all, folks were eating them for breakfast. Most all of the recipes included whole wheat flour and oatmeal. And instead of vegetable oil, she substituted either applesauce or avocado.

  She was really sticking her neck out on this one though. Could she really get away with adding cayenne pepper and crushed jalapeño? Yes—if they were in the proper amounts.

  One of her best-sellers contained mustard powder. But nobody had ever been able to determine the mystery ingredient that gave them that wonderful tangy flavor. It was fun to watch them try.

  Ginger took a knife and cut off a small corner of the cake. She put it into her mouth and let her taste buds go to work.

  “Too peppery.” She spit it into the trash.

  The next one she tasted was better—just the right amount of burn on the tongue to let you know it’s supposed to be spicy, but not enough to make you want to spit it out.

  Ginger took a second bite to make sure. No. She had missed it on the first pass. By concentrating so hard on the level of pepper she missed the fact that the cocoa wa
s too weak.

  Four more possibilities, she thought. The third one tasted perfect—everything she had imagined it would be. And it smelled magnificent. She made note of the winner. Now she would make up a larger batch and bake them for tonight.

  She stood at the kitchen window for a minute, remembering what Jane had said. Apparently at least one deputy believed Navy had been murdered. Did he know something Ginger didn’t know?

  She wondered if the police had their owntimeline for that morning. Had they noticed how long it had taken Navy to get to the nursing home?

  Maybe the police did have some details that Ginger was unaware of. But she knew some things theydidn’t know. Like the fact that her recipe book had been stolen.

  If Navy was the one who had taken it, perhaps he had dropped it off somewhere before going to the nursing home. Assuming he was murdered, could the recipe book have anything to do it?

  And why was Kayla Hanker not more upset about the death of her boyfriend?

  When Elijah had dropped Ginger off at the bakery after their visit with Kayla, she noticed that Lacey was being unusually quiet. She couldn’t tell whether she was mad at somebody or upset about Navy. She considered taking her aside and having a talk with her. But Lacey could be moody—even on a goodday. Ginger decided to leave her alone.

  Lacey had reason to be upset about Navy. The two had dated for a long time. And even though they were no longer together, Ginger had the impression that Lacey still had feelings for him.

  She had often wished that Lacey would just get over him, once and for all. Ginger wanted to see Lacey move on with her life—and allow herself to be happy. The young woman was special to Ginger—almost like the daughter she never had.

  There were several things Ginger would need to share with the police—if Navy’s death was ruled a murder. She would be obligated to tell everything she knew.

  And the thing that bothered her the most was the panties the deputies found under the front seat of Navy’s car. She was fairly certain that they weren’t Kayla’s. Could they be the murderer’s?

  Ginger prayed that she was wrong, but she was almost sure the panties belonged to Lacey.

  Chapter 8

  Coreyville Coffee Cakes was open Monday through Saturday, 7:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. Most of the customers came early in the morning or for a coffee break at around 10:00 a.m. or 2:00 p.m. Ginger had learned through trial and error that staying open past 3:30 was not profitable.

  This particular Saturday had been filled with all the talk of Navy Newcomb. Every customer had an opinion. Some said he had it coming. Folks debated what had really happened to him. Was it accidental or murder?

  The last customer walked out at 3:28, and Cheryl locked the front door and flipped the sign to ‘Closed.’ Lacey began to scrub each table with a hot, soapy dishcloth while Danny swept and mopped the floors. Cheryl went into the office to do her bookwork and prepare the checks and cash for bank deposit.

  At about 4:00, Cheryl walked out of the office. Lacey and Danny were sitting in the dining area, several tables apart, ignoring each other.

  “Ready to go?” Cheryl always insisted that they wait for her. She wasn’t comfortable going out into the alley by herself carrying a bag full of money—even in a law abiding town like Coreyville.

  “Yeah,” said Danny.

  Danny and Lacey stood up.

  “What’s the matter with you two?” said Cheryl, in her usual rapid-fire style. “You look like you just missed the last bus to Christmas.”

  “Nothing,” said Lacey.

  “Look,” said Cheryl, “I’m tired of lying to Ginger. What do you care if she knows you’re living together? If you’re so ashamed of it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

  “Ask her,” said Danny.

  Cheryl looked at Lacey. “Well?”

  “Because she’ll be disappointed in me,” said Lacey with her head hung low.

  “Why?” said Danny. “Because I’m not good enough for you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” said Lacey.

  “Never mind,” said Cheryl. “Let’s go. If I don’t get home soon and get out of these shoes, my feet are gonna kick my butt to sorry-ville.”

  The three walked to the back kitchen door. Danny followed Lacey to her car as Cheryl locked up. They waited for Cheryl to drive away first.

  On the way to Lacey’s apartment, neither she nor Danny said a word. Once they were inside, Danny let loose.

  “I’m sick of this!” He snatched a ceramic coffee cup off the top of a bookshelf and threw it down. It hit the edge of the coffee table and exploded into dozens of pieces that flew all over the living room.

  Lacey broke down. She collapsed onto the couch, crying aloud.

  Suddenly Danny felt like a creep. He rushed to her side. “I’m sorry, Lacey. Please forgive me.” Why had he done that? He’d never gotten violent around Lacey before. He’d always been able to control his rage in her presence. “I’m sorry I was late this morning.”

  “You promised you’d be on time.”

  “I know. But I fell back asleep.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “I know. It was stupid. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again—I promise.”

  “No. Don’t promise. Don’t promise me anything. Just say what you’re gonna do, and then doit. I need to know I can depend on you.”

  “You can, Honeypie. You definitely can depend on me.”

  But the truth was that Danny Iper never had much of a reputation for being dependable. A few months earlier, his dad had thought that his son was finally ready to be responsible. So, he pulled some strings to get him a job. Phillip had been so proud that he and his son would be working for the same construction company.

  But Danny didn’t like construction. There was too much sweating and too many bosses. One day Danny’s foreman caught him sleeping on the job, so he filled a paper cup with cold water and threw in Danny’s face. The other men thought it was hilarious. Danny jumped to his feet, ready to fight somebody—only to be laughed into embarrassment.

  But that afternoon, Danny took his revenge on the foreman. He sneaked up behind him and dumped a keg of ice water onto the foreman’s head—the way football players sometimes do to their coach after winning a big game. It was Danny’s turn to laugh—and get fired.

  Phillip did not say anything to his son about getting fired—even when they got into the pickup to go home. But once they were on the freeway, he unleashed a tirade upon the boy about how stupid, foolish, brain-dead, and irresponsible he was—over and over, in every possible combination of degrading adverbs and adjectives.

  Danny’s gripped the door handle so tightly that his hand turned blue. His only way out would have been to fling the door open and jump. He pictured his banged-up body, covered in blood—just another dead skunk on the side of the highway. He had come very close to yanking that door handle.

  He gently lifted Lacey’s chin and looked straight into her moist blue eyes. “You believe me, don’t you, Lacey? You really candepend on me.”

  She stood up, but didn’t answer him.

  What did she want from him? How could he make her feel better? “Is there something elsebothering you?”

  “No. I’m fine.” She walked into the kitchen.

  Danny got up from the couch and went after her. “Well, you don’t seemfine.”

  She stood at the kitchen sink looking out the window. “Just…drop it. Okay?”

  “Wait a second.” He walked up beside her. “This doesn’t have anything to do with him, does it?”

  She began to whimper.

  “You’re kidding. This is ridiculous. You said you were over him.”

  “I thought I was.”

  “Hey, we’re all sorry he’s dead. But you shouldn’t be cryingover him—unless you were still in lovewith him!”

  Lacey broke down.

  Danny stepped back. “I can’t believe this.” He began to walk around in a small circle faster and faster as he talked. “You sa
id you loved me, and we were going to get married and have kids. And now I find out you’re still in love with Navy Newcomb. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  She turned around. “I’m sorry, Danny. It’s not really that I still loved him. It’s just that we dated for a long time and—”

  “—I know, I know. But you were supposed to be completely over him by now.” Danny continued to walk the circle, continued to gain speed.

  “I am. I really am.” She stepped forward and grabbed his arm to stop him. “I love you, Danny.” She moved in close to him. “Only you.”

  As soon as their lips touched their bodies began to catch fire. They started taking off each other’s clothes as they moved in an awkward, twirling, out of control motion toward the bedroom. Whatever each of them had been thinking a minute earlier was now irrelevant.

  **********

  When Danny opened his eyes he was on his side, facing her. She was just a few inches away. He lifted his head off the pillow slightly to check the alarm clock on her nightstand. Less than an hour had passed since they had come home.

  He admired her milky-smooth skin, the way her lips curled up slightly at the edges, and her long eye lashes. And her hair. How he loved to bury his head in her long, thick, dark brown hair.

  Danny knew how lucky he was to have Lacey. The only problem had been getting her to forget about Navy. When Danny first started dating her, it was always ‘Navy did this and Navy said that.’ And just when he would think she was finally over him, Danny would see him there in her eyes again.

  In some ways, Danny had been a little envious of Navy. The guy was one reckless, womanizing, cool son of a millionaire. And if you were his girlfriend, you got everything your little heart desired—until he went broke. But even then, he was somehow still cool.

  Danny knew he could never compete with the legend in Lacey’s mind. He needed to somehow removeNavy from her mind. That had proved to be much harder than he expected.

  But now it was different. Now that Navy was dead, Lacey could finally begin to forget about him. The tiny ember of hope that she would someday get back together with him had gone cold.