Sweet Ginger Poison glm-1

by Robert Burton Robinson

  Lacey had still not been charged with Navy’s murder—which was good, but puzzling. Had the chief found a better suspect, or was he just incompetent? Ginger could only guess, since he refused to share any information with her.

  She parked her car, walked to the door and rang the bell. A full sixty seconds passed. What was taking so long? The servants knew she was there. One of them had let her through the gate. Finally the door opened.

  “Mrs. Lightley?”

  “Yes. And you’re Mrs. Newcomb?”

  “Oh, no, Ma’am.”

  The servant was probably in her mid-fifties—about the age of Navy’s mother.

  “Please come in, Ma’am.”

  Ginger followed her to a small, formal room with a couch, several chairs, and a fireplace.

  “Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And would like a cup of tea or coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  The servant walked out of the room.

  Ginger looked around and wondered how long it had been since someone had used this room.

  After a few minutes the servant came back with Mrs. Newcomb—who had a large glass of red wine in her left hand.

  “Mrs. Lightley?” she slurred.

  Ginger stood up. “Yes. And you’re Mrs. Newcomb?”

  “Ellegora.” She couldn’t even pronounce her own name properly, thanks to the alcohol. She held out her hand and Ginger took it.

  “Ginger.” She was secretly repulsed by the cold, limp hand. It felt like what you would expect to find in a coffin. The other hand was somehow strong enough to hold a glass of wine. It probably got a lot of exercise holding up that glass all day.

  “Would you like a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon?” said Ellegora. “It’s my favorite.”

  “No, thanks.”

  The two women sat down, and the servant left.

  “First of all,” said Ginger, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks.” She took a sip of her wine. “It’s my secondtime to lose him. When he turned twenty-one and got his trust fund money he just went crazy—wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  “He might have come around eventually.”

  “I’d like to think so.” She took another sip. “Did you ever wonder about his name?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “His name: Navy. Kind of a weird name, huh?”

  “I suppose. But these days it seems like anything goes. More and more parents want something original. I can understand that, I guess.”

  “Do you have kids, Ginger?”

  “No, sadly, I don’t. Lester and I couldn’t have children of our own. We talked about adopting. But we just kept putting it off.”

  “Did you ever wonder about his name?”

  Ginger just stared at her. Hadn’t Ellegora already asked that question?

  “It was his father’s idea,” said Ellegora. “Nigel was half drunk when he saw Navy for the first time in the hospital. He said, Look at the kid’s huge belly button. Let’s name him Navy.He laughed out loud about it. I tried to tell him that it wasn’t a big navel—it was just a birth mark around his navel. But he insisted that his son’s name would be Navy. End of discussion.”

  She took a sip from her wine. “I hated the name. And as soon as Nigel left the hospital that night I started trying to think of some other name he would like better than Navy.”

  “But apparently you weren’t able to talk him out of it.”

  Ellegora’s eyes welled up. “When he left the hospital and was walking across the street, a Greyhound bus hit him and killed him. The driver said he was only going 30 mph, but he still killed my Nigel.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember when that happened.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to deny my husband’s last request. Of course, he didn’t knowit would be his last request. And he might have changed his mind when he sobered up, but…”

  “Well, there was nothing wrong with the name. It was a perfectly good name,” said Ginger.

  “I got used to it.” She took another sip. “And now I’ll have to get used to seeing it on his headstone.”

  Ginger thought she would start crying, but she didn’t.

  “So, what was it that you wanted to see me about?”

  “Well, I hope this won’t upset you…but one of my employees has been accused of killing Navy.” She quickly added, “But she didn’t do it. And I’m trying to prove it by figuring out who didkill him.”

  “I’ve already told the police everything I know, but I’ll be glad to answer your questions too.”

  “Thank you. What can you tell me about his allergy.”

  “He was highly allergic to shellfish. Although I didn’t realize that fish oil supplements would be a problem for him.”

  “So, did he carry an Epi-Pen around with him?”

  “Yes—always. He kept it in the glove compartment of his car. I told him he should carry one in his pocket as well, but I don’t think he ever did. He said he didn’t like shirts with pockets, and he would break it if he carried it in his pants pocket. He wore jeans a lot.”

  “So, it’s pretty likely that he had an Epi-Pen in his car on Saturday morning. Or at least that he thoughthe had one in there.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen him much over the past few years. But I’m sure it would have been in his car. He knew how dangerous it was to be without it. One time in high school he nearly died after eating a crab cake at a friend’s house. The Epi-Pen saved him. You know how kids are—they think they’re invulnerable. But he took it a lot more seriously after that.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “What else?”

  Ginger couldn’t think of any other questions. She should have written them down. “Uh…”

  “Would you like to see his room?”

  “He still has a room here?”

  “It’s his oldroom. He hasn’t spent a night in it since his twenty-first birthday.”

  “Sure. I’d like to see it.” Although Ginger couldn’t imagine how it would help.

  She followed her staggering host down the long hallway.

  “Here it is.”

  “Wow. He sure won a lot of trophies.”

  “Yes. Navy was quite the athlete.”

  Ginger spotted his collection of high school yearbooks on the shelf. She walked over to them and pointed. “Would you mind if I look through these?”

  “Help yourself,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She nodded to her empty wine glass.

  Ginger picked up Navy’s senior yearbook. She thumbed through it and found his picture. He was a very handsome young man, she thought, except the cocky expression on his face.

  She decided to check for an index to find his sports pictures. But the pages slipped through her fingers and she was suddenly looking at the inside of the back cover. It was filled with comments from his friends. She began to read them.

  We were the best football team in the history of Coreyville High School, Dude. There will never be another team like us! – signed Bill.

  I’m gonna miss cheering for the mighty Coreyville Cougars. Y’all were the greatest, Navy. Especially you! And thanks for that night under the stands! You blew me away! – signed Cindy.

  It didn’t sound like something a girl would write. Ginger wondered if some boy had forged Cindy’s signature.

  Great party, Man. Good thing your old lady was drunk out of her mind. Hope you enjoyed taking your Castor Oil! You’re the man!

  It wasn’t signed. Ginger assumed that by ‘old lady’ the author meant Ellegora. But what was the deal with the Castor oil? Doesn’t it give you diarrhea? She wondered if one of the boys had pulled a trick on Navy. Typical teenage boy behavior, she thought.

  “Find anything helpful?” Ellegora had refilled her glass.

  “Not really. But thanks for letting me look.”

  Ginger would not realize until later that she had just picked up an important clue.

 
**********

  Coreyville Coffee Cakes was nearly empty at 1:30 p.m. The coffee break traffic would not start rolling in for at least another hour.

  Danny Iper was cleaning tables when his cell phone began to buzz in his pocket.

  “Hang on just a second. I need to go outside.”

  He walked through the kitchen and out the back door into the alley.

  “Okay,” said Danny. “You got my money?”

  “One of my employees told me you came around earlier looking for me.”

  “Yeah. I came to pick up my money.”

  “I told you not to ever come to my place of business. And, besides, I don’t owe you anything. You didn’t do the job.”

  “Yes, I did—not the way you toldme to. But I did it. Now I want to get paid.”

  No response.

  “Well?” said Danny.

  “Fair enough. But we can’t be seen together in public.”

  “I understand.”

  “There’s an illegal dump site three miles south of town.”

  “Yeah, I know where it is. About a quarter mile off the highway, right?”

  “Right. Eleven o’clock tonight. Don’t be late. And don’t tell anybody where you’re going.”

  “Hey, I’m not stupid.”

  The caller hung up.

  Chapter 19

  As Ginger was leaving Ellegora Newcomb’s house, she asked when Navy’s funeral would be held, and was surprised to find out that it would be the next morning, at ten. That didn’t allow much time to get the word out. Ellegora told her she had left the planning up to their family attorney, Carl Vittleman.

  Ginger parked her car and walked into Mr. Vittleman office. Perhaps he knew of someone who had made threats against Navy. She had wanted to ask Ellegora about it. But, after seeing her condition, she decided not bring up.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Vittleman.”

  The young woman at the receptionist desk glanced up from her magazine. “And your name?” She laid down the magazine.

  “Ginger Lightley.”

  The woman checked her computer. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, I don’t. But I just came from the Newcomb Estate, and—”

  “—I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “You have a visitor.” The young receptionist talked to him in a tone that made Ginger wonder if the two were lovers. She didn’t really know Carl Vittleman, but she was sure he was close to her own age.

  “Her name is Ginger…” She looked to Ginger for help.

  “Lightley,” said Ginger.

  “Ginger Lightley. She doesn’t have an appointment, but she just came from Mrs. Newcomb’s house.”

  Before the receptionist could hang up the phone, Ginger heard a door open, and a man walked out. He was too young to be Carl Vittleman.

  “Hello, Mrs. Lightley. I’m Cray Vittleman.”

  “Oh—you’re Carl’s son.” He was a very handsome young man, about 30, Ginger figured. But he seemed too smooth—sort of sleazy.

  “Yes. Please come into my office.”

  She followed him down the hall. They walked in and he closed the door.

  “Please have a seat.”

  “So, where is your father?”

  “He’s ill. I’m handling his clients.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How long has he been ill?”

  “Uh…for a little while. The doctor says he needs a lot of rest. He’s going to be fine.”

  “Well, I’m not sure whether you can help me with this.”

  “I can assure you, Mrs. Lightley, that anything my father could do for you, I can do even better.” He smiled slyly.

  “I see. Well, then, what do you know about Navy Newcomb? Do you know if anybody had been threatening him?”

  Cray began to squirm. “Oh. I thought you needed legaladvice. I’m afraid I can’t help you with this.” He stood up and walked to the door.

  Ginger stood up. “Well, I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Cray. I hope your father gets well soon.” She walked out.

  “Thanks. Goodbye.” He closed his door.

  “Well, that was quick,” said the receptionist, scarcely looking up from her magazine.

  Ginger wondered how much the young woman knew, and how difficult it would be to get it out of her. “It’s such a shame what happened to Navy Newcomb.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Especially when he was just about to get all that money.”

  “Yeah. If he’d only known it was just a few days away.”

  A few days away? Wasn’t Navy’s birthday next week? Perhaps Ellegora had planned to give her son a large birthday gift. Or maybe there was a second trust fund. That would explain why the family lawyer would be involved.

  “Well, thanks. And have a nice day,” said Ginger.

  “You too. Bye.”

  As Ginger walked out to her car, she wondered who would stand to gain by Navy dying before he could collect?

  A red car in the parking lot caught her eye. She looked more closely. Why did it seem familiar? Then she recognized the woman sitting in the driver’s seat. It was Kayla—Navy’s girlfriend. Ginger smiled and waved at her. Kayla suddenly turned her head the opposite direction.

  What was Kayla doing there? Did she and Navy have some unfinished business with the Vittleman law firm? But why would it involve Kayla? If they had been married she could lay claim to the second trust fund—if there was one. But they weren’t. They hadn’t even been together long enough to establish a common lawmarriage.

  **********

  Bull Crawley checked his watch. Where was Silvy? She had promised to come back at 3:30.

  He heard somebody come in the back door and walk down the hallway toward his office.

  “Silvy? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it is.” She appeared in his doorway carrying a very large potted plant. “Can you give me a hand with this thing?”

  “What is it?” He got up from his desk and went to help her.

  “It’s a gift—for you, Baby. For your office.”

  “But it so…big. I don’t have any place to put it.”

  “Sure you do,” she said. “Right over here in this corner.”

  He helped her carry it.

  “See?” she said. “Now every time you look up, you’ll see it and think of me.”

  “Well…okay.”

  “Let me explain. See these white flowers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They are the males.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah. And these pretty pink flowers are the females.”

  “Okay.”

  “Think of it as a love plant. One of those white flowers is you and one of the pink ones is me.”

  “A love plant?” He grabbed her and pulled her close. “I’d rather think of it as a sexplant.”

  “You would, huh?” She punched him playfully. “That’ll work. It can be loving andsexy. But it’s dangeroustoo—like me.”

  “I like danger. And I know how to handle it.” He pulled her body in tighter.

  “Can you?”

  **********

  The Domino Girls were at Ginger’s, about to eat Jane’s birthday cake.

  “I shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late,” said Jane.

  “Late?” said Barb. “It’s seven o’clock.”

  “Now that you’re 61, I think you can handle a little late-night caffeine,” said Ethel. “Like the rest of us.”

  “But can you handle the sugar?” said Ginger, grinning as she cut large pieces and placed them on plates.

  “The sugar’s not a problem,” said Jane. “Bring it on.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Barb, tilting her head to check Jane’s body. “Have looked in the mirror and done a butt check lately?”

  “Look who’s talking,” said Jane.

  “No, no,” said Ethel. “Barb doesn’t have a juicy caboosey.”

  “Thank you, Ethel,”
said Barb.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jane. “You’re absolutely right. Barb’s caboose is just fine. It’s the saddlebagsthat are the problem.”

  “Hey!” said Barb.

  “Hold on,” said Ginger. “I can’t keep up. Are we talking in terms of trains or horses?”

  “Huh?” said Ethel.

  “Cabooses and saddlebags don’t really go together,” said Ginger, passing a piece of cake around to each woman, “unless we’re talking about an old Western.”

  “Now, why did you go and do that, Ginger?” said Barb.

  “What?” said Ginger.

  “You do it every time. Just when I’m about to really go off on somebody—usually Jane—you throw a monkey wrench into the thing. I had a killer comeback to what Jane said. But now you’ve made me forget it.”

  “Good,” said Ginger, “because I need y’all’s help with something.”

  “Okay,” said Ethel.

  “Yeah, we’ll help you,” said Jane, taking a bite of cake.

  “Well, you know I’ve been trying to help Lacey out of the mess she’s in.”

  “Have the police thrown her in jail?” said Barb.

  “No. Surprisingly they haven’t, and I don’t know why. They haven’t even charged her yet.”

  “Maybe they found the realkiller,” said Jane.

  “I wish,” said Ginger. “But I doubt it. The chief is not sharing information with me, but if somebody had been charged, he couldn’t keep that a secret.”

  “Yeah,” said Ethel, “the whole town would know about it.

  “So,” said Ginger, “I’m trying to come up with other possibilities for suspects. And I think I have one. Maybe two.”

  “Who?” said Jane, suspending her next bite of cake until she got an answer.

  “Kayla Hanker.”

  “Who?” said Ethel.

  “Navy’s girlfriend,” said Barb.

  “Right,” said Ginger. “And possibly Cray Vittleman.”

  “Carl Vittleman’s son—the lawyer?”

  “Yes,” said Ginger.

  “Why would they want to kill Navy?” said Jane.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” said Ginger.

  “Oh, you’ve really gotten desperate, Ginge,” said Barb. “You’re grasping at straws.”