Ginger of the West

by Meg Muldoon

  “Probably not,” I agreed. “Now we’ll never know for sure what would have happened to her political career this November.”

  I held Maddy’s stare.

  “Right?” I added.

  Maddy gazed back at me for a long moment before slowly nodding, confirming that the rumors were true.

  Wow.

  Mayor Ashby had really bitten the dust.

  “Honestly, I don’t know how she even got into office in the first place,” Maddy continued, not realizing she’d let the information slip. “After having to work with her on that crime statistics report this past March, I have to say that she’s not a very pleasant person. You’re lucky, Ginger, that she vowed never to step foot in your café. She’d be a real demanding customer. Probably like that Nigel what’s-his-face who’s always coming in here, needing his napkins fluffed and what-not.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, clearing my throat and adjusting in my seat.

  Everybody in town knew that Mayor Ashby had made that vow about never coming into the café. Before I took over, Ginger’s belonged to my Aunt Vivian. The mayor and my aunt had had a falling out decades earlier, and it was a well-known fact that Penelope Ashby wouldn’t be caught dead sitting in the café.

  At least, that’s the way it had been until just recently when she broke her vow and stopped by pleading for my help.

  But I didn’t see a reason to tell Maddy about that.

  It had been, after all, a confidential matter.

  Chapter 3

  I got up and grabbed a ceramic mug off the coffee cart, filled it up with Bohemian Joe – our high-end $18 a pound brew – and sat back down in the chair. I took a sip of the black coffee and glanced over at the counter. Héctor and Rudy were holding their own now, but in another ten minutes I knew things would change as we headed into the lunch hour.

  “Well, somebody around here should have stopped Penelope from building on that cliff in the first place,” Maddy said, in a quiet voice. “I had to go up there to drop off those statistical reports not long ago, and that one-lane road leading to the house is treacherous. Between the steep grade and those winding, blind curves, I was white knuckling it all the way. There were a few times I thought for sure I’d plunge right into the ocean.”

  I shook my head.

  “Penelope had been putting pressure on the city for years about building her dream home up there, way before she was even mayor,” I said. “When you were in San Diego, she had started pestering the city council to approve her plans to build it. I think they just couldn’t take it anymore. She never let up. Once Penelope got something in her head, nothing could stop her.”

  “Sounds like the most stubborn lady in town,” Maddy said.

  “More like the second-most stubborn lady in town.”

  It took Maddy a moment to realize that I was talking about her, and that it was a compliment. She finally smiled, but shortly after, the smile faded.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. You’re right. But here I am with all this stubbornness and determination in my job with nothing to show for it. Next week is my two-year anniversary as a deputy in the Broomfield Bay Police Department, and I’m still treated like an errand boy by the chief.”

  “That’s not true, Maddy.”

  “Yes it is, Ginger. It is true and let me give you a perfect example. Here our mayor has died and you know what I’ve been assigned to do? I get to drive over to North Bend in an hour to pick up some big shot investigator flying in from Seattle. And dollars to donuts I’ll be bringing him back to the station and Chief Logan will kick me out of his office so they can talk about the accident behind closed doors.”

  I couldn’t blame Maddy for being frustrated and disillusioned. Two years had passed, and she was still put on softball calls and cases that none of the other cops wanted to deal with.

  “Don’t worry. Someday you’re gonna blow the roof off that department, Mads.”

  She scoffed.

  “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  I got up and grabbed one of those ginger chocolate brownies off the tray in the front case and brought it out on a plate.

  Brownies always made people feel better.

  “No thanks,” she said, eyeing the decadent sweet. “I can’t afford the carbs, not with my half marathon this weekend.”

  I shrugged as I took a small piece and stuffed it in my mouth.

  She held her breath, as if trying to summon up enough willpower to deny the chocolatey bit of heaven in front of her. But eventually she gave in, grabbing a hunk and taking a small nibble.

  Brownies were Maddy’s kryptonite.

  “So why is this bigwig coming here to investigate Penelope’s accident?” I said, pushing the plate closer to her.

  “It’s standard procedure to have an outside agency take a look at everything when an elected official dies, Ging,” she whispered. “No big mystery here, just protoc—”

  Her eyes grew wide suddenly, and she nearly gasped.

  “Gosh dang it,” she muttered. “There I go again. Telling you things I’m not supposed to. What is wrong with me?”

  That was maybe Maddy’s only flaw as a police officer, and it was a small one. She couldn’t help telling me things every now and then about work. Things that were supposed to be under wraps.

  Of course, that wasn’t completely her fault.

  People were always telling me things they weren’t supposed to. They couldn’t help it.

  She threw her napkin onto the empty plate in front of her, a look of deep concern crossing her face.

  “Ginger, I need you to promise me that… well, that whatever I might have said just now about the mayor’s accident, you’ll keep it to yourself. I mean it. If this gets out and the rumors start up, then the chief will trace it back to me and—”

  “Of course I won’t say anything,” I said.

  But I was thinking of my broom and how it had fallen in the kitchen earlier. Sherwood, for some reason, liked to announce death that way. And usually when he fell, there was more to the situation than initially met the eye.

  “Just don’t talk about it with anyone,” Maddy said, keeping her voice low. “No use in getting the town more riled up.”

  “It’s not like any of these people really talk to me, anyway,” I said, looking around at the packed room.

  Sure, Ginger’s Café drew in a lot of locals, but even though they ate my food and drank my coffee, they mostly ignored me other than to say good morning and to give me the odd compliment about my baked goods. Even though I had been living in this town all of my thirty-two years, it was obvious that I wasn’t one of them.

  And I never would be, either.

  Small towns hadn’t changed all that much over the centuries. People who started out as outcasts usually stayed that way.

  “The reason folks around here don’t talk to you much is because they’re a little scared of you, that’s all,” Maddy said.

  She shot me a sideways glance.

  “Hell, Ging, sometimes I’m a little scared of you. And honestly, I’m also a little scared of that aunt of yours. You know old Millie Winston, one of the police station dispatchers? She says that when Aunt Viv was just a kid, she predicted the Good Friday Tsunami that hit the coast in ’64. Some say your aunt even brought it on the town because a mean boy pulled her hair in class.”

  I snickered, shaking my head.

  Rumors like that had plagued my poor aunt for years, and most weren’t actually true. In 1964, Aunt Viv would have only been 13. Girls that age didn’t cause tsunamis, even if they were born witches, and even if mean boys pulled their hair.

  But one part of that rumor did have some truth to it. She had seen that big wave coming.

  “Well, I guess nobody remembers all those lives Aunt Viv saved by giving people time to evacuate inland,” I said. “How come Millie Winston doesn’t talk about that?”

  “Who knows,” Maddy said with a shrug.

  But I did. Al
l too well, in fact. Witches down through time had always found themselves on the wrong side of history. People never wanted to give us credit for doing good.

  “Anyway, you’re wrong. Folks around here aren’t really scared of me or Aunt Viv… what they’re scared of is someone being different.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But at least these days they leave you alone, for the most part. Remember how it was back in high school?”

  “Hard to forget.”

  Neither Maddy nor I had fit in, and in a way it helped us find each other. We both knew that it was no fun being labeled and ridiculed, being pointed at and whispered about. While Maddy wasn’t quite as “different” as I was, she stuck out too. She was on the short side, was lean and strong, and had a fierce competitive streak that made her an amazing athlete. Maddy was also brilliant – she aced her SATs with a perfect score and got a full-ride scholarship to UCLA.

  Needless to say, with such talents, she made a lot of people jealous at our high school. Girls gossiped behind her back, envious that their boyfriends spent so much time playing basketball and soccer with her.

  We’d become fast friends, brought together by a shared outsider status and the rumors that followed us like hungry dogs. We’d been through a lot over the years, and Maddy had always been there for me. I liked to think that I’d always been there for her, too. Through her police exams, various break-ups with boyfriends, and her dad’s heart attack.

  “Say, you need any girl time tonight?” she asked. “My pops and I are watching the Blazers game later, but I could come over instead if you need me.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m good. Anyway, you’ve been spending way too much of your paycheck on Tillamook ice cream because of me lately.”

  “That Udderly Chocolate is right, though.”

  “No arguments here,” I said, patting my gut.

  Lately, to cheer me up, Maddy had been coming over with buddy-cop movies and ice cream on the regular.

  “Well, you know where I’ll be if you change your mind,” she said.

  Maddy stood up and put on her police cap, squinting in the June sunlight that was streaming through the window and bouncing off the waves rolling in the distance.

  “Remember what I said about keeping a lid on the mayor stuff,” she said in a quiet voice, sliding her baton back into its holster.

  “No need to worry.”

  She turned, but then stopped.

  “Oh, and don’t forget to put the sandwich and brownie on my tab.”

  There was no tab, not for Maddy. And as far as I was concerned, there never would be. But I just pretended to make a note, like I always did.

  “See ya, Ging.”

  “Bye, Maddy. Be careful out there.”

  When she left, I gazed out the window, watching the light dance on the waves near Astor Rock.

  It looked calm out there now, but I knew it wouldn’t last.

  Something was blowing in.

  Sherwood, the old broom, had told me as much.

  Chapter 4

  I stood at the edge of the ocean and quickly counted to 20, my feet stinging in the icy surf. When I made it, I ran like lightning back up to the dry, powdery sand. Then I stomped my feet around, looking like a seagull on hot coals, until some sense of feeling came back into them.

  After a few moments, I gathered up my courage and repeated the process all over again. And again. And again, slowly making my way down the sandy shoreline back to my aunt’s house.

  It was a ritual I did every day after closing up the café. Though it was somewhat painful, the frigid water was the only thing capable of bringing my sore feet back to life. Way better, at least, than any of those fancy spas lining Seaside Drive that the tourists flocked to. Way cheaper, too.

  I looked out toward the horizon and saw that the ocean had turned wild, full of large waves with thick, foamy mist blowing off their tops. A few fishermen were still out there in their boats, their lights already on in the dimming evening. A thin fog was hovering around the lighthouse out on the point, and bonfires scattered along the beach filled the air with a pungent, salty smoke. Surfers gathered around the flames, warming up and talking about their days.

  As I walked to the house, my thoughts hopscotched around to the day’s sales, the busted air conditioner, the conversation with Maddy, and finally skidded to a hard stop on the death of Mayor Penelope Ashby.

  Although Penelope wasn’t the most popular person in town lately, people seemed to be saddened when her death was officially confirmed by the local news. Penelope, after all, had lived in Broomfield Bay her entire life, and she was nothing if not a mainstay of our fair town. Her death left a hole in our small corner of the world, in a dramatic and shocking way.

  A heavy feeling fell over me when I thought about the mayor, especially when I followed the bend down the beach and caught sight of her towering house up on a cliff in the distance.

  The house was a large modern structure made of steel and glass and concrete, and built by a well-known architect from Portland. Although it wasn’t my particular taste, I could see it had a lot of style and form. It was just a speck from this vantage point, but it was enough to fill me with sorrow.

  Maddy was right. It was a crazy place to build a house – a jagged, towering cliff that no structure should have ever been on. And although the views from the house were thought to be the very best in 100 miles of coastline, it was clear now that Penelope had literally died for those views. I wondered what would happen to her house. Penelope was divorced, lived alone, and had no kids: the fate of her dream home was anybody’s guess.

  I couldn’t help but think about the last time I saw Penelope Ashby. It had been at the café, about a week and a half earlier. She was dressed in a dark, somber outfit and wore large bug-eye sunglasses and a scarf around her head, like a celebrity who didn’t want to be recognized. When she lifted her sunglasses, her eyes were red and bloodshot.

  Penelope wasn’t there that evening for coffee or pastries.

  I could still remember the feel of the thick wad of money she slapped into my hand and the look of hunger in her eyes when she told me that she needed my help and was willing to pay anything for it.

  “Whatever it costs. But it has to work. You understand? You’re my last hope.”

  I shivered, pushing the memory out of my mind.

  I couldn’t believe she was really dead.

  I wondered what my aunt thought when she had heard the news. I was surprised she hadn’t stopped in at Ginger’s, or at least called to talk about the shocking death. But it was planting season and no doubt Aunt Viv had spent the day in our lush garden out back. Maybe she hadn’t even heard the news, as she detested phones and rarely listened to town gossip of any kind.

  I turned the corner and my aunt’s house came into full view, peeking through a band of sea mist creeping down the shore. It sat on a hill far below Penelope’s home, and was opposite from the cold, lonely structure in just about every way possible. It was an old Victorian – a house that Aunt Viv had inherited from my grandmother. The house was happily situated in the oldest neighborhood in town. And though it didn’t have the million dollar views that the mayor’s house had, its views of the ocean were still spectacular.

  I wasn’t happy about the reason why I had been living back in Aunt Viv’s rambling Victorian again, but I had to admit that it was nice. I spent most of my childhood in that house, from the time I was three years old when Aunt Viv took me in and raised me as her own. And I guess when Steve left me back in March, she sensed that I needed a little tending to again. She insisted that I leave the empty condo I had lived in with Steve, and move back into my old room on the top floor. Telling me again that the house was as much mine as it was hers.

  I just hoped that I wouldn’t be staying there for too long. That Steve would return, and that we could work things out and try again.

  I paused on the beach, looking up at the big house. I drew in a deep breath of
the fresh air. Then I slipped my hand into the pocket of my jean jacket, finding the small, smooth bottle there.

  I pulled it out, held it up, and stared at it through the fading sun’s rays. It glowed a bright ruby red, catching the coastal light like a stained glass window.

  The old elixir was getting stronger, and the pull it had on me to use it was getting stronger, too. I hadn’t made any decisions yet, but just carrying it around with me every day made me feel more hopeful about the future.

  A loud, booming fog horn broke through my thoughts, and a chilly wind blew ribbons of sand down the beach.

  I slid the small red bottle back in my pocket and headed home.

  Chapter 5

  I opened the Victorian’s large antique door and was greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of onions sautéing in butter and the sound of Stevie Nicks bellowing from the back of the house.

  I smiled when I heard that other voice mingling in with Stevie’s.

  Her pipes had gotten rougher and hoarser over the years, probably as a result of shouting for orders above the noise of the crowded café for most of her life. But my aunt could still belt out the chorus line to “Edge of 17” like nobody’s business.

  I flattened down my tangled hair as best I could and shook off my shoes, dusting my feet free of sand – or as free of sand as I could get them, anyway. Living by the beach meant that it was always a struggle to keep the floors of our homes free of the grainy stuff. But compared to the other problems plaguing the old house, sand on the hardwood was hardly worth mentioning.

  I strolled down the long, musty hallway, following the music and the heavenly aroma to the big kitchen.

  The kitchen was just about the only updated thing in the house. It had granite countertops, a stainless steel refrigerator, cheerful French-country cupboards, and large windows that overlooked the beach. Growing up, I had spent countless hours here, learning how to bake the perfect apple pie, how to make billowy sugar cookies, and how to whip up the smoothest buttercream frostings.