“Where was Lacey?”
“She went out back for a smoke break right when he came in. I asked her to check out front for me before she took her break, but she ignored me and went out anyway. So, I had to do it myself.”
“So, Navy could have grabbed the recipe book while he was in here alone.”
“He could have. It was either him or Lacey. One of them stole it.”
Ginger knew that Navy Newcomb had blown his trust fund, and that he was flat broke. The whole town knew it. But she didn’t think he would stoop thislow.
And if he did steal it, who would he sell it to?
Chapter 3
Lacey stuck her head in the kitchen and said, “Brother Bideman is here.”
Ginger was still in deep thought, trying to come to terms with the fact that either Lacey or Navy had stolen her recipe book. “Oh. He’s a little early this morning.”
She went out to the dining area and spotted him sitting at their usual table. All the locals knew better than to take the table in the back corner. She and the reverend had their morning coffee together at that table every day—except on Sundays, of course.
Coreyville Coffee Cakes was closed on the Sabbath. But Ginger still got to see him. Elijah Bideman was the pastor of Corey Acres Baptist Church. On any given Sunday, she could be found in her favorite pew, listening to Elijah’s sermon.
There were whisperings around town that Ginger and the good reverend were much more than just friends. After all, Ginger’s husband, Lester, had died two years earlier, and Elijah’s wife had left him four years ago. Many folks figured it was about time the two admitted they were in love.
But Ginger was not in love with Elijah. She would not allowherself to fall in love again. Lester had been her one true love. There could never be another. That’s the way it was meant to be.
She picked up two ceramic coffee cups and filled them. Elijah took his coffee black, and so did she.
He was scanning the front page of the local newspaper, The Coreyville Courier. The Saturday edition was so thin and lightweight that paperboys had to worry about it blowing right out of a customer’s yard.
The Sweet Ginger Cake sitting in front him had not been touched. He knew his breakfast partner would be arriving at any moment.
“Would you like some coffee to go with that cake, Sir?”
He looked at Ginger and smiled broadly. A salesman could only wish to have such a smile. His dimples alone could make a woman dizzy. “Why, yes, I would, Ma’am.” He folded the newspaper and set it on the back edge of the table, against the wall.
Ginger placed the two cups on the small table and sat down across from him. “Got your sermon all ready to go?”
Elijah was notorious for waiting until the last minute.
“I’m close.”
“What’s the subject?”
“Uh…I’d rather not say. Let it be a surprise.”
“You don’t even know, do you?”
“Sure I do. I mean—I’ve got it down to three possibilities.”
Ginger shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“But I do it. That’s the important thing. I always get it done.”
“Yes, you do. And your sermons are always great. Inspiring.”
“Thanks.”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter that you’re the world’s worst procrastinator.”
“No, Ginger. I’m the world’s greatestprocrastinator.”
She smiled. “Well, I guess it just depends on how you look at it.”
“That’s right. I’m a cup-half-full kind of guy.”
“Well, right now you’re a cup-getting-cold kind of guy.”
Elijah looked down at this coffee cup. “Not at all.” He picked it up and took a sip.
Ginger watched him as she sipped from hers. She always loved watching him—even when he was doing something as mundane as drinking coffee.
“Ginger, I’d like to bounce something off you, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“It’s about the parsonage. It’s been a wonderful place to live all these years. And I appreciate the church providing it for me, of course. But…”
“What?”
“Well, I’m 63 years old, and—“
“—you’re not thinking about retiring.” Ginger couldn’t bear the thought.
“No. It’s not that. I mean, sure, I’ll retire someday. But not anytime soon.”
“Good.”
“But, I need my own place. The parsonage belongs to the church. When I retire I’ll have to move out. Then where am I going to live? In a retirement home?”
“I don’t know.” Thirty-two years ago, Ginger had been on the church committee that recommended the house to be purchased by the church and used as a parsonage. Usually, a pastor would stay a few years and then move on. She had never considered what would happen if a pastor retiredfrom the church.
“I’m thankful for what the church has done—giving me a place to live, at no charge. But I need a home of my own.”
“So, what are you thinking?”
“Well, I’ve managed to save a little money over the years. And I found a spot just outside of town.”
“John Wilson’s old place?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“But that house is eaten up with termites. It needs to be torn down.”
“I know. The house is no good. But I’d buy the land now. Then I’d save up for materials and build my own house.”
“With your own hands? You’re not a carpenter.” She took his hands and turned them over to the palms. They were as smooth as a newborn baby. “You’re hands would be bleeding in less than an hour. Have you ever even used a hammer?”
“Not lately. But I know I can do this.”
She could see the hope in his eyes. “Well, maybe if you had help from some of the men.”
“No, no. I’m not going to beg church members to build my house.”
“You wouldn’t have to beg. I’m sure they’d be glad to do it.”
“No.” He looked into her eyes. “Promise me you won’t tell anybody about this.”
“Well, I don’t see what harm it would—”
“—Ginger. Promise you won’t say anything to anybody.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Thank you.”
“But I hope you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
They sipped their coffee in silence for a few seconds.
Ginger pointed to the newspaper. The headline read, King of the Kassle. Kipford Houston Kassle had recently been elected mayor of Coreyville. “What do you think about our new mayor?”
“I think he’s…awfully young.”
“Twenty-seven, I believe. The kids used to call him ‘Kippy.’”
“Oh, yeah. I remember that.”
“Well, he doesn’t like that anymore. Not since he graduated from that Ivy League business school. Now he’s “’K. Houston Kassle,’ or simply ‘Mayor Kassle.’”
“I’m sure he’ll do a fine job.”
“Really? Why? Because of his brand new MBA? Or because of his wealthy family? I can’t think of any other qualifications.”
“He’s bright.”
“I suppose.”
“Well, he was smart enough to earn a master’s degree and to get himself elected.”
“Or richenough. But the first thing he did was to get his good buddy appointed as chief of police. And you know that Daniel Foenapper was not the most qualified candidate.”
“Probably not.”
The bell on the front door jingled as someone walked in.
Elijah looked to see who it was.
“Speak of the devil…”
“Our new chief of police?”
“Yep.”
Ginger sighed. “I guess I might as well get used to it. Excuse me.”
She got up and walked over to Daniel Foenapper, who was now standing in line. Daniel was only five-foot-nine,
but his thin frame made him look taller. He was quite impressive in his new uniform.
“Good morning, Chief.”
He seemed surprised, yet pleased that she had addressed him in the proper manner. “Good morning, Mrs. Lightley.” His voice cracked, sounding exactly like it did in junior high.
No, please call me ‘Ginger.’ She thought it, but couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Drop by anytime, Chief. It’s ‘on the house.’”
“No, Ma’am. I couldn’t do that—accept gifts, that is. It wouldn’t be right. I’ll pay—just like everybody else.”
Okay. Maybe he’s not so bad, she thought. “Suit yourself. But docome by often.”
He grinned. “I will. Your cakes are delicious.”
“Thanks. Well, have a nice day.”
Ginger stepped away, and was about to go back to Elijah when she heard the phone behind the counter begin to ring. She saw Lacey answer it. Ginger waited to see if the call was for her.
Lacey talked for a few seconds and then took the phone away from her ear and began to survey the dining area. She looked at Ginger and pointed to the chief.
Ginger went back over to where he was standing. “Looks like we have a phone call for you, Chief.”
“Really?” Daniel looked down at his police radio. He had forgotten to turn it on.
Ginger led him to the phone and Lacey handed it to him.
“This is Chief Foenapper…yeah, I forgot to turn it on. Sorry about that…I see…okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone.
Ginger deliberately blocked his path. “Something wrong?”
“Yes. It’s Navy Newcomb.”
“What kind of trouble did he get into this time?”
“Did you send him out to the nursing home?”
“Yes. Well, no—I didn’t sendhim. He’s been volunteering—taking cakes out there every morning.”
“That’s it? He just picks up some cakes and delivers them to the nursing home?”
“Yes. The three-day-old cakes.”
He seemed disappointed.
“They’re still good. They’re perfectlygood. I don’t give them stale cakes.”
“I see.”
“So, what did Navy do? You understand that he’s not an employee. He just volunteers.”
“I understand.” He tried to walk around Ginger, but she blocked him again.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that Navy Newcomb…is dead.”
Chapter 4
Ginger stood there watching as Chief Foenapper rushed out of Coreyville Coffee Cakes, jumped into his car, turned on his flashing light, and sped away.
When she turned around, Elijah was walking toward her.
“What’s going on?”
“Navy Newcomb is dead.”
“What happened?”
“Daniel—I mean the chief—wouldn’t tell me. All I know is that he took my cakes out to the nursing home and now he’s dead. I want to go out there.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Thanks.” She walked over to Cheryl Iper, at the cash register. “I’ll be back in a little while.” Ginger walked away before Cheryl had a chance to ask any questions.
Elijah had parked halfway down the block. In the early morning hours, Ginger’s customers took up more than her share of parallel parking slots. But most of the other shops were not open that early anyway.
Elijah’s old Ford sedan was roomy and comfortable. Pastors of small congregations learn how to live on meager salaries. One of the ways Elijah stretched his income was to buy his cars at auctions. This particular one had been a police cruiser in its previous life.
There was no way to know how many times the engine had been revved up for a high-speed chase. Or how many perps had ridden handcuffed in the back seat. None of that matter to Elijah. After a thorough cleaning and a new paint job, he considered the vehicle ‘born again.’
They got in and Elijah backed out and drove toward the nursing home.
“I hope this isn’t my fault,” said Ginger, more to herself than to Elijah.
“What do you mean? How could it be yourfault?”
“I think Navy stole my recipe book this morning.”
Elijah looked puzzled.
“What if somebody knew he was going to steal it? They might have tried to take it away from him. Maybe they fought, and—”
“—just how much is this recipe book worth?”
“Some other bakery might be willing to pay thousands for it. I don’t know. We get business from all over the area.” People travelling down Interstate 20 often made a detour through Coreyville just to get some of Ginger’s famous cakes.
“Okay. I can understand how valuable the book is. But I can’t believe people would killfor it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
When they arrived at Coreyville Country Home, Ginger asked Elijah to drive around to the back. They saw the chief talking to Justice of the Peace Harvey ‘Boot’ Hornamer. Two paramedics were loading a body into the ambulance in no particular hurry.
Ginger and Elijah got out of the car and walked up behind the chief just in time to hear the end of the conversation.
At 77, Boot was a product of his long-term habits. Sixty years of chewing tobacco had created a permanent protrusion in his left cheek. And these days, it never went away—whether the wad of chew was there or not. His love of the sun had turned his arms more leathery than his cowhide belt. The excruciating pain in his feet and back was exasperated by the cowboy boots. But he just wouldn’t be ‘Boot’ without them.
“So, I’m gonna order an autopsy.” Boot turned to the side and spit. The bullet stream of tobacco juice nailed a bullfrog right between the eyes.
“Okay,” said the young chief.
Boot walked over to his pickup and climbed in.
“Chief?” said Ginger.
He turned around.
“Y’all don’t have any idea what killed him?”
“I can’t discuss the case.”
“Why?”
Elijah jumped in. “So, you think it was murder?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, what areyou saying?” Ginger was getting annoyed.
“I’m not saying anything.”
Ginger noticed a woman standing near the back door of the building. Judging by the white outfit and apron, she figured the woman to be a cook. Perhaps she had seen or heard something. She would talk to her after she finished with the chief.
“Have you contacted his family?” said Elijah.
“I’m about to drive out to his mother’s house,” said the chief.
“What about his girlfriend?” said Ginger.
“I’ll go talk to her,” said Elijah.
“Thanks.” The chief walked to his car, got in, and drove away.
Two deputies watched as a tow truck drove away with Navy’s Corvette. Then they got into their car and left.
Ginger looked over at the building. The cook had apparently gone back inside.
“I’ll bet somebody in there saw what happened.” She began walking up the sidewalk, toward the kitchen door.
Elijah followed her.
Ginger knocked.
One of the cooks opened the door. It was the woman Ginger had seen standing outside.
“Yes?”
“Could we come in for a minute? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The woman hesitated.
“I’m Ginger Lightley.” She smiled and held out her hand.
The woman’s apprehension was suddenly gone. “Oh, Mrs. Lightley. I’m so happy to meet you.” She shook Ginger’s hand. “Your cakes are amazing. I’m a big fan.”
Ginger knew that people loved her coffee cakes, but she didn’t know she had fans.
The woman became even more excited. “Oh, would you mind tasting one of my cherry tarts. It’s my own recipe.” She rushed to the stove to get one.
Ginger looked at Elijah and shru
gged. Then she saw her coffee cakes sitting on the counter. One of her trays was sitting beside them.
The woman came back with a tart and handed it to Ginger.
Ginger took a sniff and nodded. Then she bit off a small portion and chewed it carefully as she analyzed it with her tongue. She was like a professional wine taster—except for the spitting.
“I love the delicate flakiness. The cherries are almosttoo sweet—but they’re not. Ooh. And there’s a magnificent aftertaste. How did you do that?”
The woman grinned. “It’s a secret.”
“Well, of course it is,” said Ginger. “And don’t you tell a soul.”
“I won’t. Thanks, Ma’am.”
“You’re very welcome.” She handed Elijah what was left of the tart. “Try it. You’ll love it.”
Without waiting for Elijah’s verdict, Ginger turned back to the woman. “Are those the coffee cakes Navy delivered this morning?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Were you the one who let him in?”
“Yes. And he seemed fine. Then I got him to taste one of my cherry tarts and he started choking.”
Ginger glanced back at Elijah, who had just put the last bite of the tart into his mouth. He stopped chewing, and seemed to be wondering whether he should spit it out. But he was not choking.
“So, do you think the tart made him sick?”
“No,” said the woman. “I mean—I hopenot. Oh, God. What do youthink?”
“I doubt it.” She looked back at Elijah, who had finished his tart.
“I feel fine,” he said.
“Maybe it was the wayhe ate it,” said the woman. “He stuffed it in his mouth all at once.”
“That could be it,” said Ginger. “So, he started choking and then he just passed out?”
“No, Ma’am. I ran to get him a glass of water. But by the time I got back he had gone out the door. I went out to see if he was okay. He was in his car doing something. Then he got out and started walking back toward the building. So, I ran out to meet him. But before I could get to him, he fell down. I checked his pulse, but I couldn’t feel anything.”
“Then you called 9-1-1?”
“Yes. And I got one of our nurses to come out. She said he was already dead.”
Elijah said, “What do you think he was doing in his car? Was he looking for something?”
Sweet Ginger Poison Page 2
