Sweet Ginger Poison (5 page)

Yes. And Daniel also knew that his old buddy would
like him to quit being two inches taller than Kip. But at five-foot-seven,
almost every man in town was taller than the mayor. That really irked him. He
didn’t seem to mind tall
women
. Probably because he felt most of them
would love to go out with him.

The two twenty-seven year olds had been best friends
since elementary school. Even back then, Kip was shorter than everybody else in
his class. It was actually the thing that brought the two boys together.

One day during recess, three bullies pinned Kip
against a wall. They took turns punching him in the stomach and laughing.
Daniel saw what was happening and went over to stop it. Kip was not even
defending himself. The only thing he was fighting off was his own tears.

Daniel grabbed one of the boys by the shoulders and
pulled him backward and tripped him. He dared the boy to get up and fight him.
But the kid was afraid of the taller, stronger Daniel. He crawled away on hands
and knees. Daniel spun around to dispense with the other two boys, but they
were already gone. That was the beginning of Kip and Daniel’s long friendship.

Later that year, after watching
The Karate Kid,
Kip
begged his mother to let him enroll in karate lessons. She was worried that her
undersized son would get hurt, but she finally relented. Coreyville’s version
of
Mr. Miyagi
taught his pupil well. The only thing that Kip had a
problem with was controlling his aggression. Even now it seemed like Kip was on
the verge of taking Daniel’s head off.

After a few months of training, Kip didn’t need
Daniel’s protection anymore. But he still valued his friendship. And he never
forgot about the way Daniel had stood up for him when he needed it most.

The mayor took a deep breath, and then walked back
around his desk and sat down. “What’s the status?”

“The Justice of the Peace agrees with me. We think
Navy just fell and hit his head on the concrete.”

“Then why the autopsy?”

Typical, thought Daniel. Kip already knows everything.
He just likes to hear me fumble around trying to explain it.

Like the time in high school when Kip broke up with
Sara Sue. Daniel had wanted to date her, but hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to
ask her out. And before he could, Kip did.

They dated for three months. It was killing Daniel
every time he saw her with Kip.

Then Kip dumped her one night at a party, and left her
crying. Daniel went over to comfort her.

The next day Kip confronted his friend.

“How’d you like the party last night?”

“It was okay.”

“What did you do after I left? I figured you’d come by
the house.”

“No. I was kinda tired after the party.”

“So, you just went straight home?”

Daniel just stared at Kip. Not again.

“You didn’t give anybody a ride home?”

“Well…yeah.”

“One of the guys?”

Daniel blew up. “You know what I did, so why are you
asking me all these questions?”

“I
heard
about it. But I couldn’t
believe
that
my best friend would betray me like that.”

“I didn’t betray you. You broke her heart, Man. I just
tried to make her feel better.”

“Really? So, just how good did you make her feel, huh,
Buddy? How good?”

“Shut up! I just held her in my arms. That’s all.”

“You didn’t even give her a nighty-night kiss at the
door?”

“That’s none of your business.”

They beat each other up pretty good that time.

Daniel never did ask Sara Sue for a date.

“Boot ordered the autopsy—just to be sure.”

“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
not
died from an accident—that it had been murder.

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

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
every
day should be 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
ever
smoked 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’m
not 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 ‘Firecracker
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 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 was too weak.

Four more possibilities, she thought. The third one
tasted perfect—everything she had imagined it would be. The aroma was 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
own
timeline
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
they
didn’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?