Sweet Ginger Poison

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 said 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.

I’m not such a bad guy, thought Danny. I’ll learn to control my temper. And I’ll be a wonderful husband and father.

Danny continued to adore Lacey’s sleeping face.

He smiled. Too bad Navy died. Too bad.

Chapter 9

The Domino Girls Club met every Tuesday and Saturday night, around the oak table in Ginger’s breakfast nook. Their potluck dinners were made up of whatever each woman had cooked that day, plus a pan of hot, buttery rolls and a never-ending supply of iced tea. Usually Ginger provided dessert.

The meal would be followed by a seven-round game of Chickenfoot dominos, which could get pretty rowdy, especially with Jane mouthing off and Barb wise cracking.

“Oh, Ethel, I love this casserole,” said Ginger. “Could I get your recipe?”

Barb grabbed Ethel’s arm. “Don’t do it, Ethel. Not unless she’ll swap it for one of her secret coffee cake recipes.”

Ethel Eggly and Barb Omatta, 67 and 66, respectively, had been best friends for many years. And they had grown closer than ever since their husbands, Earl and Henry, were killed in a horrific speedboat accident three years ago.

“I’ll tell you what’s in it,” said Jane.

“No, you won’t,” said Barb. “This ain’t some Betty Crocker concoction, Jane. It’s Ethel’s own recipe.”

“I know that,” said Jane. “But I can tell you the ingredients just by tasting it.” She took a bite and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. She closed her eyes as though she were meditating.

“What’s the verdict, Jane?” said Ginger.

“You really think she can do it?” said Ethel.

Ginger smiled and shrugged.

“Well?” said Barb. “Wait—let me guess. You have determined that Ethel’s tuna casserole contains… tuna!”

Ginger and Ethel snickered.

Almost everything that came out of Barb’s mouth had a sarcastic ring to it. Sometimes she grated on Ginger’s nerves. But other times she was laugh-out-loud funny.

“Well, that’s a given,” said Jane. “Of course it has tuna.”

Ethel and Barb looked at each other and started laughing. Ginger tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help herself.

“What so funny?” said Jane. “I’m just getting started. Be patient. I’ll tell you what the rest of the ingredients are.”

“You’ve already blown it, Honey, and you don’t even know it,” said Barb.

“Huh?” said Jane.

“It’s not tuna,” said Ginger. “It’s chicken.”

Jane didn’t have an acute sense of taste like Ginger. Thankfully, it wasn’t a problem in her line of work. Jane’s Diner offered plain old country cooking. It was delicious food—but it wasn’t fancy.

For example, breakfast at Jane’s consisted of bacon, ham, sausage, eggs, grits, pancakes, biscuits and gravy. Once in a while an out-of-towner would wander in and ask for something not on the menu—like Eggs Benedict.

That was enough to get you branded a ‘city slicker.’ Jane would delight in putting a hand on one hip and saying, “I’m sorry, Sir, but we don’t have those here. In fact, nobody in town does. You might want to try McDonalds. I understand they’ve got something called an Egg McMuffin.” Jane wasn’t normally a smart aleck. But she just couldn’t tolerate uppity people.

“Chicken, tuna—whatever,” said Jane. “Never mind.”

Barb looked at Ginger. “So, Ginge, I hear you had quite a morning.”

Virginia is my real name, thought Ginger. Why can’t Barb either use that or ‘Ginger,’ like everybody else? It reminded her of the old Andy Griffith Show—the way Barney used to call Andy ‘Ange.’ Ginger wondered if it irritated Andy.

“Yeah,” said Ginger. “And we still don’t know what really happened to him.”

“We?”said Barb. “ You mean you and the police?”