Sweet Ginger Poison

“You’re way over the speed limit.” Ginger glared at Chief Foenapper.

He glanced to the right and caught a glimpse of her steely eyes in the light of an oncoming car. “Afraid I’ll get a ticket? Not gonna happen in thiscar.”

If it hadn’t been for the seat belt restraining her, she would have slapped him upside his smart aleck head and stomped on the brake. This couldn’t be good for her blood pressure.

Ginger took a slow deep breath, and then spoke calmly. “It’s only a twenty-minute drive at normal speed. What’s the big rush? He’s already dead.”

“The mayor wants this case solved quickly,” he blurted out, and then looked as if he wished he hadn’t said it.

“Oh. The mayor it solved quickly.” Now she understood perfectly. This is why Mayor Kassle wanted his old buddy for chief of police—to be his lap dog. “So, what are you thinking—that I put poison in my coffee cakes? That’s crazy.”

“No, of course not. You wouldn’t stay in business long if you started poisoning your customers,” he chuckled.

“Then could you please tell me why you interrupted my evening for this? You know I had nothing to do with Navy’s death, so why do need me to go with you to see the medical examiner?”

“I thought you were interested in this case.”

“I was hoping it was just an accident.”

“And I didn’t say that I thought you had nothing to do with Navy’s death. I said that I don’t believe you poison your customers. Navy wasn’t a customer.”

“With all due respect, Chief, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Hear me out. Suppose one of your employees wanted Navy dead.”

“Come on, really.”

“And that they knew he would be picking up that tray of coffee cakes. And, just for the sake of argument, let’s say they knew that Navy had a habit of eating a cake or two en routeto the nursing home.”

Ginger could well imagine that Navy was helping himself to cakes from the tray each morning.

“And let’s further suppose that this particular employee of yours had a vendetta against Navy. They could have poisoned a cake they knew Navy would eat.”

“Come on now, Chief, is that the best theory you can come up with? You’re just making this up out of thin air. You’ve got nothing to base any of it on.”

“Oh really? What about the panties?”

Ginger suddenly realized she had been tricked. Perhaps the young chief was smarter than she thought. He had lured her into this conversation, and now she couldn’t just abruptly pull out of it. That would be a dead giveaway that she knew something she didn’t want to tell. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I went back this afternoon and re-interviewed the cook at the nursing home. She told you about the panties we found under the front seat of Navy’s car, and she saw how you reacted. You know who they belong to.”

“I don’t remember reacting at all.”

“Now Mrs. Lightley, if you have information that pertains to this case, you are obligated by law to tell me. Otherwise, you’re obstructing justice. And I don’t think I have to tell you where that could lead.”

“I don’t have any information, Chief. I really don’t know anything.”

“But you have a hunch.”

This was the reason he wanted her to come with him—not so she could hear what the M.E. had to say, but to squeeze her brain and see what popped out. “Okay, fine. But I’m really not sure at all.”

“So?”

“I think the panties might belong to Lacey Greendale. But I really don’t know for sure. It’s just a guess.”

The chief grinned. “Good.”

What had she just done? Ginger wished she hadn’t asked the cook so many questions. If she had not been aware of the panties, she couldn’t have thought of Lacey. And right now the chief wouldn’t be about ready to arrest her dear, sweet friend. She pictured Lacey being handcuffed, dragged up to the fourth floor of the courthouse, and thrown into a jail cell with some drug dealer or hooker.

When they arrived at the hospital and got out of the car, the chief rushed Ginger inside the building.

The deputy was waiting in the hallway. “I’ll let the M.E. know you’re here.”

The chief paced the floor.

Ginger felt dizzy—her ultra-sensitive nose overwhelmed by the thick odor that permeated the hallway. She tried breathing through her mouth. But that was even worse—she could tastethe stench. Was it chemicals or dead bodies or a combination? Ginger wouldn’t allow herself to analyze it. She just prayed Ethel’s casserole would stay in her stomach where it belonged.

After a few minutes, the medical examiner came out of the lab and took them into his office. Ginger and the chief sat down in the two seats in front of his desk.

“I understand you found poison in his stomach,” said the chief.

“No, said the M.E., “I didn’t find any poison.”

The chief and Ginger looked at each other in surprise.

“What I found was fish oil.”

“Fish oil? How did thatkill him?” said the chief.

“Anaphylactic shock. Apparently he was highly allergic.”

Ginger sighed in relief. It couldn’t have been her coffee cake. She used some unusual ingredients—but never fish oil.

“Or it could have been the peanut flour,” said the medical examiner.

Ginger cringed. Sweet Ginger Cake did contain peanut flour.

The chief glanced over at her with an ‘ah-ha’ look in his eyes.

“But I really think it was the fish oil,” said the M.E.

“Why?” said the chief.

“Because the peanut flour made sense, considering that I also found oatmeal, sugar, and eggs.”

“But couldn’t the fish oil just been from a capsule—you know, a supplement?” said the chief. “I take one every morning.”

“A lot of people do. But not in this . And not in liquidform.”

“You mean the fish oil wasn’t in capsules?” said Ginger.

“No,” said the M.E. “There was no gelatin. So, it had to have been in his food, or in the coffee he drank. Although, I doubt it was in the coffee. He would have noticed it. Can you imagine drinking coffee with a fourth cup of oil in it?”

“That much?” said Ginger. “But wouldn’t have noticed it in food too? Wouldn’t it have tasted fishy?”

“Actually, no,” said the medical examiner. “They use purifiedfish oil in supplements. It has no taste or odor.”

“But you said there was no evidence of capsules,” said the chief.

“That’s right,” said the M.E. “But someone could have cut open a handful of capsules.”

“So, the fish oil that killed him was in the coffee cake,” said the chief.

“Wait. What about the cherry tart?” said Ginger. “Couldn’t the fish oil have been in that?”

“No,” said the M.E. “Some of the tart was still stuck in his throat. And it did not contain fish oil.”

The chief was obviously satisfied. He stood up. “Thanks so much.”

Ginger and the medical examiner got up.

“By the way,” said the M.E., “did you find his Epi-Pen?”

“What’s that?” said the chief.

“It’s a little medical device the size of a magic marker that’s used to inject epinephrine into your blood stream when you’re having an allergic reaction. Anybody who is highly allergic would probably be carrying