Sweet Ginger Poison

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 notdied from an accident—that it had been murder.

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

Chapter 7

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 everyday should 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 eversmoked 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’mnot 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 ‘Firecraker 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 all 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