Ginger Snapped to Death

by Catherine Bruns

  A woman of about fifty crooked her finger at me. "Come and see mine, hon. It's all about how I plan to become a mortuary makeup artist. I'm licensed in cosmetology, and I sell Mary Kay, so I'm already way ahead of the game." She handed me and Josie each a Mary Kay catalog. "My number is on the back if you want to order anything. Ten percent off for Dom's family and friends. We're running a great special on cover-up this month."

  "I'll keep it in mind," I said.

  High heels clacked against the wooden stairs, and my mother appeared in the doorway, dressed in a one-shoulder, shiny silver mesh dress that barely covered her rear. How she never caught pneumonia dressed like that in the winter always mystified me.

  "Hello, darling. Hi, Josie. What a nice surprise." She came over to kiss me on the cheek then pranced to the front of the room, handing my father a cup of coffee. "I'm the classroom monitor," she said proudly.

  "You can monitor me anytime, honey," Mr. Feathers called out.

  My mother trotted back over to me and patted my belly. "How's my grandbaby doing today? Ready to come out?"

  "I think that kid's glued in there," my father commented before clapping his hands. "Okay, now everyone else besides Thelma, go ahead and tell the girls about your blogs."

  I glanced sideways at Josie, and she nodded. We started to move toward the doorway. One step at a time—

  The high school kid waved a hand at us. "Come on over. I'm Freddie Price. My blog isn't about death. Not directly, anyway."

  "He's such a breath of fresh air, isn't he?" My mother giggled as Josie and I approached Freddie's desk.

  "He still qualifies for the class," my father explained, as if I was worried about it. "His blog is more like the TV show Cold Justice. I tell you, this kid is going places."

  "Are you the odd man out?" Josie asked him. "Or the dead man out?"

  Josie and I both laughed at her pun. When we noticed we were the only two doing so, we quickly stopped. Talk about your awkward moments.

  Freddie smiled politely at us. He was an attractive guy with dark wavy hair and clear gray eyes. "I'm in my last year at SUNY Buffalo."

  He was older than I'd thought. "That's a good college."

  He flushed with pride. "I'm doing an internship at the Colwestern Journal. My blog focuses on unsolved deaths in Colwestern and the surrounding areas." He stared at me with new interest. "I've read about the murder cases you've solved. You're like a legend around here. Maybe I could interview you sometime for the blog."

  "Ah, I don't know." What I really meant to say was, Over my dead body.

  "She'd be glad to help," my father insisted while I shot him a death glare.

  Freddie prattled on, oblivious to the daggers I was shooting my father. "I really want to be a reporter. My friend Jerry mentioned you in his column recently. He's such an inspiration to me."

  I sucked in a breath. "Jerry Maroon is your friend?" The name incensed me more every time I heard it.

  "He's a great guy," Freddie insisted. "Jerry knows exactly what he's doing."

  Josie snorted. "Oh, he sure does." She leaned over Freddie's shoulder for a closer look at the computer screen. "What's this particular case about?"

  Freddie smiled, his perfect white teeth gleaming as he pointed at the screen. "This one happened last summer. It wasn't in Colwestern though. I've always been fascinated by cold cases." He looked at me hopefully. "Have you ever solved one?"

  I racked my brain, trying to remember. "Once. An elderly woman who was poisoned at an assisted living home several years ago."

  Freddie snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah, I remember that one. Wow, you're good." The respect was evident in his tone. "I really hope you didn't kill that Damian fellow like Jerry said. It would totally ruin your sleuthing career."

  I gritted my teeth together. "Not to worry. It wasn't me."

  Josie was silently reading Freddie's page as we talked. "A woman fell over the side of a steamboat last summer, but you don't believe it was an accident? I think I remember reading about that in the paper when it happened."

  He nodded eagerly. "Her name was Tatiana Richards. The cops said that she was so high on drugs that she must have fallen over the side. Someone spotted her in the water right away, and they managed to get her out, but it was too late. Guess she hit her head when she went over the side, and the medical examiner said the blow could have contributed to her death. Jerry thinks there's more to it than what the cops said. He thinks someone pushed her."

  Josie kept reading. "It says that she was a crackhead and had been busted for drugs a few times." She pursed her lips together. "Maybe she was so out of it that she thought she could fly off the boat. I've heard of things like that happening."

  Freddie shook his head. "Jerry says she was pushed. He was an anchorman for Channel 11 news at the time and was one of the first people on the scene."

  "Funny how he always seems to do that," Josie remarked.

  Freddie stared at her in confusion but went on. "Jerry said he saw part of a footprint near the railing, and judging by the size, it couldn't be hers. But it got washed away before he could tell anyone."

  "Did he report it to the police?" I asked.

  "Of course," Freddie said. "Jerry's such a stand-up guy."

  "Okay, I just threw up a little in my mouth," Josie whispered.

  My father came over and proudly patted Freddie on the shoulder. "Isn't he great? A student like this—they make it all worth it, Sal."

  "Sure, Dad." I was tempted to ask what "it" was, but decided I was better off not knowing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Don't forget to breathe, princess."

  I stopped huffing and puffing long enough to stare into Mike's handsome face. He was grinning from ear to ear as he stood at my bedside, holding my hand. "It will all be over soon," he said.

  I smiled up at him. "In a few minutes, we're going to see our sweet baby. I can't believe the time's finally come." The urge to push was great, and I tried to concentrate on Mike's face. This wasn't so bad. The labor pains didn't hurt nearly as bad as everyone had said.

  "Come on, baby girl," my father's voice urged. "You're almost there."

  My head whipped to the right, and I blinked once, no, twice. The delivery room was filled to capacity with members of my family. What the—

  My father stood a few feet away from the bed and in full view of the labor process, to my horror. He munched away on one of Josie's jelly cookies while my mother peered over his shoulder with a video camera.

  "We can see the head!" she announced excitedly. "I'll bet it's a boy! Jerry Maroon said he'll try to fit part of my actual delivery footage on the news tonight."

  "He what?" I screeched and then looked back at my husband. "What's going on? Are we selling tickets?"

  Gianna stood next to the doctor with Alex in her arms, feeding him a bottle. "Go, Sal, go! You're doing great! Can you move a little faster though? You need to be dressed for my wedding in an hour."

  Johnny appeared behind Gianna and gave me a thumbs-up. "You're not even screaming or smacking Mike around like Gianna did to me. Nice job, Sal!"

  Gianna's face turned beet red as she glared at her fiancé. "If you think it's so easy to give birth, feel free to try!"

  Mrs. Gavelli pushed her way in between my parents for a look, then clucked her tongue at me. She held a fortune cookie in one hand and a handmade black baby blanket in the other. She tried to hand it to the doctor, whose head was bent over in concentration. "You put baby on this. It wards bad spirits away. Ancient Italian secret. Yo, missy." She shook her finger at me. "You bring more fortune cookies?"

  "Mike?" My voice quavered as I turned to my husband, but he was on his cell. He smiled at me and squeezed my hand. "Sal, you're going to have to move a little faster. The Fosters have a leaky roof."

  "It's a boy, Sally!" the doctor announced as everyone clapped and cheered. "And he's absolutely perfect."

  The doctor's voice sounded familiar—too familiar. My mouth went dry as he raised h
is head over the sheet to look up at me, and I gasped. Brian removed his surgical mask and grinned, then held up a pair of shiny silver handcuffs. "Oh, and by the way, you're under arrest."

  I screamed.

  The light flicked on, and Mike leaned over me in our bed, his blue eyes anxious. "Sal, what's wrong? Is it time to go?"

  Relief swept over me. It had all been a dream—no, an actual nightmare. Exhausted, I ran a hand across my damp forehead. "Oh God. I just had the worst dream."

  Mike's strong arms went around my shoulders as he cradled me against his bare rock-hard chest. "Shh. It's all going to be fine. I'm sure all expectant mothers go through this." He chuckled. "Maybe you shouldn't have eaten tacos and pickles for dinner tonight."

  I stared up at him and burst into tears.

  His expression was horrified. "Oh, sweetheart, I was only kidding. You can eat anything you want. You're not fat—hell, that's only baby fat. Get it? You look beautiful and—"

  "It's not that," I wept. "I'm so scared."

  "About the delivery?" He kissed my hair. "There's no need to worry. I'll be with you every step of the way."

  "No. I mean, I'm a little scared about the pain, but—" I sat up straighter and leaned my back against the headboard. "I'm afraid that I'll have my baby in prison. Or they'll take me away in handcuffs right after I have him—or her." My hands rested on top of my belly. "I've wanted this for so long, and now I'm terrified that something bad is going to happen."

  Mike stroked my hair gently. "You're not going to jail, Sal. I'll never let that happen. Over my dead body."

  "But someone wants me to go to jail for this. Why me? If it weren't for that blasted Jerry Maroon, I might have been able to narrow down who did this by now. Thanks to him, everyone knows my cake server was the murder weapon." A lightbulb went on in my head. "Wait a second. No one knows about the gingerbread cookies next to Damian's body, except for the police, Josie, and me."

  "What difference does that make?" Mike asked.

  "Maybe that would help us to figure out who the real killer is," I said thoughtfully. "Rachel, his ex, didn't know, but Damian's girlfriend, Magnolia, must have seen the cookies because she found him." She also knew about the cake server. Could she know something else she hadn't told the police? "If I can meet with her and—"

  "No." Mike's tone was sharp. "It's far too dangerous, Sal. I'm putting my foot down this time. I won't have you playing detective in your condition."

  Tears ran down my cheeks. "What other choice do I have? Brian's removed himself from the case. Why haven't the cops found the Jolly-less Santas yet? They may not be that smart, but they've managed to outwit everyone so far. Why haven't the security cameras caught them? Everyone has one these days."

  "Stay calm, princess. Don't get yourself all worked up. It's not good for you or the baby."

  I reached for his hand. "I'm not saying that I can do a better job than the police, but I have to try. Josie and I won't do anything dangerous, and I'd never put our baby in jeopardy. You know that. Please trust me, okay? We're only going shopping at the mall tomorrow, and if we spot any suspicious-looking Santas, we'll alert the police."

  That got a smile out of him. "It's pretty sad when Santa starts looking suspicious." His voice became gruff. "It's going to happen, Sal. You, me, and our baby are going to have a wonderful Christmas together—the first of many." He placed his lips over mine, and desire swept over me like a tidal wave. At that moment, the baby gave a sharp kick, and Mike rubbed my stomach gently. "Seems like someone wants us to knock it off."

  I laughed. "I wish he or she would hurry up and get here."

  "It won't be long now. How about some hot chocolate?" Mike suggested. "It might help you sleep."

  "No, thanks. I just want you to hold me."

  "That can easily be arranged," he said softly.

  I laid down on my back and adjusted the pillow between my legs. It seemed to help with the leg and back pain.

  Mike draped his arm over my belly and lay on his side facing me. "See? And you were worried that I couldn't put my arms around you anymore," he chuckled.

  "You take care of everything." We were quiet for a few minutes, and I listened to the wind howling outside, grateful for Mike, my family, and my precious little one. "This baby still needs a name."

  "I'm working on it," Mike said. "But I think that I need to see her face first. Then inspiration will strike."

  I yawned and snuggled closer to him. "So, you think we're having a girl?"

  "I know we are." He kissed my hair and closed his eyes.

  "Well, Mr. Donovan, I'm convinced that we're having a boy. And he's going to look just like his daddy. Mrs. Gavelli thinks it's a boy too. She said she received a fortune cookie message confirming it."

  Mike snorted in my ear. "Mrs. Gavelli ought to mind her own business. Better yet, maybe she should pay more attention to the fortune cookies and leave your sister alone. Johnny told me yesterday that he's afraid Gianna's going to crack like one if the old lady doesn't back off."

  "Josie always says that Mrs. Gavelli could scare Satan."

  "Or Santa for that matter," Mike said sleepily.

  My eyes flickered open in the semidarkness, and I gasped. "Jeez, do you realize if you move the n and t in Satan, it spells Santa?"

  "Enough, Sal." Mike yawned. "You need to stop looking at every Santa like they're a potential killer. I want our child to believe in him for as long as possible."

  This surprised me. "I had no idea you felt that way."

  "Sure I do." He opened his eyes. "It's good for kids to have something to believe in—especially those who don't have much else to look forward to."

  A lump formed in my throat. He was talking about his own childhood. Unlike mine, it had not been a happy one.

  To my amazement, Mike chuckled. "Did I ever tell you about the one time I went to see Santa?"

  "No, but I want to hear all about it." Mike rarely talked about his childhood, and I knew why—the memories were too painful. His mother had been drunk most of the time, his dad had deserted him at the age of five, and his stepfather was an abusive, cruel man. I'd never thought about this before, but it made sense that he would believe in Santa. Hope and faith were important to everyone, but especially a child.

  His voice was soft against my ear. "It was right after my father had left. Mom was trying to sober up, but that didn't last long. I kept asking for a new bike, and she told me we couldn't afford one. So I begged her to take me to see Santa. I knew he'd bring me one if only I could go see him in person. Mom felt bad about Dad leaving, so she agreed."

  Mike propped himself up on one elbow and was staring down into my face, but I could tell that his mind was somewhere else. Back to another time and place, over 25 years ago. I reached up to stroke his hair. "Go on."

  He cleared his throat. "I didn't tell my mother that there was something else I wanted to ask Santa for, because she never would have taken me then."

  I had a hunch what it was but remained silent.

  Mike pursed his lips. "When it was finally my turn to sit on his lap, I asked him if he would bring my father back."

  Tears stung the corners of my eyes. "What did he say?"

  Mike wove his fingers through my hair. "Santa told me he didn't have the power to do things like that. I said, okay, if my father couldn't come back, then I'd take the bike." His midnight blue eyes twinkled at me. "I was quite the negotiator from a young age."

  "I can see that about you. Then what happened?"

  Mike stared thoughtfully at me, with an innocent look of wonder that made him seem much younger than his thirty-one years. "On Christmas morning, there it was, standing next to the tree. A Huffy yellow and blue bike. Training wheels and all." He smiled tenderly at me. "Year later I found out that my mother had sold her wedding ring to get me the bike. She may not have been mother of the year, but she did want me to have a good Christmas—the first one without my father there."

  "Oh my." Hot, fat tears trickle
d down my face like a fountain. "That's a beautiful story."

  He swiped under my eyes with the pad of his thumb. "It's a magical season, especially for kids, Sal." His voice had turned gruff. "And I want our child to enjoy every minute of it, every year."

  The tears showed no sign of letting up as I placed my arms around his neck, and he held me tightly against him. We lay there holding each other close and saying nothing for several minutes. When Mike finally drew back to kiss me, I noticed that his face was damp too.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The day stretched out before me like an endless road in the desert. I had nothing to do except wait and see what happened first—my baby arrived, or I wound up in jail.

  Mike planned to finish up a couple of odd jobs today, and then he was done with work until I had the baby. The house had been decorated and my shopping and wrapping long since completed. For once, my house was clean, and the baby's room all ready for him or her. I'd folded and refolded all the baby onesies, nightgowns, and receiving blankets at least three times in as many days. Being in the baby's room helped with my anxiety, and I enjoyed sitting in the rocker every night, looking at the Goodnight Moon and Pat the Bunny books I couldn't wait to read to my child.

  With a sigh, I went to the kitchen for my morning cup of hated decaf. Spike lay curled in his bed by the stove, sound asleep. When I spoke his name, he opened one eye, looked at me, and then shut it again, snoring even louder. He was as bored with me as I was with my current situation.

  This was ridiculous. I felt fine, and there was no reason why I couldn't drive to the bakery and try to help Josie with last-minute Christmas baking. Plus, I had to find a way to clear my name from Damian's murder. Maybe we could leave Dodie in charge for an hour or two this afternoon. It was risky to leave her there, but I couldn't go without Josie.

  When I arrived at the shop, I was dismayed to see that there was only one customer in the shop. There should have been a line of people out the door. Apparently, everyone in Colwestern thought a nine-month pregnant woman was still capable of murder.