Ginger Snapped

by Gail Oust

  “Are you sure?” he asked with uncharacteristic hesitation.

  I smiled. “I’m positive.”

  A chill gust of wind blew through Spice It Up! From the rear of the shop, a door slammed against the wall sounding like a gunshot. Upstairs, Casey burst into frenzied barking.

  McBride pushed me behind him. “Stay put and call nine-one-one.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “BUT—”

  “Stay put!” McBride withdrew a pistol no bigger than a squirt gun from a holster at the small of his back. “And call nine-one-one.”

  “Be careful,” I whispered, but too late; he was already gone. Frantic, I dug through an evening bag large enough only for my phone and a lipstick.

  It seemed an eternity for my 911 call to be rerouted to the officer on duty. Apparently no one manned the front desk at this hour. At last, a groggy-sounding Beau Tucker came on the line to assure me he’d be there shortly.

  “All clear!” McBride shouted.

  I followed the sound of his voice and hurried through my shop and upstairs as quickly as my long skirt and high heels allowed. I froze on the threshold to my apartment. My home had been trashed. The contents of the kitchen cabinets were strewn everywhere. Whoever did this was obviously looking for something and had been angry they hadn’t found it.

  “Hate to tell you this, but your bedroom’s even worse.” McBride replaced his weapon. “Only place not ransacked is your daughter’s room.”

  Casey chose that moment to peek out of Lindsey’s doorway. My little mutt was overjoyed to see me. In a single mighty bound worthy of a superhero, he leaped into my arms.

  “At least your pooch is unharmed. I found Casey locked in Lindsey’s bedroom. Looks like he tried to claw his way out. You’ll probably have to refinish or replace the door.”

  “Doors can be easily replaced; pets can’t.” Holding Casey tightly, I maneuvered through the disaster zone in a daze. Cushions and throw pillows littered the living room floor. The drawer of an end table had been dumped on the carpet, its contents scattered. “I’m glad Lindsey’s spending the night at CJ’s and won’t see this mess.”

  My bedroom had taken the brunt of the attack. Sheets and bedspread had been ripped off and tossed on the floor. The mattress rested at an odd angle on the box spring. My clothing lay in untidy heaps everywhere. The drawer of my computer desk had been emptied, then smashed into smithereens.

  “Any idea who might be responsible?”

  I was aware that McBride watched me closely. Was he afraid he’d have to comfort a hysterical female? Watch me dissolve in a puddle of tears? Truth be told, hysterics and tears might have brought some relief. Instead, I felt numb and shocked by what a stranger had done to my home—my sanctuary. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I have no idea who might have done this.”

  McBride wrapped his arms around me. “It’s all right. We’ll figure this out.”

  Slowly, my world righted itself. I rested my head against his shoulder and allowed myself to be comforted. McBride tightened his embrace until Casey yelped in protest, making me smile. “Sorry, pal,” I told him.

  Flashing red and blue lights from the street below bounced across the apartment walls. “Police!” Beau Tucker bellowed.

  “Upstairs!” McBride shouted back, then released me.

  Tucker’s heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. We met him in the kitchen. He frowned when he saw that I wasn’t alone, but if he was curious why McBride was with me—and dressed in a tux—he kept his comments to himself. He stood for a long moment surveying the chaos, then shoved up the bill of his cap. “Place is a mess. Who did you piss off this time?”

  McBride drilled him with a look. “If that’s an example of your interview technique, Sergeant, you need to return to the academy for a refresher course.”

  Beau’s face colored at the reprimand. “Anything missing?”

  “No,” I murmured, “but I won’t know until I get a better look.”

  “On my way upstairs, I checked your cash register. Looks like the perp jimmied the drawer with a crowbar or some such tool. Took the bills, left the coins.”

  “Oh no,” I groaned at hearing this. “Saturday is my busiest and my most profitable day. I was distracted helping Lindsey get ready for prom, so I postponed depositing the day’s receipts.”

  “Any reports of recent break-ins?” McBride wanted to know.

  “Some joker attempted a B and E at the Gas ’n Go a few nights back. Must’ve spotted the security cameras and got scared off.” Beau took a notebook out of his uniform pocket and flipped through the pages. “A hunting cabin got vandalized last week. Probably kids lookin’ for booze.”

  “What next?” I absently petted Casey’s head. He rewarded me by slathering my chin with doggy kisses.

  “I’ll send Moyer over in the morning, have him dust for prints. In the meantime, take a look around, but don’t touch anything until the scene’s been processed.” He snapped his notebook shut. “You have someplace to spend the night? Might be best if you stay away until Moyer’s done his job.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  He turned to leave. “The perp gained entry by kicking in the rear door. Have James Bond, here secure it before you leave.”

  I blew out a sigh after hearing him drive off. “And as they say, that’s that.”

  “C’mon,” McBride said. “Grab whatever you might need. You’re spending the night at my place. Tomorrow will be soon enough to tackle this project.”

  I stared at him, unsure I’d heard correctly. “I’m sure Reba Mae won’t mind letting me sleep on her sofa.”

  He placed both hands on my shoulders. “Look, it’s late. Surely you don’t want to disturb Reba Mae and her boys at this hour. Bring your mutt along. He’ll be good company for Fraidy. She’s been an only pet for too long.”

  I had neither the energy—nor inclination—to muster a refusal. “Okay, but what about the door? The burglar might come back. I can’t leave it wide open.”

  “Tell me where you keep a hammer and nails. I’ll fix it while you gather your things.”

  McBride was as good as his word. By the time I returned downstairs with a few items hastily stuffed into a pillowcase, he had the door securely fastened.

  “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  I woke the next morning to the smell of coffee brewing. I lay quietly for a moment, naked and content in McBride’s king-size bed. No regrets. No embarrassment. Only an overwhelming sense of well-being.

  I heard McBride moving about, so, yawning and stretching, I rolled out of bed. I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to shower. I emerged smelling of pine-scented soap and my hair a riot of curls. I had no idea where the pillowcase containing my belongings might be—for all I knew they could still be in Hoyt’s Lincoln—so I made do with what was available.

  When I came out of the bedroom, I found McBride hunched over his laptop at the breakfast bar. A wide grin spread across his face when he looked up and saw me standing there. “My tuxedo shirt looks better on you than it does on me.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I saw the way girls were giving you the eye.” I walked over to the coffeemaker and poured coffee in a cup he had had waiting.

  “So this is how you look first thing in the morning.”

  I dragged a hand through my tousled hair. “What you see is what you get.”

  “I like the freckles. It was one of the first things I noticed about you.” He got up and sauntered toward me, coffee mug in one hand “I confess, I’m not much of a cook, but I know how to fry an egg.”

  “Give the caffeine time to jump-start my brain; then I’ll raid your refrigerator and see what I can come up with.”

  “I spoke to Moyer while you were in the shower. He said it could take a while to do a thorough job. So there’s no need to rush.…”

  So we didn’t rush. Instead, we took it slow and easy.

  * * *

  “Sure you don’t want my help?” McB
ride asked.

  “Thanks, but Reba Mae offered to tackle the job. She knows my home almost as well as her own.”

  Reality hit like a sucker punch. We were in Hoyt’s Lincoln, which McBride would return in exchange for his truck. McBride kept his eyes trained on the road as he talked. “Tucker’s convinced you angered some person who took out his or her aggression on you. Moyer, conversely, hasn’t ruled out a random act of vandalism.”

  “What do you think?” I studied his profile, but it didn’t give a clue to the thoughts.

  “Both theories are valid, but I got the impression that whoever did this was looking for something specific.”

  “Like cash or jewelry?”

  “Do you keep anything of value in your apartment?”

  “I sold all the expensive jewelry CJ had given me over the years to help finance Spice It Up!” I confessed.

  “Could someone be sending you a message? A warning of sorts?”

  “I don’t know why. I’ve asked questions of a few people but haven’t discovered anything worthwhile.”

  He turned down the street behind my shop and switched off the ignition. “You’ve gained a reputation as an amateur sleuth. You might be making someone nervous.” He rested his arm along the top of the seat, his hand cupping the back of my neck. “Promise you’ll be extracareful.”

  “Promise.” I tried to sound carefree and nonchalant, but carefree was impossible when he started to stroke my throat with his thumb. My pulse bucked like a bronco beneath his touch.

  The reaction didn’t go unnoticed. McBride’s mouth curved in a smile of pure male satisfaction seconds before he leaned across the console and claimed mine for a kiss with enough heat to fog the windows.

  It might have grown even steamier if Reba Mae hadn’t chosen that moment to knock on the driver’s side window. “All right, you two, break it up!”

  Snatching my belongings from the backseat, I scrambled out of the car.

  “Hiya, Wyatt.” Reba Mae grinned ear to ear. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  “You bet.” With a jaunty salute, he drove off.

  Reba Mae draped her arm over my shoulders as we trudged up the path leading to my rear door. “Makin’ a fashion statement?” she asked, laughing. “Silver stilettos and blue jeans. And what’s with the T-shirt? Looks big enough to fit McBride.”

  My cheeks flushed. “In all the confusion last night, I only had time for a grab and go. Besides, all my clothes are going through a wash cycle before being put away. It gives me the willies knowing some creep handled my things.”

  “Wyatt called Clay first thing. Told him about the break-in and how you needed a new door with a sturdy lock.”

  “I don’t know how Clay managed it, but I owe him big-time,” I remarked, spying a door so new it needed a coat of paint.

  “Don’t worry about a thing. My boy’s got contacts in the construction business.” Reba Mae slid a key into the hefty stainless-steel lock and opened the door. “Clay said be sure to remind you that you need to do a thorough inventory for your insurance company.”

  Reba Mae let out a low whistle when she entered my kitchen. Bending down, she picked a whisk and set of measuring spoons off the floor. “I’ll start here. You take the bedroom, and we’ll meet in the livin’ room. Then”—she winked—“you can tell your BFF all about your sleepover.”

  I tried to set my mind on autopilot as I went about restoring order out of chaos. My washing machine and dryer worked nonstop as I did load after load of laundry. I was double-checking the pockets of various pairs of jeans before tossing them in the wash when I pulled out an oblong piece of plastic barely an inch long. I held it in the palm of hand and stared at it, puzzled. Then it dawned on me. It was the same object that had fallen out of Shirley’s shoe yesterday. On closer examination, I realized it wasn’t a device used to deter shoplifters but a flash drive.

  But what was a flash drive doing in the toe of an expensive pair of designer shoes? First a stolen computer, now a hidden flash drive. Like McBride, I wasn’t a believer in coincidence. The two had to be connected, but how? And what, if anything, did this have to do with her death?

  I hurried into the kitchen, where Reba Mae was sorting cutlery into a drawer. “Reba Mae, have you seen my computer?”

  “Nope, but I’ll help you look for it.”

  We searched high and low but couldn’t find it anywhere. “Guess a missing computer goes on my inventory list,” I said, feeling discouraged.

  “Doesn’t Lindsey have a laptop?” Reba Mae plumped a seat cushion before setting it on an armchair. “Maybe the home wrecker missed it.”

  “Let’s check.” I went into Lindsey’s bedroom with Reba Mae close behind. Buried beneath a mound of clothing on Lindsey’s dresser, her laptop was seemingly untouched. After powering it on, I plugged the flash drive into a USB port. “This was tucked into the toe of one of Shirley’s shoes,” I explained, scrolling through my options. I found the drive with the USB, clicked on it, and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Reba Mae watched from over my shoulder. “Why isn’t it workin’?”

  I straightened, more puzzled than ever. “Because the flash drive’s password protected, that’s why. Whatever’s on it, Shirley wanted to make sure it was for her eyes only.”

  CHAPTER 26

  USUALLY I FELT a certain sense of satisfaction with every sale, but today was an exception. My antique cash register—of which I was extremely fond—had been abused. Its cash drawer had been battered by a burglar. Instead of rolling out smoothly, it now had to be pried out with a coat hanger or nail file. Officer Gary Moyer had dusted it for prints but nada, nil, zero. From Moyer’s comments, I knew Beau Tucker considered mine a run-of-the-mill break-in and entry no different from the one at the Gas ’n Go or Creekside Realty.

  In between customers, who were prompted to visit more by curiosity than an urge to purchase salt or cinnamon, I filled out the inventory form the insurance agent had supplied. I’d promised him I’d drop it at his office by the close of the business day. Aside from Saturday’s cash profits, a few pieces of costume jewelry and my laptop comprised the list.

  And the recent robbery wasn’t the only problem on my mind. I was also concerned about my children. How would Chad and Lindsey react when they found out their mother was … involved … with Wyatt McBride? I doubted they’d welcome the news. Lindsey was intimidated that, even though suspended, McBride was still technically the chief of police. Chad hadn’t met McBride yet, so no telling if he’d be pro or con about our … involvement. Before he started college Chad and I had shared a special mother-son bond, but our relationship had undergone a subtle change. I wasn’t sure whether to blame the estrangement on our divorce or the physical distance separating us. Until recently, I’d been under the impression he was focused solely on being accepted by one of the top-ranked medical schools. Then I started hearing talk of a girlfriend and a gap year.

  On impulse, I reached for my cell phone and punched in a familiar number. “CJ, we need to talk. When’s a good time?”

  After some hemming and hawing on his end of the line, we agreed to meet at his office at the end of the day.

  * * *

  The insurance agency had already closed by the time I reached their office, so I slid the inventory form under their door where they’d be sure to find it first thing tomorrow morning. My final stop was the offices of Prescott and Wainwright, Attorneys. I squeezed my VW into a space between CJ’s Lexus and Matt’s Bimmer. Wanda’s Honda was present, too, even though it was after the paralegal’s usual quitting time. For a reason that escaped me, the woman had never been a member of my fan club. Now that I was no longer married to one of her employers, she often let her dislike be known.

  Straightening my shoulders, along with my resolve, I marched up the walk and into the reception area. No one manned the front desk, which wasn’t unusual. The young and inexperienced receptionists CJ and Matt kept hiring tended to treat the job as a revolving door
.

  I proceeded down the hall toward CJ’s office. A quick peek through Wanda’s half-open door found her scowling at a computer printout. She appeared clearly unhappy, and I was glad I wasn’t the object of her wrath.

  I found CJ, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, his tie loosened, behind a massive desk. When he saw me, he removed a pair of reading glasses with sleek black designer frames and motioned me to take a seat.

  “What’s with the glasses, CJ? Old age creeping up on you?”

  He had the grace to look shamefaced. “Amber’s been pesterin’ me to ditch the eyeglasses and have laser surgery.”

  “Better to project that boyish charm of yours?”

  “You might say that.” Opening a desk drawer, he brought out a bottle and poured two fingers’ worth of Wild Turkey into an Old Fashioned glass. “I’d offer you one, but I know you’ve never been partial to fine Kentucky bourbon. Havin’ dinner tonight at Amber’s parents’ house. Need to fortify myself before an evenin’ with Amelia and Max.” He studied me over the rim of his glass. “So what’s with all the talk about you and McBride? Matt said you two were actin’ pretty chummy at Lindsey’s prom.”

  Instantly I went on the defensive. “No concern of yours, CJ. We’re both adults.”

  He pointed the raised glass of whiskey at me. “Heed my advice, darlin’: McBride’s nothin’ but white trash. Always was, always will be. You can do a whole lot better.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from asking, Better than what? An ambitious, ambulance-chasing, skirt-chasing man like the one I married?

  “McBride’s a likely suspect in a murder investigation. Have to hand it to him, he’s a wily devil. Thinks he’s covered his tracks, but you wait; he’ll trip himself up. And when he does, Beau will be waitin’ with an arrest warrant.”

  “McBride didn’t have anything to do with Shirley’s death, and you know it as well as I do.” I clasped my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking—or punching him. “I didn’t come here to discuss McBride. I’m here to find out what’s going on with our son. These days you seem to be the parent in the know.”