Sweet Ginger Poison

by Robert Burton Robinson

  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?”

  “The police think it’s murder,” said Jane, almost gleefully.

  “No. They don’t know yet,” said Ginger.

  “So, now we’ve got a major crime being investigated by a chief of police who couldn’t shoot his way out of a box of corn flakes,” said Barb.

  “It could have been just an accident,” said Ginger.

  “I don’t buy it,” said Barb. “A healthy, sober 24-year-old doesn’t just fall down on the sidewalk and die.”

  “How do you know he was sober?” said Ethel.

  “Well, it was early in the morning, so I assume…,” Barb looked at Ginger. “Washe sober?”

  “I think so,” said Ginger. “Addie didn’t notice anything unusual about him when he came by the bakery.”

  “I heard that he dropped off the coffee cakes and then ran out to his car and started tearing out the interior,” said Ethel. “Somebody said it looked like a wild raccoon had ripped the dashboard to shreds.”

  “Where did you hear that? No. That’s wrong,” said Ginger. “He was apparently trying to find something in his glove box, and just pulled everything out and threw it on the floorboard.”

  “What do the police think he was looking for?” said Barb.

  Before Ginger could speak, Jane said, “They don’t know. But once they figure that out, they’ll understand what happened to him.”

  “Who told you that, Jane?” said Barb. “One of your ‘horny hobblers?’

  “No,” shouted Jane. “I mean—they didn’t tell me that. And they’re not horny and they don’t hobble.”

  Barb loved to needle Jane about two seventy-something year-old deputies who often came around flirting with Jane at the diner.

  “Well,” said Barb, “if you ever decide to go out with one of them, you’d better hopethey’re still horny.”

  “Barb,” said Ethel, “quit picking on her.”

  “I’m not interested in that,” said Jane. “I just love a man in uniform.”

  “Yeah, uniforms are great,” said Barb. “You can hide a whole lotta ugly inside one of those things.”

  “Well, that was just rude, Barb,” said Ethel.

  “I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” said Barb. She threw back her tea glass and gulped down half of it.

  “Well, not that it matters, but I got my information from two fine, youngdeputies,” said Jane proudly.

  “Those boys are greener than Foenapper,” said Barb. “What we need around here are more veteran officers—men who can command some respect. All we’ve got is a couple of over-the-hillers and a pack of skinny-butt pimple-poppers.”

  “Well, I’m sure our new mayor will try to get higher salaries for our deputies,” said Ethel. “Then maybe we can get some men with more experience.”

  “If y’all will allow me to speak,” said Jane, “I’ll tell you what I found out.” She cleared her throat for the big pronouncement, and then waited until all eyes were on her. “They found a pair of panties under his front seat.”

  “So? They were probably his,” said Barb.

  Ethel giggled.

  “No, no,” said Jane. “They were sexy. Like something you’d get from Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Still could have been his,” said Barb.

  “I don’t think so,” said Ginger.

  “Why? What do you know?” said Jane.

  “Probably nothing,” said Ginger. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s change the subject.”

  “I’m all for that,” said Ethel. “What’s for dessert?”

  Jane jumped in before Ginger could answer. “Coffee Cake of the Month.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” said Ethel.

  “Bring it on,” said Barb.

  “Okay.” Ginger got up and went into the kitchen.

  “What’s it called?” yelled Jane from the breakfast nook.

  “Firecracker Cocoa Cake,” said Ginger.

  “What?” yelled Jane.

  Ginger wou
ld not answer anymore yells. She uncovered the serving dish and carried it back out to the table, along with four dessert plates and forks. “It’s called Firecracker Cocoa Cake.”

  “Ooh—sounds hot,” said Ethel. “So, it tastes like hot cocoa?”

  “No,” said Ginger, “not at all.”

  “Come on, Ethel,” said Barb, “that would be too easy.”

  Ginger sat the serving dish in the center of the table and then placed a dessert plate and fork in front of each of the women. She had pre-sliced two of the mini-cakes.

  They each took a slice and began to eat it.

  “It’s not really that hot,” said Ethel. “Oh—I take that back. It’s getting hotter. In fact, I don’t know if I can—”

  “—yes, you can, Ethel,” said Ginger. “Hang on.”

  “Okay,” said Ethel. “I see what you mean. It almost got too hot for me. But not quite. Then it cooled back down a little. How unusual.”

  “And delicious,” said Jane.

  “Weird combination of flavors,” said Barb. “But I really like it.”

  “Thanks.” Ginger smiled. Her new recipe had passed the ultimate test.

  Ginger’s cell phone rang. She couldn’t imagine who would be calling her at 6:30 p.m. She took it out of her pocket and checked the caller ID. It was an unknown caller.

  “Hello? (pause) Oh, hi, Chief.”

  The other three women watched with great curiosity.

  Jane motioned for Ginger to put him on speakerphone.

  Ginger clicked the button. “So, what did you find out from the medical examiner?”

  “He’s not finished. They apparently had a rash of suspicious deaths in Longview last night. So, Navy’s been waiting his turn. I’ve got one of my deputies down there. He was supposed to call me when they were getting close to Navy. But he took a quick dinner break, and when he got back they were almost done with him.”

  “I see. Well, do you know anythingyet?”

  “Yeah. Are you at home?”

  Ginger was puzzled. “Yes.”

  “Good. I want you to ride down to Longview with me.”

  “Right now?” She looked at her guests.

  “Yes. I’m on my way.”

  Was he coming from his office? If so, he would be there in less than a minute. “Why do you want meto go? What did you find out?”

  “Well, from what my deputy told me, it sounds like they found some kind of poison in Navy’s body. And we know he ate one of your coffee cakes, so—”

  “—how do you know that?”

  “We found a cellophane wrapper on the front seat of his car. The label said ‘Sweet Ginger Cake.’”

  Ethel stared at her empty dessert dish and gulped. She looked at Barb and then at Jane. Clearly, they were all having the same thoughts: (1) There was no way that their dear friend would try to poison them (2) But under the circumstances, would it be considered bad manners to barf up their dessert?

  Chapter 10

  “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 foun
d 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.