Sweet Ginger Poison (9 page)

Lacey felt her face quickly turning red, but she
couldn’t stop it. “What?”

“A pair of panties,” said the chief.

Lacey could feel Danny staring at her, waiting to hear
her response.

The chief added, “They’re kind of unusual. They lace
up on the sides.”

Lacey hoped Ginger would tell the chief to stop making
these ridiculous innuendos.

The chief went on. “And there were two words printed
on the front of them—‘Unlace Me.’

“I’ve never seen any like that,” said Lacey. Then she
saw the disappointment in Ginger’s eyes—as though she didn’t believe her.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” said the chief, opening the
door. “Thanks again. Goodnight.”

Ginger said goodnight to Danny and Lacey as she
followed the chief out the door.

Danny locked the door and then spun around. “What was
that
about?”

“Navy was murdered,” said Lacey.

“I know
that
—but why did they want to talk to
you?
”

“Probably just wanted to talk to somebody who knew
about his allergy.”

“Yeah, but what’s this about the panties?”

“How should I know? I guess they belong to his
girlfriend. Who knows?”

“I saw those exact panties in your little lingerie
catalog.”

“What are doing looking through my catalog—checking
out all the half-naked women?”

“They were just like the ones the chief was talking
about.”

“The panties they found in Navy’s car are
not mine
.”
She wondered whether she had stated it forcefully enough.

Danny didn’t say a word. He just stormed off into the
bedroom.

She waited a minute and then went after him.

He was sitting on the other side of the bed, with his
back to her. She walked around to face him—and wished she hadn’t.

“What are you doing with that thing?”

He held up the pistol. “This thing?”

“Be careful.”

“I think you’re lying about the panties.”

Lacey was about to start telling him he had it all
wrong and to beg him to get rid of the gun. But then something snapped.

She snatched the pistol out of his hands. He was so
surprised that he didn’t have time to react.

Lacey stepped back with the gun and pointed at him.
“Get out of my home. Now!”

“I’m sorry, Lacey. I should have believed you. I
do
believe you, Honeypie.”

“No, you don’t! Get out of here
now
before I do
something we’re both gonna regret.”

He eased his hands into the air. “Okay. Take it easy.
I’m going.”

She followed him to the door. Once he had closed it
and walked away, she locked it.

Lacey didn’t need a man in her life. Not one who
didn’t trust her. But on the other hand—why should he? Especially since…she was
lying.

Cash and Carry Donuts was a very popular shop, sitting
just around the corner from town square. Cash Crawley, 34, was determined to
make his business more successful than his older brother’s restaurant, Bull
Crawley’s Bar and Grill. Bull had the advantage of a prime location on The
Square. Plus, Bull’s full-service restaurant could pull in heavy traffic at all
three mealtimes.

Cash had always conceded the lunch and dinner crowd to
his brother. And Bull knew that Cash’s donuts were preferred over his apple pie
for coffee breaks. But breakfast was war. Sure, everybody knew donuts were a
poor nutritional choice. But it was difficult to drive by Cash and Carry Donuts
without stopping—especially early in the morning. And particularly since Cash
had installed
the fan
.

He had discovered that on mild weather days when he
could turn off the air conditioning and leave the front door open he got a lot
more business—particularly in the morning. Then he realized it wasn’t the fresh
air dining that brought in the people. It was the fragrance of fresh, hot
donuts wafting out into the street, creating an invisible wall of temptation,
diverting Bull’s bacon and egg eaters into Cash’s sticky-sweet den of donuts.

Cash wished he could leave the door open year-round.
But that would make the temperature very uncomfortable inside on most days. So,
he removed one of his front windows and installed a huge exhaust fan. His
electric bill went up a bit—but not near as much as his profit.

Then a couple of months ago he had another idea: What
would happen if he extended his hours until 10:00 p.m.? And instead of offering
donuts that had been made that morning, what if he fried up a fresh batch at
around 7:00 p.m. He knew he would still get almost no business at dinner time.
But what about right after dinner, and then close to bedtime when people got
the munchies? What did those folks normally do—go out for ice cream? Why not a
box of hot, fresh donuts? It was worth a try.

Once the word got out, his evening traffic began to
grow. Now his second-busiest time of day was between 9:30 and 10:00 p.m. His
store was becoming
the destination
for a late night sugar fix.

And he had learned to have the coffee brewing right up
until closing. His coffee was always fresh—anytime of the day or night. But you
paid for it. A cup of Cash and Carry coffee cost fifty percent more than
anywhere else in town—but the cups were twice as big. And his coffee cups were
not the environmentally-friendly ones made out of recycled paper. Cash hated
those things. He served piping hot, I-dare-you-to-sue-me-for-burning-yourself,
coffee in heavy duty Styrofoam cups.

A drive-through window would have brought in even more
business. But because his shop was located between two other stores, there was
no way to add one. Cash had briefly wondered about the possibility of a
drive-through window at the back of the building. But the City Council never
would have approved it. His neighboring shop owners would have thrown a fit
over the idea of Cash’s customers driving through
their
alley all day
long.

Silvy Knox had only been working at the donut shop for
a few weeks. The young blonde had landed the job soon after moving to
Coreyville. She had lied about being nineteen, calculating that Cash would be
more likely to sleep with a twenty-one year-old.

“It’s almost closing time, Boys.”

The two young cops looked up from their coffee and
donuts. Silvy could tell they wanted her body. Otherwise, one or both of them
would have made some remark about how she should show more respect to the
police. A young woman like her had no right to refer to Coreyville’s Finest as
‘boys.’ She knew how hot she was, and enjoyed using it to the max.

“We need nourishment so we’ll have plenty of energy to
serve and protect,” said Officer #1.

“Yeah,” said Officer #2, “without us out there to
protect you, you’d feel…naked.” He did a slow scan of her body—as though he had
X-ray vision.

“Ooh,” said Silvy, “I guess I
would
.” She
covered herself with both hands, as though she were naked. The cops seemed to
lose their appetite—for
donuts
. She loved it. “So, what’s happening
around town—anything new?”

“Well, I guess you heard about Navy Newcomb,” said
Officer #1.”

“Sure,” said Silvy. “Everybody’s heard about that.”

“Yeah,” said Officer #2, “but I’ll bet you didn’t
know…,” lowering his voice, “…that it was
murder
.”

“Really?” said Silvy. “I thought he just tripped and
hit his head.”

“He was poisoned,” said Officer #2.

“You’re kidding,” said Silvy.

She pumped them for more details, but soon realized
they didn’t have any.

After the cops left and the dining area had been
cleaned up for the next day, the other workers took off and Silvy locked the
front door.

She walked into the kitchen and saw Cash organizing an
array of ingredients on the counter. His brand new ovens were preheating.

Up until now, the only food items Cash sold were
donuts: glazed, powdered, filled, twisted, puffed, rolled—every imaginable
type. He dominated the donut market in Coreyville. Now he wanted to branch out.
He wanted a business like Ginger Lightley’s. People came from all over, just to
purchase her famous baked money-makers.

But he would go further than Ginger had. She refused
to pursue an internet business. Cash figured she was just too old to understand
the opportunities—the fortune to be made through online sales. He wouldn’t be
so foolish. His new cakes would one day be even more famous than Ginger’s.

“Everybody’s gone and we’re all locked up,” said
Silvy.

“Check out these jumbo muffin pans,” said Cash. “Wait
until people get a taste of my new Cash and Carry Cupcakes.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to call them muffins? Cupcakes
are usually kinda small.”

“No. I’m calling them cupcakes because it goes better
with Cash and Carry. Besides, a lot of restaurants sell muffins. I’m gonna
offer people a new vision of what a cupcake can be.”

“Big?”

“Yeah—and amazingly delicious. But I need to come up
with a cool name for each flavor—like Ginger Lightley does. She’s got the
Carrot Orange Blossom, the Pineapple Doozie, the Veggie Lightley, and names
like that.”

“And don’t forget about the Sweet Ginger Cake.”

“Yeah. I should have a cupcake with
my
name on
it. Like…the CashCake or something.”

“What kind of flavor would that be? Would it taste
like
money?
”

“Very funny. I don’t know yet. I’ll think of
something.”

Silvy slithered in between Cash and the counter and
looked up at him with her ultra-seductive eyes. “I’d like to taste
your
flavor
right now, Baby.”

Normally, this would have been enough to make the
ambitious entrepreneur forget all about work. But not tonight. He stepped to
the side, picked up
the
black book and began to thumb through it.

“I can’t believe you’re already using it,” said Silvy.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because he just died this morning.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” said Cash, flipping another
page.

“Don’t you feel bad that you didn’t even
pay
him
for it?”

“I
would
have—if he had lived long enough.” He
set the book down, opened, and checked the items on the counter against the
recipe. “Good. I’ve got everything I need. Might as well get started.”

Silvy wondered why Cash couldn’t have just created his
own
recipes instead of stealing them. But she knew the answer: Cash had
a dull sense of taste. He did know a good donut when he tasted it. But beyond
dough and icing, he was lost.

“I’ve got some bad news,” said Silvy.

“What’s that?”

“A couple of cops came in just before closing.”

“Cops love their coffee and donuts, don’t they? It’s a
stereotype—but it’s true.”

“Yeah.” She just stood there waiting for him to take
her seriously.

Cash stopped what he was doing and looked at her.
“What?”

“Navy was murdered.”

“
Murdered?
I though he just tripped and busted
his head open.”

“They did an autopsy. He was poisoned.”

“Well, I had nothing to do with it. Why is it bad news
for
me?”

“Because apparently the poison was in something he ate
or drank this morning. And I remember you coming out of your office to get him
a cup of coffee.”

“Well, yeah. But I sure didn’t put anything in it.
They can test the cup and see for themselves.”

“Yes, that’s right. They can test the
Cash and
Carry coffee cup
.”

“Oh, I get what you’re saying. The police are going to
wonder what time he came by here.”

“And Ginger Lightley’s probably already reported that
her recipe book was stolen.”

“But they have no proof of anything.” His tense face
began to relax. “Navy’s dead. And the only other people who knew about the book
were you and me.”

“Right.”

“You didn’t tell anybody, did you?”

She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around him
and looked up into his eyes, smiling. “Of course not. You know you can trust
me, Baby.” She reached up and pulled his head down to her and began to give him
a long, steamy kiss.

Ginger was sitting in the living room in her robe with
the Saturday edition of the Coreyville Courier in one hand and a pencil in the
other. It was nearly her bedtime, but she was determined to get the crossword
puzzle finished. In tomorrow’s paper there would be another one, and she hated
to fall behind.

She glanced up at the TV occasionally, when a story
caught her interest. But Channel 7 News made no mention of Navy. When the
sports segment came on, she clicked the remote to turn off the TV.