Sweet Ginger Poison (2 page)

“Amazing,” he replied. “How did you do it?”

And that was how it all started. Ginger never had any
formal training as a baker. Her only tools were a keen sense of taste and
smell. She just kept experimenting until she got it right. That’s how she
created all of her original recipes.

She closed the door behind her. There was already a
line at the counter. Cheryl Iper was hurriedly accepting cash, checks, and
credit cards. At the time they opened, most of the customers were on the way to
work. Cheryl was doing her best to get them in and out as quickly as possible.

Ginger had never known anybody who could, at the same
time, be so frantic yet cheerful, while spouting one-liners so fast that you’d
never guess she was a native East Texan.

“Good morning, Cheryl.”

“Morning, Ginger.”

Ginger walked around behind the counter and leaned in
close to Cheryl. “Where’s Danny?”

Cheryl blushed. Danny was her twenty-one year old son.
“He overslept. I’m sorry, Ginger. But don’t worry. I’ve got everything under
control. I can manage until he gets here. And, of course, I’ll dock his pay.”

“That’s fine. I know you can handle it.” Ginger would
have offered to pitch in, but she knew that would only make Cheryl feel more
guilty about Danny being late.

Ginger walked over to the reduced price rack.
Obviously, Navy Newcomb had already come by to pick up the three-day-old cakes
for the nursing home.

She gave a twenty-five percent discount on day-old
cakes, and a fifty-percent discount on two-day olds. Even after three days, the
cakes were still perfectly good, but she couldn’t bring herself to reduce the
price further, so she just gave them away to the Coreyville Country Home. The
cafeteria would cut them into slices to serve with lunch. The residents loved
them.

Ginger walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, Addie.
How’s it going?”

Addie was busy removing freshly baked cakes from their
pans. She stopped and turned around. “Good morning. It’s going fine.”

As usual, Addie had smudges of flour all over her.
Ginger nearly giggled when she noticed the perfectly round white circle on each
of Addie’s dark cheeks. It looked like the work of a powder puff in the hands
of a color-blind Avon lady.

“How many three-day-olds went out today?”

She thought for a moment. “About twenty.”

“Where’s Lacey?”

“She went out for a smoke break. Second one this
morning.”

Ginger shook her head. Lacey Greendale was a beautiful
five-foot-ten twenty-one year old with blue eyes and long dark hair. Her ivory
skin was silky smooth. She was a sweet young lady, but very naïve. And you
could break her heart by just looking at her with disappointed eyes.

Lacey opened the back door and walked into the
kitchen. “Good morning, Mrs. Lightley.”

“Please—call me ‘Ginger.’”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”

She walked over and put her arm around Lacey, who
towered over her. Ginger looked up at her and pointed to her own mouth. “Reason
Five to stop smoking?”

Lacey cover her mouth with her hand. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t worry about me. But what about boys? I
mean, men?”

“Well—“

“—I know. If the guy’s a smoker, he doesn’t even smell
it on you. But do you really want to get involved with a smoker? First thing
you know, you’ll marry him and start having kids. And then your kids will have
to live in all that smoke. Surely you don’t want that.”

Lacey was embarrassed. “Oh, no. Of course not.”

“Good.” Ginger released her and smiled at her. She was
proud of Lacey. She was beginning to take her little speeches to heart. “Okay.
Danny’s running late, so you’d better go out front and help Cheryl until he
gets here.”

Lacey seemed slightly annoyed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Ginger was surprised by her attitude. Lacey usually
did whatever she was told with a smile.

After she walked out, Ginger turned to Addie. “What’s
wrong with her?”

“I don’t know. She’s been acting kinda funny this
morning.”

“I’ll talk to her later.”

Addie noticed something on the counter. “Uh-oh.”

“What is it?” Please don’t let it be a roach.

“The recipe book. It’s gone.”

“Was it there this morning when you came in?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure, Addie?”

“Yes. I always check. It was definitely sitting right
there.”

“So, you think Lacey took it?”

“Had to be her.”

“No, I can’t believe she would steal from me.”

“It’s worth thousands of dollars.”

Ginger shook her head. “I guess I shouldn’t have
tempted her.”

“Why are you going easy on her? Nobody else who’s ever
worked here has stolen it. And don’t you think they were tempted?”

“I guess so. But now I wish I’d never started leaving
it out like that. Are you absolutely sure that it couldn’t have been somebody
else?”

“Like who?” Then Addie’s expression changed in a
flash.

“What?”

“Navy. He waited here in the kitchen while I went out
front to make sure Lacey had picked up all the three-day-olds.”

“Where was Lacey?”

“She went out back for a smoke break right when he
came in. I asked her to check out front for me before she took her break, but
she ignored me and went out anyway. So, I had to do it myself.”

“So, Navy could have grabbed the recipe book while he
was in here alone.”

“He could have. It was either him or Lacey. One of
them stole it.”

Ginger knew that Navy Newcomb had blown his trust
fund, and that he was flat broke. The whole town knew it. But she didn’t think
he would stoop
this
low.

And if he did steal it, who would he sell it to?

Lacey stuck her head in the kitchen and said, “Brother
Bideman is here.”

Ginger was still in deep thought, trying to come to
terms with the fact that either Lacey or Navy had stolen her recipe book. “Oh.
He’s a little early this morning.”

She went out to the dining area and spotted him
sitting at their usual table. All the locals knew better than to take the table
in the back corner. She and the reverend had their morning coffee together at
that table every day—except on Sundays, of course.

Coreyville Coffee Cakes was closed on the Sabbath. But
Ginger still got to see him. Elijah Bideman was the pastor of Corey Acres
Baptist Church. On any given Sunday, she could be found in her favorite pew,
listening to Elijah’s sermon.

There were whisperings around town that Ginger and the
good reverend were much more than just friends. After all, Ginger’s husband,
Lester, had died two years earlier, and Elijah’s wife had left him four years
ago. Many folks figured it was about time the two admitted they were in love.

But Ginger was not in love with Elijah. She would not
allow
herself to fall in love again. Lester had been her one true love. There
could never be another. That’s the way it was meant to be.

She picked up two ceramic coffee cups and filled them.
Elijah took his coffee black, and so did she.

He was scanning the front page of the local newspaper,
The Coreyville Courier
. The Saturday edition was so thin and lightweight
that paperboys had to worry about it blowing right out of a customer’s yard.

The Sweet Ginger Cake sitting in front of him had not
been touched. He knew his breakfast partner would be arriving at any moment.

“Would you like some coffee to go with that cake,
Sir?”

He looked at Ginger and smiled broadly. A salesman
could only wish to have such a smile. His dimples alone could make a woman
dizzy. “Why, yes, I would, Ma’am.” He folded the newspaper and set it on the
back edge of the table, against the wall.

Ginger placed the two cups on the small table and sat
down across from him. “Got your sermon all ready to go?”

Elijah was notorious for waiting until the last
minute.

“I’m close.”

“What’s the subject?”

“Uh…I’d rather not say. Let it be a surprise.”

“You don’t even know, do you?”

“Sure I do. I mean—I’ve got it down to three
possibilities.”

Ginger shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“But I do it. That’s the important thing. I always get
it done.”

“Yes, you do. And your sermons are always great.
Inspiring.”

“Thanks.”

“I guess it really doesn’t matter that you’re the
world’s worst procrastinator.”

“No, Ginger. I’m the world’s
greatest
procrastinator.”

She smiled. “Well, I guess it just depends on how you
look at it.”

“That’s right. I’m a cup-half-full kind of guy.”

“Well, right now you’re a cup-getting-cold kind of
guy.”

Elijah looked down at this coffee cup. “Not at all.”
He picked it up and took a sip.

Ginger watched him as she sipped from hers. She always
loved watching him—even when he was doing something as mundane as drinking
coffee.

“Ginger, I’d like to bounce something off you, if you
don’t mind.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“It’s about the parsonage. It’s been a wonderful place
to live all these years. And I appreciate the church providing it for me, of
course. But…”

“What?”

“Well, I’m 63 years old, and—“

“—you’re not thinking about retiring.” Ginger couldn’t
bear the thought.

“No. It’s not that. I mean, sure, I’ll retire
someday
.
But not anytime soon.”

“Good.”

“But I need my own place. The parsonage belongs to the
church. When I retire I’ll have to move out. Then where am I going to live? In
a retirement home?”

“I don’t know.” Thirty-two years ago, Ginger had been
on the church committee that recommended the house to be purchased by the
church and used as a parsonage. Usually, a pastor would stay a few years and
then move on. She had never considered what would happen if a pastor
retired
from the church.

“I’m thankful for what the church has done—giving me a
place to live, at no charge. But I need a home of my own.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

“Well, I’ve managed to save a little money over the
years. And I found a spot just outside of town.”

“John Wilson’s old place?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“But that house is eaten up with termites. It needs to
be torn down.”

“I know. The house is no good. But I’d buy the land
now. Then I’d save up for materials and build my own house.”

“With your own hands? You’re not a carpenter.” She
took his hands and turned them over to the palms. They were as smooth as a
newborn baby. “You’re hands would be bleeding in less than an hour. Have you
ever even used a hammer?”

“Not lately. But I know I can do this.”

She could see the hope in his eyes. “Well, maybe if
you had help from some of the men.”

“No, no. I’m not going to beg church members to build
my house.”

“You wouldn’t have to beg. I’m sure they’d be glad to
do it.”

“No.” He looked into her eyes. “Promise me you won’t
tell anybody about this.”

“Well, I don’t see what harm it would—”

“—Ginger. Promise you won’t say anything to anybody.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Thank you.”

“But I hope you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

They sipped their coffee in silence for a few seconds.

Ginger pointed to the newspaper. The headline read,
King
of the Kassle
. Kipford Houston Kassle had recently been elected mayor of
Coreyville. “What do you think about our new mayor?”

“I think he’s…awfully young.”

“Twenty-seven, I believe. The kids used to call him
‘Kippy.’”

“Oh, yeah. I remember that.”

“Well, he doesn’t like that anymore. Not since he
graduated from that Ivy League business school. Now he’s “’K. Houston Kassle,’
or simply ‘Mayor Kassle.’”

“I’m sure he’ll do a fine job.”

“Really? Why? Because of his brand new MBA? Or because
of his wealthy family? I can’t think of any other qualifications.”

“He’s bright.”

“I suppose.”

“Well, he was smart enough to earn a master’s degree
and to get himself elected.”

“Or
rich
enough. But the first thing he did was
to get his good buddy appointed as chief of police. And you know that Daniel
Foenapper was not the most qualified candidate.”