As Ginger was leaving Ellegora Newcomb’s house, she asked when Navy’s funeral would be held, and was surprised to find out that it would be the next morning, at ten. That didn’t allow much time to get the word out. Ellegora told her she had left the planning up to their family attorney, Carl Vittleman.

Ginger parked her car and walked into Mr. Vittleman office. Perhaps he knew of someone who had made threats against Navy. She had wanted to ask Ellegora about it. But, after seeing her condition, she decided not bring up.

“I’m here to see Mr. Vittleman.”

The young woman at the receptionist desk glanced up from her magazine. “And your name?” She laid down the magazine.

“Ginger Lightley.”

The woman checked her computer. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t. But I just came from the Newcomb Estate, and—”

“—I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “You have a visitor.” The young receptionist talked to him in a tone that made Ginger wonder if the two were lovers. She didn’t really know Carl Vittleman, but she was sure he was close to her own age.

“Her name is Ginger…” She looked to Ginger for help.

“Lightley,” said Ginger.

“Ginger Lightley. She doesn’t have an appointment, but she just came from Mrs. Newcomb’s house.”

Before the receptionist could hang up the phone, Ginger heard a door open, and a man walked out. He was too young to be Carl Vittleman.

“Hello, Mrs. Lightley. I’m Cray Vittleman.”

“Oh—you’re Carl’s son.” He was a very handsome young man, about 30, Ginger figured. But he seemed too smooth—sort of sleazy.

“Yes. Please come into my office.”

She followed him down the hall. They walked in and he closed the door.

“Please have a seat.”

“So, where is your father?”

“He’s ill. I’m handling his clients.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How long has he been ill?”

“Uh…for a little while. The doctor says he needs a lot of rest. He’s going to be fine.”

“Well, I’m not sure whether you can help me with this.”

“I can assure you, Mrs. Lightley, that anything my father could do for you, I can do even better.” He smiled slyly.

“I see. Well, then, what do you know about Navy Newcomb? Do you know if anybody had been threatening him?”

Cray began to squirm. “Oh. I thought you needed legal advice. I’m afraid I can’t help you with this.” He stood up and walked to the door.

Ginger stood up. “Well, I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Cray. I hope your father gets well soon.” She walked out.

“Thanks. Goodbye.” He closed his door.

“Well, that was quick,” said the receptionist, scarcely looking up from her magazine.

Ginger wondered how much the young woman knew, and how difficult it would be to get it out of her. “It’s such a shame what happened to Navy Newcomb.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Especially when he was just about to get all that money.”

“Yeah. If he’d only known it was just a few days away.”

A few days away? Wasn’t Navy’s birthday next week? Perhaps Ellegora had planned to give her son a large birthday gift. Or maybe there was a second trust fund. That would explain why the family lawyer would be involved.

“Well, thanks. And have a nice day,” said Ginger.

“You too. Bye.”

As Ginger walked out to her car, she wondered who would stand to gain by Navy dying before he could collect?

A red car in the parking lot caught her eye. She looked more closely. Why did it seem familiar? Then she recognized the woman sitting in the driver’s seat. It was Kayla—Navy’s girlfriend. Ginger smiled and waved at her. Kayla suddenly turned her head the opposite direction.

What was Kayla doing there? Did she and Navy have some unfinished business with the Vittleman law firm? But why would it involve Kayla? If they had been married she could lay claim to the second trust fund—if there was one. But they weren’t. They hadn’t even been together long enough to establish a common law marriage.

**********

Bull Crawley checked his watch. Where was Silvy? She had promised to come back at 3:30.

He heard somebody come in the back door and walk down the hallway toward his office.

“Silvy? Is that you?”

“Yes, it is.” She appeared in his doorway carrying a very large potted plant. “Can you give me a hand with this thing?”

“What is it?” He got up from his desk and went to help her.

“It’s a gift—for you, Baby. For your office.”

“But it so…big. I don’t have any place to put it.”

“Sure you do,” she said. “Right over here in this corner.”

He helped her carry it.

“See?” she said. “Now every time you look up, you’ll see it and think of me.”

“Well…okay.”

“Let me explain. See these white flowers?”

“Yeah.”

“They are the males.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. And these pretty pink flowers are the females.”

“Okay.”

“Think of it as a love plant. One of those white flowers is you and one of the pink ones is me.”

“A love plant?” He grabbed her and pulled her close. “I’d rather think of it as a sex plant.”

“You would, huh?” She punched him playfully. “That’ll work. It can be loving and sexy. But it’s dangerous too—like me.”

“I like danger. And I know how to handle it.” He pulled her body in tighter.

“Can you?”

**********

The Domino Girls were at Ginger’s, about to eat Jane’s birthday cake.

“I shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late,” said Jane.

“Late?” said Barb. “It’s seven o’clock.”

“Now that you’re 61, I think you can handle a little late-night caffeine,” said Ethel. “Like the rest of us.”

“But can you handle the sugar?” said Ginger, grinning as she cut large pieces and placed them on plates.

“The sugar’s not a problem,” said Jane. “Bring it on.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Barb, tilting her head to check Jane’s body. “Have looked in the mirror and done a butt check lately?”

“Look who’s talking,” said Jane.

“No, no,” said Ethel. “Barb doesn’t have a juicy caboosey.”

“Thank you, Ethel,” said Barb.

“I’m sorry,” said Jane. “You’re absolutely right. Barb’s caboose is just fine. It’s the saddlebags that are the problem.”

“Hey!” said Barb.

“Hold on,” said Ginger. “I can’t keep up. Are we talking in terms of trains or horses?”

“Huh?” said Ethel.

“Cabooses and saddlebags don’t really go together,” said Ginger, passing a piece of cake around to each woman, “unless we’re talking about an old Western.”

“Now, why did you go and do that, Ginger?” said Barb.

“What?” said Ginger.

“You do it every time. Just when I’m about to really go off on somebody—usually Jane—you throw a monkey wrench into the thing. I had a killer comeback to what Jane said. But now you’ve made me forget it.”

“Good,” said Ginger, “because I need y’all’s help with something.”

“Okay,” said Ethel.

“Yeah, we’ll help you,” said Jane, taking a bite of cake.

“Well, you know I’ve been trying to help Lacey out of the mess she’s in.”

“Have the police thrown her in jail?” said Barb.

“No. Surprisingly they haven’t, and I don’t know why. They haven’t even charged her yet.”

“Maybe they found the real killer,” said Jane.

“I wish,” said Ginger. “But I doubt it. The chief is not sharing information with me, but if somebody had been charged, he couldn’t keep that a secret.”

“Yeah,” said Ethel, “the whole town would know about it.

“So,” said Ginger, “I’m trying to come up with other possibilities for suspects. And I think I have one. Maybe two.”

“Who?” said Jane, suspending her next bite of cake until she got an answer.

“Kayla Hanker.”

“Who?” said Ethel.

“Navy’s girlfriend,” said Barb.

“Right,” said Ginger. “And possibly Cray Vittleman.”

“Carl Vittleman’s son—the lawyer?”

“Yes,” said Ginger.

“Why would they want to kill Navy?” said Jane.

“I’m not exactly sure,” said Ginger.

“Oh, you’ve really gotten desperate, Ginge,” said Barb. “You’re grasping at straws.”

“Not totally,” said Ginger. “I went to visit Ellegora Newcomb this morning. That didn’t help much. By the way, Navy’s funeral is tomorrow at ten. Y’all want to go with me?”

The other women nodded.

Ginger went on. “But then I dropped by Carl Vittleman’s office. He’s the Newcomb’s attorney. But he wasn’t there. Instead I met with his son, Cray—who I wasn’t impressed with at all. Then, on the way out, I got his receptionist to spill the beans.”

“What?” said Jane. “What beans?” She could barely contain her excitement. Ginger sensed that the sugar from the cake was beginning to kick in.

“From what she said, it made me think there was a second trust fund. You know that Navy blew the first one—all two million of it. So, I’m thinking there was a second one that he was unaware of, and that he was due to get it on his twenty-fifth birthday. Remember: he got the first one when he turned 21.”

“Yeah,” said Jane. “His dad had set up the trust fund before Navy was born.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Ginger.

“So, you think his father may have set up two trust funds?” said Ethel. “The second one being a backup in case he squandered the first one?”

“If so,” said Barb, “the dad was a pretty smart cookie.”

“Yeah,” said Ginger, “except when he walked out in front of that bus and got himself run over.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ethel, cringing.

“But how would it profit Cray Vittleman for Navy to die?” said Barb. “That doesn’t add up.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Ginger, “Guess who I saw in the parking lot when I came out of his office?”

“Kayla.” said Jane.

Ginger nodded.

“I get it,” said Ethel. “The two of them are having an affair, and Cray tells her about the secret trust fund, so they plot to kill Navy.”

“She collects the money,” said Jane.

“And they ride off into the sunset,” said Ethel.

“But Ginger, I thought you said Kayla was Navy’s girlfriend—not his wife,” said Jane.

“Yeah,” said Ginger. “That’s the one hole in my theory.”

“And it’s a big, gaping hole,” said Barb. “Better keep looking, Honey. This theory ain’t gonna fly.”

“What if they really were married, but they didn’t want anybody to know?” said Jane.

“Look—Navy never spent one second worrying about what other people thought,” said Barb. “So, why would he hide the fact that he was married? It makes no sense.”

What Barb had said was perfectly logical. But Ginger still wasn’t ready to give up on her theory.