The afterglow of Elijah’s kiss to her forehead was just beginning to wear off when Ginger remembered the gun. Danny was dead, but she still had his pistol locked away downstairs in the basement.

She wondered if Danny would be alive right now if he’d had his gun for protection. What was he doing at that illegal dump site in the middle of a storm? Dropping off a load of garbage? Not likely. He must have gone there to meet someone.

Ginger remembered that on Saturday morning Danny had been late for work. He said he’d overslept. But couldn’t he have been waiting in the alley behind Cash & Carry Donuts when Navy dropped off the stolen recipe book?

He would have had enough time to inject the fish oil and steal the Epi-Pen. But how would he have even known about the Epi-Pen? Perhaps Lacey had mentioned it. But he would have also had to somehow know that Navy would be stopping by to see Cash.

And what was Danny’s motive? Jealousy? Ginger had witnessed Danny’s temper tantrums first hand. But they never lasted very long. She didn’t believe he could sustain his anger long enough to carry out such a murder plot.

Maybe somebody hired Danny to kill Navy. That seemed more plausible. Danny was always looking to make the easy buck. Although Ginger doubted he could actually murder someone—even for money. But what if he agreed to kill Navy and then backed out? Perhaps whoever offered Danny the money was afraid he would give away their identity.

Ginger picked up the phone and called the chief.

“Chief Foenapper.”

“Chief, this is Ginger Lightley.”

He sounded as though he wished he hadn’t taken the call. “Hello, Mrs. Lightley.”

“I hate bother you so late, Chief. In fact, I’m surprised you’re still in the office. It’s nearly 10:00.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But I have something I need to give you.”

“Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“I don’t think so. It’s a gun.”

His voice perked up. “A gun?”

“Yes. It’s some sort of pistol. It belongs to Danny Iper.”

“He’s dead, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, how did you come into possession of his gun?”

“Lacey Greendale took it from him the other night and—”

“—Lacey Greendale. I should have known.”

“Well, yes. She didn’t want it in her apartment, so she brought it to me and I put it in my safe.”

“You didn’t clean it or wipe it off, did you?”

“No. I barely touched the thing. I don’t like guns.”

“I’ll come pick it up right now.”

“Okay. But there’s something else, Chief.”

“What?”

Ginger explained her theory about Danny being paid to kill Navy, and how she thought the person who hired Danny might have been the one who killed him tonight.

“That’s not a bad theory,” he said.

“But since Lacey was Danny’s girlfriend, I’m afraid she’s in danger too.”

“That’s true.”

“So, I really wish you would send an officer over to her apartment to keep watch.”

“I’ll do that right now. See you in five minutes.”

“Thanks so much, Chief.”

**********

Ginger woke up the next morning to bright sunlight in her eyes. She checked her alarm clock. It was nearly 8:30. She had forgotten to set the alarm. Usually it didn’t matter—she was awake by 6:30, with or without the alarm.

Last night she had tossed and turned for hours worrying about Lacey and trying to unravel the mystery of the two murders.

As she sat up and looked directly into the blinding sun coming through her windows, a revelation struck her. What if Navy’s murder had nothing to do with the recipe book? What if it had nothing to do with jealousy or money?

But if those motives were eliminated, what was left? Something in Navy’s past? The only suspect Ginger knew of with that kind of motive was Addie. Her dear friend couldn’t have done it.

One of the comments in Navy’s senior yearbook had continued to nag at Ginger. But since it was clear now that Ellegora thought Addie had killed her son, Ginger would not feel comfortable going back to the house for another look at the yearbook. She wished she had spent more time studying it.

She took a shower, got dressed and walked to the public library, which was located a couple of blocks west of the square. On her way, she called the bakery. Ginger was surprised when Lacey answered. She decided she’d rather come to work than lay around all day feeling sorry for herself. And, yes, there was a police officer hanging around to protect her.

Cheryl Iper had taken the day off. Ginger made a mental note to check on Cheryl later. She couldn’t imagine what Cheryl must be going through, having just lost her son.

The library had a copy of the Coreyville High School yearbook for each year of the school’s long history. Ginger grabbed the one for Navy’s senior year and sat down at a table. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Maybe there would be a picture of the football team with one of the players staring at Navy as though he hated him. Anything. She knew she was grasping at straws.

She studied the pictures of every student in Navy’s graduating class. Then she decided to look through all the other classes as well, starting with the freshman.

She came across a girl who seemed oddly familiar. Yet she didn’t recognize the name: Molly Castorside. She started to flip to the next page, but stopped. She couldn’t take her eyes off Molly. She told herself that it wasn’t that unusual to see a picture of a stranger and think you might know them.

Ginger tried to imagine how the girl might look six years later. Then she pictured her with different hair and no glasses. No—it couldn’t be her. Or could it?

Ginger had assumed that any motive for Bull or Cash would have been related to the stolen recipe book. Cash might have decided he couldn’t trust Navy to keep quiet about stealing it. Bull could have killed Navy thinking that police would pin it on his brother—once they discovered Cash had paid Navy to steal the recipe book.

But it might not have been about the recipe book at all. What if one of the brothers had held an old grudge against Navy? After Ginger had learned what Navy had done to Addie’s granddaughter, she didn’t put anything past him.

Another thing that was bugging Ginger was the matching potted plants in Cash and Bull’s offices. Cash told her that Silvy had given him the plant. Yet Bull had one just like it. He must have had some type of relationship with Silvy. Did his brother know about it?

Then she remembered what she had seen at the funeral: Bull and Silvy had made eye contact in such a way that they seemed to know each other well. And since Bull and Cash hated each other, that seemed odd—especially since Silvy had only been in town a few weeks.

Ginger had hoped to walk out of the library with the name of the killer. How naïve, she thought. She had accomplished nothing. She might as well walk to the bakery and have her breakfast coffee and cake. She was really starting to need that cup of coffee.

She was about to leave when she thought of something else she just had to look up. What were those unusual-looking potted plants in Bull and Cash’s offices? She went to the gardening section. She’d wait a few minutes longer for her caffeine fix.

**********

When Ginger finished at the library, she hurried over to Bull Crawley’s Bar & Grill.

“I need to speak with Bull. It’s urgent.”

“Bull just left for the emergency room.”

“What happened?”

The waitress leaned in, lowering her voice. “He had diarrhea most of the night. He thought he was over it this morning, but then it hit him again. He looked very pale and weak. We made him go to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Ginger. “Look, I know you’re busy, but could I ask you one more thing?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know Silvy Knox?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“She’s young, blonde—very attractive.”

“Oh.” She leaned in closer and whispered. “That might be the woman I saw in Bull’s office the other day. I knocked on his door and went in. He was in the middle of something, if you know what I mean. She was a beautiful young blonde. Way too young for him, if you ask me.”

“I see.”

“But please don’t tell anybody I said that. I need this job.”

“I won’t say a word.”

When Addie got back from the police station, Ginger called her into the office.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Ginger.”

“Come on, Addie. How long have we been friends? You know you can tell me anything. I won’t judge you. Now what’s going on?”

“You can’t say a word about this to anyone.”

“I won’t,” said Ginger. “You know I won’t.”

“Okay.” Addie took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “It happened when Navy was 15 years old. Bobbie was at the movies with a couple of girlfriends.”

“Your granddaughter?”

“Yes. She was 12. And halfway through the movie she had to go to the bathroom. Navy saw her in the hallway and followed her into the restroom. He threatened to hurt her if she screamed. But when he pulled down his pants and grabbed her, she screamed anyway. He got out of there before anybody else saw him.”

“That’s awful. Why didn’t you ever tell me about this, Addie?”

“Bobbie didn’t want anybody to know. She was embarrassed. And she was afraid to tell her momma because she had been told to stay with the other girls at all times. But they didn’t want to miss any of the movie. And she couldn’t wait.”

“Poor thing.”

“We explained to her that we needed to tell the police about it so Navy couldn’t do it to any other girls. They took her statement. But nothing ever came of it. I always wondered if Ellegora paid somebody to make the whole thing go away.”

“So the chief thinks you poisoned Navy?”

“Ellegora thinks I did. I had motive—or least I used to. At the time he did that to Bobbie I wanted to kill him. I don’t know whether I really could have. I hated him.”

“But you got over it.”

“Not completely. I could hardly stand to be in the same room with him. But I wouldn’t have killed him.”

“The chief has apparently been looking through old records.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so you had motive and opportunity. You could have put fish oil in that coffee cake. But what about the Epi-Pen? What did the chief say about that?”

“He didn’t have anything to say about it. As soon as I brought it up, he told me he was done.”

“Good. Hopefully he’ll move on now.”

“He’ll probably go right back to Lacey.”

“Actually, I have a few suggestions for him.”

“Other suspects?”

“Yes. For example: Manny Monet. I’ve been told that he does loan sharking on the side.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“And I was thinking that if Navy had borrowed money from him and couldn’t pay it back—”

“—Manny would kill him? I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

“And Cash Crawley. Oh—I haven’t had a chance to tell you: Cash is the one who has the fake recipe book. He must have hired Navy to steal it.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“He admitted it to me.”

“That does surprise me.”

“Yeah. I was shocked. But he says Navy gave it to him. And that he had nothing to do with Navy’s death.”

“Well of course he’s going to deny killing him.”

“But I believe him. I can’t really see a motive. But I’m wondering about his brother, Bull, because from what I understand, Bull and Cash hate each other.”

“Always have.”

“So, suppose Bull somehow found out that Navy was stealing the recipe book for Cash. He might have figured that once the police discovered that Cash hired Navy to steal the book, they might think Cash killed him to cover up the theft. If anybody ever learned that his new cupcake recipes were really mine, his business would be ruined.”

“Boy, you’ve really put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

“I’m just trying to keep Lacey, or you, or some other innocent person from going to prison.”

“When are you going to share your ideas with the police?”

“When I’m sure.”

“You know, Ginger, I was thinking…if the coffee cake wasn’t poisoned until after Navy left here with it, how did the killer get the fish oil into it? You couldn’t just pour it on top. Do you suppose they used a hypodermic needle?”

“They must have,” said Ginger.

“You don’t think the killer would have been stupid enough—”

“—to buy it at Coreyville Pharmacy? Who knows? Sometimes criminals do really dumb things,” said Ginger. “I’m gonna find out.”

**********

Ginger had gone by Bull Crawley’s Bar & Grill after her trip to Coreyville Pharmacy. The cashier told her Bull was gone and would not be back until 4:30. Ginger wanted to have a private conversation with him, so she decided to come back after the dinner rush.

It was nearly 7:00 p.m. when she left her house to walk down to the square. She heard several police sirens and possibly an ambulance. Must be a bad wreck, she thought.

Only three tables were occupied in Bull’s place. Two men sat at the bar drinking and watching the TV.

“Is Bull here?”

“Yes. Oh, you came by this afternoon looking for him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s in his office. I’ll take you back.”

“Thanks.”

“He can be hard to catch sometimes. He’s in and out all day.”

His office door was open, but he was not there.

“Hang on. Let me check the restroom.”

When Ginger had gone to Coreyville Pharmacy that afternoon Sherry, the pharmacy assistant, had checked their records for purchases of latex gloves and syringes over the past few weeks. Sherry was an old friend.

Ginger had been shocked to discover that Bull Crawley had used his company credit card to buy syringes and latex gloves. Perhaps he had some legitimate purpose for them. Was he diabetic? Not according to their records, Sherry told her.

Ginger stepped into Bull’s office and looked around. Did she really think he was stupid enough to leave a syringe lying around? Maybe.

Then she saw a potted plant in the corner of the room—just like the unusual one she’d seen in Cash’s office. Weird.

“I’m sorry. It looks like he’s already taken off.”

“That’s okay. Thanks anyway.” Ginger walked out of the restaurant. Activity on the square was almost nil at this time of night. Most of the shops closed by 6:00 p.m.

Ginger walked down the sidewalk until she got to the corner. After checking to make sure nobody was watching her, she stepped off the sidewalk, out of the light, and went through the narrow passageway to the alley. She prayed there were no muggers or mean dogs waiting to pounce.

She stepped out, and looked down the alley, locating the back of Bull’s restaurant. It would take less than a minute to walk from his place, go around the corner and get to the back of Cash & Carry Donuts.

If Bull had somehow known that Navy would be stopping at Cash’s on the way to the nursing home Saturday morning, he could have been hiding there with his syringe of fish oil. As soon as Navy went inside, he could have unwrapped the coffee cake, injected the fish oil at several spots, rewrapped the cake, and stolen the Epi-Pen from the glove box. It wouldn’t have been that difficult. And his employees probably wouldn’t have even missed him. They would have thought he was in his office or in the restroom.

Ginger walked back through the eerie passageway. Just as she stepped out, someone called her name and she jumped.

“I’m sorry, Ginger. It’s me—Elijah.” He stepped out of the shadows.

“You startled me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I drove by your house, but you weren’t home. Then I spotted you over here. What were you doing?”

“Uh, let’s get out of here first,” said Ginger. “I’ve got the creeps.”

They got into his car.

“What were you coming to see me about?” said Ginger.

“I couldn’t get you on the phone.”

She felt her pockets. “Oops. I must have left my phone at the house.”

“I’ve got bad news.”

“What?”

“Cheryl Iper called me. Danny is dead.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently somebody murdered him.”

“Oh, no. Poor Lacey. Do you know if Cheryl called her?”

“Yes, she did. So, I thought you might want to go check on her.”

“Yes, please.”

Elijah started the car to make the short drive to Lacey’s apartment. “Some guy found his body out at that illegal dump south of town. At first he just saw his car. Then he grabbed a flashlight to look around. Danny was lying face down in the dirt.”

“When did it happen?”

“They’re not sure. Probably last night. The guy found his body less than an hour ago.”

“That’s what the sirens were.”

Elijah pulled into the apartment parking lot and they went inside.

When Lacey opened the door and saw Ginger, she hugged her with both arms, laid her head on Ginger’s shoulder, and cried like a baby.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetie,” said Ginger.

“Why do people keep killing the men I love?”

“I don’t know, Honey.”

“I’m a curse to all mankind.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t say that. What happened to them was not your fault.”

Ginger finally got Lacey calmed down. She and Elijah talked to her for nearly two hours. Finally, Ginger suggested that Lacey go to bed for the night. She tucked her in, and then she and Elijah left.

Elijah drove Ginger to her house and walked her to the door.

“You’re a great friend to her,” said Elijah.

“Sometimes I think I’m her only friend,” said Ginger. “I’ve got to figure out who this killer is before he kills somebody else.”

“But not tonight. Worry about it tomorrow. You need rest.”

“Okay.”

He stepped closer and took her head in his hands.

Whatever he was about to give her, she was ready to receive.

Elijah kissed her gently on the forehead. “Goodnight, Ginger.”

He turned and walked down the porch steps.

“Goodnight.”

“Looks like Navy had a lot of friends,” said Ethel.

“They’re not friends,” said Barb. “They’re just curious.”

“Like us,” said Jane, surveying the room.

Ginger was curious too. But she had a legitimate reason to attend Navy’s funeral: one of her coffee cakes had killed him.

She spotted Bull Crawley way in the back left corner, sitting by himself. Then his brother, Cash, walked in with a beautiful young busty blonde. Bull stared at them. The blonde returned Bull’s stare. Cash ignored Bull altogether. They sat on the right side.

“It’s almost time for it to start. We’d better go sit down,” said Ginger.

Just as the women started to move, Ginger said, “Wait just a second.”

Manny Monet had walked into the room. He sauntered up the aisle to the casket and peered in.

Ginger thought surely he wouldn’t come to Navy’s funeral if he had been the one who killed him. She saw Manny give Navy’s corpse the once-over, and then almost start to cry—before quickly regained his composure.

But wait. She replayed it in her mind. She had thought she’d seen him almost cry because that’s what would have made sense to her. But that’s not what he did. It hadn’t been a cry that Manny had stifled—it had been a laugh. He thought it was funny that Navy was dead.

Perhaps Elijah was right in thinking that Navy borrowed money from Manny and didn’t pay it back. Now Manny was having the last laugh. Ginger would look into it. But she’d have to proceed with caution. He looked dangerous.

Ginger heard a door open in the front, and then saw Ellegora and another woman being escorted to the seats located to the right of the podium. It was the area reserved for family members. Ginger recognized the woman as the servant she’d met at Ellegora’s house. Apparently Navy had no other family. Or maybe they just didn’t care enough to show up.

“Let’s go,” said Ginger. She led her friends to the pew where Addie and Cheryl were sitting. Ginger had decided at the last minute that Coreyville Coffee Cakes would close for the funeral. Lacey, the prime suspect for Navy’s murder, had understandably decided to skip it.

Ginger was not surprised that Danny was also absent. Yesterday he had asked to be off today. He had not told Cheryl why he needed the day off. But everybody knew it certainly wasn’t so he could attend Navy’s funeral.

No sooner than they sat down, Elijah walked out to the podium. Ginger knew that neither Navy nor Ellegora were members of Corey Acres Baptist Church. But she wasn’t surprised that Elijah had been asked to officiate. Some ministers try to use the death of a man like Navy as a lesson to everyone in the congregation. Get right with God or you’ll end up where Navy is—in Hell.

Ginger thought those ministers were way out of line. How much could they really know about a person’s relationship with God? Elijah wouldn’t do that. He had told Ginger that when he led a funeral service his job was to comfort the family and say something positive about the deceased.

Ginger knew it would be a struggle to find something good to say about the man in that casket. But Elijah managed to put a positive spin on Navy’s life. Ellegora seemed to appreciate it.

After the service, as Ginger and the other women were getting up to leave, she saw Chief Foenapper walk in through the family entrance and start talking to Ellegora. What was so important that it couldn’t wait until a more appropriate time?

Ginger said goodbye to her fellow Domino Girls and told Addie and Cheryl she would see them at the bakery in a little while. Then she got into her car and drove to Cash & Carry Donuts.

It was time to confront Cash Crawley. Ginger was fairly certain that he was in possession of her fake coffee cake recipe book, and that Navy was the one who stole it for him.

She parked her car and walked into the store. It appeared there was only one employee on the job. There weren’t many donut customers at 11:00 a.m.

As she approached the woman standing behind the counter, the blonde from the funeral home walked out from the back hallway, saw Ginger, and said, “May I help you?”

“Yes, I hope so. I’m Ginger Lightley, and—”

“—glad to meet you, Ginger. I’m Silvy Knox. I’ve heard great things about your coffee cakes.”

Ginger smiled. “Thanks. You should try one.”

“I want to. I just haven’t got around to it yet. I’ve only been living here in Coreyville for a couple of months.”

“I see. Well, come by and have your first coffee cake on me.”

Silvy smiled warmly. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Ginger.”

“Just tell them I sent you.”

“Great. I’ll do that,” said Silvy. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was hoping to speak with Cash.”

“Are you two friends?”

“No. Actually, we’ve never been formally introduced.”

“I can take care of that. Follow me.”

Silvy led her up the hallway to Cash’s office.

“You have a visitor,” said Silvy.

Cash looked up from the paperwork on his desk. “Oh, uh—”

“—this is Ginger Lightley,” said Silvy. “Ginger, meet Cash Crawley.”

Cash stood up and hurried around the desk to shake her hand. “So glad to finally meet you, Ginger,” he said, and then quickly added, “Is it okay if I call you ‘Ginger?’”

Ginger smiled politely. “Oh course.”

“And you can call me ‘Cash.’”

Silvy walked away.

“Please have a seat.” Cash closed the door and walked back to his desk and sat down. “I have to say that I’m a long-time admirer of your work.”

“Well, thank you.” Should she jump right in, or make some more small talk first? She noticed the potted plant in the corner. “What a beautiful plant. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those before. What is it?”

“I really don’t know. Silvy gave it to me. She’s the blonde who introduced us.”

“Yes. Nice young lady,” said Ginger. “I notice you’ve started selling muffins.” Here we go.

“I call them cupcakes, but yes, I just added them to the menu yesterday.”

“One of my regulars tried one, and then shared a bite with me.”

“Oh, really?” He looked worried.

“Yes. It was…interesting.”

“You didn’t like it.”

“It tasted…fine.”

“Great.” He grinned.

“But there was something that bothered me about it.”

“Too much cinnamon?”

“No. I’m not sure whether you’re aware of this, Cash, but I have a keen sense of taste and smell.”

“I guess you’d have to—or you couldn’t create such wonderful recipes.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“So, I’ll bet you found something about my cupcake that could be improved with a few tweaks. Please—tell me what I need to change.”

“No, the real issue is that I recognized the recipe.”

“You mean it was similar to one you’ve tasted before?”

“No. I mean it was a recipe I created.”

“Oh, that couldn’t be.”

“Where did you get your recipe, Cash?”

“I made it up myself.”

“No, you didn’t. You got it out of my recipe book, didn’t you?” What was she doing? Did she really expect him to just admit it?

He hesitated, bit his lower lip, and then said, “Yes, you’re right—it was your recipe. I’m sorry.”

“And it came out of my stolen recipe book.”

“Yes. But I didn’t steal it.”

“I know. Navy Newcomb stole it for you.”

“No. I got it from him. But he just gave it to me. I didn’t pay him for it.”

“Let me guess. You didn’t pay him because he was already dead.”

“Okay, Lady, I’ve tried to be nice. I’ve been honest with you. I’ve apologized. You can have the stupid recipe book. I don’t want it. But if you think I had anything to do with Navy Newcomb’s death, then you’re just crazy.” He stood up. “I’m through talking. Goodbye.”

“Keep the book. Those are not my real recipes anyway.” Ginger got up and left. On the way out of the store she passed Silvy, who smiled at her.

By admitting he had the recipe book Cash had convinced Ginger that he was not the murderer.

**********

Chief Foenapper appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Addie Barneswaller, I need you to come with me to the station.”

“What for?” said Addie.

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Well, can’t you do it here? I’m working.”

“Oh, you don’t want that—believe me.”

Addie turned to Lacey. “Honey, you’re gonna have to take over.”

“But—”

“—I’ll be back in a little while—hopefully.”

“Let’s go,” said the chief.

Lacey was nervous about taking over. But she had trained long enough. She knew what to do.

It would be a few more minutes before the next batch of coffee cakes was ready to come out of the oven. She took out her cell phone and called Danny’s number again. Yesterday, when Lacey had asked why he was taking off today, he wouldn’t tell her.

They would never make it as a couple until he was willing to be open up and honest with her.

Why won’t he answer his phone?

It was too late to knock on Ginger’s door. He knew that. The porch was dark, but there was light coming from the living room. It was 10:45 p.m., so she was probably dressed for bed. He pulled the car over anyway. What would the neighbors think?

He got out of his car, walked to the door, and knocked.

Ginger seemed tired, but happy to see him. “Elijah?”

“Sorry to bother you so late, Ginger.”

“It’s no bother. Come on in.”

She took his coat and draped it across a chair. They sat down in the living room.

“So, what brings you out this time of night?”

“Well, I know you’ve been trying to think of other suspects for Navy’s murder.”

She perked up. “You’ve got one for me?”

“Maybe. But I’m not sure I should be telling you.”

“Why not?”

“I learned this information during a counseling session tonight.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re a Catholic priest.”

What was he doing here? “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry, Ginger.” He stood up.

“No, wait. You don’t have to mention the name of the person you counseled,” said Ginger. “Unless, of course, that person is the suspect.”

He hesitated.

“Elijah, please. What will it hurt?”

“Manny Monet.”

“The shoe shine guy?”

“Yeah. What I found out is that he has a side business: loan sharking.”

“You’re kidding. I wouldn’t have thought he had much money to loan.”

“According to…my Mr. X, Manny started out small, making payday loans.”

“I hate those. They’re such a rip-off.”

“I’m guessing that these days he makes way more money with his illegal banking than he does on shoe shines.”

“So, you think Navy borrowed money from Manny?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

“Navy was getting desperate. He didn’t have a paying job. I think he was just holding out for help from his mother.”

“And something tells me that if he did borrow money from Mr. Monet, it was a lot more than a couple hundred dollars.”

“Let’s say it was several thousand. Then Navy couldn’t pay it back. And maybe he even thumbed his nose at Manny, thinking there was nothing he could do about it.”

“Yeah. But Manny couldn’t let him get away with that. What if word got around? Maybe I’ve seen too many movies, but wouldn’t Manny feel he had to go break Navy’s legs or something?”

“Yeah—so people would be afraid of him. Very good, Elijah. I think you’ve come up with a solid suspect.”

There was a loud crack of thunder.

Elijah grimaced. “I hope that’s not God’s way of saying he’s mad at me.”

Ginger laughed. “No, I think he’s just telling us there’s a storm coming.”

“Well, I’d better go.”

Ginger stood up and walked him to the door. “Thank you so much, Elijah.” She hugged him.

Just stay right here in my arms, thought Elijah. When Ginger released him, she looked up into his eyes. It was all he could do to keep himself from kissing her on the lips. But he feared that if he did the next lightning strike would rip through the ceiling and strike him dead. Why, Lord? Why can’t I show this marvelous woman how I feel about her?

“Goodnight, Elijah. Drive carefully.” She picked up his coat and handed to him.

He opened the door. “Goodnight, Ginger.”

**********

Danny could hardly wait to get his money. He would take the five thousand to Shreveport and turn it into fifty thousand in one night. He loved gambling. But he wasn’t like most of the chumps who think they can beat the house. He really could.

As he pulled off the highway onto the dirt road, it began to drizzle. Danny wasn’t crazy about doing business in the freezing rain and lightning, but it wouldn’t take long.

He drove until he reached the illegal dump site. It was mounds of the type stuff you can’t give away or leave out for the city to pick up. The pile was more rusty than stinky—made up of things like TVs, refrigerators, bicycles, mattresses, etc.

Danny checked his watch. It was 10:57 p.m. He expected to see headlights in his rearview mirror at any minute.

A pop in his left ear made him jump. Then he realized somebody was knocking on the window. He rolled it down.

“Get out.”

Danny opened the door and stepped out. He began to shiver almost immediately, and regretted coming without a coat. The half-frozen raindrop pellets began to strike his head. It seemed like his thick hair was the only thing keeping the little ice missiles from penetrating his skull.

“Just give me my cash, so I can get out of here,” said Danny.

“Give me my gun.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

The rain began to pour down. Suddenly there was a pistol jammed into Danny’s left cheek.

“Whoa. What are you doing?”

“Tell me what you did with the gun.”

“My girlfriend took it. And I don’t know what she did with it.”

“Lacey Greendale?”

“Yes.”

“Looks like I’ll have to get it from her myself. Maybe I’ll take a little sugar while I’m at it.”

“Don’t you touch her!”

“You’re in no position to give me orders.”

“Well…then just give me my money.”

“So, you’re going to stand there and tell me you killed Navy.”

“Yes.”

“You chickened out on shooting him, so you laced his coffee cake with fish oil.”

“Right.”

“Do you have any idea how much I hate being lied to?”

“I’m not lying!”

“I followed you Saturday morning. I watched you park your car down the road and then walk back and hide in the woods. So, you couldn’t have been the one who put the fish oil in his coffee cake since you were nowhere near the bakery Saturday morning until after he died.”

“Uh…”

“I suppose you could have gotten your girlfriend to do it for you.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“But if she was going to poison his coffee cake, why would you bother to drive out to the nursing home?”

“I…uh…don’t know.”

“In fact, I would think you would have wanted to stay as far away from there as possible.”

Danny didn’t have a response. The rain was now coming down in sheets rather than drops. He was standing in two inches of water, about to be shot in the head—if the lightning didn’t get him first.

“I don’t allow people to cheat me out of my money.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Yes, you were. You expected me to pay you for a job you didn’t do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t accept your apology. Goodbye, Danny.”

“No, no.” Danny held his hands in front of his face and closed his eyes.

A deafening boom of thunder shook the ground. It was more than enough to mask the gunshot. But how was he able to still think with a bullet in his brain? He opened his eyes. He was standing alone in the rain.

Then he felt something and looked down. There was a bird pecking at his stomach. He tried to shoo it away. Then he realized it wasn’t a bird—it was the handle of knife.

He pulled downward and outward with both hands and it came out two inches. He pulled again and now he could see four inches of steel. One last yank, and it was completely out. He held it up and stared at the seven-inch blade in disbelief.

Blood gushed down the front of his pants. His knees gave way and his body began to topple.

“I’m so sorry, Lacey.”

He hit the ground face first. Mud squished into his mouth and up his nostrils. It would have been enough to suffocate him if his heart had not already stopped beating.

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.

Ginger’s 2002 Buick LeSabre had less than 20,000 miles on it. She’d averaged about 50 miles per week over the past six years. At that rate, she figured the car would last longer than she would.

It took ten minutes to drive out to Ellegora Newcomb’s estate, and another minute or so to make it up the long, winding driveway after being buzzed in at the security gate.

Ginger thought it was a shame that the family’s riches had done Navy more harm than good. But some people just can’t handle being wealthy.

She didn’t know exactly what she hoped to learn by talking to Navy’s mother. But she was pleasantly surprised that she had been granted access. The few folks that knew anything about Ellegora had portrayed her as mysterious and eerily reclusive.

Lacey had still not been charged with Navy’s murder—which was good, but puzzling. Had the chief found a better suspect, or was he just incompetent? Ginger could only guess, since he refused to share any information with her.

She parked her car, walked to the door and rang the bell. A full sixty seconds passed. What was taking so long? The servants knew she was there. One of them had let her through the gate. Finally the door opened.

“Mrs. Lightley?”

“Yes. And you’re Mrs. Newcomb?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am.”

The servant was probably in her mid-fifties—about the age of Navy’s mother.

“Please come in, Ma’am.”

Ginger followed her to a small, formal room with a couch, several chairs, and a fireplace.

“Please have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

“And would like a cup of tea or coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

The servant walked out of the room.

Ginger looked around and wondered how long it had been since someone had used this room.

After a few minutes the servant came back with Mrs. Newcomb—who had a large glass of red wine in her left hand.

“Mrs. Lightley?” she slurred.

Ginger stood up. “Yes. And you’re Mrs. Newcomb?”

“Ellegora.” She couldn’t even pronounce her own name properly, thanks to the alcohol. She held out her hand and Ginger took it.

“Ginger.” She was secretly repulsed by the cold, limp hand. It felt like what you would expect to find in a coffin. The other hand was somehow strong enough to hold a glass of wine. It probably got a lot of exercise holding up that glass all day.

“Would you like a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon?” said Ellegora. “It’s my favorite.”

“No, thanks.”

The two women sat down, and the servant left.

“First of all,” said Ginger, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip of her wine. “It’s my second time to lose him. When he turned twenty-one and got his trust fund money he just went crazy—wouldn’t listen to reason.”

“He might have come around eventually.”

“I’d like to think so.” She took another sip. “Did you ever wonder about his name?”

“I’m sorry?”

“His name: Navy. Kind of a weird name, huh?”

“I suppose. But these days it seems like anything goes. More and more parents want something original. I can understand that, I guess.”

“Do you have kids, Ginger?”

“No, sadly, I don’t. Lester and I couldn’t have children of our own. We talked about adopting. But we just kept putting it off.”

“Did you ever wonder about his name?”

Ginger just stared at her. Hadn’t Ellegora already asked that question?

“It was his father’s idea,” said Ellegora. “Nigel was half drunk when he saw Navy for the first time in the hospital. He said, Look at the kid’s huge belly button. Let’s name him Navy. He laughed out loud about it. I tried to tell him that it wasn’t a big navel—it was just a birth mark around his navel. But he insisted that his son’s name would be Navy. End of discussion.”

She took a sip from her wine. “I hated the name. And as soon as Nigel left the hospital that night I started trying to think of some other name he would like better than Navy.”

“But apparently you weren’t able to talk him out of it.”

Ellegora’s eyes welled up. “When he left the hospital and was walking across the street, a Greyhound bus hit him and killed him. The driver said he was only going 30 mph, but he still killed my Nigel.”

“Oh, yes, I remember when that happened.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to deny my husband’s last request. Of course, he didn’t know it would be his last request. And he might have changed his mind when he sobered up, but…”

“Well, there was nothing wrong with the name. It was a perfectly good name,” said Ginger.

“I got used to it.” She took another sip. “And now I’ll have to get used to seeing it on his headstone.”

Ginger thought she would start crying, but she didn’t.

“So, what was it that you wanted to see me about?”

“Well, I hope this won’t upset you…but one of my employees has been accused of killing Navy.” She quickly added, “But she didn’t do it. And I’m trying to prove it by figuring out who did kill him.”

“I’ve already told the police everything I know, but I’ll be glad to answer your questions too.”

“Thank you. What can you tell me about his allergy.”

“He was highly allergic to shellfish. Although I didn’t realize that fish oil supplements would be a problem for him.”

“So, did he carry an Epi-Pen around with him?”

“Yes—always. He kept it in the glove compartment of his car. I told him he should carry one in his pocket as well, but I don’t think he ever did. He said he didn’t like shirts with pockets, and he would break it if he carried it in his pants pocket. He wore jeans a lot.”

“So, it’s pretty likely that he had an Epi-Pen in his car on Saturday morning. Or at least that he thought he had one in there.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him much over the past few years. But I’m sure it would have been in his car. He knew how dangerous it was to be without it. One time in high school he nearly died after eating a crab cake at a friend’s house. The Epi-Pen saved him. You know how kids are—they think they’re invulnerable. But he took it a lot more seriously after that.”

“I can imagine.”

“What else?”

Ginger couldn’t think of any other questions. She should have written them down. “Uh…”

“Would you like to see his room?”

“He still has a room here?”

“It’s his old room. He hasn’t spent a night in it since his twenty-first birthday.”

“Sure. I’d like to see it.” Although Ginger couldn’t imagine how it would help.

She followed her staggering host down the long hallway.

“Here it is.”

“Wow. He sure won a lot of trophies.”

“Yes. Navy was quite the athlete.”

Ginger spotted his collection of high school yearbooks on the shelf. She walked over to them and pointed. “Would you mind if I look through these?”

“Help yourself,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She nodded to her empty wine glass.

Ginger picked up Navy’s senior yearbook. She thumbed through it and found his picture. He was a very handsome young man, she thought, except the cocky expression on his face.

She decided to check for an index to find his sports pictures. But the pages slipped through her fingers and she was suddenly looking at the inside of the back cover. It was filled with comments from his friends. She began to read them.

We were the best football team in the history of Coreyville High School, Dude. There will never be another team like us! – signed Bill.

I’m gonna miss cheering for the mighty Coreyville Cougars. Y’all were the greatest, Navy. Especially you! And thanks for that night under the stands! You blew me away! – signed Cindy.

It didn’t sound like something a girl would write. Ginger wondered if some boy had forged Cindy’s signature.

Great party, Man. Good thing your old lady was drunk out of her mind. Hope you enjoyed taking your Castor Oil! You’re the man!

It wasn’t signed. Ginger assumed that by ‘old lady’ the author meant Ellegora. But what was the deal with the Castor oil? Doesn’t it give you diarrhea? She wondered if one of the boys had pulled a trick on Navy. Typical teenage boy behavior, she thought.

“Find anything helpful?” Ellegora had refilled her glass.

“Not really. But thanks for letting me look.”

Ginger would not realize until later that she had just picked up an important clue.

**********

Coreyville Coffee Cakes was nearly empty at 1:30 p.m. The coffee break traffic would not start rolling in for at least another hour.

Danny Iper was cleaning tables when his cell phone began to buzz in his pocket.

“Hang on just a second. I need to go outside.”

He walked through the kitchen and out the back door into the alley.

“Okay,” said Danny. “You got my money?”

“One of my employees told me you came around earlier looking for me.”

“Yeah. I came to pick up my money.”

“I told you not to ever come to my place of business. And, besides, I don’t owe you anything. You didn’t do the job.”

“Yes, I did—not the way you told me to. But I did it. Now I want to get paid.”

No response.

“Well?” said Danny.

“Fair enough. But we can’t be seen together in public.”

“I understand.”

“There’s an illegal dump site three miles south of town.”

“Yeah, I know where it is. About a quarter mile off the highway, right?”

“Right. Eleven o’clock tonight. Don’t be late. And don’t tell anybody where you’re going.”

“Hey, I’m not stupid.”

The caller hung up.

Almando Monet sat in his small, but plush upstairs office waiting on a client who was late for his appointment. Almando was a self-made man, and had no patience for those who didn’t understand that time is money.

Manny, as he liked to be called, looked like a thirty-year-old Antonio Banderas. He had legally changed his last name ten years ago to that of his idol, Claude Monet. Manny had rejected the family grocery business to become an artist—just as the famous French impressionist painter had done many decades before him.

Even at the age of twenty, Manny’s oil paintings were magnificent. But nobody was willing to pay hundreds of dollars to a poor Hispanic kid. He dreamed of the day when the wealthy would commission him to paint great works of art that would be passed down from one generation to the next.

Manny had been desperate to get away from his overbearing father. So, he had written to a distant cousin who operated a small business in an East Texas town named Coreyville. He boldly asked Cousin Hosea for a job and a temporary place to live. Manny told him he would work hard and help pay the rent.

To his surprise, Hosea replied that he would be happy to give him a job, and that Manny could live with him until he could afford his own place. He even said he would hang Manny’s paintings on the walls of his business and sell them to customers.

Manny was so excited he couldn’t sleep. He spent his last few dollars on a one-way bus ticket to Coreyville.

Hosea’s business was a tiny shoe repair shop, located on town square. Manny’s job would be to shine each pair of shoes that Hosea repaired.

What would be Manny’s hourly rate of pay? Zero, his cousin told him. He would only get paid if a customer decided to tip him in response to a particularly impressive shoe shine job.

But there was more. Hosea had recently purchased a shoe shine stand at an auction. He would charge five dollars per shine, which he would keep. But Manny could pocket any tip money. And assuming he could keep the chair occupied for much of the day, he could make a living. Of course, Manny would have to buy his own supplies. Hosea would loan him the money to get started.

But at least he would have free room and board, right? Yes, for the first two months. After that, he’d have to fork over money for half of the rent and groceries. He would live with Hosea in the efficiency apartment above the shop. There was only one bed. Manny would sleep on the floor.

What about the promised walls for his paintings? Hosea was a man of his word—and then some. Manny could indeed cover the walls with his works of art. But the previously undisclosed stipulation was that Hosea would get fifty percent of the sales price of each painting.

Manny decided to go back to El Paso immediately. But he couldn’t. First he’d have to earn some money. It would be hard enough to go home and admit that his father had been right. He just couldn’t bring himself to call and beg for a bus ticket.

He worked diligently at his shoe shining, figuring the better the shine, the higher the tip. And it paid off. Before long, the word had spread all over town. Manny was swamped with customers, while Hosea sat idle.

Then Manny began to dream. Maybe he could go out on his own. Then he could keep the five-dollar fee as well as the tips. And if he sold any paintings, all the money would be his. He would just need to save up enough to get his own place.

But then Hosea got even greedier. One night after dinner, he told Manny that he must start giving him fifty percent of his tip money. That wasn’t fair, said Manny. He had just started paying for half the rent and food. He would not give up any of his tip money.

They got into a violent argument that ended when Hosea fell down the stairs. Manny grabbed Hosea’s car keys and carried his unconscious cousin to the car. The hospital was less than one mile away. But Manny forgot to buckle Hosea’s seat belt. And somehow, as Manny sped around a corner, the passenger door swung open and Hosea fell out. A police car happened by at that moment and saw Manny trying to pick up Hosea and put him back in the car. But he was already dead.

Nobody knew Hosea had been treating his twenty year-old cousin like a slave. So they had no reason to suspect foul play. Manny was only known to the men whose shoes he shined. And to them, he was a fine, hard-working young man.

After the funeral, he took over Hosea’s lease and eventually renovated the shop—transforming the little dump of a shoe repair shop into an upscale shoe shine boutique. His oil paintings were on the walls, but they weren’t for sale. He refused to sell them to anyone for any price. In his mind, this made them priceless.

He did away with the shoe repair business altogether, and concentrated on building his brand name: Monet’s MasterShine. Before long, he had more business than he could handle, so he hired two employees and let them do all the labor. He kept the shoe shine fee at five dollars and paid his workers minimum wage. But they got to keep all their tips.

The income from the shoe shines paid the rent. But the real money was in the extras—like the latest must-have electronic gadgets that men love. They would come in planning to spend a few bucks on the best shoe shine in town, and walk out fifty dollars poorer, with their shiny shoes and their new GPS system with built-in metal detector.

But Manny had not been content to sit back and enjoy the success of his little shop. He sought more lucrative endeavors.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said Manny. He stood up.

A man in his mid-twenties walked in and closed the door. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Monet. I’m Will J—”

“—I know who you are, Will. And call me Manny.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Have a seat.”

They both sat down.

“So, what can I do for you, Will?”

“I understand that you make loans.”

“Yes. Sometimes. But if you need money, why don’t you just go to a bank?”

“I tried that.”

“Or get a credit card. They’re pretty easy to get these days.”

“Not for me.”

“Credit problems?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How much do you need?”

“Uh…it’s a lot.”

“How much?”

“Ten-thousand.”

“That is a lot,” said Manny.

“I’m sorry,” said Will, standing up, “this is crazy for me to be—”

“—sit down, Will. I can do it.”

Will sat down, grinning. “You can? Great.” Suddenly his smile went away. “What’s the interest rate?”

“Twenty percent.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad. So, twenty percent APR.”

“No. Twenty percent per month,” said Manny.

“Whoa.”

“Change your mind? Don’t need the money so bad after all?”

“No—I really do need it.”

“Okay, then. And just so we’re clear: in thirty days your first payment of one-thousand dollars will be due.”

Will’s eyes got big.

“So, you still want the money?”

“Yes, Sir. Where do I sign?”

“There’s no paperwork. But just so you know,” said Manny, looking directly into Will’s eyes, “nobody’s ever defaulted on me—and lived to tell about it.”

Will’s chin began to quiver.

Manny grinned. “Come back at Noon and I’ll have your cash.”

**********

Mayor Kassle sat up in his oversized leather chair and reached for his desk phone.

“Melissa?”

“It’s Monica, Sir. Melissa was your last secretary.”

“Have you finished typing those letters?”

“Yes, Sir, I have. Are you ready to sign them?”

Duh. “Yes.”

He hung up the phone.

Monica hurried through the door and shut it behind her. Then she quickly baby-stepped over to the mayor’s desk. The five-inch heels and ultra-tight skirt precluded a normal stride.

“Here we go,” she said, handing him the two letters.

“Thank you.”

She turned and started walking away.

What a fine butt, he thought. “Wait. Come back.”

She came back to his desk.

He signed the letters and held them out.

She leaned over his desk to take them.

He could see way down her dress. “That dress is too short and too low-cut.”

Monica stood up and covered her cleavage with her hands. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“You’re fired.”

“But, Sir, it’s my first day. Please give me another chance.”

“I’ll need you to finish out the day. Hire me another secretary.”

“But, Sir. Please.”

“And I’ll pick you up tonight at around seven.”

“But, Sir, I—what?”

“You like seafood?”

“Uh, sure.”

“And feel free to wear that dress.”

“Yes, Sir.” She grinned. “Thank you, Sir.” She took the letters, spun around, and scurried happily out the door.

The mayor smiled. It was amazing what you could get away with if you had power. He’d grown up with the advantages of wealth. But add power to it, and wow. He loved his life.

The intercom on his phone beeped.

“Yes, Melissa—I mean, Monica?”

“The chief is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

“Good Morning, Mayor.” Chief Foenapper came in and sat down.

“That’s good, Daniel. Let’s keep it formal. I’ll try to remember to only call you ‘Chief’ from now on. So, how’s your murder investigation going, Chief?”

“It’s going fine, Mayor. Our prime suspect is Lacey Greendale, the young woman I told you about. She works for Ginger Lightley.”

“So, you’ve brought her in for questioning?”

“Not yet. But, as I told you on the phone Saturday night, when I talked to her at her apartment she seemed very suspicious—especially when I asked about the panties we found in Navy’s car.”

“So, charge her.”

“I’ve been looking at other possible suspects.”

“You’re just wasting time, Chief. If she looks like a killer and smells like a killer then she’s probably your killer. You’d better lock her up before she skips town.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Sure, you do. I wasn’t saying that you didn’t. But you’re dragging your feet. Let’s get it done.”

“I’ve been doing research on everyone who had the opportunity to poison him. I particularly wanted to see if any of them had any prior arrests.”

“And did they?”

“No.”

“What’d I tell you? A waste of time,” said the mayor.

“No prior arrests. But I did find something else. And now I have a second suspect with both motive and opportunity.”

“Who?”

“Addie Barneswaller.”

At about 10:30 a.m., Ginger walked down to Scissy’s Beauty Shop. Sissy Gossett had earned the nickname ‘Scissy’ in beauty school, twenty-seven years ago. People were amazed at how fast she could work a pair of scissors. She zigged and zagged and hovered above your head like a hummingbird. You didn’t dare move an inch while her scissors were in motion.

When Scissy finished with you, your hair was a work of art. And no two looked the same. Women quickly learned not to ask for their hair to be styled like so-and-so’s. That was an insult. Each head was intended to be a unique masterpiece.

Ginger wasn’t surprised to see Scissy idling in her stylist chair, flipping through a magazine she’d probably already read a dozen times. Business was slow on Mondays. Most women came in toward the end of the week so their hair would look its best for Sunday morning services.

The other salons in town were closed on Mondays. But Scissy got too lonely at home while her husband was at work. She had no hobbies, no other interests. So, she opened her place on Mondays, just hoping somebody would come in. She gave her other stylists the day off.

She smiled broadly when Ginger walked through the door. “Hey, Ginger, come on in.”

“Hi, Scissy.”

“You didn’t have an appointment today, did you?” She jumped up and scurried to the desk to check her appointment book.

“No. I’m scheduled for Friday afternoon—as usual.”

“I thought so. Well, what can I do for you? Need some more of that new conditioner?”

“No, I’ve still got plenty. Thanks. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Oh, okay. Have a seat.” If there was anything Scissy was more accomplished at than styling hair, it was talking—or more precisely, gossiping. She hopped back up in her stylist chair. “Shoot.”

“What do you know about Cash Crawley?”

“The Donut King?”

“Yeah. Have you heard anything new lately?”

“Only that he’s started selling muffins. But I understand they’re nothing to write home about.”

Unbelievable, thought Ginger. Cash had just started selling the muffins that morning. “How did you hear about it?”

“I had a customer early this morning who told me she tried one. He’s only got one kind apparently. She said it wasn’t bad. It was just kinda bland.”

“I see.”

“You think Cash is trying to compete with you?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I don’t think he’d stand much of a chance, Ginger. Nobody can top your coffee cakes.”

Ginger smiled. “Thanks.”

“The only business Cash usually tries to compete with is his brother’s.”

“Really? I’ve never thought of them as being in competition with each other. All Cash sells is donuts. Bull’s place has grown into a full-service restaurant. I wouldn’t think there would be much fighting over customers except at breakfast.”

“Yeah, but for the Crawley boys, everything is a competition. Remember what a great football player Bull was in high school? He was huge even back then—thanks to the steroids.”

“Really? He took steroids back in high school?”

“Oh, yes. Everybody figured he’d get a full-ride scholarship to wherever he wanted to go. But then he broke his ankle in the state game. He never fully recovered from it. Never even went to college.”

“Yeah, I remember that. It was a shame.”

“Then little brother, Cash, came along five or six years later and became the star quarterback. He seemed unstoppable. Until one night after a big game when Bull took him to a club over in Shreveport to celebrate. They got drunk and started fighting. One of Cash’s fingers got broken—on his throwing hand. It healed, but he never threw the football quite as well after that. Cash never forgave his brother for it.”

“So, they’re still fighting it out—in the business world.”

“That’s right. But so far Bull is winning.”

“I would think so.”

“But did you hear about Cash dumping a box of mice into Bull’s restaurant.”

“What? No.”

“I’m not surprised. Bull did everything he could to keep it quiet. Even I haven’t told anybody.”

“Until now.”

“Well, yeah. But I know you’ll keep it a secret.”

“So, what happened?”

“One of the cooks spotted several mice in the kitchen during the lunch rush, so he ran into the dining room to get Bull. When he pulled him aside and told him about the mice, Bull began to usher his customers out of the restaurant.”

“He told them about the mice?”

“Oh, no. He said he suspected a gas leak. He apologized and told them their next meal was free—including dessert.”

“Wow. That was close.”

“Yeah. If anybody had seen a mouse run across the floor, Bull would have been out of business.”

“How did he figure out it was Cash?”

“He doesn’t know for sure. But he can’t imagine who else would do that to him.”

“That’s so unethical.”

“Yeah, but it’s no big shock to me. Neither one of them have any scruples.”

Scissy had confirmed Ginger’s suspicions. Cash was indeed the kind of man who would have paid Navy to steal her recipe book.

But would Cash then kill Navy—just to cover up the theft?

**********

Danny walked into the kitchen. “Have you seen Lacey?”

Addie pointed to the back door.

He went outside and saw Lacey with her back and one foot against the wall, taking a drag from her Virginia Slim.

“Those things will kill you,” he said as he put a Marlboro between his lips.

She continued to look straight ahead. “Not as fast as a gun.”

He took out his lighter, flipped it open, and lit his cigarette. “Look, I’m sorry. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have had the gun in the apartment.” He put the lighter back in his pocket and took a long drag.

She turned to him. “You shouldn’t have had a gun—period.”

“I know.”

Lacey punched him in the arm. “Stupid.”

He hesitated to ask. “What did you do with it?”

“What does it matter? You don’t need a gun.”

“Yeah, but you can’t just throw it away. Where is it?”

“I’ve got it in a safe place. Don’t worry about it.”

Maybe she had it on her—perhaps it was strapped inside her thigh. Or maybe he’d seen too many B movies. He scanned her body, from head to toe, and got distracted on the way down. Danny never got tired of staring at her long, sexy legs.

She didn’t seem to notice he was ogling her. “I think I convinced Ginger that I had nothing to do with Navy’s death. Hopefully she’ll convince the police.”

“Good. What about the panties? They really are yours, aren’t they?”

Lacey threw her cigarette down in disgust and snuffed it out with a violent twist of her shoe. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

He grabbed her by the arm. “I want to know.”

She just stared at him.

“I deserve to know.”

“Okay, yes—they’re mine,” she said.

“I knew it.”

“I put them in his car to make Kayla jealous. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“So, you still have a thing for him.”

“Not anymore.”

“Not anymore.” He said calmly. Then he yelled, “You mean since he’s dead?”

“I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t love you. I was just confused about my feelings.”

Danny was so angry he didn’t know what to say. He was about to blurt out something he’d probably regret.

“But I know you’ll forgive me—just like I’ll forgive you…for the gun.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Do you want me to forgive you?”

“Yes, but—”

“—no ‘buts.’ Do you want me to forgive you or not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have to forgive me.”

“Fine. I forgive you.”

“Good.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, took his hand, and led him back inside.

Danny wondered if he would get paid for the job. His secret employer had provided the gun. His instructions were to hide in the bushes along the back parking lot of the nursing home on Saturday morning and wait for Navy to arrive with the coffee cakes. When Navy stepped out of his car, Danny was to shoot and kill him.

But Danny didn’t like the idea of using a gun. And what did it matter now? His employer had gotten the result he wanted. Navy was dead.

Danny should get paid.