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 thislow.
And if he did steal it, who would he sell it to?
Chapter 3
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 allowherself 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 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 doesn’t really matter that you’re the world’s worst procrastinator.”
“No, Ginger. I’m the world’s greatestprocrastinator.”
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 retiredfrom 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.”