“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 richenough. 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.”
“Probably not.”
The bell on the front door jingled as someone walked in.
Elijah looked to see who it was.
“Speak of the devil…”
“Our new chief of police?”
“Yep.”
Ginger sighed. “I guess I might as well get used to it. Excuse me.”
She got up and walked over to Daniel Foenapper, who was now standing in line. Daniel was only five-foot-nine, but his thin frame made him look taller. He was quite impressive in his new uniform.
“Good morning, Chief.”
He seemed surprised, yet pleased that she had addressed him in the proper manner. “Good morning, Mrs. Lightley.” His voice cracked, sounding exactly like it did in junior high.
No, please call me ‘Ginger.’ She thought it, but couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Drop by anytime, Chief. It’s ‘on the house.’”
“No, Ma’am. I couldn’t do that—accept gifts, that is. It wouldn’t be right. I’ll pay—just like everybody else.”
Okay. Maybe he’s not so bad, she thought. “Suit yourself. But docome by often.”
He grinned. “I will. Your cakes are delicious.”
“Thanks. Well, have a nice day.”
Ginger stepped away, and was about to go back to Elijah when she heard the phone behind the counter begin to ring. She saw Lacey answer it. Ginger waited to see if the call was for her.
Lacey talked for a few seconds and then took the phone away from her ear and began to survey the dining area. She looked at Ginger and pointed to the chief.
Ginger went back over to where he was standing. “Looks like we have a phone call for you, Chief.”
“Really?” Daniel looked down at his police radio. He had forgotten to turn it on.
Ginger led him to the phone and Lacey handed it to him.
“This is Chief Foenapper…yeah, I forgot to turn it on. Sorry about that…I see…okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone.
Ginger deliberately blocked his path. “Something wrong?”
“Yes. It’s Navy Newcomb.”
“What kind of trouble did he get into this time?”
“Did you send him out to the nursing home?”
“Yes. Well, no—I didn’t sendhim. He’s been volunteering—taking cakes out there every morning.”
“That’s it? He just picks up some cakes and delivers them to the nursing home?”
“Yes. The three-day-old cakes.”
He seemed disappointed.
“They’re still good. They’re perfectlygood. I don’t give them stale cakes.”
“I see.”
“So, what did Navy do? You understand that he’s not an employee. He just volunteers.”
“I understand.” He tried to walk around Ginger, but she blocked him again.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that Navy Newcomb…is dead.”
Chapter 4
Ginger stood there watching as Chief Foenapper rushed out of Coreyville Coffee Cakes, jumped into his car, turned on his flashing light, and sped away.
When she turned around, Elijah was walking toward her.
“What’s going on?”
“Navy Newcomb is dead.”
“What happened?”
“Daniel—I mean the chief—wouldn’t tell me. All I know is that he took my cakes out to the nursing home and now he’s dead. I want to go out there.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Thanks.” She walked over to Cheryl Iper, at the cash register. “I’ll be back in a little while.” Ginger walked away before Cheryl had a chance to ask any questions.
Elijah had parked halfway down the block. In the early morning hours, Ginger’s customers took up more than her share of parallel parking slots. But most of the other shops were not open that early anyway.
Elijah’s old Ford sedan was roomy and comfortable. Pastors of small congregations learn how to live on meager salaries. One of the ways Elijah stretched his income was to buy his cars at auctions. This particular one had been a police cruiser in its previous life.
There was no way to know how many times the engine had been revved up for a high-speed chase. Or how many perps had ridden handcuffed in the back seat. None of that matter to Elijah. After a thorough cleaning and a new paint job, he considered the vehicle ‘born again.’
They got in and Elijah backed out and drove toward the nursing home.
“I hope this isn’t my fault,” said Ginger, more to herself than to Elijah.
“What do you mean? How could it be yourfault?”
“I think Navy stole my recipe book this morning.”
Elijah looked puzzled.
“What if somebody knew he was going to steal it? They might have tried to take it away from him. Maybe they fought, and—”
“—just how much is this recipe book worth?”
“Some other bakery might be willing to pay thousands for it. I don’t know. We get business from all over the area.” People travelling down Interstate 20 often made a detour through Coreyville just to get some of Ginger’s famous cakes.
“Okay. I can understand how valuable the book is. But I can’t believe people would killfor it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
When they arrived at Coreyville Country Home, Ginger asked Elijah to drive around to the back. They saw the chief talking to Justice of the Peace Harvey ‘Boot’ Hornamer. Two paramedics were loading a body into the ambulance in no particular hurry.
Ginger and Elijah got out of the car and walked up behind the chief just in time to hear the end of the conversation.
At 77, Boot was a product of his long-term habits. Sixty years of chewing tobacco had created a permanent protrusion in his left cheek. And these days, it never went away—whether the wad of chew was there or not. His love of the sun had turned his arms more leathery than his cowhide belt. The excruciating pain in his feet and back was exasperated by the cowboy boots. But he just wouldn’t be ‘Boot’ without them.
“So, I’m gonna order an autopsy.” Boot turned to the side and spit. The bullet stream of tobacco juice nailed a bullfrog right between the eyes.