timer. “I’ve got eight minutes.”
Ginger motioned for Addie to come with her. She led
her into the office and closed the door.
Addie took a chair in front of the desk.
Ginger handed her what was left of the muffin.
“What’s this?” said Addie.
“It’s a product of Cash and Carry Donuts,” said
Ginger.
“Couldn’t be. He only makes donuts.”
“Not anymore. Look at the label.”
“Why is he calling it a cupcake? It’s too big to be a
cupcake.”
“I know. Taste it,” said Ginger.
“Somebody’s been eating on it. What’s this about,
Ginger?”
“You’ll know as soon as you taste it.”
Addie pulled a chunk off of the side that hadn’t been bitten
and put it into her mouth. Almost immediately her eyes widened. “This is—”
“—right.” Ginger smiled.
“So, he’s the one.”
“Yeah. Pretty stupid, huh?”
“But I don’t get it. Couldn’t he tell that it didn’t
taste right?”
“Apparently not. Or he just didn’t care,” said Ginger.
“No. He had to care. Otherwise, why pay for the
recipe?”
Only Ginger and Addie knew that the stolen recipe book
was a fake . Not even Cheryl knew. All the talk about it being worth
thousands of dollars was just a ruse, intended to tempt baker trainees. A baker
trainee eventually learned the real recipes. And Ginger didn’t trust them with
just anybody.
“I wish I had never started the whole fake recipe book
thing. It may be the very reason Navy’s dead.”
“No, Ginger. If he stole it and then somebody killed
him for it, that’s not your fault. That boy was a good-for-nothing anyway. I
can’t say I’m all that sorry to see him go.”
Ginger was shocked. “Addie, how can you say that? He
didn’t deserve to die .”
“No, of course not. You’re right.”
But Ginger didn’t believe her old friend. She could
see it in Addie’s eyes: she was glad Navy was dead.
Ginger had been praying for another suspect. Be
careful what you pray for.
16 - Muffin King
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
Ginger motioned for Addie to come with her. She led
her into the office and closed the door.
Addie took a chair in front of the desk.
Ginger handed her what was left of the muffin.
“What’s this?” said Addie.
“It’s a product of Cash and Carry Donuts,” said
Ginger.
“Couldn’t be. He only makes donuts.”
“Not anymore. Look at the label.”
“Why is he calling it a cupcake? It’s too big to be a
cupcake.”
“I know. Taste it,” said Ginger.
“Somebody’s been eating on it. What’s this about,
Ginger?”
“You’ll know as soon as you taste it.”
Addie pulled a chunk off of the side that hadn’t been bitten
and put it into her mouth. Almost immediately her eyes widened. “This is—”
“—right.” Ginger smiled.
“So, he’s the one.”
“Yeah. Pretty stupid, huh?”
“But I don’t get it. Couldn’t he tell that it didn’t
taste right?”
“Apparently not. Or he just didn’t care,” said Ginger.
“No. He had to care. Otherwise, why pay for the
recipe?”
Only Ginger and Addie knew that the stolen recipe book
was a fake . Not even Cheryl knew. All the talk about it being worth
thousands of dollars was just a ruse, intended to tempt baker trainees. A baker
trainee eventually learned the real recipes. And Ginger didn’t trust them with
just anybody.
“I wish I had never started the whole fake recipe book
thing. It may be the very reason Navy’s dead.”
“No, Ginger. If he stole it and then somebody killed
him for it, that’s not your fault. That boy was a good-for-nothing anyway. I
can’t say I’m all that sorry to see him go.”
Ginger was shocked. “Addie, how can you say that? He
didn’t deserve to die .”
“No, of course not. You’re right.”
But Ginger didn’t believe her old friend. She could
see it in Addie’s eyes: she was glad Navy was dead.
Ginger had been praying for another suspect. Be
careful what you pray for.
16 - Muffin King
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
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