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electric bills. He
finally stormed out in disgust—but not before yelling, “Why don’t you just
strap a little windmill on that mouth of yours and generate your own
electricity?” Oddly, it didn’t seem to bother her at all. She just went right
on talking.
    “Who told you he was murdered, Jane?”
    “So, I’m right?”
    “No. I’m not saying he was murdered. Don’t put
words in my mouth.”
    “Well, what about the panties? Who do think they
belong to?”
    “You’ve been talking to a deputy, haven’t you, Jane?”
    “Oh, I never reveal my sources,” said Jane, with a sly
smile in her voice.
    “Well, I need to go. I’m working on a new recipe.”
    “Are we gonna get a sample tonight?”
    She knew that Jane would tell everybody about the new
cake. She always did. Luckily, so far at least, Jane had always given glowing
reviews. By the first of the next month, folks would be waiting in line to get
a taste of the new one they had heard so much about.
    “Yes, assuming I get it perfected by then.”
    “Oh, I’m sure you will, Ginger. You always do.”
    “Thanks. See you tonight.”
    “See ya.”
    Ginger looked at the six cakes. Which one should she
try first?
    It was not easy to come up with a unique, new recipe
each and every month. Sometimes she wished she had never started this cake of
the month thing. Although, she knew she could begin to recycle old ones if
necessary. She doubted that people would remember one from a year ago.
    Ginger often named the new cake before she even began
to experiment with the ingredients. She found that an interesting or unusual
name inspired her to do her best work. This one would be called ‘Firecracker
Cocoa Cake.’
    She used a spatula to remove one of the cakes from its
pan. The color looked about right. A small amount of paprika, along with the
cocoa, had given it a reddish-brown hue.
    Ginger took pride in making her cakes as nutritious as
possible. After all, folks were eating them for breakfast. Most of the recipes
included whole wheat flour and oatmeal. And instead of vegetable oil, she
substituted either applesauce or avocado.
    She was really sticking her neck out on this one
though. Could she really get away with adding cayenne pepper and crushed jalapeño?
Yes—if they were in the proper amounts.
    One of her best-sellers contained mustard powder. But
nobody had ever been able to determine the mystery ingredient that gave them
that wonderful tangy flavor. It was fun to watch them try.
    Ginger took a knife and cut off a small corner of the
cake. She put it into her mouth and let her taste buds go to work.
    “Too peppery.” She spit it into the trash.
    The next one she tasted was better—just the right
amount of burn on the tongue to let you know it’s supposed to be spicy, but not
enough to make you want to spit it out.
    Ginger took a second bite to make sure. No. She had
missed it on the first pass. By concentrating so hard on the level of pepper
she missed the fact that the cocoa was too weak.
    Four more possibilities, she thought. The third one
tasted perfect—everything she had imagined it would be. The aroma was magnificent.
She made note of the winner. Now she would make up a larger batch and bake them
for tonight.
    She stood at the kitchen window for a minute, remembering
what Jane had said. Apparently at least one deputy believed Navy had been
murdered. Did he know something Ginger didn’t know?
    She wondered if the police had their own timeline
for that morning. Had they noticed how long it had taken Navy to get to the
nursing home?
    Maybe the police did have some details that Ginger was
unaware of. But she knew some things they didn’t know. Like the fact
that her recipe book had been stolen.
    If Navy was the one who had taken it, perhaps he had
dropped it off somewhere before going to the nursing home. Assuming he was
murdered, could the recipe book have anything to do it?
    And why was Kayla Hanker not more upset about the
death of her