Ginger knew she shouldn’t have gone to The Grand Hotel
that morning. Her intuition kept telling her not to go, but she had an
appointment to view a wedding reception site in the Bluebonnet Ballroom on the
second floor with one of her brides. As a top-notch professional wedding
planner, she couldn’t let her client down. Finally, her sense of duty won out.
The next thing she knew, she was tumbling down a
flight of marble stairs along with Maybelle Jamison, in a tangled mass of
flailing arms and legs, landing at the bottom on the highly polished granite
floor. Then the whole world went black.
When Ginger opened her eyes, she found herself in the
emergency room with her left arm in a cast, her painfully sore ribs tightly
bandaged and the Morgan County Sheriff lurking outside the door.
* * *
* * * * * * *
Nurse Evelyn Crane woke up that morning with the same
nagging premonition. “Don’t go! Don’t go!” But then, she had that same feeling
every workday morning—she worked in the emergency room at Mercy Hospital. There
are a lot of crazy people out there, and eventually they all turn up in the ER.
It was fate, or maybe it was just her bad karma. She knew the minute the
staircase victims arrived—one unconscious and banged up, the other one dead—this
day was going downhill in a hurry.
Just as she started to process the surviving patient’s
paperwork, the family members began to arrive.
“I’m looking for my wife,” said a tall, out-of-breath,
fifty-something gentleman, running up to the nursing station.
“And you are?”
“Mace,” he replied between gulps of air. “Mace
McCormick. My wife, Ginger, was brought in by an ambulance this morning.”
“Dad!” screamed two attractive, identical young women,
as they entered the ER doors.
“Pepper, Curry,” he cried, hugging them both.
Lord have mercy, thought Nurse Crane, shaking her head
and crossing her chubby brown arms over her ample belly. It looks like we’re
starting this day off with a spice rack. We’ve got a Ginger, a Mace, a Pepper
and a Curry.
Peering over the tops of her narrow reading glasses at
the spice trio, she informed them, “Ginger McCormick is in exam room number four
with Dr. Martin. But only one of you can go in at a time,” she warned.
“I’ll be back as soon as I find out how she is,” Mace
told his daughters, racing down the hallway toward the examination rooms.
The twin sisters turned to Nurse Crane.
“Is she all right?” asked Curry.
“Is she conscious?” asked Pepper.
But before the nurse could get a single word out, she
heard more screams, “Pepper, Curry!”
Pepper and Curry spun around when they heard their
sisters’ voices.
“Cinnamon, Sage,” they cried in unison. And once again
the group was in a hugfest.
“Lord save me,” exclaimed the nurse. “I’ll never look
at spices the same way again.”
“We’re here to see Ginger McCormick,” said Sage. “Is
she okay?”
“I just have one question,” said Nurse Crane. “Are
there any more of you spices I need to know about?”
The four sisters rolled their eyes, annoyed by her
comment.
“No,” quipped Sage, weary from a lifetime of spice
jokes. “We’re all here.”
“Hallelujah,” mumbled Nurse Crane, glancing
heavenward. “Your mother is fine. By some miracle, her only injuries are a
broken left wrist, a couple of cracked ribs and a mild concussion.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Cinnamon.
“Dad is with her now,” added Pepper.
Sage glanced down the hallway toward the examination
rooms and locked eyes with her long-time nemesis, Sheriff Jason Winters. Jason
and Sage grew up in the same small town of Clearwater, Texas, where both their
parents still lived. Years later, they landed in nearby Houston, starting their
careers in law.
Jason, a police officer, worked his way up through the
ranks to the level of detective in record time. Sage was a criminal trial
lawyer, whose defense of a few questionable wealthy clients caused her to butt
heads with the cocky Detective Winters on more than one occasion.
Jason later left the Houston Police Department and ran
for the office of Sheriff in Morgan County, which included Clearwater. Jason
and Sage were like two super-charged lightning bolts, drawn to each other but
unable to occupy the same space at the same time without generating a shower of
electric sparks.
Sage marched up to Jason, her short auburn curls
bouncing with each determined step, “What are you doing here?”
“Murder investigation,” he replied, admiring the way
her dark blue suit hugged the curves of her short but shapely figure.
“Murder? What are you talking about?”
“Maybelle Jamison was stabbed with a knife before she
went tumbling down the stairs with Ginger.”
"Maybelle was stabbed? But why? Was it robbery?”
“Nothing was stolen,” said Jason. “But Ginger was the
last person to see the victim alive, so I need to get her statement.”
“You think my
mother killed Maybelle?” asked an outraged Sage, her cheeks beginning to flush
with anger.
Jason frowned. “It’s part of any routine
investigation. You know that.”
Sage narrowed her eyes, “She’s not talking to anyone
without a lawyer present.”
“That’s fine with me, Counselor.”
When Dr. Martin left the exam room, he nodded his
approval for Sage and Jason to enter.
“Mother, are you okay?” asked Sage, gently planting a
kiss on her mother’s forehead, the only spot left on Ginger’s body without a
bruise, scrape or bandage.
“Hello, Jason,” said Mace, stepping forward to greet
the young man with a hand-shake.
“Good to see you, Mace,” replied Jason. He turned
toward Ginger, wincing at the sight of her injuries. How had she managed to
survive such a fall? She was lucky to be alive.
“I know you must be in a lot of pain right now,” he
told her, “and I’m really sorry to bother you, but I need to ask a few
questions about your accident. We now know that Maybelle Jamison was stabbed
before she fell down the stairs, and since you were the last person to see her
before she died, I need to take your statement about what happened there this
morning.”
“Are you saying Maybelle was murdered?” asked Ginger
in disbelief, glancing over at Mace.
Mace lowered his head sadly and closed his eyes.
Maybelle was Mace’s first wife. They had been married only two years before she
realized that Mace, an aeronautical engineer for a NASA contractor, wasn’t meeting
her economic and social expectations. She left him for a wealthy real estate
developer with lofty political aspirations. Maybelle was quite a handful, and
Mace wasn’t sorry when she left, but he certainly never wished her any harm.
“Yes,” replied Jason. “We think she was stabbed in one
of the meeting rooms on the second floor, but managed to walk to the main
staircase before she collapsed and fell down the stairs.”
“Oh, my word,” said Ginger. “I didn’t see anyone else
near the stairs when I got there. About halfway down, I heard a noise behind me
and turned around just in time to see Maybelle tumbling down the stairs. She
crashed into me, and then we both rolled down to the bottom of the staircase. I
blacked out after that.”
“We haven’t found the murder weapon yet,” added Jason,
“but the autopsy showed a stab wound to the abdomen. We believe it was a
serrated knife—like a steak knife. You didn’t see anyone else on the second
floor before you reached the stairs?”
“Just my bridal client and the hotel event
coordinator, Jenny Hall, who was showing us the ballroom. But Jenny left about
ten o’clock for another meeting on the second floor, and I stayed to discuss a
few more wedding details with the bride. After she left, I packed up my
briefcase and headed for the stairs.”
“Okay then,” said Jason, jotting a few notes in his
notebook before replacing it in his shirt pocket. “I appreciate your time,
Ginger. If you think of anything else that might help us with this case, just
call me.”
Sage bristled noticeably; glaring at him.
“Or have your lawyer call me,” he revised, with a
quick glance in Sage’s direction.
Jason left the room, with Sage following close behind
like a testy little terrier nipping at his heels. Ginger and Mace looked at
each other knowingly.
“The dance of romance,” said Mace. “Those two have
been at it for years.”
“Do you think they will ever let their guards down
long enough to figure out what all that tension is really about?” asked Ginger.
“I hope so. They could be a dynamic duo—just like us,”
replied Mace, giving Ginger’s uninjured hand a loving squeeze.
Sage trailed Jason down the hallway, her low-heeled
lawyer pumps working double-time to keep up with his long strides. “Do you have
any suspects for this murder—other than my mother?”
Jason turned to face her. Those electric green eyes
and sensuous lips always made his insides quiver. But why was she always so
cantankerous whenever he was around? He never deliberately tried to piss her
off. He had set his sights on this feisty little fireball a long time ago, but
it was taking a bit longer than anticipated to rein her in. He felt confident,
though, that she would come around eventually. Jason was a patient man.
“Once again, Counselor, in case you missed it the
first time, I’m just doing my job. I can’t ignore the fact that your mother was
the last one to see the victim alive, not to mention the fact that they were
acquaintances and possibly even rivals.”
“That’s ridiculous,” countered Sage, planting her
hands firmly on both hips. “Maybelle left my father long before he met my
mother.”
Jason shrugged his broad shoulders and turned to
leave. There was no point in arguing over this issue. It wasn’t going to change
the way he approached the investigation.
Sage fumed as she watched him walk away. Why did God
have to waste that tall, dark and sexy body on such a stubborn, narrow-minded
man? Every time she saw him, she bristled and went weak in the knees at the
same time. Why did he always affect her that way?
Never mind, she’d have to think about that another
day. She and her sisters had their work cut out for them. They needed to find
out who killed Maybelle Jamison.
* * *
* * * * * * *
“Murder?” exclaimed Cinnamon, when Sage told her
sisters about the stabbing.
“Why would anyone want to murder Maybelle?” asked
Pepper.
“That’s what we have to find out,” replied Sage,
“before Jason throws Mother in jail!”
“He doesn’t really believe Mother killed Maybelle,
does he?” asked Curry.
“Probably not,” admitted Sage. “But Mother was the
last person to see Maybelle alive, so he has to treat her like any other
suspect until he proves otherwise.”
“Or until we prove otherwise,” declared Cinnamon.
“Exactly,” confirmed Sage.
“Where do we start?” asked Pepper.
“We need to find out why Maybelle was at the hotel
this morning,” replied Sage. “I know her daughter, Cynthia. Maybe she can
help.”
“The killer could have stolen a steak knife from the
hotel kitchen,” added Cinnamon. “I could snoop around in there. Gordon, the
hotel chef, was one of my instructors at culinary school.”
Cinnamon was a professional chef. After working at
several well-known restaurants around the country, she formed a partnership
with two other students in her culinary class to start their own restaurant in
the trendy Galleria area of Houston. At 29, her talent and hard work had put
her on the path to a successful entrepreneurial career, which didn’t leave much
time for a social life.
“Curry and I could question some of the hotel
employees,” offered Pepper, “to see if they saw anything suspicious.”
“It’s a start,” agreed Sage. “Let’s get on it. Call me
as soon as you have any leads.”
The sisters scattered in different directions, hot on
the trail of Maybelle’s killer. Sage pulled out her cell phone and searched for
Cynthia Jamison’s number. Cynthia and Sage, both 32, were married to their
demanding careers. They attended the same law school, starting off as
competitive rivals and ending up as close friends, both returning to Houston to
practice law at competing firms.
After getting a voice mail message on Cynthia’s cell
phone, Sage tried her office number, and finally tracked her down at Maybelle’s
house. She should have known the family would gather there in the wake of such
unexpected tragedy.
“Cynthia, this is Sage McCormick. I’m so sorry to hear
about your mother’s death.”
“Thank you, Sage. I heard your mother is in the
hospital. Is she going to be all right?”
“Yes, she should be fine, but the Sheriff was at the
hospital and told us Maybelle was murdered.”
“It’s horrible,” Cynthia sobbed. “I just don’t
understand why someone would want to kill Mother.”
“I can’t believe it either,” replied Sage. “Jason took
my mother’s statement about the incident as part of the investigation, but I
want to do some investigating on my own. Could I stop by and talk with you for
a few minutes today?”
“I don’t know
what you expect to find out by talking to me, but I’ll do anything I can to
help. I want that killer caught, too. Come over to the house around one o’clock
and we’ll see what we can figure out.”
“Thank you,” said Sage. It was almost noon, so she
dashed off to grab a sandwich at Anton’s Deli, her favorite lunch spot in
Clearwater. Whenever Sage was stressed, she automatically thought of food. It
worked better than tranquilizers to calm her nerves, and the thought of one of
Anton’s hot grilled chicken Panini sandwiches with sautéed red peppers and a
thick layer of melted cheese made her mouth water.
She scarfed down her sandwich, topped it off with a
delectable, fudgey brownie and felt fully charged and ready to tackle the
world. Next, she checked in with her secretary to make sure there were no
pending crises at the office, and headed over to the local library to do a bit
of research on Maybelle Jamison.
After leaving Mace, Maybelle married a wealthy real
estate developer named Henry Jamison. He was one of many developers who
capitalized on the Gulf Coast location of Clearwater and turned it into an
upscale tourist attraction with million-dollar waterfront homes, expensive
seafood restaurants, huge marinas, and retail/entertainment complexes. Even
though Clearwater was a small town, with a population of only 22,000, the
millions of tourists it attracted each year fostered a booming economy.
Maybelle thrived on social status and wealth. As Sage
scanned the social columns in the local newspaper, she noticed that Maybelle
was the star attraction for most of the social and charity events. Her husband
was elected Mayor of Clearwater, and then moved on up the political ladder to
the office of U. S. Representative. But somewhere along the way, Maybelle made
a dangerous enemy.
* * *
* * * * *
* *
While Sage gathered information about Maybelle’s
social status, Cinnamon called her former instructor, Gordon Ellis, head chef
at The Grand Hotel. She explained the situation her mother was in because of
Maybelle’s untimely demise, and asked if he could help her with a little
investigating.
“Of course, Cinnamon. I’ll do whatever I can to help,”
he replied. “But the deputies have already searched this hotel from top to
bottom looking for the murder weapon, and they came up empty handed.”
“I just want to check things out for myself,”
explained Cinnamon. “My mother is on the Sheriff’s murder suspect list, and I
need to do everything I can to get her off.”
The Grand
Hotel, built as a palatial residence for a ship-building magnate in 1925,
overlooks Pelican Bay, a tiny inlet on the Gulf of Mexico. Well-known business
developer, Clinton Tate, purchased the building a few years ago and turned it
into an elegant hotel with a five-star restaurant on the first floor, spacious
ballrooms and meeting rooms on the second floor, and luxurious guest rooms on
the third floor. The beautiful, sweeping marble staircase in the entry is a
favorite photo spot for brides.
Cinnamon planned to arrive at the hotel close to noon,
during the lunch time rush, so she could snoop around without being watched too
carefully—not an easy feat for a woman who’s two inches shy of six feet tall,
with short, spiky, reddish-blonde hair. And like her mother and three sisters,
she was blessed (or sometimes cursed) with a dogged determination. Just like
bloodhounds, when they latched onto a scent, they refused to give up until they
caught their prey. The hunt was on!
“The Sheriff said the murder weapon might have been a
steak knife,” Cinnamon told Gordon. “Is there any way to tell if one of your
knives is missing?”
“Unfortunately not,” he replied. “We have hundreds of steak knives.”
“Did you see Maybelle at the hotel this morning?”
“No, I was in a meeting with Jenny Hall at ten
o’clock, and I didn’t see Maybelle until after the accident. Jenny and I heard
screams in the lobby and ran out to see what was going on. That’s when we saw
Maybelle and Ginger at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Do you have any idea why Maybelle was here at the
hotel this morning?” asked Cinnamon.
“She’s been here several times during the past few
weeks, taking tours with the owner, Clinton Tate, and meeting with the hotel
manager, Glen Durst,” replied Gordon. “I don’t know what was going on, but if
the owner was involved, it must have been something big.”
“Do you mean she was planning a big event?”
“No one told me anything about an event, which is
unusual because I’m responsible for the food orders and preparations for large
events. Maybe it was something else, but it must have been high priority.”
“Then I need to find out what it was,” she said.
“Thanks for your time, Gordon. If you hear anything about the murder, will you
call me?”
“Of course.”
Cinnamon left the kitchen and ran into Pepper and
Curry in the lobby.
“We’ve been talking to a few of the employees to find
out if anyone saw something suspicious involving Maybelle,” said Curry.
“Yes,” added Pepper, “and we discovered something that
might be important. We talked to the housekeeping supervisor. We met her last
winter when we donated some clothing from our boutique to a charity event she
was chairing. She saw Maybelle arguing with Glen Durst, around nine o’clock
this morning outside his office. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but
she could tell they were angry.”
“That is important,”
agreed Cinnamon. “Did she tell Jason about the argument?”
“Yes, she told him; I’m sure he questioned the manager
about it.”
“I wonder how we could find out what they were arguing
about?” mused Cinnamon.
Pepper and Curry glanced at each other in nervous
anticipation. Cinnamon was getting that familiar gleam in her eye. They knew
she was concocting another one of her crazy schemes that, more often than not,
landed them all in a heap of trouble. Like the time when the twins were eight,
and Cinnamon decided they should try parasailing off the roof of the garden
shed in the back yard, using their mother’s best Damask table cloths. Curry
wound up with a broken ankle, and they were all grounded for a month.
The twins could see the wheels turning in Cinnamon’s
wickedly inventive mind. Never ones to back away from a challenge, in spite of
the risks, they waited anxiously to hear the game plan. Their mother’s life was
at stake here, so they would just have to worry about the consequences later.
And there would be consequences. Too bad their
intuition wasn’t setting off alarms and flashing red lights, warning them to
back off. They had no idea at this point the magnitude of evil that was unleashed
on their quiet little community. But they were about to find out—first hand.
Come along for a spicy ride on a journey filled with murder,
kidnapping, car chases, gun battles and explosions. 