Chapter One: Murder with a Touch of Spice

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.