Murder in the Heartland

Chapter 3

 "She's set her sights on my father," I snarled, as I stormed through Ginger's front door that night.

Ginger blinked. "Who has?"

I swiveled to face her, my hands clenched. "That new stringer for the Times. She intends to make a play for my dad," I screeched.

Ginger's gaze turned questioning. "Romantically?"

"Well, yes, romantically. What other way is there?"

Ginger's shifted upward at the corners. "Oh, I don't know.... Maybe she wants to talk to him about his interview techniques. Or coax out of him how he manages to stay one step ahead of the Times. There could dozens of reasons." Ginger draped an arm on my shoulders. "You really need to put the brakes on, kid. She's been in town what... all of a day or two?"

I pulled free. "So this is purely professional. Is that what you're saying?"

She shrugged "How would I know? But it could be."

"She also says she's heard my dad's handsome." I glared at my friend. "Does that sound professional to you?"

Ginger snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, Melanie, your dad is a dreamboat. In fact, if you and I weren't such good friends...."

I glared at Ginger. "That's not funny."

Ginger chortled. "Come on. Maybe coffee will help."

"I doubt that," I muttered as we took off through the living room of her lovely home. She'd bought the long red-brick house ranch while we fellow high school graduates were living in dorm rooms and slurping down Ramen noodles. I sighed. Who says college is a fast track to success?

When we reached in the kitchen, I peeled off for a seat at the table. Ginger headed for her coffee machine, a big, complex affair. Pricey. I sank into a chair and watched her pull two mugs from the overhead cupboard. 

The room she worked in was spacious, well appointed, and recently updated with high-end equipment nearly identical to Dad's. The only difference was Dad cooked every day while Ginger mostly ate take out.

On the other hand, I still lived at home and dined on whatever Father served up. Not that doing so was a hardship. When it came to cooking, Dad was a pro.

Ginger's coppery hair glowed under overhead light as she carried our mugs to the table. "It sounds like you've let woman get under your skin."

I heaved a huge sigh. "Like you wouldn't believe. She's so pushy, and attractive, and ... so..." I scrunched up my nose, "perfect."

"Melanie, this isn't like you. What has this woman done that's gotten you so riled?"

"What has she done? What hasn't she done is more like it." I picked up my cup and launched into my tale of grievances. "First, that witch conned me into driving her to the murder scene. Then she scooped me on Carly's campaign announcement.

Ginger's green eyes widened in disbelief. "But you had her story this afternoon. I read it."

"Only after I'd seen Miriam's piece in this morning's Times and scrambled to catch up."

"Carly stiffed you?" Ginger shook her head. "I can't believe it."

I folded my arms over my chest. "She excused her behavior by informing me Miriam is her cousin." I rolled my eyes. "LIke that counts."

"The woman's Carly's cousin?" Ginger hoisted her coffee mug from the table. "I've never heard Carly mention anyone named Miriam. And Carly's a very good customer who talks non-stop whenever she sits in my chair."