Ginger's Special *** Msytery

Ginger Stone, 24, worked as a columnist at the Pheonix Sun, answering (anonymously of course) the romantic woes of the city's many female (and sometimes male) residents. It's been two years since she graduated with a degree in English from Portland State University and she feels as if she could be doing something more with her life.

Ginger continued to answer the letters to the best of her ability that experience would allow. One day, whilst answering said letters, a shocking piece of news reached her ears. One of her more frequent [followers?] had been found dead in his lover's apartment. The coroner had ruled it as a suicide from overdose. When Ginger found out, her world stopped. Rational thinking would tell her that this was not of her doing and that she could not possibly hold herself accountable for the man's devastating choice. But the guilt continued to claw its way through her, paralyzing her and sending her spiraling down into depression.

Then the nightmares and insomnia began.

Ginger first had dreams of a man, always partially cloaked in shadows. He would always stand by her bed and wait until she woke up. He only ever said one thing to her, "help." Ginger always awoke after this and the dream was never allowed to progress further. Because she was never one to fall back to sleep after waking, Ginger suffered from sleep deprivation frequently. This was reflected in the quality of her work. The editor in chief came into her little cubicle and demanded that she get some help as the reputation of the paper was at stake. Ginger was put on leave and referred to a psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist has a stigma in our society. In the most cordial terms, they are merely rented friends. In the more realistic terms, they are the last resort. Ginger fidgeted in the waiting room. She tried to critique a magazine but this time it brought her no comfort from the stress and turmoil in her heart. Finally, after what seemed like years, Ginger was called in. The psychiatrist was an elderly woman with silver hair and a pointed gaze by the name of Parker. Interlacing her fingers toward Ginger, she made it perfectly clear that her records were to be confidential and secure; that anything could be said without fear of consequence.
But it is always difficult to open up to the frostier individuals upon the first meeting.

Ginger gave the woman a sheepish smile and commented on the name Parker, asking whether or not she was related to a Peter. The woman looked surprised for a brief moment before answering that she was indeed related to a Peter, which gave Ginger a laugh. Ginger then asked if her Peter were a photographer, which the woman denied as Peter was a 2 year old todler who had just learned to tie his shoes let alone use a camera. Ginger put all of her amusement aside and decided to speak to the woman and the company was paying for these sessions and she was always the frugal type. She started with the death of the man found in his lover's home.

She told her about what was reported. Parker nodded, saying that she had seen teh story in the morning paper. Then the obvious question was directed toward Ginger. On what grounds as any of this her fault? The man was clearly emotionally unstable in an unhealthy relationship. He had an anxious-preoccupied attachment style. Low self-esteem, overwhelming dependence on others, constant worry... all clearly signs of an already brewing mental illness. Ginger glanced down and tugged at the clasp of her purse. She revealed that the advice she had given had been to do what is necessary to achieve personal happiness. Parker shrugged and leaned back, "and he decided to take it too literally."

Ginger continued to voice her concerns over the death of this man. Something did not seem right to her. Why did he kill himself in the apartment of his lover? Why did he use drugs that she had aquired for her insomnia? Why in the world was he not wearing any pants?! Parker continued to debunk Ginger's theories about the "suicide" by stating that the man was exhibiting many signs of mental instability and that she should not worry about something that was bound to happen anyway if things had gone on as they did. The good doctor was getting impatient as the end of the hour was drawing nearer. ginger still had concerns that she needed to voice but the doctor ushered her out and promised to see her same time next week. The doctor also prescribed some medication for Ginger's insomnia and encouraged her to go back to work and start living again.

Ginger decided to forgo the taxi and walked back to her apartment. The rain was beginning to fall from the dark skies of late afternoon. She pulled her coat tightly around her neck. Back home, Ginger found comfort in the furry shoulder of her loyal dog. Just as she was about to relax on the couch with a good book, a sharp knock on the door shook the room. Hesitantly, Ginger moved towards the door and the insistent visitor. When she opened the door, her heart fell to her stomach. The detectives promptly produced credentials and asked in a way that was nothing short of a demand to be let in. When they were settled, the woman began, "we have a few questions to ask you concerning the murder of [name]."

Ginger was shocked. Her doctor had spent at least half an hour telling her that this man had killed himself. Ginger invited the detectives into her small apartment and bid them sit on her sofa. She asked if they would like a cup of tea, as to offset the cold weather that they were having which was off for Arizona. The accepted her offer and Ginger went into her kitchen to prepare some nice green tea for the detectives, hoping that they would give her details on the case. The detectives asked her if she knew the man in the photo that they showed her and she said that she did not, but he looked sort of familiar. The man was in his late twenties, black hair, long lashes, and was very handsome to say the least. The detectives said that he had contacted the newspaper concerning a relationship problem a few days prior to his murder and that the newspaper had referred them to her. They wanted to know whether or not he had written any hidden messages in the letter that he sent. She said she remembered getting a letter from a "Hopelessly Trapped" who felt like his relationship was at a standstill, that he needed more from his significant other, and that he was considering leaving her. He had asked whether or not he should, and if there was any advice that she could give him on how to get through her tough emotional barriers. She told the detectives that she had responded, telling him to seek his happiness wherever that may be. The detectives asked if she still had the letter and she said that it was at the office and that they could drop in tomorrow morning to pick it up. The detectives thanked her and left her to contemplate this new development in her life. She felt personally responsible for the death of this man, and she thought it her job to help solve this case.

The next day, Ginger numbly searched through her files for the incrimating letter. She turned it over on her desk as having to look at it directly would make the entire situation too real for her. The detectives came promptly to pick up their evidence. Ginger could already feel the office gossip envelope the environment. The same woman who had interviewed her yesterday leaned against the wall of the cubicle. Quietly, she asked her how she was - noting especially that Ginger looked particularly tired this morning. Ginger waved it off by honestly replying that the entire experience was taking a toll on her. The woman nodded, accepting the reply. Then, in an even softer voice, she informed Ginger that upon further investigation, it had been revealed that this had become a homicidal case. The paper fell out of Ginger's hands. The other detective stepped towards her. In a resigned voice of practiced composure, he told her that they needed to take her down for questioning. The implication was that she should have nothing to fear if she was really as innocent as she claimed to be.
Ginger denied having anything to do with the murder and readily agreed to answer the detectives' questions, where she was. She had had bad dreams about going downtown and never coming back again and shared these concerns with the detectives. They looked at each other and gave Ginger an ultimatum - the easy way or the hard way. Ginger weighed her options and decided to follow the detectives downtown for questioning. Upon ariving at the police station, the two detectives escorted Ginger into a room typical interview room, with the mirror window and then uncomfortable furniture. Ginger sat down gingerly. (Bah dum, pssh) One of the detectives sat on the chair and the other one put one of his legs up onto the table and pulled out a toothpick from one of his pockets. Ginger almost laughed at the cliche. Perhaps they would play good cop, bad cop as well, she mused.

Clearly, they were convinced that people fell into neat little sections where the guilty were completely remorseful and the innocent had consciences clear as dew. Ginger calmly mentioned that Michael Jackson had similar psychological issues when a woman claimed that he was the father of her children despite being completely innocent of the charge. "That's besides the point." The photos were produced, revealing that the murder had in fact been poison slipped into his wine. It seemed to be the cliche jealous homicidal lover case. But there was no motivation. And the lover herself had not been in the apartment when the victim arrived and died. Ginger asked if it was possible that he put the poison into the wine. It would have been a nice and rather melodramatic way to wash it down. The next piece was revealed. There was indeed a break in and signs of a struggle. Cause of death was the drug but spills in front of the shirt would reveal that he was not so keen on drinking the wine. Maybe he did think about suicide. Maybe he hesitated. But there was someone there to make sure he followed through with his decision.

The detectives asked the usual questions "Where were you on the night of the murder?" "Did you know this person yada yada yada." Ginger said that she could not have possibly murdered this man for she was with her brother who had come to visit for a week. They had gone to a local club with some friends and had a great time, "you could ask them if you like" she said. The detectives let her go, but not without giving them their card, in case she had any other information for them.

The nightmare seemed to escalate. The very next day, Ginger was dragged out of bed again and pulled toward the police station. The detective demadned to know the truth. Where was she that night, really. Ginger said with great incredulity that she had said nothing short of the truth. They said they had checked her story and concluded it was false. So she could tell the truth now, or be listed as a primary suspect for murder. Ginger was at a complete loss of what to say. She continued to insist that she did not do it!

Ginger felt nervous. She decided to tell the detectives what really happened on that night. Ginger had gone to an underground mahjong house that night to pick up her senile grandmother and dropping her off at the assisted living facility that her grandmother had escaped from. The detectives demanded to know where the assisted living facility was and Ginger gave them the adress. She was asked whether or not anyone had seen her there and she replied that noone but her grandmother and she is not the most reliable alibi. The detectives told her to stay where she was or be booked for obstruction of justice. Ginger waited in the room before the detectives came in and told her she was free to go. She was cleared, as she was on tape. She entered the home at around nine at night and did not leave until ten. The assisted livin facility was 40 minutes away from the scene of the crime; there was no possible way that Ginger could have done it. The detectives were forced to look elsewhere. Ginger could not help but think that the detectives investigation of her was a waste of time as Ginger had no connection with the victim aside from a letter that did not even include a return address.

By the time Ginger had returned to the office, it was far too late. The scandal had spread like wildfire. She could hear the whispering as she walked by the cubicles. Before she could even attempt to finish any work, her boss approached her and calmly told her she needed to leave. "Leave? As in what? I'm fired?!" The boss continued in his composed manner that the situation would be temporary until they could get to the bottom of the situation. At this point, she was too much of a distraction to the other employees to have in the office. As Ginger packed her things and left, she seriously considered finding another job... or maybe working for herself.

Back home, Ginger closed the door behind her and went to feed her dog. The can fell out of her hands to the kitchen floor with a sickening clang as her body became numb at the sight before her.

The same wine that the dead man had drunk was sitting on her counter top. And it was open.