Let There Be Suspects by Emilie Richards

technology-challenged, without opening myself to offers of advice and tutoring, neither of which makes the slightest difference. And how many of these switches could he install in a day, anyway? Lucy can turn those lights on and off for me.
    “Well, great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
    “I’m glad that’s settled,” Ginger said. “Cliff is so boring when he starts talking about his inventions.”
    “I’d love to hear more about them,” Sid said, leaning forward as if she was enthralled. “Every single detail.”
    “No, let Ginger tell you about her new cookbook,” Cliff said.
    I figured Cliff knew that Ginger would continue the insults if he tried to talk about himself. Some relationships mystify me.
    Vel leaped in before Sid could add another word. “Yes, tell us about your career, Ginger.”
    “You’re sure?” Ginger purred. “Well, it’s been just such a surprise to me. But I guess I had the right combination of brains, looks, and talent to make a success.”
    I kicked Sid under the table, because without looking, I knew she needed it.
    Ginger put down her fork. “I was discovered while I was still in school. A Cincinnati television station was looking for somebody pretty and bright to demonstrate recipes on their local news show. Somebody told me and I went to audition. They thought I’d be perfect. Of course I worked hard, and before long they gave me a holiday special, and after that was a huge success, they gave me more. Then I was offered a weekly show all my own on our PBS affiliate. It was picked up by several stations across the country and would have made me a star, only . . .”
    She shrugged sadly. “I was in a car accident. I injured my back.”
    I remembered several years ago Junie had mentioned the accident to me in a phone call. I had even sent Ginger a get well card.
    Sid perked up. “That must have been hard for you, Ginger, considering how much time you spent on it—”
    I cut her off quickly. “I hope you had a good doctor. I know back pain can be awful.”
    “It never really goes away. I’ve just learned to suffer in silence.”
    I stared daggers at Sid, who had opened her mouth again. She clamped it shut.
    Ginger continued her sad saga. “The show was cancelled, of course, since I couldn’t do any new episodes for months and months. And standing for any length of time was just excruciating, so I couldn’t get a restaurant job.”
    “There’s a happy ending coming.” Cliff smiled fondly at his wife.
    Ginger didn’t spare him a glance. “I realized that what I really wanted to do was set down some of my wonderful recipes for other people to enjoy. You know, a gift to all those people who’d loved my shows. So I started work on a cookbook. I called it Splurge: Decadent Dining for Gutsy Gourmets . It hit at just the right moment. Of course I’d planned it that way. But everyone was so tired of eating nothing but lettuce and carrots and brown rice. It was a naughty cookbook for naughty people. The talk shows loved me.”
    I was so glad I had never turned on my television to find Ginger rhapsodizing about her own talents. This was bad enough.
    “Tell them about the new cookbook,” Junie said.
    “Well, if you promise not to tell anyone else.” Ginger lowered her voice. “I’m calling it Binge: Fattening Foods for the Delinquent Dieter. Don’t you love it?”
    No one spoke. Appealing to gourmets yearning for the richer food they loved was one thing. But what woman would be caught with a book called Binge on her bookshelf? Even if she locked herself in the bathroom twice a day to scarf down a gallon of rocky road ice cream, she wasn’t going to advertise.
    Ed finally rescued us. “It’s certainly a unique approach. Do you have a publication date?”
    “Some time next year. We need to get all the promotion in place. There’s talk of another television show, maybe the Food Network.” She looked at Sid. “But enough about me. I’m sure the rest of you