It was late at night on Breadbox Street. I reached for a bottle of Nik-L-Nip, broke it open and drank it down.
My name is Gingerbread. Gingerbread Man. Some folks around this mess hall call me, "The Man". "Gin" ain't just my first name; it's my main ingredient.
I'm a private eye. I've been told I'm hard-baked. I tell them I'm just looking for answers. I'm looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle.
In the distance, a kitchen timer goes off.
Another bottle of Nik-L-Nip drowns out that sound very well.
I was slumped over my desk like an underdone brownie when SHE walked in.
She had lemon drop hair and her icing was spread all the way down to THERE. They must have broken the cookie cutter when they made her, because I had never tasted a confection like her.
It felt like someone had just turned the oven on to PREHEAT.
"Mr. Man?" her voice was like spun sugar.
"Yeah?"
"I'm Cinnamon Swirl. They call me, 'Cinn'."
I bet they did.
"Please help me! I'm in so much hot water!"
My heart crumbled like a moldy biscuit. "Look, honey--"
"My husband has been murdered!"
"Murdered?" That sounded like a recipe for disaster.
A syrupy tear ran down her cheek. "Yes! And that half-baked policeman--"
"Captain Dough Nutt?"
"That's the marshmallowhead! He thinks that I did it!"
She melted against me like glaze on a hot cross bun. "Will you help me?"
I was whipped. Like cold egg whites.
I realized later that I must have slipped into a diabetic coma, because all I could think to do was answer, "Yes!"
At the scene of the crime, someone had cooked up an awful mess. Milk was splattered everywhere, and it was not the milk of human kindness.
The late Mr. Swirl's feet were sticking up out of the cup.
A familiar batch of characters had gathered 'round. Dr. Sourpatch was examining the leftovers.
"Is he toast, Doc?"
"He's done," Sourpatch said crisply.
Nurse Coco Nutt flaked by with her gooey smile.
I have always suspected that she was microwaved rather than baked. But, she is sandwiched through matrimony to the law, so I keep my opinions about her lack of raising to myself.
"Always a cookie, never a cook," Nurse Coco Nutt bubbled.
It was a tasteless remark.
Nurse Coco Nutt's husband, Captain Dough Nutt, rolled up.
The heat was on Cinnamon Swirl.
"Ma'am, we need to hash this out."
Cinn froze. "Oh! I'm so afraid of being burned!"
"You ain't hashing, mincing, chopping or dicing," I ground out scorchingly.
If he thought I was going to coddle him because of his little star, his head must be parboiled.
"Men! Men!" It was Old Man Fudge Dropp. He was so old it was rumored that he had been cooked over an open fire alongside a dinosaur cutlet. As the years had gone by, he had become flavored with sage.
Old Man Fudge Dropp gestured to his granddaughter, Kandi Korn. Kandi Korn was playing in the flour bed with her dog, Sprinkles.
"There are gingersnaps in the kitchen," he said. "Be sweet."
Now, that really crimped my crust. No one has ever said that I don't have the gumballs for my job, but I'm not gonna butter up Dough Nutt.
"You're not laying a ladyfinger on her," I grated. I was just boiling to mash his mouth, so to preserve him, I stalked off.
Cinn ran gingerly after me and caught my hand. "Don't dessert me now!"
She dissolved against me. Her soft peaks pressed against my chest. It was divinity.
My frosting was starting to melt. I needed to be set aside to marinate in some Nik-L-Nip and read all the labels again. So, I told Cinn to keep her candied lips closed.
We would mix later.
I opened a bottle of Nik-L-Nip and wondered about Old Man Fudge Dropp. I considered Nurse Coco Nutt with another bottle. When I was drinking my third bottle I debated Kandi Korn. A fourth bottle had me pondering Captain Dough Nutt. My last bottle had me thinking about Sprinkles.
I fermented for a while.
"You smell like a whiskey sour," Cinn said tartly as she pinwheeled in. I felt flat--like I had been made out of unsifted flour.
"Get off your asparagus and get down to Placemat Place like minute rice!" she said hotly.
I had been flipped back onto the griddle like a wet pancake on a rubber spatula.
In the early morning smell of coffee, Kandi Korn and Sprinkles were playing butterscotch.
Even though I was so pickled I could dill, I whisked down to Placemat Place.
Captain Dough Nutt had beaten me there.
Dr. Sourpatch had been made into a side course. His head had been bitten off; pastry was everywhere. The kitchen counter looked like a Sunday casserole bake-off.
My topping churned.
Sprinkles was sprinkling.
"Get that decorated dog off my waxed paper!" Captain Dough Nutt let off a few Skittles.
Kandi Korn was smoked. She tossed a fizz bomb at Dough Nutt.
"Snack Size," Dough Nutt snarled.
"And YOU!" Dough Nutt turned on Cinn Amon. "You can't top me with a few honeyed words! You'll be treated like every other cookie in the cookie jar!"
"Here's you a baker's dozen," I said, and I pied him right in the eye.
Cinn and I peeled out of there. We dashed down the counter and pretzelled around the toaster to the spice rack.
We folded in behind the cayenne pepper and the hot mustard.
It sure was hot there in the spice rack with Cinn pressed firmly against me. I was going to need refrigerating overnight after this caper.
If Dough Nutt would quit devilling us, I could have savored the experience more fully. But, instead, we had to crepe out of there.
I lifted Cinn down from the spice rack and she whispered she kneaded me.
"Show me your pad," she said.
I showed it to her. With zest.
I believe that what happens behind cabinet doors stays behind cabinet doors. But, I've tried a few cookie things in my timer, and Cinn takes the cake.
I was done 35 minutes later. Cinn was resting beside me on the hot pad.
It felt like I had won potluck.
There wasn't time for seconds. Kandi Korn and Sprinkles ran in, yelling that Nurse Coco Nutt had come under the knife.
I dashed to Cutting Board Corner.
Sure enough, Nurse Coco Nutt had checked her last oven temperature. Her head and her marshmallow nurse's cap were gone.
I would miss the cap.
"We've been together since our mixing bowl days!" Dough Nutt sobbed moistly.
"Sprinkles! Sprinkles! Here, boy!" Kandi Korn was looking for her little frosted dog.
But Sprinkles was a hushed puppy.
As I walked through the steamy night, questions poured down like raisins from an Easter Bunny cake. I sifted through them.
What kind of rotten egg would butcher a nurse?
Where was Sprinkles?
Why can't the kids ever remember to use Comet to scrub the stove?
But, some questions have no answers.
Rum Raisin is my secret ingredient. Years ago, when we were just raw dough, we shared a saucepan a few times. His inside recipes are good, and he gives good cooking tips.
Rum Raisin lives Under the Sink, where only self-rising types make it past the soft ball stage.
On my way to Garbage Disposal Parkway, I slid down the big dipper. I kept an eye out for mousse.
Under the Sink. Words that evoke fear in every cream filling. I squeezed among the cleaning products cautiously. Smoke alarms aren't responded to down here. I could be shredded, sliced or drained.
I didn't want Dough Nutt to find me turned into spoonbread.
Rum Raisin stores the Berry brothers as his own personal protective wrap. The Berry brothers are Black and Blue and both of them carry a toothpick. And not the swizzle kind.
No one in their family has ever been made into a pie.
They poked me for awhile to see if I was clean, then they ladled me into an unfamiliar place. By the time they tossed me into the dishwasher, I was sure that I needed to get out pretty quiche.
But, there was Rum Raisin, tasty as ever.
"Living in the dishwasher?" I said, checking to see if both my legs were broken.
"Man, my Man," he chuckled. "I told you I was going clean."
Rum Raisin brought out a bottle of Nik-L-Nip, our old favorite. We sat and talked, warming slowly. I explained the hot sauce I was dipped in.
Rum Raisin felt that he was getting flaky. "It's our limited shelf life, dammit. Sorry--didn't mean to custard at you. But, Man, it is! I'm gettin' out, headin' north."
"To freeze?"
"Yep, it's freezin'! What's the choice? We're gonna get chewed up here if we don't do somethin'!"
Black Berry ducked in.
"Uhhhh...Boss, Ms. Meringue to see ya."
"Meringue!" Rum Raisin whipped to his feet. "Gotta go, bro. It's Meringue. She likes to be on top."
I drifted past to Piecrust Park, thinking of everything that had changed. Sourpatch was gone, Rum Raisin was leaving.
I was to find more to roux very soon.
Dough Nutt had come under the rolling pin. He was spread across the counter like peanut butter on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
There had been a time that I would have done the Tupperware Bounce about Dough Nutt being flattened. But right now, I wanted the culprit jelled.
There was something in the air; something that smelled more like devil's food than angel food. I whipped out of there like cream in a blender.
And, there it was. A broken candy cane.
And beside it, a piece of candy corn.
Right on thyme, Cinnamon Swirl appeared. My favorite flavor.
"It was YOU!" I said hotly.
"No! No!" Cinn protested meltingly. "Don't pecan me like this! I would never let you fall flat!"
She was nutty if she thought I would dissolve for that. "You killed Dough Nutt! And Fudge Dropp!"
Tears like molasses ran down her cheeks. "I love you--"
"You're delicious, there's no doubt about it," I felt like I had been torn off an ungreased pan. "But your story is wafer thin."
Just then, Cinn was grabbed from behind. Apparently, she was late for the feast.
I didn't wait for carry out. I ran like ganache on a warm cupcake.
I whipped past the sink and corkscrewed down a hand towel into the cutlery drawer. It was the only way I could preserve my trimming.
When I glaze back now, I realize my romance with Cinn was semi-sweet. I vowed to go on a diet. No more snacks.
I set up a new office in the glass cupboard. Everything seemed more transparent there; issues were clearer and drinking was easier than ever.
One evening, after a couple of bottles of Nik-L-Nip, the kitchen timer went off again.
"Mr. Man?" Her voice was like spiced honey. She was seven courses, every one of them made from scratch. Her Fruit Roll Up dress was rolled 'way, 'way up.
"My name is Rhedd Hott."
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