Ginny felt the tips of her ears turn pink. “I’m more interested in his professional credentials. Was he a good student?”
Hal nodded. “I think so. He was always buried in his books when we wanted to go somewhere, and as he had one of the few reliable cars on campus, we were always having to pry him free to take us places.”
“You didn’t have a car?”
“I had an old clunker and it was a real pain. I remember one time—” Hal launched into a series of stories about untrustworthy cars that had Ginny’s side hurting from laughing.
During dinner, they turned from discussing the past to speculating on the future. The money raised by Friday night’s party had been generous and would go a long way toward shoring up the IT infrastructure in the genealogy library. Over coffee Hal expressed himself glad to have the entire thing behind him and to be able to turn the accounting over to the library staff.
“I don’t like handling money. It makes me nervous.”
Ginny grinned at him. “But you’re loaded. How can you stand to have all that money coming in and not like handling it?”
Hal shrugged. “I like spending it well enough. It’s the accounting for it I don’t like. You should see my CPA, a real slave driver. He makes me keep receipts for everything.”
“You poor dear,” Ginny laughed. “Well, all I can say is I wish I had your problems.”
Hal leaned back and looked smug. “Yes. Things could be worse.” He smiled at her and Ginny smiled back.
She held his gaze.
“What?” he asked.
Ginny dropped her eyes to the tablecloth. “Jim asked me something Friday night I couldn’t answer.” She looked up again.
Hal crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward, his eyes unblinkingly on her face, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “What did he ask?”
Ginny blushed, but persevered. “He asked if you were going to marry me.”
“Did he now?” Hal’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting. What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know. You’ve been so distant this last week. I was wondering if you’d grown tired of me.”
Hal leaned closer, reaching across the table, one hand outstretched. “Give me your hand.”
Ginny looked into his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes that always made her feel as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath and slid her hand towards him. He took it, wrapping both of his around hers, enveloping it.
His voice took on a husky tone. “I will never grow tired of you, Ginny. Who could? You were the most beautiful woman in the room Friday night. Several people commented on it, but more than that, you were a gracious and correct hostess. My mother would have been proud of you.”
Ginny smiled. A compliment indeed, from Hal.
“I may need a wife, some day,” he continued, “one who can handle that kind of burden. When this confirmation of arms goes through, it will carry some responsibility with it. There will be more receptions, bigger ones, with more important guests.” He licked his lips. “Does that sound like the sort of lifestyle you’d enjoy?”
“Is that a proposal?”
“It’s a question. I haven’t given much thought to getting married, but Friday night was a chance to see how it might work; a dress rehearsal, if you will. If you married me, there’d be more of that, a lot more, and it can get exhausting. So I’m asking, does the idea of entertaining strangers fill you with dread, or would you enjoy it?”
Ginny thought carefully before replying. “I think I’d enjoy it, as long as you did.”
“There would be other demands made on you. Like showing the house.”
Ginny nodded. She wouldn’t mind that.
“Maintaining proper standards of dress and deportment.”
She raised an arch eyebrow. “In private, too?”
His eyes twinkled. “I would expect proper standards of undress in private.”
Ginny grinned. “Of course.”
“The obligatory two and a half children,”
She nodded. “Go on.”
“An overdrawn clothing account,”
“Never!”
“And absolute obedience.”
“In your dreams!” She tried to pull her hand away, but he turned it palm up and kissed the center very gently. Ginny felt a shiver run down her spine.
He held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes sparkling. “I have a rather special cognac I’d like your opinion on. Shall we go?”
Ginny nodded, letting him escort her to the car, then in his front door.
“The Masons are out tonight,” he said. “At the opera.”
Ginny lifted her glass to her lips, smiling down into it. She had no doubt who had arranged that little treat for them. “Lucky them,” she said.
“Lucky me,” he responded.
* * *
Hal handed Ginny into the passenger side of his car and drove her home. The evening had been satisfactory and so had the cognac, but he was not sorry to see it end. He had something he wanted to do.
She turned on the doorstep and slid her arms around his neck. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her close, then bent down and kissed her goodnight. “Sleep well.”
“You, too.” She slipped out of his arms and over the threshold, closing the door softly between them.
He drove home thinking about the evening’s conversation. He’d been planning on having no wife at all, but having a presentable spouse would be a business asset as well as a social one and she would do a good job of it. She was smart enough to train and they had shared interests and a history together. It might work to his advantage. He should consider it.
He retrieved his briefcase from behind the seat. Setting the case on the sideboard, he pulled the Confirmation file out, and settled down to see exactly where he stood.
He turned the sheets over one at a time and read them carefully, peering at some of the more exotic examples of legal verbiage. It took him forty minutes. When he had turned over the last sheet of paper he blinked, frowning, then turned the stack over and started again. An hour later he was sure. They weren’t here.
He closed the file. They had to be somewhere else. Craig’s office, maybe, or his briefcase, or his house. The library was closed on Mondays so he was safe until Tuesday morning. After that—
He wiped suddenly damp palms on his pants. He needed to think. He leaned back in his chair, his brow wrinkled. He was still there when the clock struck three.
* * *
Chapter 13
Monday
The bagpipes made an eerie backdrop to the funeral procession. Six strong men, carefully matched for height and stride, carried the coffin to the graveside, set it upon the waiting trestles, then retired to watch.
“Man that is born of woman….”
Ginny shivered at the thought of mortal decay and the terrible promise of the final trump. She wasn’t sure she believed every man, woman, and child ever born would rise up, in the flesh, whole again. Was there enough raw material in the world for that? Surely some of the DNA had been reused along the way.
Professor Craig’s niece and nephew sat under the awning; his survivors and heirs. There wouldn’t be much to inherit. The salary of a librarian, even at Professor Craig’s level, was meager at best. His achievements were those of hard work and dedication. Ginny was glad his later years had been full of honors and awards from his peers. Unable to inspire affection, he had nonetheless acquired esteem.
He wasn’t a man one liked. He’d been known to condescend. More than one white haired grandmother had left the library furious at being brushed off. He simply didn’t believe the female patrons were worth wasting his time on. Ginny shook her head at the memory. Well, the old ladies could breathe easier, he wouldn’t be doing it any more.
They were lowering the coffin into the grave. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” She heard the thump of earth upon the lid, followed by a moment of silence,
then the mourners began to move off, back to the realm of the living. She slipped away to go get ready for her lunch with Jim Mackenzie.
* * *
Ginny watched Jim’s car pull up in front of her house, exactly on time. When he was halfway up the sidewalk, she winked at her mother, then moved to the front hall to be ready when he rang the bell. She opened the door and ushered him into the living room.
“Mother, this is Jim Mackenzie. Dr. Mackenzie has just joined the staff at Hillcrest Regional. Dr. Mackenzie, my mother.”
Mrs. Forbes rose from her chair and stepped forward, offering her hand. “Won’t you sit down?” Mrs. Forbes gestured at the pair of wingchairs.
Ginny murmured something about getting her purse and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Jim to the not-so-tender mercies of his gentle inquisitor. When she came back downstairs, she saw the unmistakable signs of conquest and her opinion of Jim rose in proportion. Her mother was no one’s fool. If Jim Mackenzie had managed to impress her, Ginny would be well advised to pay careful attention.
* * *
Jim glanced over at Ginny. She sat in the passenger’s seat, her eyes forward, her face impassive. Impossible to tell what she was thinking.
“I like her. Your mother.”
Ginny smiled. “Me, too.”
“Does she always quiz your dates like that?”
“Always. Did it make you uncomfortable?”
Jim couldn’t help thinking it did, rather. “I suppose I’m more used to doing the questioning.”
Ginny turned, shifting her gaze to his face. “Would it make you feel better if I told you she likes you?”
“Yes.” At least he hadn’t had to face her father. Her mother had been intimidating enough. “She said something about your father being killed young?”
Ginny nodded. “A tree fell on him and crushed his skull. He was only thirty-eight.”
Jim frowned in sudden concern. “How awful. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Sometimes, when I see other fathers, but you learn to cope. Didn’t you tell me your parents were dead, too?”
He nodded. “A car wreck, three years ago. A drunk hit them head on.”
“Oh! I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”
Jim shook his head. “I asked first.”
“True. Why did you?”
“Curiosity. I want to know more about you and parents are a big part of who people are.”
She nodded. “What were yours like?”
Jim laughed. “Highly domesticated. He worked at the bank. She baked cookies for the neighborhood children. We had other people’s kids in and out of our house all day.”
“They must have been good cookies. What were they like as people, your parents, I mean?”
Jim was silent for a moment, wondering how to sum up an individual in a few words. He thought about the couple who had produced him and nurtured him, played with him and taught him, given to him and withheld from him, loved him and let him go.
“He yelled, but didn’t mean it. She forgave everything, even the crystal vase I broke. He was cheerful, she was calm. They both loved me.” He looked over and found Ginny smiling at him.
“I’m glad.”
“Why?”
“There’s so much of the opposite in the world; broken homes, unfulfilled lives, misdirected anger. It’s nice to hear someone got a decent childhood.”
“Yes. Was yours decent?”
“Mostly. I did a lot of growing up when Daddy was killed. I was only twelve and, since Mother had to go to work, I had to shoulder a lot of the household responsibilities. But I have wonderful memories of the time we had with him and, as far as I’m concerned, Mother hung the moon.”
Over lunch, they swapped more stories of childhood, laughing at garter snakes and monkey swings and Christmas tree forts. Jim smiled at the girl across the table and suddenly realized he felt as if he had known her all his life, as if she had always been there, a part of his world, just out of sight. He looked at her over the top of his coffee cup and tried not to be too obvious.
“Any news about the virus?” he asked.
Ginny’s smile faded. “Not directly.”
Jim crossed his arms on the table. “Tell me.”
She looked at him in silence for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.
“May I ask your opinion about something, without it going any further just yet?”
“Of course.”
“I mean it. I really don’t want this to get out and I don’t know whether I should trust you.”
“But you have to talk to somebody and I’m available.”
She smiled. “Something like that. Are you offended?”
“No, curious. What’s going on?”
She poked at the tablecloth with the end of her spoon. “I found something at the library yesterday. A lancet pen, the kind diabetics use to check their blood sugars.”
Jim listened as Ginny explained her find and her suspicions.
“So what I’m wondering is if it’s possible. Could someone have sneaked up on him and injected that virus into him?”
“Premeditated murder.”
“Yes.”
Jim thought about it for a moment. “It doesn’t seem likely. For starters, the patient didn’t mention being attacked by anyone and he should have. You can’t jab a needle into someone without their noticing it.”
Ginny waved the objection aside. “That’s no problem. I sneak up on people all the time. The trick is misdirection. Give them something else to focus on at the exact moment you insert the needle.”
Jim laughed. “Remind me not to turn my back on you.”
She raised her chin at him. “I get compliments on my technique.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing as he considered the problem. “Those lancet pens are sold by prescription only. They’d be traceable to the owner.”
She shook her head. “You can get them off the rack at the drug store, no questions asked. Alternatively, I could have stolen one from the hospital, a health fair, clinic, school, or any of a dozen other locations, any place that does blood sugar screenings. I don’t think it could be traced.”
Jim shrugged. “Okay, but the lancet is only a delivery device. Our attacker would have to overcome a lot of other problems.” He ticked them off on his fingers.
“One, he would have to have access to the virus and know how to handle it and store it to keep it viable until wanted.
“Two, it would have to be extremely potent for the tiny amount you could inject into the victim, using that lancet pen, to be effective. The murderer would have to be sure just dipping the tip of the lancet in the virus and inserting it subcutaneously would get enough into his victim’s system to do the trick.
“Three, he’s got to plan on getting only one chance at it. I doubt if you could ask your victim to hold still for a second attempt.
“Four, the very fact that the victim died of this rare and unexplained virus would make it look suspicious. The last thing you want, if you’re planning to kill someone, is to draw attention to yourself.”
“But is there anything you know of that definitely rules it out as a possibility?”
Jim sighed. “No. There isn’t. It just sounds too complicated to me.”
Ginny nodded. “It strikes me that way too, only the man’s dead and it’s hard to imagine how he contracted that virus if not this or some similar way.”
“Why didn’t it pass as a natural death?”
“It might have, if he hadn’t died so quickly. If he’d lasted into the second day, for instance, then it would have been up to his attending to decide whether to do the autopsy or not.”
“Who was his attending?”
“The neurologist, Armstrong.”
“Have you talked to him about this?”
“No, and I’m not going to.”
Jim’s eyebr
ows went up. “Why not?”
Ginny looked at him, her face bland. “Discretion.”
Jim leaned back in his chair, amused. “He’s not the approachable sort?”
“He’s worried someone might think he did something wrong.”
Jim nodded. They all lived with the specter of malpractice hovering over them.
“Jim,” her voice held a note of caution. “This has to stay between the two of us for the time being.”
He looked at her across the table. “If it’s murder, even just a suspicion of murder, it has to be reported.”
She nodded. “And will be, just as soon as there’s something to report. In the meantime, I’m in contact with the CDC and working on putting a theory together that won’t be laughed out of court.”
Jim’s brow furrowed. Withholding physical evidence didn’t sound like a good idea to him. “I think you should come forward with this.”
She leaned towards him. “You just got through explaining why you don’t think the theory has any merit. If I can’t convince you, what hope do I have of convincing the police?”
He nodded. “All right. Then we have to give them something more substantial to chew on.”
“You don’t.”
Jim looked at her and suddenly felt empty. “You don’t want my help?”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
He took a deep breath. “A man’s dead, and I’m the E.R. doctor of record. I’m in the same boat as Armstrong, I want to prove I didn’t overlook something. What’s more, whoever did this has frightened a lot of people and cost the government an investigation. If I can help bring that person to justice, I think I have an obligation to do it.”
She looked at him in silence for a moment, then smiled, and Jim felt as if the sun had just broken out from behind the clouds.
“Okay, partner,” she said. “The first thing we need to do is get a look at the autopsy report. Let’s go.” She picked up her purse and headed for the door.
* * *
Chapter 14
Monday
Ginny opened the double doors of the county medical examiner’s office and walked up to the information desk. There was no one there. She explored the neighboring offices and corridors, leaving Jim to intercept anyone who might come in behind them. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
The Arms of Death Page 9