The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery)

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The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) Page 10

by Bernhardt, Susan


  “Thank you, I'd be happy to. My parents and sisters are leaving tomorrow morning. I'll be glad to have somewhere to go.”

  “I’m planning on asking Deirdre and Elizabeth to come also. We can all get to know each other a little more.”

  While walking home, Elizabeth, Deirdre, and I talked about the funeral.

  “I still think it was strange that Laska was in Sherman's office looking around. I’m going to ask Mary Ann about that. And Margaret crying at the cemetery, what was that about? She told me when I returned her costumes that she didn’t even know Sherman.”

  “Some people just cry at funerals. But then, she did have the same hooded robe in her attic that they all wore,” Deirdre said. “She's connected to this whole sordid affair somehow.”

  “That's something for us to think about,” Elizabeth added.

  “I invited Mary Ann over for lunch tomorrow. I was planning to tell her what I saw Saturday night. I'm not sure I'm going to, now.”

  “If we are going to bring her in, we need to do so as soon as possible so she'll look for information when she goes through Sherman’s offices at the college and at home,” Elizabeth said.

  “Do you want us to be there when you tell her?”

  “I'd like both of you to come tomorrow.”

  “I can make it,” Elizabeth said.

  There's about a four hour discrepancy in the time she told me on Tuesday that she arrived at her parents and when she did.”

  “But she couldn't have been in the vacant store,” Elizabeth said.

  “True,” I said, “but it's possible, more than just the cloaked six are involved in this? Why lie about when she arrived at her mother's house? I'm not going to tell her about Sherman until I get some answers. I want to find out where she was those four hours and check it out.”

  “And you can't just ask her why she lied about the time,” Deirdre said. “She might say it's none of our business and clam up.”

  “Aren't you going off on a tangent?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I don't think so,” I replied. “I'm trying to be careful here.”

  “Elizabeth, is your book club still on for tonight?” Deirdre asked.

  “Yes. I didn’t know if I should cancel it or not because of the funeral. Maybe people will want to get their minds off it.”

  * * * *

  I met up with Deirdre in the street walking over to Elizabeth's. Elizabeth lived in a small two story Tudor. Twinkling orange lights that had days earlier beckoned children to her home still lit up the yew trees by her front door. We heard voices inside and walked right in.

  The book club met at Elizabeth’s home on the first Thursday evening of each month. We were a group of twelve. It was more of a social gathering, to be honest, than a book discussion. I saw a few of the members only on these evenings. It was a great way to catch up with everyone.

  I liked Elizabeth's home. The living room was long and narrow with lots of natural woodwork. One end of the room had two built-in bookcases on either side of a fireplace. On top of one bookcase, she displayed a beautiful prairie-style stained glass lamp I had made for her, a perfect match to her mission furniture. French doors opened into a study at the other end of the living room.

  Elizabeth took her role as hostess seriously. Seeing her come into the living room from the kitchen, I did a double take. Elizabeth was wearing black silk trousers with a white backless top. She saw me and said, “Hello, Kay. You don’t have a drink yet. What can I get you?” She held up a glass of white wine.

  “I’ll help myself to something when we get ready to sit down. Thank you.”

  I saw Rebecca, who lived two doors down from me, and went over to talk to her. Everything about Rebecca was perfect. She always looked immaculately groomed, with her shiny blond hair, her skillfully applied makeup and manicured nails, and clothes you could be sure were expensive. She wore the type of shoes that just looking at them made my feet hurt.

  “Rebecca, interesting book you picked. Strange it would be a catering mystery,” I said, teasing her.

  “How could I resist?” Rebecca asked. “Catering to Death. What could be more perfect?” There was that word, perfect.

  “I heard you helped cater the Halloween Ball,” I said. “The food was excellent, by the way. Angie came by our house on Halloween with two of her friends. She said they helped to bring supplies over to you that night.”

  “She was a little upset. She and her friends were stopped by the police that evening asking what they were doing out so late.”

  “Police as in how many?” I knew Bill Murphy was in the area. Were other police among the hooded six?

  Rebecca gave me a strange look. “I'm not sure. By the way, Jeff said he bumped into you last Friday night at Jo's. He mentioned something about you going to watch their band this Sunday night.”

  “We're going to try and make it.”

  “Jeff's been wanting me to go see them for a while now. Give me a call if you end up going. I'll come along. He said the other wives come all the time.”

  “Everyone's here who’s coming,” Elizabeth announced. “Small group tonight. Does everyone have something to drink? Help yourselves to the food and then we should get started.”

  I went over and poured myself a glass of sparkling water. Elizabeth had set out different kinds of cheese, fruit, and desserts. I chose a cream cheese brownie and took a bite.

  “These brownies are delicious,” I said to Deirdre, standing next to me at the buffet cabinet. “They were calling to me.”

  “A plate of brownies once told me a haiku,” Deirdre said as we walked toward the group. “But they were off by a syllable so I ate them all.” I raised my eyebrows.

  We all gathered around the large coffee table in the middle of the living room. Elizabeth and John Harrison, her co-worker, carried additional chairs from the dining room.

  John worked with Elizabeth at the library in the reference area. He was personable and easy going, an all around nice guy. Not bad looking, either. It seemed to me like he wanted to be more than just her co-worker. Whenever Elizabeth came into the room or spoke, his face lit up. Of course, Elizabeth had that ability to light up a room with her presence, at least with the men. I could see in his eyes that he was infatuated with her. I wondered if Elizabeth knew. She didn't seem to notice John at all.

  “Elizabeth, I'll pick you up on Saturday at noon for the team building overnight,” John said, positioning a chair by the table. “Do you want to be partners?”

  “Oh, right. I have something going with Kay and Deirdre in the morning. I'll give you a call when I get home, and then we can leave.”

  Rebecca and I sat on the sofa. Deirdre, sitting on one armchair, looked stunning as usual, and James sat next to her on the other armchair. James was a guidance counselor at the high school and a friend of John's. I couldn't guess what the attraction of the book club was for James. The members took turns choosing the books, and most of the books selected were cozy mysteries. James was quite critical of these. His choices involved more graphic violence that I found distasteful to read. At those book meetings there was never a lack of talking, even though the women didn't say much. James loved to hear the sound of his own voice.

  “Rebecca, since you chose this month’s book, why don’t you start,” Elizabeth said. The discussions were meant to be kept light. Most times we mentioned what we liked or didn’t like about the book, which characters we thought were believable or we could relate to, and whether justice was served at the end of the book, things like that. James did his best to shatter the carefree mood, but not until he allowed the others to share their views.

  “Okay. I chose Catering to Death by Sherrie Windsor for obvious reasons. You all know I have a catering business, and I love culinary mysteries, especially British ones. Let me just say, can Sherrie Windsor ever write. The book had such vitality. Every word she wrote was chosen with care.”

  This was the kind of statement I knew James would just love. I looked over a
t him. He rolled his eyes at me. I smiled at him.

  “I agree with you, Rebecca,” I said. “I enjoyed this book. It was a fun, fast read. I loved Sandra, the caterer. Her sense of humor was effective, and she had an interesting cast of quirky characters parading through the story that added spice to the humor.” I was aware my comment would get a reaction out of James. In fact, I delighted in that awareness.

  “So what does everyone else think?” Elizabeth asked.

  All eyes were on James, who looked ready to launch into a tirade the way he was leaning forward in his chair. This was the part, however obnoxious it might be, that always livened up the book club meetings.

  “As far as I am concerned, being a fast read as Kay mentioned was its only redeeming value. It was all fluff, and Sandra Drew was the most ludicrous, irritating character,” James said, laughing in his usual tactless manner.

  “James, lighten up!” Elizabeth said. “My, aren’t you the cheerful pessimist! Don't you see Sandra’s tendencies to disregard common sense at times is part of what I think endears her to the reader. She takes some foolish chances in the story, but they all pay off for her.”

  “Let me finish,” James said. “When Sandra caters the mayor’s birthday party, and the mayor's poisoned at the dinner, he's foaming at the mouth from hemlock, and Sandra doesn’t even question the coroner’s toxicology report that everything is fine and dandy. It doesn’t matter that the coroner attends the dinner and is brother-in-law to the victim who abused his sister. Sandra doesn’t even find him suspect from the beginning? How absurd!” He chuckled.

  Elizabeth, Deirdre, and I looked at each other with our mouths half open. I had finished this book a couple of weeks ago and had forgotten about this element of the plot.

  “Not everyone in a mystery book has to be a genius forensic scientist,” Rebecca said.

  “I wouldn’t go as far as James has in his description,” John said, “but I must confess to a certain pleasure in seeing what foolishness would appear chapter after chapter. The other cozies we have read have been much better than this one. James, to add to what you were saying about Sandra not questioning the coroner, the local lab sent out the toxicology report as being negative, so the technician there must have been involved also.”

  “Well, Sherrie Windsor is no Agatha Christie,” Elizabeth said, “but she is an engaging storyteller.”

  John smiled at Elizabeth with besotted eyes, hanging on her every word. Elizabeth glanced at John, a little smile played on her lips. Oh yes, Elizabeth knew John was interested in her.

  “No author could compare to Agatha Christie according to you, Elizabeth,” James said, interrupting the nonverbal communication going on between Elizabeth and John.

  “The air in this room is so negative. James, you aren't being open to all of the nice twists and turns in the story,” Deirdre said. “The setting, the way Sherrie Windsor describes her characters. I can’t wait to read about Sandra's next adventure.”

  I think Deirdre put it on a little bit too thick. The book wasn’t that good, but I knew how much she hated it when James started getting into attack mode.

  “I hope you won’t choose that book for the book club,” James said. “Windsor seems to specialize in sleuths who blunder their way to solving mysteries. In the real world, this doesn't happen. My friend Bill Murphy...you all know Bill, right? He employs strategy to get his man or woman.”

  Was it my imagination or was James looking straight at me when he said that? I looked around at the others in the room. Were any of them involved in Sherman's murder? James just said he was a friend of Bill Murphy's. And there was a “John” among the hooded six. I stared over at John. Was he the John? No, he couldn't have been involved in Sherman's death.

  There was a pause for a few moments. “Any last words, Rebecca?” Elizabeth asked.

  “So many of the characters appeared guilty, having access to the kitchen and the food,” Rebecca said. “Many couldn't or wouldn't account for their whereabouts during a certain time period. One by one, though, the suspects were eliminated until only the true killer remained.”

  I looked at James. Maybe he had a tic or something in his eyes. They seemed to constantly blink and roll. I groaned to myself but remembered what he pointed out about the coroner. And a lab technician was also in on it. A coroner's report could be faked, and so could lab findings. And when he spoke of Bill Murphy...was he giving me some kind of a warning? A cold shiver went down my spine.

  “Okay. Let’s put this book to the vote,” Elizabeth said. “Who gives it a thumbs up?” Elizabeth, Deirdre, Rebecca, myself, and another member of the group all put our thumbs up.

  “Thumbs down?” Elizabeth asked. James and John responded as predicted.

  “Whose turn is it to choose the book for next month?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Mine,” James said, grinning. “I’ll be sure to send you all an email with my choice in a couple of days.”

  “Another slasher thriller, I assume,” Deirdre said. There were groans around the room.

  “You all know me so well.” James chuckled.

  * * * *

  Coming home, I found Phil in the family room watching a concert on television. “Well, was there a line-up?” he asked.

  “A line-up for what?”

  “Of men joining Elizabeth’s book club.”

  I didn't even bother to answer that. “I don’t know why James keeps coming. Any book the women pick, he hates. I don't get it. When we're not at the book club, he's a different guy.”

  “A regular Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

  “Right. James did make an interesting comment, though, about the coroner in the book being the murderer. It made me think again about lab results coming back with everything being normal when Sherman must have been drugged.” Could Dr. Anders have had any involvement in Sherman's death? Of course not. “How could I even think that with all the good he does at the free clinic?” I said aloud to myself.

  “Think about what? This concert is fantastic.”

  “Why don't you turn off the television? Let's find something we can do together.”

  Phil waited for the guitar solo to end and pressed the remote button.

  Chapter Nine

  Friday, November 4

  The sweet smell of freshly baked bread permeated the house, and the aroma brought me out of my morning slumber. Best alarm clock ever. I made my way down the stairs toward the smell and heard Phil humming “The Way You Look Tonight” in the kitchen. Upon seeing me, he took me in his arms, twirled me around the kitchen, and started singing the words with dramatic flair. This was a pleasant start to the day indeed, but what magic had possessed him this morning? Had the aroma cast a spell of joyfulness? He kissed my ear and said, “Good morning, Kay.” I glanced at the calendar and saw the weekend circled and embellished with all sort of doodles in red ink. But of course, this enchantment was all about jazz.

  “You sure are excited about this weekend,” I noted, a tinge of annoyance weaving its way into my mood.

  “Better believe it. Three days of pure jazz. I am going to be playing with Gene Bernocchi.”

  “Who?”

  “Gene Bernocchi, the renowned master jazz guitarist. He's been called 'The Jazz Segovia.'“

  The conversation was not likely to interest me. Besides, I had plenty of other things to worry about. “What are you baking?”

  “Dark rye rolls. I got up early and thought they would go well with the lunch you have planned for your friends.” He enjoyed baking all of our bread.

  “Thoughtful, Phil. Thanks. Smells scrumptious.”

  * * * *

  Phil left with Mike and Dinesh for the jazz camp a couple of hours before Elizabeth and Deirdre were scheduled to arrive. For lunch, I prepared a chicken, porcini mushroom, and wild rice dish, baked butternut squash from our garden, a mesclun salad, and a flourless, chocolate cake for dessert.

  Elizabeth and Deirdre arrived just before eleven o’clock.

  “
I'm glad you could make it early. Mary Ann is coming at noon. I've decided not to tell her about seeing Sherman in the vacant store. Too many unanswered questions. Like her whereabouts last Friday. She could be part of this whole thing. Perhaps she went that day to her parents so she would have an alibi.”

  “Mary Ann? Are you serious?” Elizabeth asked.

  Deirdre spoke over Elizabeth. “Here is the list of people Elizabeth and I remember greeting at the Halloween Ball.”

  I gave the list a cursory glance. “Lots of names here. This should narrow down our list of suspects.”

  “I couldn’t wait to talk to both of you,” Deirdre said. “I kept thinking about what James said last night at the book club about the toxicology report coming back normal, which pointed to the coroner being guilty of the poisoning.”

  “I think it hit us all at the same time,” Elizabeth said. “It definitely casts suspicion on Dr. Anders for me.”

  I shook my head. “Remember, that book was a fictional cozy murder mystery, not a crime documentary. Dr. Anders doesn't have the character of a murderer...I don’t think. But Tuesday night when I’m at the free clinic, I’ll visit the morgue and Dr. Anders' office and look in Sherman's files. Let’s see what I find out. I'd like to put our suspicion to rest and eliminate him as a suspect.”

  “Sounds risky,” Deirdre said.

  “It's quiet and deserted everywhere other than the unit of the clinic we're using. The other units close at five o’clock.”

  “Won't someone be working in the morgue?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Dr. Anders works with an assistant there. I'll find out when his assistant is going on break. I'm pretty sure I know where the keys to the file cabinets are in his office.”

  “What if you get caught?” Deirdre asked.

  “The way I figure, Dr. Anders can’t be in two places at once. I'm always paired up with him. I'll do my search when he's in with a patient. He never leaves the immediate area once the patients start coming in. I'm glad I didn’t say anything to him about what I saw in the vacant store.”

 

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