The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) (21 page)

When Dr. Anders finished, a technician from radiology came into the room pushing a portable x-ray machine.

Thirty minutes later Jim Miller burst into the room. Alicia was sitting up in bed talking to the police. Dr. Anders stood in the corner of the room writing in her chart.

“Do you know of anyone who would want to cause you harm?” the Deputy Chief of Police asked her.

“No—”

“Alicia, are you all right?” Jim cut in. He looked over at Dr. Anders. “How is my wife, Doctor?” he demanded.

“Your wife has been through quite an ordeal. She's most fortunate that her injuries are so minor. She has some soft tissue damage to her arm and leg and a mild concussion, but no bones are broken. Things could have been much worse.”

Facing Bill Murphy, Jim asked, “Who did this to my wife? Did you get the person?”

“No one saw the license plate number or the make of the car. A student coming out of the union saw what had happened and dialed 9ll on her cell phone. She said the car was silver in color. Probably some irresponsible kid anxious to get to where he was going. The car was only going about ten miles an hour when it hit your wife, but it was fast enough to inflict injuries.”

“We would like to keep your wife overnight for observation,” Dr. Anders said. “We have started the admission process and will be moving her up to a hospital floor soon.”

“Mr. Miller, can you think of any reason someone might have wanted to hurt your wife?” Bill Murphy asked. “Anything unusual happen lately.”

Jim Miller looked over at his wife. “Not that I can think of. Everyone likes Alicia.”

* * * *

Jim Miller sat with Alicia all evening in her room, talking and watching television. Much to Alicia’s dismay, the IV was left in her arm. She hated needles. Dr. Anders said he wanted to keep it in, just as a precaution. Her leg had a large bandage over the laceration the doctor had sutured. At ten o’clock, the nurse suggested Jim leave so Alicia and her roommate could get some rest. After Jim left, another nurse came in to take both of their vital signs. Then, she turned off the light and closed the door.

* * * *

The hospital was eerily quiet at night. The halls darker, the air colder, the clock on the wall by the nurses' station moved slower and ticked louder. Just after midnight, Alicia had a late night visitor. He watched Alicia stir in bed, sighing in her sleep, her roommate rhythmically snoring in the next bed. Alicia awoke with a start and said, “What are you doing here so late at night?”

The visitor smiled and put his finger up to his mouth and said, “Shh,” and pointed to her sleeping roommate. He took a syringe out of his pocket and stepped toward the bed. She recoiled a bit but said nothing as he plunged the needle into her IV port.

“Goodnight and pleasant dreams,” he whispered.

Alicia's lids grew heavy. She laid back and closed her eyes.

The man deposited the spent syringe into the receptacle on the wall and peered out of the room. The halls were empty. He pulled the door closed behind him with a gloved hand and strode off down the corridor, unnoticed by anyone.

Tuesday, November 8

While we waited for Deirdre at the end of my driveway, Elizabeth told me what she had found out about the three graduate students and what Alicia told her over the phone yesterday. “She never showed up at the library with the information. I tried calling her. Even went over to her office.”

“Strange. And now?”

Elizabeth let out a sigh. “I’ll call her today. I can run over and pick it up.”

We saw Deirdre speed-walking over to us. Elizabeth looked at her watch.

“Sorry I'm late,” Deirdre said, looking at Elizabeth. “Did you listen to the morning news?”

“No,” I said.

Deirdre took a deep breath. “Alicia Miller was struck down by a hit and run driver.”

“That's terrible. When?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yesterday afternoon on campus.” Deirdre shook her head. “I don’t know. I get a feeling this isn't...”

“Accidental?” I finished her thought as I looked over at Elizabeth. Elizabeth's eyes went wide, But she said nothing.

“How's she doing?” I asked.

“Dead. She’s dead!” Deirdre blurted out. “She was taken to the hospital and died there sometime during the night.”

Elizabeth's jaw worked silently before she spoke. “Oh my gosh!” Elizabeth sat down on the grass. “I was just telling Kay that I saw Alicia yesterday. Asked her about those three names. She was supposed to bring me the information. She was probably on her way.” It was clear the news hit a raw nerve in Elizabeth. “This is crazy. Too crazy!” she added.

“She must have found out something. I wonder what. But, I get a feeling that’s why she’s dead,” Deirdre said.

“Oh, no, her poor husband. Jim adored her so,” Elizabeth said.

Elizabeth proceeded to tell Deirdre about the three graduate students in the Agriculture department and how Alicia had asked Connie Rudd from the police department for information.

“She also talked to Dr. Laska. I didn’t ask her to do any of that. Only to look up the names in the H.R. files.”

“What are you saying? The hit and run was an accident, or someone wanted to stop her from spreading this information around?” I asked, although I agreed with Deirdre, someone wanted to stop her.

Elizabeth looked miserable. “I don’t know what to think. I feel responsible.”

“First the professor, and now Alicia. How big is this ginseng conspiracy?” I said to no one in particular. Deirdre and Elizabeth stood silent, contemplative for a few moments.

Deirdre shrugged her shoulders and looked up. “Perhaps Alicia’s being hit had nothing to do with any conspiracy.” All of a sudden she switched her position. She seemed to be trying to make Elizabeth feel better.

“Too much of a coincidence. If I hadn't gotten her involved—”

“Seems like we're suffering one setback after another,” I said. When I looked up, I saw the other two looking at me a bit hard. “Didn't mean it like that. Alicia's death is tragic.”

Elizabeth looked at the ground, her face flushed. “Damn it! These people have gotten away with Sherman's death. Now Alicia's.” She clenched her fists.

I shook my head. “This afternoon, I'm going over to see Margaret. At Al’s, she sounded like she could use someone to—”

“Spill her guts to?” Elizabeth said. “Good. It’ll be good for her to get all this off her chest and good for us to figure out her connection to this motley crew. In many ways, she doesn’t seem to fit in with them.”

“I'll mention Alicia. See what kind of reaction I get.”

“Margaret must have a heart of stone,” Deirdre said shaking her head. “I don’t get her. She knows, and yet she does nothing?”

* * * *

After lunch, I walked over to Margaret’s home. I rang the bell, and Margaret answered the door without a smile. She had a disheveled appearance, her eyes dull and lifeless.

“Hello, Margaret. I haven’t talked to you for a while.”

“Since you returned the costumes and before that at Marissa's.” Margaret stood leaning against the door frame, having only opened the door a little.

I took another step toward the door, holding a paper bag in front of me in offering. “Speaking of Marissa's, I picked up some scones on the way over. Thought you might enjoy them.”

Margaret seemed to wilt a little. “You're such a sweetheart, my dear. Come in. I'll put a pot of coffee on. The house is a little messy. Haven't had the energy to take care of the place lately.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, entering her living room. Sure enough, the place looked somewhat untidy, with used dishes resting here and there on the various coffee and end tables, along with some tissues on the floor by the sofa.

I followed her over to the sofa and put the bag of scones on the coffee table. “I was just thinking about my Earl. Life seemed more vibrant when he was... Life is so short. The times we had. Not the same without him.”

“I'm sure, what, with your acting career,” I said, trying to be positive.

“A fascinating time, my dear,” Margaret smiled, looking wistful. “The rehearsals, discovering the soul of a character, the costumes, the parties...all of it. Earl enjoyed his farm. But he enjoyed me the actress, too. Well, we enjoyed each other. We made our own little world! My sweet Earl.”

“Margaret, I would have loved to have seen you on stage.” She smiled. I decided to encourage the new direction in which the conversation had turned. “John Stewart manages your farm now. So at least that’s not something you need to worry about, knowing he’s taking care of things for you.”

“My land besides his own. But you know what? I'm thinking of selling. Quite tired of it. John Stewart, the ginseng.” The last word seemed to leave a bad taste in her mouth. Her expression grew sour. “I'll get that coffee.” She rose, picked up some dishes that were on the coffee table, and took the bag of scones into the kitchen.

I decided to switch topics when Margaret returned with a coffee urn, cups, and Marissa's red currant cream scones on a tray. I noticed she had put on a little blush and lipstick. “I work tonight at the free clinic with Dr. Anders,” I said, watching Margaret pour the coffee.

“That man. There’s more to him than meets the eye.” She flipped her hand in the air.

“I don't understand.”

Margaret took a bite of the scone. “These are delicious. Dr. Anders,” she said his name in a faux voice, “isn't the wonderful man everyone in town holds in such high esteem.” She made a theatrical pause and patted her lips with a napkin so as to not ruin her lipstick. “I’m going to leave it at that. I saw you at Sherman Walters' funeral,” Margaret went on. I was surprised she brought that topic up. “Another sad day. I felt so bad for his wife. I know what it's like to lose a husband, my dear, when there's so much of life left to live. Sad, sad!”

“Sherman wrote a book...” I started.

“About the ginseng farms. I know.”

“Did he ever interview you?”

“Probably talked to John Stewart. I wish he had talked to me.” Margaret hesitated. “Although, I wish he had never done that research at all.”

“Why?”

Margaret picked up her cup and took a sip of her coffee looking straight ahead. “I would have told him to mind his own business. I should have...” She shook her head. “Most disturbing.” Margaret fell silent, looking into her lap.

I peered at her over the rim of my coffee cup. It was time to strike out in a new direction. “Have you heard about Alicia Miller? Struck by a car yesterday. A hit and run.”

Margaret’s hands shook. Her coffee spilled over the rim of her cup and onto her hand. She gasped and dropped the cup of hot coffee onto the floor. I quickly went into the kitchen and grabbed a towel and started to dab the coffee soaking into the throw rug at Margaret's feet.

“Sorry. You've caught me on a bad day.”

“Please go, get some rest. I'll show myself out after I get this cleaned up.”

“That’s so sweet of you. I shall call you soon, my dear.” As Margaret got up she added, “The scones were lovely.”

I watched Margaret as I worked on the rug. With a mournful expression on her face, she turned and shuffled, spiritless, out of the room. After I finished, I tossed the towel into the sink and let myself out of the grand old house, locking the door behind me.

* * * *

I left home for the free clinic at five o’clock with my heart still sodden with tears over the news of Alicia's death. I knew this would be an important night at the clinic, the best opportunity I'd have to find out what I could about Sherman. I needed to focus on that task and put Alicia out of my mind for the time being.

At the free clinic each week, three doctors worked with three registered nurses seeing thirty patients in an evening. I often worked with Dr. Anders, much to the relief of the other nurses. He was an exemplary doctor but could be rather demanding. Sometime during the evening, I would get into the morgue and see what I could find in the files about Sherman’s autopsy. The toxicology report would have shown drugs were in his system since he was out cold when I saw him early Saturday evening. All along I thought Sherman must have been drugged. Lately, I'd been having a nagging thought. Perhaps he'd been knocked unconscious. I wanted to get at those reports.

When I arrived on the unit, I learned one of the three doctors scheduled to work had cancelled. Dr. Anders' physician's assistant, who worked in the morgue with him, took some of the patients. What a lucky break. The morgue would be unguarded tonight. I started taking my patients for the evening. There wasn’t much of anything out of the ordinary, a worsening cough with chest tightness, a rash with intense itching that turned out to be scabies, a urinary tract infection. The patients were pretty much in and out of the rooms in a quick manner. I needed someone to come in with a whole slew of ailments. The fourth patient complained of chest pain, shortness of breath, extremity swelling, and severe headache. I knew Dr. Anders would be in the examining room taking his time with this more critical patient.

My opportunity had arrived. In a rush, I descended down the steps to the basement. My shoes made a click-clacking sound on the concrete floor as I walked down the dim corridor toward the morgue in the bowels of the hospital. The door had been left unlocked. I threw a backward glance over my shoulders and slipped into the room, closing the door behind me.