The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) (26 page)

“She did seem to be rather preoccupied as of late. Hadn’t been herself.”

I nodded my head in agreement.

Sarah continued. “I'm going to miss her. She's been my neighbor all of these years”

“So will I. I was shocked when my husband told me about her death.”

“Your husband’s name is Phil, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“We've talked a few times at the grocery store. Seems a courteous man.”

“Thank you. He is. Sarah, did Margaret have any other visitors that day? Did you hear any noise, like a car door closing Tuesday night? See anything?”

“Not that I noticed. Officer Murphy asked me the same thing. Why do you ask?”

If she had seen anyone, perhaps I wouldn't even be talking to her right now, the way people were meeting with untimely ends around here. “Just thought she might have had a visitor in the evening. She seemed in need of companionship.”

“I looked over at her house before I went to bed. All of the lights were off except for in the kitchen. She keeps that one on a timer.” As she said this, she looked in the direction of Margaret’s house. A sad expression filled her eyes.

Deirdre reached over and put her hand on Sarah's. “Have you heard anything about when the funeral is?” Deirdre asked.

“Margaret’s sister called earlier. Monday at eleven o’clock.”

“We’ll see you then,” Deirdre said, getting up from the sofa.

“Take care Mrs...I mean Sarah,” I said, standing up.

“Thanks for coming over and for the éclairs.” She smiled, walking us to the door. “Come again. I’ll bake a cake. It'll be lonely without Margaret next door.”

We walked down the steps of Sarah's porch to the sidewalk.

“Deirdre, I printed copies of the sayings for you. But I forgot them at home. Why don't you come over for tea?” I'd be glad for someone in the house.

“Sounds great. I have some errands. I need more ribbons for my wreaths. In an hour or so?”

“Sure. I'll call Elizabeth. See if she wants to join us,” I said. We parted ways, each walking in a different direction.

I decided to walk back home along the Vermilion Pathway. A police car passed in front of me as I waited to cross the street into Riverside Park that connected with the pathway. I pulled up my collar. As I strolled amid the shedding trees, colors of red, gold, and orange twirled about me in the stiff breeze. The bright sun in the blue sky streamed through the waving tops of the pine trees along the river. The mixture of colors surrounding me, made it feel as if I was in
Autumn Effect at Argenteuil,
the colors of the trees reflecting in the river beside me as if Claude Monet had been there with his brush to paint it as I walked along.

I reflected on Sherman's murder, Alicia's and Margaret's deaths, and now on my own fear. I didn't want to be defeated by fear. I needed to take control of my fear and this whole situation, and that meant getting to the bottom of this mystery as quickly as possible. As soon as I came up with some facts and evidence, arrests could be made and no one else would have to die. I went over what I knew so far in my head. Sherman's death was murder. But people, like Alicia, do get hit by cars followed by delayed medical complications. And elderly people, like Margaret, do have heart attacks even when they have just gotten a clean bill of health from their doctor.

Sounds interrupted my thoughts. I turned around to see if someone was walking behind me. No one. I looked straight ahead and quickened my pace. The only sounds I heard now were my own footsteps and my breathing until…definite footsteps crunching on the gravel behind me. All of a sudden not a single leaf moved in the woods. The colors dulled. I gasped as I turned around to see a man approaching about twenty yards back.

This was a popular walking path. Why wouldn't someone be walking behind me, even though I hadn't seen him when I looked behind just moments before? I was being ridiculous. Perhaps even paranoid. I walked faster and turned around again. The twenty yards were now ten. Where were all the people I always saw on this pathway? Was he one of the hooded six? Was it suicidal not to run? Would it give me away if I did? The illogical sense of panic I felt before was being replaced by an absolute feeling of alarm. Out of the corner of my eye on an adjoining path, I could see someone else approaching. Keep calm I said to myself. I started to run like hell.

As I turned my head to see if the man behind me started to run as well, I ran straight into the arms of Dr. Anders. He hung on to my arms. “Let go of me!” I pulled away straightening myself up. “What are you doing here?” I looked around. The man who was behind me sat down on a bench looking at the river.

“Kay, you should watch where you're going,” he said with a perfunctory smile, a flash of white against his gray skin. His eyes looked as cold as ice. “I've been meaning to talk to you. You acted rather strange the other night.”

“Dr. Anders, I know what you've done,” I blurted out. What was I doing? “What's more, others know as well.” I didn't want to stop. I had just been contemplating taking control of my fear, so I screwed myself up and gave it my best effort. “And... what were you doing in my house last night?”

Dr. Anders' mouth dropped open. All was silent for a few moments. His mouth closed with a snap, and he grinned, though somewhat uneasy. “I have no idea what are you talking about, Kay.” He gave a sarcastic little laugh.

“The FBI is watching you. I wouldn't doubt if that man behind me is an agent.” I jerked my head backward, in the direction of the man sitting on the bench. He wore a black trench coat. At that precise moment he looked over at us. Perfect! “You thought you were getting away with murder. Just so you know, you aren't. It's only...only a matter of time.”

Dr. Anders stood, speechless, a look of astonishment on his face. It had been a gamble, but one that paid off. Anders did not appear to be in league with the man behind us.

“They have your number,” I continued even bolder.

A bulging vein protruded from Dr. Anders' forehead. He took a step closer. I could see the man who had been sitting on the bench stood up as he did so. I turned toward the man and called to him, “Beautiful day, isn't it? The leaves so brilliant.” I started to walk along with the stranger. The leaves swirled around us.

I turned around. Dr. Anders stared at me, looking none too happy.

“Yes, they are, Kay,” the man replied. “I've heard it might be...”

Kay?

* * * *

“Al…Richard here… I’m outside.”

“Well, C’mon in.”

“No, no, I don’t want anyone to overhear. Can you come out? You see… I had a c-call yesterday from a Special Agent Harris in regards to the g-ginseng samples that Sherman Walters had brought in.”

“You’re first telling me this now? Wait. I’ll be right out.”

Minutes later, when Al came out the front door of the post office, he blurted out, soft enough so others would not hear it but still registering an annoyance that was not lost on Richard, “Who's Special Agent Harris? Where did he say he was from?”

“I don’t know. So nervous. I can’t even re-remember where he said, or even if he said, where he was from. He's with the FBI.”

“Thought you had told Walters there wasn’t anything unusual about the ginseng,” Al said.

“I d-did.”

“But it sounds to me like there's an investigation going on. Damn it! I’m going to call Bill. See if he's heard anything about this. If Harris calls back, find out what this is all about. And don’t act so nervous. He’ll think you have something to hide.”

* * * *

Al walked behind the post office into the alley and called Bill Murphy.

“Bill…Al here. Know anything about an FBI agent asking questions about Sherman Walters? He called Richard yesterday inquiring about the ginseng samples.”

“How the hell did he find out about that? First I've heard. No one's contacted the police department.”

“Safe to talk?”

“Don't know. Hang on. I'm going to take this outside.” After a brief pause, he continued, “You still there?”

“Yes.”

“Keep in mind, nothing seems suspicious about Walters' death. There's no evidence about anything that is questionable or out of place. But I’ll look into it. What’s his name?”

“Special Agent Harris. Richard didn’t get his first name. Harris is a common name. How many Special Agent Harrises can there be? Think Alicia contacted this guy before she died?”

“Would have had enough time. I thought she was the only loose end. Unless she told someone else. Maybe there isn’t all that much to worry about. What can anyone find out now?”

Al looked down at his watch. “What do you mean?”

“Well, since Margaret has been taken care of.”

Al started pacing up and down the walk. “What?”

“Al, you didn’t think she really had a heart attack, did you?”

Al stopped. Pause. “Michael…Was it Michael?”

“Yup. Gave him a pretty nasty cut across the face. You didn’t know about this? Haven't you seen him this week?”

“No,” Al said with anger in his voice.

“Margaret told Michael she had written everything down, and if something happened to her, the authorities would be notified.”

Al shook his head and deepened his tone. “And he still killed her?”

“He didn’t believe her. I’ve been watching the incoming mail,” Bill said. “Haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Margaret wouldn't send it there. She was too smart. Maybe that's what is going on with the FBI. Michael's getting to be as ruthless as John.” He hesitated. “And as stupid. How many murders did they think would go unnoticed in a town like this?”

“Don't see how we can do anything about him. Does this business with the FBI warrant another meeting?”

“No. I’ll have to deal with this on my own.”

* * * *

Deirdre and Elizabeth arrived just after four o'clock. I told them about my confrontation with Dr. Anders and the stranger who knew my name. “He didn't introduce himself, only made a few comments about the weather and then walked off in a different direction. Thom mentioned the FBI would be arriving. He must have been one of them.”

“Kay, I'll give it to you…you have a lot of nerve,” Elizabeth said.

I took a quick sip of my tea. “I felt I had to do something to try and stop the killings.”

“You're brave, Kay,” Deirdre said.

“The man's insane. I think he enjoys killing.” I shook my head. “Must be some kind of a sick game, thinks he can get away with murder because he's the coroner.”

“He has,” Elizabeth said.

“Aren't you afraid he'll come after you?” Deirdre asked.

“With the FBI watching him? I feel safer than I have in a long time. He can't come after everyone who knows.”

Elizabeth and Deirdre looked at each other, saying nothing. So far, it seemed like the hooded six had come after everyone who got in their way. But I had confronted Dr. Anders, and saw the uncertainty, a glint of
fear
, in his eyes. I felt like I had struck a crucial blow against an enemy that did not know fear, and I had made him feel doubt for the first time.

Friday, November 11

That morning, as Deirdre, Elizabeth, and I approached Marissa's on our walk, I caught sight of Jimi Sheldon, a bartender and sometime performer at The Starlite Lounge. He strolled out the patisserie door and ambled off down the sidewalk away from us. Everyone in town called him Uncle Jimi. I'm not sure how he got that name. Sort of a legend in Sudbury Falls, he lived his life perpetually in the 1970s. His clothes and hairstyle had not evolved much in forty years. The royal purple scarf he wore around his neck, both on and off stage, was as flashy and sentimental as Uncle Jimi. It had belonged to his wife, who had died so long ago few in town remembered her. In an age when so many people displayed a veneer of a personality only for show, Uncle Jimi was a different story. He was authentic. The same inside and out. I had visited with him on occasion when Phil sat in for a guitarist at one of the evening shows.

Seeing Uncle Jimi made me think that I should go to The Starlite, which was next door to Sonnie's, the last bar downtown. I'd been meaning to canvas that whole area to see if I could figure out where Sherman might have gone when he hurried past us that Friday night on our way to the fish fry. What happened to him that landed him unconscious in the vacant storeroom the following night? He could have gone to The Starlite. Some of the businesses in that part of town included a laundromat, a bank, two insurance agencies, and a clothing store. That reduced the number of feasible places he might have hurried to.

* * * *

“Something's come up,” Dr. Anders said. “We have yet another problem. We need to talk. Soon.”

“What happened? Did someone get sloppy again?”

“Never mind. Let's meet at the patisserie in an hour.”

“The patisserie? Why there?”

“Breakfast. Just be there. Call Al.”