The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) (31 page)

Phil didn't respond right away. He swirled the wine in his glass, took a sip of it, and looked at me intently. “How so?”

I sighed, hesitated for a second, and said, “In everything. Since the night of the Halloween Ball, I've been involved in everything. You know about the vacant store, finding Sherman's body, the next morning meeting Mary Ann.”

Phil's frowned. “Go on.” He sounded as if he were afraid of what he would hear next.

“I told you about searching Al Stewarts' home. Didn't I? Yes...yes I did, on the way home from jazz camp. Elizabeth and I were looking for evidence and hid in the closet, listening to Margaret and four of the hooded six from the vacant store.”

Phil winced. “I remember. That was a foolish stunt.” He took another sip of the wine. “Nice French Merlot.”

I smiled. “It came from Elizabeth. I guess she knows her wine as well as her men.”

Phil fidgeted with the stem of his glass.

“Anyway, I took medical files from the free clinic and found Dr. Anders' handwritten toxicology report on Sherman. This afternoon, I turned it over to the FBI.”

“You what? When?” Phil looked surprised. It was clear he didn’t realize the degree of my involvement, if at all, in all this.

I hesitated for a few seconds. “Phil, I've been in contact with Thom. I wasn't sure what to do. He made an official report, and two FBI agents came to the door while you were outside with Will and Andy.”

Phil shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. Breaking eye contact, he gazed down at his wine and finished the glass. “Why didn't I know about any of this?” he asked with a sullen voice. He reached for the bottle to refill his glass. I had barely touched mine.

“You're so absorbed with school, your classes, your music. You don't see anything else.” I understood music was a passion he couldn't get enough of, but to what extent would that passion go? “I've talked to so many people. Done so many things. Elizabeth and Deirdre have been helping me. There's been other deaths...murders...disappearances.”

Phil looked away from me in what I thought might be embarrassment. Silence fell between us.

I continued. “I still need to figure out who the last two of the hooded six are.”

Phil poured himself more wine. “Why don't you tell me what you know?”

I took a sip of the wine and smiled. I felt like talking to relieve some of the burden on myself. “I've been trying to figure out for the longest time what those involved in Sherman's murder would have to lose if the professor's findings became known. Figuring that out should give a clue as to who the fifth and sixth persons involved are. Four of the six people are John Stewart, Al Stewart, Bill Murphy, and Dr. Anders.”

Phil leaned forward, acting interested, which surprised me.

I took a deep breath. I told Phil about John Stewart's altered ginseng with the opium gene sequence.

“He's probably at the core of this ginseng conspiracy. Must have had a lucrative business selling the altered crop. He couldn't have let Sherman's findings come out. It was too profitable.”

Phil nodded his head. “It's usually money or power. That would have been the end of his business.”

“Bill Murphy probably looked the other way during the trafficking. Then there's hard evidence I turned over to the FBI.”

“What evidence?” Phil asked.

“Al's rhinestone glasses. It's still so hard to believe Al was involved. He had them on when we danced around eleven o'clock. We found them at the river bank today. Sherman's time of death was approximately at midnight.”

“That puts Al right at the scene,” Phil said, stating the obvious. I could see by the look on his face that his mental gears were churning.

It was a lot of information to take in, but I continued on.

“Dr. Anders faked the autopsy report on Sherman. Who knows how many other's he's faked. I believe he killed Margaret. And he had access to Alicia in the hospital.”

“Kay, what have you gotten yourself into?” Phil put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward him. His arms felt good around me. “You think Alicia's death was murder?”

“And he was in our home. It keeps getting bigger and bigger. Hell, Anders probably killed all of them. He's a sociopath.”

“So, Margaret makes the fifth hooded conspirator.”

“No. She wasn't in the vacant store. She was at her sister's.” I could lose myself in Phil's arms. I sat up straighter on the sofa. “I think her involvement had to do with her husband, Earl. Before she realized what was going on, she was probably in too deep and could no longer get out. The hooded six were at the vacant store. The seventh conspirator, Margaret was the unhooded one.”

“From what you say, I don't think greed would have motivated her.”

“Al said that Richard couldn't make it, when Elizabeth and I were hiding in his home. There's Richard Laska and Richard Stewart—”

“Who are they?”

“I saw Richard Laska going through Sherman's desk at the funeral luncheon. He’s a professor in the Agriculture department. And Richard Stewart, well, I told you about the ginseng samples. They had an opium gene sequence. Thom told me the 'drugged' ginseng samples sent to Richard Stewart came back normal.”

“How could that be?”

“He was in on it. I'm still keeping an open mind on Laska's possible involvement. But I have a different idea about who that sixth person might be.”

“Kay—”

“I've been thinking this all over and have come up with a different theory. You'll never believe it, but it all adds up. Think of who in our neighborhood has a dark car. Uncle Jimi mentioned Dr. Anders' getting into a dark car. He knows the Stewart brothers, both of whom are in the hooded six. He's someone above suspicion, well liked.”

“A dark car... You're grasping at straws.”

“I don't know what car the mysterious Richard drives, but all of the others have light colored vehicles. Uncle Jimi said it was dark, could be black. I've seen him at the patisserie on occasion with Al, Dr. Anders, and Bill Murphy. He owns businesses downtown, the vacant store, Marissa's patisserie, which was broken into the night of the murder.”

“I should tell you something—”

“But why the break-in at the patisserie? He owned the building. Maybe to cover his tracks. No pun intended. Marissa said there were footprints on the floor.”

“Kay—”

“He had to leave early that Friday night. He's physically fit. Phil, I didn't tell you about the graduate students that were killed. One student was an expert rock climber. He's talked to me about his rock climbing. Phil, I think it's Ted.”

“Graduate students? Kay—” He placed his hand on my arm and looked at me. I looked at him. His eyes indicated some sort of urgency.

“What, Phil?”

“Remember when I was at Jazz Camp and I saw Al having dinner with someone, talking about John Stewart and Margaret MacAlister, but didn't see who it was? I lied about that.”

“Phil, lying is starting to become a habit with you. Why?”

“To protect you. I didn't think you needed to know. I saw the person Al was with.”

I thought back to Deirdre telling me of overhearing Phil say when I worked the free clinic, “Don't tell Kay anything about the dinner. She doesn't need to know. It could only hurt her.” I felt some relief about that but looked quizzically at Phil. How would knowing this have protected me? It didn't make sense. “Who was it?”

Phil moved his face closer to mine. “You were right.”

Sunday, November 13

I was expecting Sunday to be a nice relaxing day. Andrew left for home after breakfast, and Will went back to school with his cleaned laundry. When they drove away, I put in a quick call to Thom. We discussed our suspicion about the sixth person involved in the ginseng conspiracy. Thom asked that Phil and I not tell anyone about Ted. “We don't want to alert him,” he said.

As soon as I hung up the telephone, I meant to tell Phil about my conversation with Thom. But my thoughts took a different turn when Phil surprised me with two tickets he had purchased for the Camille Pissarro exhibit at the St. Paul Art Institute scheduled for later in the afternoon. It was the opening weekend, and he knew Pissarro was one of my favorite Impressionist artists.

“What a thoughtful surprise!”

“Kay, I want to apologize for not being here for you. I’ve been so immersed in my classes. I promise things will change.”

I gave him a hug.

* * * *

We drove to St. Paul and parked four blocks away from the museum, lucky to get a spot that close. The parking lot was full for the new exhibit. I was relieved to leave the darkness and conundrums of Sudbury Falls behind, at least for a little while.

On our way, we walked through the park adjacent to the museum. Our scheduled time to view the exhibit wasn't for another hour. On this gorgeous autumn day, many people were out enjoying the park. Most of the leaves had fallen. The warm, forceful, wind twirled them around us as we strolled down the mall. I loved seeing the trees unmasked, their boughs and spidery branches finally without their foliage. As I kicked up the leaves with my feet, making crunching noises, I relived the experience of yesterday, kicking up leaves while we searched for Sherman's recorder. I shuddered for a brief moment. I didn't want to think about that. Our purpose for this outing was to take our minds off all the happenings at Sudbury Falls.
Stay in the moment, Kay.

We made our way further into the park and saw an amateur acting troupe giving an impromptu performance over at the Pavilion. They were putting on the classic tale of greed and murder,
Macbeth
. A shiver ran down my spine as we watched for a few minutes. I had my own tale of greed and murder to
not
think about.

The park held a beautiful public garden. A large pond with a fountain in the center was its soul. In the summer, spirited children played in the water. In the winter, it served as an ice skating rink. After we passed a charming bronze sculpture of a young boy playing his flute looking out over the pond, we wandered into a maze of yew tree hedges. I reached out for Phil's hand.

“This was such a great idea to come here today. It’s just what I needed to take my mind off of things. Thank you.”

We laughed as we tried to find our way through the maze, our arms entwined, debating which pathway we should take next, ending up most times in dead ends. After a while, still disoriented in the maze and lost in the maze of my own thoughts, I thought of Deirdre. She would have loved exploring the labyrinth of all these “mystical trees.”

After traversing its passages numerous times, we exited the maze and passed another beautiful sculpture of a young dancer putting on her ballet slippers. It reminded me of days of innocence gone by. As a young girl, when your main concern was how to do the next pirouette, dreaming of someday performing the perfect Grande jeté, the last thing on your mind would be murder.

We stood placidly for a few minutes and watched an old fashioned carousel spin laughing children around.

“I’d like to go to the funeral with you tomorrow, Kay. I'm going to take the morning off from class. I know how much Margaret meant to you.”

I gave Phil a quick hug. “That's so sweet of you. Elizabeth and Deirdre are coming along also. I’m happy we can all go together.”

Phil smiled.

“There have been so many funerals in such a short time,” I continued. Dark thoughts swept across my mind, angry thoughts about Sherman, Alicia, and now Margaret.
Stay in the moment, Kay.

Phil must have sensed my brooding demeanor and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to him as we walked. His touch always made me feel better. We reached the end of the park, passed a street musician making soulful sounds with his saxophone, and came up to the corner across the street from the Art Institute. Phil put his arm down. Many people were standing waiting for the lights to change as the traffic zoomed by.

I looked up at the gorgeous Beaux-Arts style museum, waiting for the walk light to come on when I felt a firm hand between my shoulder blades. Phil's warm, loving touch. I smiled. We had a completeness in each other. I started to turn toward Phil, but a sharp push threw me off balance toward the street. My arms reflexively went up to grab at the people on either side, but I failed to get a good grasp and fell a short distance from the curb into the street. Cars honked. Brakes screeched. A car swerved. A man standing nearby grabbed me from behind, pulling me back onto the curb.

My arms, legs, and back hurt. My body trembled, my breath was slow to return. I gasped for air.

“She could have been killed!” I heard a woman say.

“Are you all right?” the man who grabbed me asked.

“Kay. Are you okay?” Phil asked. “Did you lose your footing?”

Everyone was looking at me. I straightened up and faced the man. “I'm fine. Just shaken up a bit. Thank you for helping me.”

“All right. Glad to hear it,” he said as he left Phil and me standing at the curb. He and the other people walked across the street toward the museum.