The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) Read online

  Back Cover

  Cozy Mystery by Susan Bernhardt

  On her way to attend a Halloween Ball, Kay Driscoll, a newcomer to town, witnesses the murder of a local professor. When the official coroner's report rules the cause of death to be accidental and the community accepts the judgement, Kay decides to uncover the truth for herself. Through her personal investigations, Kay exposes a complex conspiracy, woven deep within the thriving local ginseng industry, that involves some of the more prominent figures and families of Sudbury Falls.

  With her new friends, the free-spirited herbalist Deirdre and the untamed modern woman Elizabeth, Kay discusses new clues over tea and pastries at Sweet Marissa's Patisserie, their crime-fighting headquarters. As Kay gets closer to the heart of the conspiracy, additional murders happen in quick succession. Before long, Kay learns that the villains are gunning for her, too. Phil, her musically talented but preoccupied husband, determined to keep her safe, withholds from her the one thing she needs most: the truth.

  THE GINSENG CONSPIRACY

  A Kay Driscoll Mystery

  SUSAN BERNHARDT

  MuseItUp Publishing

  www.museituppublishing.com

  In the quiet of the morning

  You only have to rise

  To feel something's wrong.

  Uncontrollable circumstances

  Tense the air and you know

  Something's going to happen.

  Chapter One

  Thursday, October 27

  The days that led up to the murder were like any other. Most weekday mornings, I started my day speed walking with my friends, Elizabeth and Deirdre, for an hour. Since my favorite establishment in town, Sweet Marissa's Patisserie, was my “home away from home,” regular exercise was definitely in order. I rationalized that exercise eliminated all of the fat grams in a scrumptious piece of to die for chocolate raspberry torte. So far, so good; the pounds had mostly stayed away. Deirdre tried to get me interested in other forms of exercise, like yoga and Pilates. One day in yoga class, I fell asleep, but as it turned out, everyone thought I was just into some heavy meditation.

  My name is Kay Driscoll. I would best describe myself as being tall, about five feet nine inches, with the kind of curvaceous figure yearned for in the Renaissance times. My hair is cut in a short pixie style. I let it go natural after years of dyeing it.

  Earlier this year, my husband Phil and I moved from Colorado to Sudbury Falls, Wisconsin. Enticed by the town's lush green landscape, it felt like a perfect place to live.

  We had both taken early retirement and were excited to come back to Wisconsin to be closer to our sons, Will and Andy. I had worked as a public health nurse and a part-time medical consultant for the Boulder Police Department. Phil had spent over twenty-five years in the computer industry and decided to spend the next twenty-five chasing his dream of building guitars. Last month he enrolled in a luthier program at a nearby technical school and, in his free time, was starting up a jazz band with some friends.

  As I walked down our long driveway to meet up with Deirdre and Elizabeth, I took in a deep breath. It was one of those glorious Indian summer mornings. The mellow sunlight shone down and felt warm. Elizabeth stood there looking at her watch impatiently. A flock of honking Canadian geese flew overhead. Here, in the North Woods, the nearly constant noise was a persistent reminder that autumn would soon be gone.

  “Kay.” Elizabeth motioned in Deirdre's direction. “There's Deirdre now.”

  “Sorry I'm late. I slept through my alarm,” Deirdre said, walking up to us. “Last night I cast a horoscope for one of Mike’s friends, and lost track of the time. It took me a while to figure out the ephemeris tables in my new computer software. I’m using a new orb size of seven degrees for aspects involving the Sun, Moon and Jupiter.”

  Elizabeth looked over at me and didn’t say a word but raised her eyebrows. I shrugged my shoulders. The wind twirled fiery red and gold fallen leaves into the air as we started walking.

  We usually took the same path each day, walking three blocks to the college grounds then cutting behind the Agriculture building out into the open space of campus, continuing through the park to the Vermilion Pathway, ending in the downtown area before returning home. We enjoyed our time together, talking and laughing about the little idiosyncrasies in our lives. We had some great discussions, sometimes heavy, sometimes light. Often times, Elizabeth veered our talks toward politics. She ran for city councilmember last year and lost.

  Elizabeth, who was forty-something, but I bet closer to fifty than not, never told her age. Petite with short-cropped dark hair and a face full of freckles, she had a bubbly, energetic personality. You couldn't have a short conversation with Elizabeth. There was a physicality about her; an air of sexual energy. She was divorced and enjoyed her freedom. Elizabeth loved the idea of being in love so much that she was totally smitten with three different men. She said she was keeping her options open.

  You never knew what Elizabeth was going to wear. Today she looked like she stepped from the pages of an Eddie Bauer catalog. She had on a tight pair of khakis, a painted-on white cotton bamboo shirt, and a forest green cardigan sweater draped around her neck. The sweater matched the color of her contacts perfectly. She was all about going green, you know: reusable bags, solar heat, reducing your eco-impact.

  “Is that a new outfit, Elizabeth?” I asked as we approached Willow Park.

  She tugged at her shirt bottom. “Yes. I bought it on sale yesterday at Goodman's. How's it look?”

  “Perfect on you... Two sizes too small, like usual,” Deirdre said, glancing over at me.

  Whatever she wore, Elizabeth tended to squeeze her size twelve body into size eight clothes. The quality of her clothes had to be good, though; with all of that stretching, I'd never seen a seam burst. If you were to judge Elizabeth by the clothes she wore, you would never in a million years guess her profession. But in fact, she has her master in library science and has worked at the college library for the past twenty years. Recently, she cut her hours down to just one day a week to enjoy her many other interests, three that I could think of.

  Deirdre, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Quieter than Elizabeth, she often seemed to be deep in thought. Deirdre's ash blond, shoulder length hair was streaked with gray. Tall, slender, and ridiculously beautiful, she had a figure I could only dream of having. She was in her mid-fifties, a few years older than me, and tended to hide her body in loose fitted clothing from the seventies: peasant blouses, long skirts, bell-bottoms, paisley prints. You get the picture.

  Deirdre and her husband, Mike, both spiritualists and our next-door neighbors, had lived in Sudbury Falls for five years. Mike worked out of the lower level of their home as an acupuncturist and reflexologist. Like Phil, he was also into jazz and was a member of the band. Even though I considered Deirdre my best friend in Sudbury Falls, I avoided talking about spirituality with her whenever possible. The discussions we’ve had in the past were too far-out.

  We were all looking forward to the big event this weekend, the Black and Orange Charity Halloween Ball. Today our conversation steered naturally to that.

  “The Civic Ballroom's packed with people wearing elaborate costumes,” Deirdre said. “The committee goes all out. Last year there was a haunted forest, complete with a witch's woods and a labyrinthine passageway.”

  “Some of the costumes can be pretty outrageous,” Elizabeth said. “Someone came last year as Dr. Frankenfurter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and four guys were zombies from The Walking Dead. Most attendees wear fun costumes, but some are more historic, like Marc Antony or Marie
Antoinette.”

  “Kay, you'll love it! The bands are excellent,” Deirdre said.

  “What are you and Mike going as?” I asked.

  “Mike's going as Jack Sparrow. Looks a lot like him with his dreadlocks. I'm going as a green witch. Just finished sewing a flowing, green taffeta dress. I have a wreath of magnolia flowers for my hair.”

  “I suppose you made a wand from the yew tree in your front yard that you're always talking about and added lots of glitter and jewels on it,” Elizabeth said.

  Deirdre glanced sideways past me at Elizabeth and then back to me. “Kay, the yew tree does have mystical powers.”

  Deirdre brewed teas from the herbs that she grew, both for recreational and medicinal purposes. An organic gardener having herbal, apothecary, vegetable, and flower gardens in her huge backyard, Deirdre had a remedy handy for anyone with an ailment. She was opening a holistic herbal shop in five months. She thought it would be ethereal for the opening day to be on the spring equinox. I just thought it would be a cool date. The shop couldn't be in a better location, four doors down from Marissa’s Patisserie. Everyone in town went to Marissa’s. I volunteered to help Deirdre in her shop when she first opened.

  Deirdre had hopes of adding a small tearoom in the future with perhaps three or four tables, but because of being so close to Marissa’s, she said she would need to think that through more. She could do tea leaf readings to put a different spin on it than Marissa’s and in keeping with her store’s New Age theme. She talked about casting horoscopes and reading tarot cards. I don’t know if this would fly in Sudbury Falls or not. I'm still a bit uncomfortable about all that stuff.

  “Elizabeth, I suppose you're going as a sexy Miss Marple,” Deirdre said. Elizabeth was crazy for British murder mysteries and held a monthly mystery book club at her home.

  “Hmm...that would be fun. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  “What? Really, is there no other woman sleuth with more sex appeal than Miss Marple?” I asked.

  “Kay, what about you and Phil?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes, what does Phil want to go as?”

  “I still don't know. And Phil, he's no help. Between school and the band, he's rarely around, and when he is, he's clueless to anything outside the realm of guitars or music.

  “Sounds oblivious,” Elizabeth said.

  I laughed. “Oblivious is Phil's middle name. But I think I'll keep him anyway. Whatever we come up with, it's going to be hard to beat Elizabeth's, Miss Marple costume.”

  “You'll get some vision,” Deirdre said.

  Elizabeth winked at me. “And you better get that vision in a hurry. You only have a few days left.” Elizabeth sprinted ahead. Deirdre and I hurried our steps to catch up with her as we turned onto Main Street, already stirring with early morning shoppers.

  Situated two hours east of the Twin Cities, Sudbury Falls had much to offer people who didn't want to let life interfere with their living. No freeways and no skyscrapers. I looked up as we passed the sign over Main Street proclaiming Sudbury Falls to be the “Ginseng Capital of the World.” Ginseng farms blanketed the landscape surrounding Sudbury Falls where ninety-five percent of the ginseng in the United States grew.

  A black Labrador mix ran past us down the sidewalk. His owner smiled as he pushed by us and said, “Good Morning,” as he tried to catch up with the mongrel. We passed Sweet Marissa’s Patisserie. Pumpkins and cornstalks adorned the entrance. An unoccupied, wrought-iron patio table and chairs were pushed up against her beautiful window display of luscious pastries and cakes. The door opened, and the essence of freshly baked croissants greeted us.

  Sudbury Falls was quite art-oriented for its population of 10,000 plus, owing much to the influence of the college. In the evenings, almost every pub, coffeehouse, and restaurant had some kind of live music. It was home to the Phillips Center for the Arts, which was next to the government building where the Black and Orange Ball would be held.

  The town had picture-postcard beauty with the Sudbury River flowing through it. Often times I saw anglers in their hip waders standing in the shallows, flicking their lines in and out of the water with a trance provoking rhythm that would soothe the most restless of minds.

  On the north end of town was the college, with its charming old buildings and gorgeous grounds. On the south end was the new library, its architecture reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright designs, with beautiful prairie-style stained glass windows. Mature trees arched over the narrow, winding streets and avenues that branched off of Main Street in both directions.

  We turned the corner onto our block and saw a man who often passed our home, walking on the other side of the street.

  “Good morning, Sherman,” Elizabeth said.

  “Morning, Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth, who is that?” I asked, after we passed by.

  “You mean Professor Walters?”

  “Is that his name? Phil and I always just call him ‘the professor.’ He and his wife often walk past our home in the evening.” He was usually talking into a tape recorder when I saw him going toward campus in the morning.

  “Sherman's been at the college for the past two years and lives a few blocks away. He's an assistant professor in the Agriculture Department. I’ll try to remember to introduce you next time we see him.”

  Little did I know at the time, I would never have that opportunity.

  * * * *

  After I came home, I took a leisurely bath with some chamomile salts from Deirdre. I leaned back and listened to an audio mystery, The Shadow of the Breeze, until the water turned too cold and my fingers shriveled up like prunes. I dressed in a soft black turtleneck sweater, a comfortable pair of loden green corduroy pants, and black leather boots.

  My stomach rumbling, I wandered into the kitchen and searched the refrigerator to see what I could find to eat. I discovered a couple of pieces of leftover pizza from two nights ago While reheating them in the oven, I took out a bottle of carbonated water to go with the pizza, since I was watching my weight. The blend of the yeast dough and olive oil mixed with scents of melting cheese, tomato sauce, garlic, and spices filled the kitchen and made my mouth water. I opened the refrigerator, guiltily traded the water for a cherry cola, and closed the door before I changed my mind again.

  The phone rang.

  “Kay, Margaret here. Are we still on for this afternoon at Marissa's?

  “Yes. Is one-thirty still all right? I have a few errands I need to run in town. I'm leaving as soon as I finish eating an early lunch.”

  “Sounds fine, my dear. See you there. Ciao.”

  * * * *

  I loved being able to walk to almost everywhere in town since everything was so close. Each house on our block had been decked out in Halloween decorations featuring spooky Jack-O'-Lanterns on the steps, many freshly carved and still emitting a faint pumpkin aroma. Cotton sheet ghosts hung by threads from the trees in the yards of many of the homes. One yard had Styrofoam gravestones, and most of the houses had orange lights around their doorways and on the bushes. I had heard that Ted Michaels, our neighbor on the opposite side of Deirdre, went overboard every year. Besides the lights and pumpkins, he had a life-sized witch holding onto her broom with gangly fingers, halfway up a tree out in front.

  I was standing under his tree staring up at the witch when Ted backed his black Lexus down his driveway, stopping next to me. The witch's hair was gray and stringy. She had a hook nose, greenish skin and her clothing was shredded and torn.

  “Hey, Kay, need a ride?”

  “No thanks. It's a beautiful day. Love your witch, Ted.”

  “Better watch out or she'll cast a spell on you.” He laughed, waved, and took off down the street.

  I started walking. Ted was in commercial real estate and owned many of the buildings around town. When Phil and I had been in Sudbury Falls for a couple of weeks, he held a barbecue in our honor so we could meet our new neighbors. It was there that I met Elizabeth and Deirdre. As I walk
ed, I remembered our conversation, the three of us, sitting together in Ted’s backyard. Elizabeth brought up how good-looking our host was with his million-dollar smile and boyish charm. The conversation revealed much about her and Deirdre's characters.

  “Ted's in great physical condition, for a fifty-five year old,” Elizabeth said. “And those deep blue eyes, that endless smile, his strong chin, and—”

  “Well, if I don't stop her, she'll just go on,” interrupted Deirdre with a smirk. “I don't think Elizabeth's ever seen a man she didn't find attractive.” I later found out that Deirdre spoke from experience. “Kay, Ted also has a great personality and lots of chi. Everyone likes him.”

  Elizabeth looked over at me, raised her eyebrows, and winked.

  I fanned my face with my hands. “Ted's great looks, his untidy mop of curly hair, and his vital energy force make him the type of person I could get to know quickly and instinctively trust,” I said, continuing with their train of thought. We all laughed.

  Elizabeth craned her neck in my direction and said, “Yes, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” just seconds before Ted came over smiling, with Beth, his fiancée by his side, and introduced her to me. I never did find out why Elizabeth said that about Ted.

  Turning the corner onto Maple Street, I encountered three boys smashing pumpkins in the street. They took off on their bikes when they saw me coming. Those little ruffians! They could have at least waited until after Halloween.

  I crossed over to Locust Avenue to get to the post office, my first stop, to buy stamps and pick up some mail. The post office clock struck twelve-thirty as I entered. Al Stewart waited on me at the front counter. A rather tall, burly man with graying hair, he was always upbeat and fun to talk to. Of the Stewart brothers, I was told he was by far the most personable. I usually came into the post office once a week. After we discovered we were both mystery enthusiasts, we discussed our favorite authors' books when there wasn’t anyone behind me in line, and sometimes even when there was. The other clerks listened and at times added to the conversation. Then the next time I came into the post office, we would begin our conversation where we had left off from the last time, as if it had never ended.