The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) Read online

  “Hello, Kay. What's going on today?”

  “Running a few errands, and then I'm meeting up with Margaret MacAlister at Marissa's. You must know Margaret?”

  “Sure. We go way back. I saw you walking by the college. Is that your usual route, through the college grounds?”

  “Yes. Up into the open space behind campus. We cross the south fork of the river over the old wooden bridge by the amphitheatre—.”

  “Beautiful route to take. I put my kayak in by the old bridge. The college is talking about modernizing the amphitheatre.”

  “We call it the 'Druid Theatre.' It's perfect the way it is. Woodsy, all natural, with those large slabs of stone for seats descending down to the stage.”

  “Kay, are you going to the Halloween Ball Saturday night?”

  “Yes. Still looking for costumes.”

  “My wife and I went to Goodwill and figured ours out from the clothes there. By the way, you're going to love it! Save me a dance.”

  “Have you read the latest Stephanie Griffin book yet? I have it on reserve at the library.”

  “It's not all that thrilling. It's been hyped up, but it has no substance. Not much there.”

  “She should have stopped the series a few books back. Her first books were incredible. Like—”

  “Al?” A co-worker came in from the mail room. “Hi, Kay. Talking about mysteries again?”

  “What else?” I smiled. “I’ll talk to you later, Al.”

  “Sorry, Kay,” Al said.

  I gathered up my mail and stamps and went over to another counter.

  While standing there, I heard the woman say, “Al, I’ve been meaning to ask you, is there any chance you can work for me next Saturday, November 5th? I’ll work your next one for you. It’s parents’ day at the college, and I don't want to miss it.”

  “Couldn’t you see I was with a customer?” he asked, his voice registering an anger that seemed out of character.

  As I started to walk away, I heard him say to her, his tone much calmer now, “Sure, I can switch. My wife visits her father every Saturday morning, has lunch with him. It doesn’t matter to me which Saturday I work.”

  I glanced at Al again as I opened the door. At the sound of the bell, he looked up at me. I noticed his face changing expression, as if he was flustered that I had seen him overreact to the interruption from his co-worker. In fact, he looked somber, not the outgoing Al I was used to.

  “See you.” I smiled and waved back.

  I walked two blocks over to Gupta’s New Delhi on Main Street. When I opened the door and went in, the smell of spices filled the air. I looked through the colorful bins, helping myself to the curry I needed for a chicken pie I planned to make for tonight.

  Neelam and Dinesh Gupta were among our first friends when we moved to Sudbury Falls. Dinesh was one of the founding members of the jazz band with Phil and Mike.

  Neelam came over, smiling. She gave me a big bear hug with her strong arms. “Hello, Kay. It's good to see you.” I heard her bangles clanging against each other.

  “Nice to see you. I mastered the curried garbanzo bean dish you showed me. It tastes close to yours.” Neelam was giving me Indian cooking lessons.

  “Wonderful. I’ll show you how to make my Tandoori chicken next. I know how much you like it.”

  “That'd be great. I could come over one of these nights when the guys are practicing.”

  “So, any night this week, then?”

  I laughed. “You've got that right.”

  Leaving Gupta's with my curry in hand, I arrived at Marissa’s just before one o’clock. The patisserie was in an old charming brick building in the middle of downtown. The bell above the door tingled as I went inside, and the aroma of fresh baked goods surrounded me. I could walk through this town blindfolded and know where I was by all the wonderful smells. Stretching out on one side of the entry room was a case full of scrumptious looking pastries and cakes. People entered at the risk of their waistline, but it was worth it. Sweet Marissa’s Patisserie was always filled with great expectations and delivered promises.

  Peeking into the dining room, I saw Marissa clearing off a table. She had her hair in a French braid, and wore a white apron over her forest green jumper. She was in her late thirties.

  She looked up. “Hello, Kay. I’ll be right with you.”

  I waited while Marissa came around to the front room.

  “Hi Marissa. I’m meeting Margaret MacAlister here for tea. I'm a bit early.”

  “Good, we can visit for while. The lunch rush just ended, and I need to get off my feet.”

  “You sure have a great business.”

  She sat down and smiled, her eyes bright. “Couldn't do it without you, Kay.”

  “I love coming here. I could just sit here and inhale these wonderful smells all day. It's so comforting.”

  “Only inhale?”

  I laughed.

  “Thanks. I want it to be the kind of place where people can relax with their friends. Speaking of which, I haven't seen Elizabeth or Deirdre in this week yet.”

  “Must be a record in the… how many years have you been open?”

  “Five.”

  “You know it’s going to be hard for me to stay out of here. Deirdre and I will be just four doors down when her herbal shop opens this spring.”

  “You should come every day. My business will always stay afloat between the three of you.”

  “Well, all I can say is, we try to do our best.”

  “Oh, by the way, I tried out a new recipe for tarts this morning. Would you and Margaret be willing to try them out and tell me what you think?”

  The door opened, and in walked Margaret, wearing a vibrant colorful red cape and a black beret over her ginger red hair. She exuded a flair for the dramatic and greeted me by way of a kiss in the air near both of my cheeks. There was a lot of theatre in her.

  “Good afternoon, Margaret,” Marissa said, standing up. “How are you doing?”

  “Couldn’t be better, my dear. The wind started to blow from the north. It’s getting a bit nippy out there,” she said, taking off her coat. “Nice and warm in here.”

  “Marissa and I were just talking about her latest tart creations. She wants to know if we'll try them and play food critic.”

  “You bet. Sounds like fun.”

  “Why don't you go ahead and sit wherever you'd like,” Marissa said.

  Several white-linen covered tables took up the main floor area in each of the patisserie's three dining rooms. Each dining room also had a stone fireplace with a leather sofa and chairs gathered in front of it. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the rooms' tin-paneled ceilings.

  Margaret and I chose a table next to the window in the room closest to the garden. In the summer, it held an enchanting flower garden with several tables and seating for those wanting to have their croissants and café au lait while relaxing outdoors.

  We ordered a pot of Scottish afternoon tea, which I poured for us. It was good and strong, just how I liked it.

  “This is so relaxing. Exactly what I needed,” said Margaret. “I've been working all morning cleaning up my garden for the winter, getting rid of the spent plant material, and trimming branches.”

  Margaret was the last of the MacAlisters in Sudbury Falls. In her younger days, she studied drama in Minneapolis. She performed onstage at numerous theatres throughout the Twin Cities into her late thirties. After her marriage to Earl MacAlister, Margaret settled for being a regular performer at the Sudbury Falls Community Theatre.

  Earl MacAlister's family was one of the four founding families of Sudbury Falls. The Rudds owned half of the ginseng production, and the Murphys, Stewarts, and MacAlisters together owned the remaining half.

  So here, sitting across from this fascinating octogenarian who had energy just oozing out of her every pore, I listened to her talk about the mundane tasks of cleaning up her garden. Marissa arrived with a tray of delicious looking lemon meringue
, cranberry streusel, and glazed apricot tarts. We tried one of each.

  “My Earl used to take care of all the trimming and gardening.” Margaret looked out the window. “I miss Earl. Life's not just.” She hesitated, then continued. “Sometimes...sometimes you can do something about it, sometimes you can't.” Margaret looked back at me. “Now I have to do things I never had to worry about when Earl was around.”

  Marissa came back into the dining room. “Well ladies, what do you think?”

  I looked from Margaret to Marissa. “The lemon tarts are delicious. What's your secret?”

  “Those are my favorite also. They're made with a sweet homemade lemon curd topped with toasted meringue. I'm trying to get the perfect blend between sweet and tart.”

  “You've succeeded, my dear. They're marvelous,” Margaret said, smiling, moving her hands dramatically to emphasize her words. “What about the cranberry tarts? I like those.”

  “I use fresh cranberries mixed with lemon zest. They're baked in the same buttery dough the apricot tarts are.”

  I smiled. “Do you realize these tarts inspire happiness and contentment?”

  “Oh, Kay! Maybe I should describe them that way on the menu. So glad you like them.” She took away the empty plate.

  “Now, tell me all about the free clinic,” Margaret said. “Getting many patients?”

  I volunteered as a registered nurse at the new free clinic in the hospital every other Tuesday evening. “It's in its sixth month now and doing well.”

  “That long? I didn't realize.”

  “And we get the maximum number we can see each night. Thirty patients. The word's getting around. We even saw some of the seasonal workers from the ginseng fields this summer. It's a godsend for those without health insurance.”

  “I'm impressed. Such a valuable resource for our community, with so many people losing their jobs.”

  “We do see people who have lost their jobs, but many have jobs. They just can't afford health insurance. I work with a Dr. Anders…you must know him?”

  “Oh, yes, he can be a little…well, I’ll reserve my judgment.” She sighed. Her eyes narrowed.

  What was with these people today? First Al seemed so unlike himself, now Margaret seemed to be holding something back at the mere mention of Dr. Anders’ name. Well, I personally found him to be a curmudgeon, but since she wasn't willing to volunteer any information about him, I wasn’t about to, either. Instead, I said, “Not to change the subject, but Margaret, did you know the Halloween Ball is this Saturday? You and Earl must have attended the Balls in the past.”

  “Earl and I went to all of them. They were the highlight of the season, my dear. We just loved dressing up, and every year we'd have close friends over for drinks and then walk over to the Civic Center together. Those balls go a long way back.” She seemed lost again in her own memories, her voice drifting off.

  “Sounds wonderful. Phil and I are going, but I still don’t know what we're going to wear.”

  Margaret's eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh, Kay, I have a whole trunk filled with old costumes from the balls and different plays I've been in. Come over. We can have fun going through them.”

  “I'd love that!”

  “You'll find something you fancy. I also have the costumes Earl wore. He was the same size as your Phil.”

  “I can’t wait to see them. What a load off my mind.”

  “Why don’t you come over tomorrow morning at ten o’clock?”

  “Thank you…Sounds great.”

  Before leaving Marissa’s, I picked up an almond cake for dessert tonight. It was Phil's favorite. It would be a nice contrast to the curry pie. Maybe the curry wouldn't be the only spice of the evening.

  Chapter Two

  Friday, October 28

  After coming back home from my walk this morning with Deirdre and Elizabeth, I received a call from Margaret.

  “My sister called last night. She hasn’t been feeling well and I'm leaving in twenty minutes to help her out for a few days.”

  “I hope it isn’t anything serious.”

  “So do I, my dear,” Margaret said, her voice wavering. “I’m going to leave the back door open for you. The old trunk with all the costumes is up in the third floor attic. Sorry I won’t be able to go through them with you. Look through everything. You'll find something perfect for the Halloween Ball.”

  “Thanks so much. I appreciate this.”

  “You're welcome, Kay. Would you mind also picking up my mail? I'm expecting some important papers dealing with the farm. This summer a small delegation of Chinese businessmen flew in to look over the ginseng crops. They'll be placing a large order any day now.”

  “When do you think you'll come back?”

  “I hope by Tuesday or Wednesday, my dear.”

  “I’ll tell you all about the Halloween Ball then.”

  I finished eating a ham and spinach frittata I’d made with leftover spaghetti, put the dirty dishes in the sink, and left to walk over to Margaret's home.

  Margaret lived in an impressive, three-story Victorian next to Weigent Park. The entire square block around the park was known for its “Painted Ladies.” Old oak and maple trees shaded the area and lush, inviting gardens adorned the front yards of these turn-of-the-century homes. The house, all turrets and pinnacles, loomed through the trees. Deirdre would say that Margaret's colorful house generated positive energy. I think she was right. You couldn't help but smile when you looked up at it. It had an elegant wrap-around porch with a massive glass and wooden Neo-Georgian style front door.

  I walked around to the back of the house. Piles of bundled branches that Margaret had collected from her yard and garden were stacked next to the back door. The back door was open, just like Margaret said it would be, and I let myself in. Margaret's house had a classic exterior, but the inside was modern. Her kitchen with all clean lines, sleek surfaces, and stainless steel appliances, which gleamed when I turned on the light. A massive rack hung from the ceiling holding copper pots. Off the kitchen, I passed a large butler’s pantry with an abundance of shelves and cabinetry of which I was instantly envious.

  I climbed the steep stairs to the third floor and opened the attic door. What a firetrap! Dust-covered furniture lined the walkway, and more dust blanketed the boxes piled in every corner. I spotted the old wooden steamer trunk, covered in leather trim and ornate dark brass hardware. The lid was heavy to open. A remnant of a faded Victorian lithograph bordered the inside of the lid. As if opening the trunk had set them free, dozens of compacted costumes tumbled out.

  “Wow! What a collection.” I said aloud, when I saw all of the garments. My voice echoed back from the high slanted ceiling.

  After delving through the costumes and much deliberation, I decided on a costume that looked like it came right out of A Midsummer Night's Dream. What a great theme that would be for a summer costume party. Had Margaret ever played Titania, the Queen of the Fairies? The costume had lavender-colored wings with a matching lavender and light blue flowing dress that fell below the knees. The central bodice panel was made up of chiffons and organzas pleated and beaded into the edges of the leaves and flowers. It was stunning! I found a wreath of silk baby's breath for my hair. In the trunk, I also discovered a Sherlock Holmes costume, which Phil wouldn’t object to very much.

  In the opposite corner, a smaller trunk stood with fabric showing out from under the lid. I opened the trunk to see what treasures it held. There were a few more costumes in it. One was a beautiful silk-and-gossamer hooded robe, detailed with a silvery sun and moon over a pyramid on the front. I couldn't explain why, but this robe made my hair stand on end. What mysteries had this hood covered? All of these costumes spoke of a private past into which I was intruding. A chill went through my spine, and I felt a sudden need to get out of here as soon as possible. The attic began closing in on me. The dust, too much. At least I had my costumes. I folded the robe and returned it to the small trunk.

  I let mysel
f out and walked back around the house to the front to pick up Margaret’s mail, which had already been delivered. A large, thick package postmarked “Guangzhou, China” was among the mail. This must to be the envelope Margaret was expecting. I wondered what kind of offer these people made to Margaret.

  * * * *

  Early that evening, Phil returned from school. He was tall, dark, and irresistible. (Okay, so he was of average height, graying, and starting to develop a little paunch.) He had sultry, dark eyes the color of chocolate, and long black eyelashes. I loved his face. It wasn't movie star handsome, but it had a jaunty appeal.

  “Are we all set to leave?” Phil asked.

  We walked downtown to Jo's Bar and Grill for their Friday fish fry. Fish fries and Friday nights were big in Wisconsin. People liked to celebrate the end of the work week and go out for fish (and beer). As we walked down Main Street, the professor hurried passed us on the sidewalk, glancing at his watch. A wave of crimson leaves stirred up as he went by.

  It was quite a contrast coming in from the cool evening air, to the warm, friendly ambiance of the tavern. The aroma of stale beer and fried fish greeted us at the door. The place was packed with lots of happy, chattering patrons. Blues music was playing on the jukebox.

  Jeff Richards sat at the end of the bar, where he usually did, beer in hand, talking excitedly to some friends. His hair was windblown, and he had a heavy five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. Jeff spent many evenings at Jo’s. He and his wife, Rebecca, lived two houses away from us next to Deirdre and Mike. Jeff was a computer systems administrator during the day, and a “Master of Trivia” at Jo’s by night. He played guitar and sang in a local rock band. Jeff wrote humorous songs, sometimes about himself and his life, and sometimes about Rebecca, which I was sure weren’t very amusing to her. They were pretty funny to everyone else, though.