Free The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) by Susan Bernhardt

lingering in my body, I ran a bath and sank into the warm water.
    Lots of questions ran through my mind. What should I do about Sherman’s murder? I never felt more out of control. I had always worked with the police, not against them. Beyond a doubt, what did I know? The professor was murdered and the identity of two of the six people in the vacant store with a third person named John. Who else was involved? Even when the toxicology report showed drugs in the professor's body, nothing would be known about the people in the vacant store.
    Chances are Bill Murphy would run the investigation in the wrong directions, all leading to nowhere. What was needed was some solid evidence. For now, if I came forward, it would be my word again six others, one of those a Deputy Chief of Police and the other a well respected member of the community. Were other police officers involved? And what about the professor? What had been the motivation to kill him?
    After eating a hot pastrami on rye sandwich for lunch, I decided to go over to Margaret’s and see what I could find out from her. I put the costumes into a bag along with her mail and headed over to her house. How could I bring up the topic of the silk gossamer robe in her attic? Obviously she or her husband belonged to the group I saw on Saturday night. Just a few days ago we were having a carefree tea at Marissa’s, and now I viewed her with suspicion.
    Margaret must have seen me coming because she opened the door before I even had a chance to ring her bell. Or was she expecting someone else?
    “Margaret, you're back early,” I said, smiling. “How's your sister doing?”
    “She seemed to be feeling much better than I thought, my dear. We had a nice visit, catching up.”
    “Did you come back today?”
    “Just over an hour ago. I have some business to attend to.”
    “Your package arrived from China.” I handed over her mail.
    “Thank you, Kay.” She placed it on the table beside the door. “You don't have to stand out there with those costumes. Would you like to come in?”
    I stepped through the doorway with the bagged costumes. My eyes darted up the stairs leading to the attic, but then, through the corner of my eye, I saw Margaret watching me, so I turned to face her. “Did you hear about Professor Walters drowning?”
    “Yes, the poor man. How horrible.” Margaret looked somewhat somber but for the most part, uninterested.
    I kept on topic, scanning for any flicker of emotion across Margaret’s face. “Did you know him?”
    “No.”
    “Two of my friends and I discovered his body this morning in the river while walking on campus. Quite upsetting. We just came back from making our statements to the police, to Bill Murphy actually. You must know Bill Murphy.”
    I watched Margaret, how fragile she appeared. She wasn't her usual bold, confident self today. Her chin quivered a bit. Could she be involved in anything this shady? I couldn’t imagine, but how to explain the hooded robes like the one I saw in her attic?
    Margaret changed the subject without answering my question about Bill Murphy. “How was the party, my dear? Which costumes did you choose?”
    “It was magical,” I lied, sounding a bit too enthusiastic. I wiped some sweat from my forehead. Be calm. Calm, my new personal mantra. I should talk to Deirdre about relaxation exercises.
    “I chose this fairy costume for myself and the Sherlock Holmes costume for Phil.” I took them out of the bag, thankful I didn't choose the silk gossamer hooded robe. “Phil looked great as Sherlock Holmes.”
    “He is a handsome man. I remember wearing the costume you chose in A Midsummer’s Night Dream .”
    I smiled. “I thought that’s where it came from.”
    “What did everyone else wear?” A look of interest grew on her face. “Tell me all about the party.”
    We spent time talking about costumes, the imaginative decorations, and whom I saw that she knew. When I mentioned seeing Al and his wife, I saw her