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

o'clock.”
    “Thanks. This is great,” I said, glancing at the plate of yummy-looking pancakes and sausages he put in front of me. “Did you get a chance to eat?”
    “I inhaled a couple of the pancakes that didn’t come out right. Don’t have a whole lot of time. This morning I'm bending the ribs of my guitar. It’s tricky. A lot of the students have cracked theirs and had to start the whole process over, thicknessing new wood.”
    I felt so smug whenever I thought of or used the word thicknessing. I had learned from Phil that all it meant was thinning the wood to the correct thickness, but why say that when you can make music, plucking the word thicknessing off the tip of your tongue? “Good luck. I hope you don't crack any ribs.” I hugged him.
    “I think I just felt one crack right now.” He gave me a winning smile.
    After finishing the last of the sausages and pancakes, I decided I would be skipping lunch today. I poured myself a second and then third cup of coffee, spooning in two sugars, and thought back to the professor’s death. So much to think about, so much to consider, and I had so many questions.
    It seemed my scare the other night was turning out to be the beginning of a full-fledged murder mystery. I knew I needed to tell the authorities about the professor, but who could I trust to report it to? I thought about my friend, Thom Harris, a boyfriend from my college days who I had become reacquainted with while working together in Boulder on a case. After reestablishing our friendship, our families spent much time together. He was an FBI agent who worked out of the Denver office. I could contact Thom. He would know about the procedures and could advise me. But first, I needed to find some solid proof to substantiate my accusations. What could he or any state police do without proof? Until then, I would have to leave him out of the loop.
    I cleared away the dishes and gave the house a thorough cleaning. I had a lot of nervous energy, or perhaps too much caffeine, coursing through my veins. The entire time, I thought about the professor, turning over in my mind what I should have done differently and what I needed to do now. The best place to start was from the ground up. I should dig into the backgrounds of the people involved and hope a pattern would emerge.
    Two o’clock rolled around. With my mind racing and searching for answers, I decided to head on over to Marissa’s, the best place for me to think and sort things out. I figured a piece of chocolate anything could only help my frame of mind.
    * * * *
    “I’ll have another of the same,” I said to Marissa.
    As Marissa brought me my second torte, her lips pursed a little. “You’ll regret this tomorrow. Is something bothering you, Kay?”
    I took a bite out of the rich truffle torte covered with chocolate ganache and fresh raspberries. Creamy, luscious chocolate teased my taste buds.
    “Yes, Marissa, I have a lot to think about, but this sure helps.”
    The door to Sweet Marissa’s Patisserie opened, and Marissa left to greet her new customers. In all of my years, I had never found a place that would compare to Sweet Marissa's. I loved coming here with Deirdre and Elizabeth once or twice a week to sample Marissa’s shockingly rich pastries. This afternoon, needing solitude, I didn’t call them. So much had happened since Saturday night. I needed some time to think, and what better place than this, where the sugar could shoot straight up to my brain.
    I glanced around the patisserie. There weren't many people, a couple of regulars sat at tables reading the paper. Across the room, my ex-yoga instructor with her spiky hair sat with her boyfriend, who worked at the health food store. They leaned forward closing the space between them, almost in a pose, and shared a light kiss over a spinach gruyere puff pastry. They looked like they didn't have a care in the world. At the table next to them, a comely middle-aged man, buried his nose in a