The Ginseng Conspiracy (A Kay Driscoll Mystery) Read Free

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.
    “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