Tuesday
Hal’s warning was still ringing in her ears when Ginny rose the next morning. She’d driven home, looking over her shoulder the whole time, and locked herself in before retiring to her bed.
She’d tried to shake off the uneasiness, telling herself he was over-reacting, that nothing she had done posed a threat to anyone. But it hadn’t worked. She’d slept badly and woken still tired.
She was in the middle of fixing breakfast when her phone rang.
“Ginny, it’s Elaine Larson. I have a favor to ask.”
“Oh?”
“I’m hoping you can help me find some missing documents.”
“What kind of documents?”
“They’re described as a Rev War era personal letter and a Colonial physician’s ledger. Professor Craig borrowed them from the owner several months ago. The owner has since died, bequeathing all of her genealogical materials to the local museum. There was an inventory prepared in anticipation of the event; dates, addresses, photocopies, all very businesslike. The museum curators have asked, in the politest possible fashion, to have the items returned, but I haven’t found anything that fits that description among the Professor’s papers.”
“That sounds like what Hal is looking for.”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to reach him, but my calls keep rolling over to voice mail. I’m hoping you might know something about them.”
Ginny lifted an eyebrow. “I was over at the Professor’s house last Thursday and pulled all of the primary source documents out of his home office files, but didn’t find what Hal was looking for.”
“Are you sure?”
“He and I both went through them. You’re welcome to do the same. I was going to give them to you anyway.”
“Can you bring them down to the library? Today?”
“Sure. Just let me get cleaned up. I can be there around eleven.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”
* * *
“You’re right,” Elaine said, “They’re not here. Is it possible they were destroyed in the fire?”
Ginny shrugged. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Was his briefcase there?”
“Yes. We had to break it open on Thursday. Nothing historical in it. Just lecture notes.”
Elaine sighed. “Well, I don’t know what I’m going to tell the museum people.”
“There’s one other possibility,” Ginny said. “His car is in the body shop and they haven’t let anyone near it.” She explained about Mrs. Campbell and the tiny screwdriver.
“That’s property damage. She could have gone to jail over that!”
“I don’t think she cared at the time. Anyway, it occurred to me that Hal’s proofs might have been left in the Professor’s car, but I haven’t had access to it so I don’t know.”
Elaine grabbed a notepad. “Who should I talk to?”
“Mark Craig. He’s the owner of the vehicle, now.” Ginny dug out Mark’s telephone number and read it off for her. “I hope this isn’t another wild goose chase.”
Elaine sighed. “Me, too.”
“If you do find something, would you please make copies for me? I’ve heard so much about those documents, I’d really like to take a look at them.”
Elaine nodded. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
Ginny rose, recognizing her cue. She hesitated at the door.
Elaine looked up. “Was there something else?”
Ginny looked at the other woman for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Good luck.” She turned and left. There had been something else, but how do you ask a perfectly respectable woman if she killed her boss so she could have his job?
* * *
Jim spent Tuesday morning working on his article. It was a good thing he’d already done most of the work, as the tantalizing subjects of virus-as-murder-weapon and the best-way-to-detach-Ginny-from-Hal kept interfering with his concentration.
Jim found himself splitting his attention among the three projects, jotting down notes and questions about the engineered virus, then staring off into space, seeing her green eyes looking up at him from under long lashes, then flipping back to the article he absolutely must finish today.
He forced himself to focus, slogging his way to the conclusion, then zapping it electronically to his publisher with a sigh of relief.
The engineered virus was a lot more exciting. He outlined a series of articles on the subject of tinkering with DNA and the dangers of unforeseen consequences. He was careful to confine his remarks to the virus, with no reference to misuse or theft or murder. He wanted no libel suits. When he’d gone as far as he could, he set the writing aside and turned his attention to Ginny. This was going to be harder.
He stood up from his chair and stretched, then decided he wanted lunch, and fixed himself a sandwich and coffee. He took his time, sipping the coffee and thinking about his problem.
Ginny hadn’t even been born when he and his family moved away from Texas. She had grown up here, knew everyone, had known Hal for years. That they were a couple had been obvious from the start.
When Hal had talked him into coming to the party, it was with the promise of seeing the house and a sub-category of the human species, specifically genealogists. Jim cared about neither, but he had been feeling isolated and, well, lonely, so he’d accepted Hal’s invitation.
Ginny had been a pleasant surprise. She made Jim feel welcome, and included him in the little circle of insiders. He had appreciated her kindness, and delighted in their conversation, and gone home to an empty apartment made emptier by comparison.
Himself knew about her long-standing arrangement with Hal Williams. He’d made a comment at dinner on Friday. Jim pulled the conversation out of his memory.
“I’m no happy about Ginny Forbes. Ye’ll ken we spoke this day?”
“Yes.”
His grandfather had looked him in the eye. “She says ye were a wee bit full o’ yerself.”
Jim had blushed. “I just wanted to spend time with her, not insult her.”
Himself had made a noise in his throat, then pointed his fork at Jim. “I’ll thank ye no tae do it agin’. I’m no happy at the thought o’ her runnin’ off wi’ young Williams. The clan needs th’ lass and she’d be better off wi’ one o’ her ain.”
“Meaning me?” Jim had asked hopefully.
Himself had eyed him in silence long enough for Jim’s smile to fade completely. “She could be a great help tae ye, Jim, if ye’ve sense enough tae see it.”
Jim had nodded, very uncomfortable at the thought that the entire clan was probably speculating on his role here and whether or not that would include a wife and children. He had changed the subject.
He wasn’t doing a very good job of courting her. First hurt, then angry, now afraid. She’d spoken to him about the pain he’d inflicted, and he’d seen the fury for himself. The fear he’d had to diagnose.
He’d seen it that day at the park, when he was trying to follow her without being detected. That hadn’t worked. She’d seen him, and he’d seen her reaction.
There was research on the ability of trained observers to read micro expressions, the almost-impossible-to-fake lightning-quick facial expressions that reveal what’s really going on in the person being watched. Jim used that sort of thing routinely in his interviews with patients. He’d seen the surprise on her face, replaced almost immediately by apprehension. Which puzzled him. She had seemed fine the night before. Well, not fine, but not afraid of him.
When he’d run into her in the basement of the hospital, he’d seen it again. He hadn’t been able to reassure her, either. She’d been just as afraid when he let her leave as when he had caught her in the stairwell.
Which implied she was afraid of him. He frowned heavily. The only thing he could think of that would explain fear was if she thought he was the murderer. What had he done to convince her of that?
Why did she think she was in danger anyway? He — and everyone else — had been telling her she was making herself a target, but was that enough? In Jim’s experience, it was usually the opposite, people didn’t believe in the threat until it was too late.
Jim finished his meal and cleared away the debris. He hadn’t spoken to her about the investigation for a week and she’d promised to talk to no one other than the police and the CDC. If she’d kept that promise, maybe the actual murderer didn’t realize she was a threat. Maybe she was safe. He certainly hoped so.
* * *