Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) (11 page)

He'd never taken the time to cultivate any hobbies, to speak of; he didn't golf, fish,
collect anything, or do woodworking. He read quite a bit, but he seldom watched television.
I tried to visualize a man without an intense attachment to his remote control. Stone
explained how he'd concentrated on his work the last few years. His wife, Diana, had
been diagnosed with ovarian cancer shortly after they were married, and the necessary
hysterectomy had prevented them from ever having children. The disease had come back
in the form of colon cancer about six years ago, and he'd lost his partner of twenty-seven
years. I could tell that he and Diana had shared a close and special relationship
by the tenderness in his voice as he spoke of her.

After her death he'd moved into a small apartment in Myrtle Beach. He'd felt like
he was rattling around in the large home they'd shared, and the home was too full
of memories of Diana. To preserve his sanity, he'd chosen to relocate.

Stone's father had been a jeweler by trade, and Stone had followed in his footsteps,
eventually taking over ownership of Pawley's Island Jewelers when his father was stricken
with Alzheimer's disease. His father now resided in an extended-care facility and
Stone visited him as often as he could, even though his dad no longer recognized him
most of the time. His mother had passed away a couple of years prior with heart failure.
He was close to both his sister and brother and their families. Stone was particularly
fond of his thirty-two-year-old nephew, Andrew, or Andy to his family and friends.
Stone, by the way, was Stone's actual given name, he said. Because his father was
also a jeweler, this name was perfectly logical to me. Stone's siblings, Sterling
and Jewel, also had jewelry-related monikers. Jewel lived in North Carolina with her
husband, Brady, who was a postal employee.

Two men worked for him at the jewelry store—Jack Weber and Lance Steiner. Lance wanted
to purchase the business from Stone in about two years, and was saving money and building
up a down payment in the meantime. Stone had offered to carry the mortgage when the
time came to transfer ownership of the jewelry store. In just the last year or so,
Stone had reformatted the business so that it was strictly an online jewelry source.
He felt it gave him greater flexibility, and was less confining.

Before we knew it, several hours had passed. Stone knew I wanted to drive back to
Schenectady before it grew dark, so he recommended that we catch the next ferry back
to Battery Park. He paid for the two tickets and escorted me to a seat on the return
ferry.

"Lexie, forgive me if I'm being too forward or presumptuous. I've really enjoyed myself
today," Stone said.

"I have too. These last few hours have been delightful. And you aren't being too presumptuous
at all."

"Well, I haven't actually got to the presumptuous part yet," he said good-naturedly.

"Oh," I said. "Then hurry up and get to it."

He laughed at my impatience and continued. "With Lance and Jack at the store I can
get away about any time I want now. I think they actually prefer to have me out from
under their feet as much as possible. I really need a break from the business too.
I've gotten into a monotonous rut, I'm afraid.

"So, Lexie, I was thinking of getting away from Myrtle Beach for a while. If Harriet
has a room available at the inn, I could rent it and spend a week or two helping you
with your investigation. Only, of course, if you'd welcome the company. I'd enjoy
the time with you, and I'd feel better knowing that you weren't tackling all this
by yourself. You are involved in something that could become dangerous, you know."

"I don't think I'm apt to try anything too courageous or fraught with peril, but I'd
be very appreciative of your company. Maybe an extra head at this point would be beneficial
too. You might think of something that I'm not smart enough to think of or am just
overlooking."

"So you don't think that's being too presumptuous?"

"Of course I do, Stone, and I adore you for it! I do know for a fact that Harriet
has vacancies. I'm her only lodger at the moment. How do you feel about poached eggs
on toast at six in the morning?"

He chuckled, and said, "I may have to come up with an allergy myself. I'm deathly
allergic to eggs and getting up before seven a.m. gives me a migraine. How does that
sound?"

"That just might work. But if you need any help lying, just ask, and I'll give you
some pointers," I replied. "Although you did do pretty well with that 'you can't be
out of your thirties' thing. Oh, and be prepared for an African gray parrot to swear
at you every time you walk into Harriet's kitchen."

Chapter 11

After drinking several cups of Harriet's coffee on Friday morning, I checked my e-mail
and found I had two messages. The first one was from Stone saying it hadn't taken
long at all to tie up loose ends, like packing, changing the oil in his car, and notifying
Lance Steiner that he'd be taking some time off. Stone would be arriving in Schenectady
about six o'clock in the evening, if all went as planned.

"Let's have dinner after I arrive," Stone suggested.

The other message was from Wendy. It was filled with chitchat and gossip and ended
with a note of admonishment. "I hope you are using a little judgment and caution.
Not everyone is as they appear to be."

"Not everyone is as they appear to be." Eight words of extremely good advice, I'd
have to admit. In fact, those eight words pretty much summed up the reason that I
was currently holed up in a bed and breakfast in New York.

I sent a quick reply, assuring Wendy that I would be careful. I didn't want her worrying
about me, so I indicated in my message that there was a very good chance that I would
opt not even to invite Stone to have supper with me.

"I'm enjoying myself," I wrote. "I just needed to get away for a little while. I'll
probably decide not to complicate matters by meeting Mr. Van Patten, at all. So, you
see, there is really no reason for you to be concerned."

After I'd logged off the Internet, I was antsy and restless. I decided to burn off
some of my excess energy by walking up the street for an English muffin. It was a
beautiful morning, and the exercise would be good for me.

I didn't see one empty table when I stepped into the little cafe. I wasn't anxious
to sit next to a stranger, nor did I want to stand around and wait for a table to
open up. I kept walking down Union Street, turned left at the next intersection, headed
south on Fourteenth Street, and before I knew it, I was walking past the Food Pantry
grocery store where Eliza Pitt was last seen on April 12, 2001.

I walked into the store and wandered around, searching for the bakery department.
A few minutes later I approached the checkout stand with a chocolate long john and
a Diet Coke. I had theorized that the Diet Coke would cancel out the calories in the
doughnut. I knew it didn't actually work that way, but it allowed me to enjoy the
doughnut without guilt. As the cashier counted out my change, I thought back to the
article I'd read earlier and tried to conjure up the name of the store's sacker who'd
accompanied Eliza to the parking lot the day she disappeared.

After I paid the cashier, I casually asked, "Is Kyle here today, by any chance?"

"Kyle? Do you mean Kale?" the young female clerk replied. "Kale Miller?"

"Yes, that's who I meant, Kale Miller."

"No, ma'am. They let Kale go about a year ago, just a month or so after I started
working here."

"Oh? Why'd they let him go? He seemed like such a nice young man whenever he loaded
my groceries into my car for me."

"Yeah, I guess Kale was nice enough, but several customers complained to the manager
about him. At least that's what I heard. He'd had one of his epileptic fits a few
days before he was fired—he was epileptic, you know—"

"Uh-huh. Yes, uh, of course."

"But I really don't think that had anything to do with his getting fired."

"I wouldn't think so."

I thanked the young girl, walked outside to eat my doughnut, and gave some thought
to what I'd just learned. I finished the pastry, tossed the wax paper tissue into
the trash receptacle outside the store, and walked back into the Food Pantry. This
time I headed straight for the customer service desk in the rear of the store.

"Is the manager in today?" I asked the man behind the counter.

He nodded, picked up the phone and spoke into it before pointing me back to a small
office next to the employee restroom.

"Good morning. May I help you?" A pleasant, rosy-faced man, about my age, greeted
me as he stood up behind his desk.

"Good morning. I'm Doctor Thelma Roush," I said.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor Roush. I'm Charlie Hickman. What can I do for you?"

"It's nice to meet you too. I'm with the research department at the hospital. I'm
in charge of a team that's currently testing a new drug to help control epilepsy—we
call it CT-43. 'CT' stands for clinical trial, of course."

"Okay, but—"

"I'm sure you're wondering what all this has to do with you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Well, actually, it has to do with a former employee of yours, Kale Miller. He's epileptic,
you know."

"Yes, I was aware of that, Doctor Roush."

"Then you were probably also aware that he was involved in this clinical trial, testing
the new drug, CT-43, for FDA approval."

I really had no idea how new drugs were approved, but I doubted that the Food Pantry
manager was familiar with the procedure either.

"No, I didn't know anything about Kale being involved in your clinical trial. But
he hasn't been employed here for about a year, so I won't be able to help you."

"Do you know where I can locate Kale?"

"No. I think he still lives with his folks over on Terrace Lane, but I'm not certain."

"The problem is that Kale hasn't shown up for his last couple of appointments. Because
of the potential side effects of any newly developed pharmaceutical product, he needs
to be closely monitored. We're particularly concerned about the possibility of arrhythmia,
abnormal heart palpitations, and liver damage."

Charlie seemed impressed with my knowledge and professionalism. I was impressed, myself,
that I could come up with words like "pharmaceutical" and "arrhythmia" at the drop
of a hat.

While I let Charlie absorb the seriousness of the situation, I continued, "Can you
tell me why Kale is no longer employed at the Food Pantry? Was he exhibiting unpleasant
side effects or having frequent epileptic seizures?"

"Actually, he did have a seizure not long before we had to let him go."

I shook my head in dismay. This was obviously not good news for the future of the
drug, CT-43. And that, naturally, was my main concern as far as Charlie was concerned.

"Why was he let go? Do you mind sharing that with me?"

"Oh, it had nothing to do with his epilepsy, Doctor Roush," he said. "We'd had several
complaints that Kale was making some of our female customers uncomfortable."

"How was he doing that, may I ask?"

"He was insisting on carrying their bags out, even when they had requested to do it
themselves. Then he apparently propositioned a few of them outside the store."

"Was he showing an indication of aggression toward them? Another potential side effect,
I'm afraid," I said, in my best physician's voice.

"No, not really, doctor. It wasn't like he was accosting them in the parking lot or
anything of that nature. It was more of an overly flirtatious manner than aggression.
He's basically just a harmless young guy, with a tendency to be a little too forward
at times. Well, I'm sure you know how it is with Kale."

"Of course."

"I spoke to him several times about it, and yet he continued to make unwelcome advances
to the ladies. Kale's a good kid, with a lot of strikes against him, so I hated to
let him go. But I couldn't have him distressing my customers, as I'm sure you can
understand. Keeping my head above water—with that new market over on Twelfth Street,
and all—is tough enough without having problems like that."