Garden of Death (15 page)

chapter eighteen

Willow McQuade's
Favorite Medicinal Plants

GINKGO

Botanical name:
Ginkgo biloba

Medicinal uses:
Ginkgo is the oldest tree species on the planet and was common even when dinosaurs roamed the earth. It has a high resistance to disease, insects, and pollution. In humans, it helps relax blood vessels, improving circulation and the delivery of nutrients, including oxygen and glucose, throughout the body, including the brain.

Today, versatile ginkgo leaf extract is used to treat a variety of ailments and conditions, including asthma, bronchitis, depression, fatigue, and tinnitus (ringing in the ears); to improve memory; and to relieve neuropathic pain. In Europe it is one of the best-selling medicines and used in the treatment of a wide variety of disorders associated with aging including dementia, memory loss, and senility, and to
promote recovery from stroke. It is an antioxidant, which means it helps to neutralize cell-damaging free radicals, and a good cerebral or brain tonic.

Extracts are usually taken from the ginkgo leaf and are used to make tablets, capsules, or teas. Occasionally, ginkgo extracts are used in skin products. Numerous studies of ginkgo have been done for a variety of conditions. Some promising results have been seen for Alzheimer's disease, dementia, and tinnitus.

The helicopter dropped us off at the Mattituck Airport, and we returned to Greenport late Tuesday afternoon. Simon went home and Jackson, the professor, and I all went back to Nature's Way. There, Jackson headed for the garden to check things out while we went inside to work on Professor Russell's shopping list.

The store and café at Nature's Way was pretty quiet when we came in, with only Wallace on duty. He emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. “You're back. Did you have fun?”

I had told him that we were going for a helicopter ride with Simon, but nothing more than that. “It was amazing to see the East End from up there. How are things here? Where's Merrily?”

“Nate took her home. She said she had a migraine.”

I had never known Merrily to have migraines. So the fact that she had gone home with one was a bit of a surprise. I wondered if maybe she'd actually wanted to spend time with Nate. But I kept this to myself and said, “I hope she feels better.”

I went over to the cash register, opened it, and plucked Professor Russell's grocery list out from under the money tray. “Wallace, do you have time to help me put together Professor Russell's order?”

He threw the dish towel onto the counter. “Sure, what do you need?”

“I'll get the bread, cookies, cereal, peanut butter, and quinoa.” I tore the list in half. “Can you get the rest? It will go faster.”

Between the two of us, we were finished in fifteen minutes flat. We packed up the order in two boxes, and the professor and I headed for the Shelter Island ferry.

Since Professor Russell wanted to try and make the five thirty boat, we took the shortcut through Mitchell Park, which was again buzzing with activity. This time is was because organizers were setting up for the two-day Annual Maritime and Nautical Yard Sale and Antique Show.

Cars and trucks were lined up on the south side of the street, where normally there was no parking. Two police officers were helping to coordinate the traffic and the drop-off of items, which included ships' lanterns, telescopes, diver's helmets, wooden ships' wheels, anchors, barometers, and fishing tackle.

“What do we have here?” Professor Russell asked. “More maritime festivities?”

I nodded. “It is a weeklong celebration. Tomorrow is the first day of the yard sale and marine antique show to benefit the museum and several local animal charities.”

“How nice,” he said. “I'll have to come back over and see what they're offering.”

As we walked toward the carousel and beyond that, the boardwalk, I noticed Maggie and Harold. Both of them were holding clipboards and were on their phones while gesturing to people, trying to indicate where they should put their donations.

Kylie and Sandra were also nearby, helping out. After their protest in front of Nature's Way, I had no interest in speaking to any of them, but I decided I'd stop by the next day to see if I could uncover anything connected to Dr. White's murder.

The docks were absolutely packed with yachts and other pleasure boats, and teeming with visitors. When we rounded the corner onto the boardwalk, we found actors rehearsing lines. Behind them, the production team worked on building the set.

“Are they putting on a play as well?” Professor Russell asked.

“Yes, it's
The Tempest
. It opens on Friday and runs through Sunday. The Shakespeare productions here are usually good. You might want to come see the show as well.”

“I may do that. Are you going to go?”

“I plan to, but it depends on how busy we are.”

We continued walking along the boardwalk as it snaked its way past Mitchell Park and the Blue Canoe restaurant. When we reached the dock on the Greenport side, the ferry from Shelter Island was heading in. “There's your ferry,” I said. “I really appreciate you coming over. Thanks for all of your help, Professor.”

“You are very welcome, Willow,” he said. “I'm glad to help. I just wish I could do more. Do you think the police will be back to see Jackson again?”

“Unfortunately, I'm sure they will.”

“Do they have any other suspects?” We stepped inside the ferry building. Through the window, we could see the ferry pull in and then heard the thud when it touched the dock.

“Not that I know of, but I keep hearing that the doctor was not well liked. He seems to have enraged half his patients. There could be a long list of people who wanted to do him harm.”

Russell put down his carton to buy a ticket from a vending machine. “One that I may be on, I'm afraid. White really was a terrible doctor, and not a nice person either. As I said, he treated my mother horribly.”

He reached into his pocket for some coins. He had some trouble putting them into the machine because his hands were shaking. He continued, his voice getting louder, more urgent and angry. “Not just because he didn't help her, but because he was always so condescending to her. He never treated her with respect. He made her feel small. I can't say that I'm sorry he's dead, Ms. McQuade.”

He finally got the coins in and a ticket ejected. He stuffed it into his pocket and kept his hand there. It seemed that the more he talked about his mother and Dr. White, the angrier he seemed to get.

“I can guarantee that you are not the only one that feels that way.”

He gave me a sad look. “I'm afraid that's no comfort.”

We said good-bye and I watched as he boarded the boat, holding his boxes. As I mulled over our conversation, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he had
wanted Dr. White dead as well. Was he really interested in helping us with the artifacts—or did he just want to keep track of what was going on in the investigation because he was the killer?

I thought it over. Staid and nerdy Professor Russell, a murderer? No, I decided, that seemed very unlikely. Besides, I had far more plausible suspects to pursue.

•   •   •

When I got back and
went into the garden to find Jackson, though, I had second thoughts.
Maybe I will mention Professor Russell to him.
At this point, no one could really be ruled out.

I'd have to dig further to winnow down my pool of suspects, which right now included Sandra Bennett, and any other disgruntled patients of Dr. White; his best friend, Joe Larson; White's wife, Arlene; the guy in the black sweatshirt; and any number of nameless treasure hunters. I still hadn't figured out if Harold Spitz and his friend Maggie Stone or Ramona and her partner, Rhonda, wanted him dead.

But as I went into the garden, all thoughts of my private investigation vanished. In the back, by the yet-to-be-completed teahouse, I spotted Jackson, who was hunched over and twisted like a pretzel. A huge paver stone lay at his feet. I felt my adrenaline spike as I ran to him. I was ready for fight, flight, or whatever was needed to help him. “Jackson, what happened to you?”

“I was trying to move one of the larger pavers by myself, since Nate is AWOL. I guess I picked it up wrong. I think I pulled something in my lower back.”

“Oh, no. How bad is it?”

He frowned. “About a seven or eight on a scale of one to ten,” he said, referring to the pain assessment scale used by doctors.

I looked at my watch. It was 5:46 p.m. “Dr. Lewis's office will be closed by now, however, I can try to treat you here.” I hadn't yet set up my practice as a naturopathic doctor, with everything that had happened, but I hoped to do so next year. In the meantime, I could use my acupuncturist's office upstairs. “But, Jackson, if your pain is unmanageable, we'll have to go to the emergency room.” Conventional medicines are often needed to manage severe, chronic pain. Jackson's doctor and I worked together to treat Jackson more effectively.

He shook his head. “I have the meds I need along with your remedies. I just need to lie down and rest. If it's not better in the morning, I'll call my orthopedist.” He tried to straighten up but let out a groan.

I could feel his pain. “Let's get you inside, honey. Wallace can help us.” After I pulled out my phone and called Wallace, I put my right arm around Jackson's waist to try and help him walk.
Stay calm
, I said to myself. You need to be
his
rock right now.

We made our way out of the garden and onto Front Street. But when we reached Nature's Way and headed up the walkway, Detective Koren was waiting for us on the porch.

“Koren is here,” I whispered.

Jackson looked up and groaned again. “That's just what we need.”

Koren looked spiffy in a sharp black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. His eyes narrowed as he took in
Jackson holding onto me for support. “What's going on here?”

“I hurt my back, again.”

Slowly, we made our way up to the porch. Koren came down to meet us. “Can I help?”

“We've got it, thanks,” I said. “What can we do for you, Detective?”

“We followed up on that guy you said you saw in the shipyard, and he must be in the wind, 'cause we can't find him.”

“That is not good news,” I said.

“Not for you, Jackson. You're still our prime suspect.”

“I'm touched,” Jackson said. “But you have nothing on me, nothing that will stand up.”

“We'll see.” Koren pulled a notebook from his inside jacket pocket. “I heard from a friend of mine that you took a sudden trip over to East Hampton this afternoon. Is this something you want to tell me about?”

“How did you hear about that?” I pushed open the door to Nature's Way and helped Jackson inside.

Koren followed us. “I have my sources. So, want to tell me what you were doing? Leaving town like that, it's well, suspicious. That along with the murder—”

“We went over to tour the Jackson Pollock museum,” Jackson said.

“And you had to go by helicopter? That seems . . . unusual.”

“Simon Lewis, as you know, is very wealthy. He set it up and invited us to go along. Now, I really need to go lie down.”

“That's fine,” Detective Koren said. “For now. But
maybe when you're feeling better you can come down to the station and answer some more questions.”

“I'll be bringing a lawyer, Koren, no freebies.”

“That's your right. I'll be in touch.”

After he left, I waved Wallace over and we made our way up the three flights of stairs to our bedroom. Jackson wanted to handle it on his own, but he needed help to maneuver from step to step, so it was slow going.

Unfortunately, it also gave me time to think. On top of my worry list was Detective Koren's visit, which as usual was unsettling. He kept digging, which was his job, but he also disliked Jackson, which could lead to erroneous conclusions.

Complicating matters was the fact that for the time being, Jackson couldn't do much to help me clear him of Dr. White's murder, and I didn't know how long he would be out of commission. I certainly couldn't wait, so I'd have to forge ahead. Maybe Simon could fill in.

Further down on my worry list was that with Jackson's injury, he would no longer be able to help in the garden, especially if we had to make repairs because of vandals. Having a guard would help but he couldn't be here 24/7. I wished I could count on Nate, but he seemed to be increasingly flaky and difficult.

When we got to the third-floor landing, we met Allie, who was coming out of her massage office. “Oh, no, what happened to you, Jackson?”

“He pulled something in his lower back,” I said. “He's going to rest it and see how he feels in the morning.”

“You've been doing so well,” Allie said, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “I can give you a treatment—at least loosen up the muscles—and I'm
sure Hector can work on you, too, when he gets back in town.”

“Thanks, but right now, I want to lie down with a heating pad.”

“Okay, just let me know.” She squeezed me on the arm and went downstairs.

Wallace and I got Jackson into the bedroom. Immediately, all three dogs trooped down the doggy stairs next to the bed and rushed us, tails wagging and wanting attention. “Hey, boys,” Jackson said. “You can keep me company.”

Thankfully, the bed was made. “Let me just get the heating pad and you can lie down.” I went to the closet and plucked out the pad and plugged it in. Slowly, we moved him onto the left side of the bed, and he lay down, flat on his back.

“How does that feel?” Wallace asked, grabbing Jackson's book and his Kindle and placing them on the nightstand.

“Not great,” Jackson said. “But thanks, Wallace.”