Medicine Cup (7 page)

At eight-thirty, Paul decided to go back to his room and call her hotel. If that didn’t work, he’d have no choice but to go look for her. Paul got itchy when he was nervous and he’d already started to get welts on both arms. Suddenly, headlights fell on him and jerked him from his unpleasant reverie. He ducked behind one of the stone columns by the gate and flattened himself against it. At first, he thought it was Baxter’s Mercedes. Then he recognized the outline of the VW beetle.
It was Jennie!

She pulled her car under the light of the Harbor View sign and grinned. Her soap-polished complexion shined in the shadows.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m sorry, Paul. You
missed
me?”

“Very funny. I was worried. And yes, I missed you.”

Jennie batted her eyes. “Paul, you like me.”

“Come on, Jennie, be serious.”

“Okay, jump in. I’ve got some stuff to tell you.”

“You and me both,” Paul said.

J
ennie drove west on Rt. 103 away from Cutting and Harbor View. A half hour later, they found a diner just off the highway. The old-style eatery was encased in shiny aluminum with thick glass-blocks that framed the doorway. Inside, a long counter with orange vinyl-coated stools held pies and cakes in plastic containers, and several patrons sat sipping coffee. Booths along each wall were equipped with their own jukebox selector.

“I feel like I just stepped back in time,” Paul said.

Jennie nodded. “Yeah, very nostalgic.”

They slid into a booth and Paul flipped through the jukebox selections.

“I can’t find a single song later than 1975.”

Jennie smiled. “That’s the best music anyway.”

A waitress in a white uniform and paper cap appeared out of nowhere, carrying a glass coffee pot. “You like some coffee?”

Paul and Jennie turned their coffee cups over in tandem and the waitress filled them. “I’ll be back to get your order in a minute.”

“So, what’d you find out?’ Paul asked.

Jennie paused. “I don’t know where to start. First, I stopped into Cutting’s Hall of Records. No help there. But tenacious as I am–“

Paul grinned. “You are that.”

Jennie took a gulp of coffee. “Anyway, I got hold of some old court documents. It seems Charles Baxter owed a fortune in back taxes. Right before his trip to the Amazon.”

“But I thought he–”

“He did. Poor guy was getting it from both ends. Like they say, nothing in life is certain but death and taxes. He was under inducement on both counts. He may have been dying of cancer, but the IRS was about to take Harbor View away from him. Unfortunately, I came to a dead end after that. Still, it raises some interesting questions.”

Paul leaned in close. “Yeah, like what happened to the place after he died?”

Jennie drummed her fingers on the table. “What I want to know is how the current Baxter fits into the picture.”

Paul went on to tell Jennie about Hudson Cregg and how Baxter had stopped him in the hall and tried to discredit Cregg.

“I’ve been thinking,” Paul said, “Maybe I could take a trip up to the state capitol and do some research. They’ve got records for the whole state and I’m sure it’s more concise than the small office here in Cutting.”

“Maybe you could go up Monday and I could stay here and snoop around some more. You can drop me off in town”

Paul shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”

The waitress materialized again, this time with a huge plate of bacon and eggs for Jennie, and an equally large portion of meatloaf for Paul. She made sure they were set, then excused herself.

“This looks good,” Paul said.

Jennie flipped her napkin open. “And how. Let’s eat.”

When the first chords of
Hotel California
came on the jukebox, Jennie and Paul looked up at the same instant.

“I used to like this song up until a couple of days ago,” Jennie said. “Now, it creeps me out.”

Paul put his fork down. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

P
aul’s eyes blinked open. At first, he was disoriented and didn’t know where he was. There were unfamiliar curtains over the windows shading the early morning sunlight. Turning his head to the side, he saw Jennie’s sleeping form. Then it all came back in an instant.

Paul smiled and shook his head. “Hypocrite,” he whispered to himself. Just yesterday, he vowed not to get too close to this girl. Now, here he was waking up next to her in her hotel room. Strangely though, he had to admit he didn’t regret it. One thing was certain. He never knew a girl who moved as quickly as Jennie.

He tried to slip out of bed and get dressed before Jennie woke up, thinking he needed to get back to Harbor View. Suddenly, he remembered it was Saturday. He was off!

Jennie shook herself loose from the covers and sat up.

“What time is it?”

“A little after six.”

“Why are you awake so early?”

“I thought I had to work, but I just remembered it was Saturday.”

Paul moved over and put his arm around Jennie. They didn’t talk for a minute, then Paul broke the silence.

“This is all new to me, you know.”

Jennie cocked her head. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, of course not. It’s just moving so fast.”

“I’ll slow down if you want.”

“I’m not sure I want you to.”

“Good. Then come over here,” Jennie said, pulling the covers over them.

P
aul called in sick on Monday so he could ride to the state capitol to visit the Historical Society. He was convinced that, if he was going to find out anything about Baxter, the historical society and its vast archive of records would be the place to start. Jennie, on the other hand, wanted to stay in Cutting and talk to some locals, maybe the Sheriff.

As Paul headed toward Burlington, he had to smile. His weekend with Jennie was full of wonderful surprises, the least of which was her amorous attitude toward sex. Paul found it embarrassing at first, but quickly realized how much he enjoyed her. She had been the first woman he’d been with in two years, but she made him feel like Rudolph Valentino.

The pleasant thoughts evaporated as he neared Burlington and remembered why he was here. Something ominous cloaked Harbor View, and he kept hearing the words of the old drunk, Hudson Cregg.
“Leave while you still can!”

Paul left the car in the parking garage and walked to the Vermont Historical Society, an association housed in a group of refurbished buildings in the center of town. It served as a repository for documents and genealogical history.

A receptionist directed Paul to the library, a few steps up on the second floor. The library was housed in an early nineteenth-century building with high ceilings and dark wood molding. The main room had several brick fireplaces and a glass chandelier. Huge oak tables with captains’ chairs dominated the floor. The smell of old books prevailed. Paul was surprised at the amount of material available. Everything was carefully catalogued.

Paul began his search by looking up genealogical information from Cutting, refining it by adding the name Baxter.

This time he found a wealth of information.

In fact, there were several drawers full of information. After a half hour, Paul found what he was looking for: a reference to Charles Baxter. He was born December 8, 1885, the son of James and Elsie Baxter. He died on April 24, 1946, the husband of Barbara Baxter. No cause of death was given. No children of record. Paul raised his head and stared out the window.

No children of record! Then who was Philip Baxter?

He could feel tiny gooseflesh rise up on the nape of his neck.

They must be mistaken, Paul surmised. Perhaps Charles Baxter had adopted Phillip and it never made it into the public record. After all, there was a thriving industry of baby sellers back in the thirties.
But, the resemblance between the two...

Going back to the generalized information, Paul got a book that summarized the history of Charles Baxter. Apparently Baxter was recognized at the time as the foremost expert on medicinal plants and their relationship to indigenous cultures. His PhD. was from Harvard where he was a part time botany professor.

Paul lowered the book and stared off into space while he collected his thoughts. Alarm bells were going off in his head.
Too many coincidences
. He shook his head and quietly laughed at himself. He’d been watching too many horror movies. His imagination was taking melodramatic leaps.

After spending a few more minutes going over the Baxter file, Paul decided to go to the computer room and search old newspaper articles. He had no idea whether he would find anything, or if any articles had even been saved from that long ago. And if they were, would they be of any use?

Paul typed in:

http://newsarticles.com/charlesabaxter/harborview


After a minute, a list of articles appeared on the screen. Some dated back to 1930. Most had to do with contributions Baxter had made to the scientific community. Especially in the field of ethno-botony, the study of plants and their effects on indigenous peoples. Then, almost by mistake, Paul pulled up another article. This one was about a political contribution Baxter had made to the Governor’s campaign fund. It had a picture of the Governor of Vermont in 1949. Ainsworth Abbott. Paul almost fell out of his chair.

Ainsworth Abbott!

Paul recognized Abbott.
He was a resident at Harbor View.

Next, Paul had another idea. He typed in the name of Baxter’s faithful secretary, Margaret Melvin. An article popped up with an accompanying photo. What he saw sent a chill through him.

This cant be!

For a few moments, Paul just stared at the computer screen and tried to imagine how it was possible. In one sense, he was pleased. He’d suspected something was not right at Harbor View since the moment he arrived. At the same time, he feared he’d stumbled onto something more horrific than even his active imagination could conjure up.

F
ifty miles away, Jennie Bradford walked into the office of Tucker O’Neil, Town Sheriff of Cutting. O’Neil was about fifty, with a shock of thick gray hair and long sideburns that had gone out of fashion at the same time as leisure suits. He sat behind a blond oak desk, full of papers, with his feet propped up.

Jennie found the inside of the police station surprisingly high tech compared to the outside of the building, which looked more like the front of an antique shop. VHF radios and teletype machines squawked and clattered just inside the entrance.

“I’m Jennie Bradford. I work for the State of Vermont, Department of Medical Services. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Harbor View.”

O’Neil took his feet down and leaned forward. “I guess you got some I.D., young lady?”

Jennie frowned, then reached into her purse and pulled out her Nursing Home Inspector credentials.

O’Neil smiled. “Harbor View, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Creepy. I wouldn’t want to be put there. I’d rather someone just shoot me and put me outta my misery before I go in one of those places. That owner, what’s his name... Baxter. He’s from money that comes from way back.”

“Yes, well, that’s what I’m trying to find out. You see, I have reason to believe that some sinister things are going on at Harbor View.”

“What kinds of things?”

“I really can’t say. I just know there are peculiarities that have gone on there that don’t follow the normal protocols of a nursing home.”

“There’s a difference between ‘sinister’ and peculiarities, ma’am.” O’Neil sighed, “I don’t know much about Harbor View. I don’t get up there. I did get a call about a month ago from some employment agency. Said they were looking for this nurse who hadn’t shown up for her next assignment after her stint at Harbor View. I checked into it. Turned out she’d run off and got married. At least, that’s what the people at Harbor View said.”

“And you believed them?”

“I had no reason not to. Look... Jennie, is it?”

“Yes, Jennie.”

“Jennie, Cutting is a nice quiet town. As long as nobody bothers anyone else, everybody’s happy. More importantly,
I’m
happy. Now, if you think someone up there is breaking the law, then bring me some evidence and I’ll check it out. Otherwise, stop wasting my time.”

Jennie felt her body flush. Despite O’Neil’s initial small town charm, she could see now he was the typical country bumpkin sheriff.

“Sorry I bothered you,” she said and walked quickly out the door.

T
he alarm bells were going off in Paul Grant’s head as he buried the accelerator on Jennie’s Volvo and raced back I-17 toward Cutting. His mind was a whirlwind of ominous visions. If he didn’t know better, he could almost swear he was starring in an episode of
The Twilight Zone
.

Things had definitely taken a turn for the weird.

Jennie was expecting him back in Cutting by five o’clock and he was still forty miles away. He’d lost track of time after discovering the history of Harbor View and some of its residents. It was fascinating to read but, at the same time, unbelievable–
totally
unbelievable. Paul was sure Jennie would ask him what kind of drug he was on when he told her about it.

Forty-five minutes later, Paul was pulling into the diner where he’d agreed to meet Jennie. He spotted her through the window, sitting at a booth.

Man, did he have a story to tell her.

P
aul slid into the booth and looked across at Jennie.

“Sorry I’m late, but there’s a good reason.”

Jennie nodded. “I hope you had better luck than I did. The sheriff here is a real jerk.”