The Lady Has a Past (Burning Cove #5) - Amanda Quick Page 0,66

you talking about the murderer the press called the Mad Chemist? The fake doctor who claimed to have found a cure for diseases of the lungs? McSomething?”

“McGruder. I was able to convince him to hire me to find a particularly rare edition of Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. I learned a lot when I did the research for that case.”

“The press said the FBI cracked that case.”

“The Bureau asked Luther to handle it. He always gives the credit to the local police or the FBI. The last thing he wants is publicity for Failure Analysis.”

“He gave the McGruder case to you?”

“We worked it together.” Simon tapped the desk calendar. “Like I said, I learned a lot. At least two of the ingredients on this list are strong enough to knock you out. There are also some very interesting plants and mushrooms, the kind that can produce visions, if you know how to use them.”

“The tea,” Lyra whispered. “I was drugged before I went into the steam chamber.”

“Did you hallucinate?”

“Yes. I thought I saw figures moving in the steam, and I felt very disoriented and unbalanced. I assumed I was just exhausted from the exercises and dehydrated by the heat. Thank goodness I didn’t drink too much of the tea.”

“We need to talk to Frampton. See if there’s a file on the employees in that cabinet.”

Lyra opened another drawer and saw a row of folders. “Yes. Here’s one for Frampton.”

“Address?”

“Yes.”

“Take it. We don’t have time to read it here.”

“We’re going to confront her tonight, too?”

“We can’t afford to wait until tomorrow.”

“You’re right.” Lyra tucked the file under her arm and closed the drawer.

Simon opened the briefcase and took out a stethoscope. He inserted the earpieces into his ears and placed the bell of the stethoscope near the lock. Gently he turned the dial.

“What are you doing?” Lyra asked.

“Listening for the lock to click. Hush.”

Yet another job skill she needed to learn. Lyra made a note to add it to her growing list.

Simon worked the combination for a minute or two. There was a click and the door swung open.

He aimed the flashlight inside. “Some cash. All neatly stacked and bundled. Receipts.”

“Probably the money and associated records from this week’s sales,” Lyra said.

“Nothing else in here.” Simon closed the safe and got to his feet. He took the file from Lyra, dropped it into the briefcase, and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

He led the way with his pistol and flashlight. Lyra took a fortifying breath, hoisted the suitcase in both arms, and trudged down the hall behind him. There were, she concluded, a few drawbacks to being an apprentice investigator and junior professional colleague.

Ahead of her Simon methodically brushed the back of one hand against each doorknob.

“Hey, Simon?” she said.

“What?”

“The papers said that McGruder was found stabbed to death in his laboratory. A steel letter opener was used to kill him, as I recall. The police had a lot of theories, but I don’t think they ever found out who did it.”

“They didn’t look very hard.”

“Was it you or Luther? You said the two of you worked the case together.”

“Do you ever stop asking questions?”

“No.”

Simon grunted. “It was me. I told you, guns never seem to be available when you need one.”

“It must have been a horrible experience, stabbing a man.”

“Yes, it was. Probably a lot like striking someone in the head with a golf club.”

She shivered. “Probably.”

He stopped abruptly in front of the room marked paraffin bath. “Put the briefcase down.”

“Gladly. But what’s wrong?”

“A lot of energy. Different people, I think. But it’s a few hours old.”

Simon twisted the knob and pushed the door inward. He swung the beam around the room. Apparently satisfied that it was empty, he moved inside.

“There’s a bathtub in here,” he said.

Lyra came to stand in the doorway. “There’s a reason they call it a paraffin bath, you know.”

Simon aimed the flashlight into the tub. “Looks like someone decided to take a late-night bath.”

“What?” Lyra took a few steps into the room. She stared down into the tub. “Dear heaven.”

A full-sized wax figure of a woman reclined in the tub. No, not a wax statue, she thought. A woman shrouded head to toe in hardened paraffin.

Comprehension iced her nerves.

“Murder,” she whispered.

Simon studied the paraffin-shrouded body. “I can’t make out her face.”

“Paraffin baths are one of the treatments offered here,” Lyra said. She gazed at the body in the tub, shaken. “They’re supposed to soften the skin. Earlier today I declined that particular therapy, along with the mummy