Excerpt from Poisoned Pedigree
© 2007 - G.G. Vandagriff
All rights reserved.
Prologue
Trotter’s Bridge, Missouri
A large middle-aged woman in a faux Hawaiian muu muu sat in her rocking chair on the porch. It was spring and her great grandmother’s dogwood was spreading its milky blooms like a mist in the naked forest. Smiling, she rocked her chair and turned the yellowing pages of a scrap book. The edges of the pages nearly crumbled in her hands. It was a record of many things that were forgotten by most people. It also contained what she thought of as her identity.
"Ah yes," she sighed to herself. "I remember that." Her spotted hands caressed the newspaper clipping that was rubber-cemented to the page she had turned to. Rhonda Moffit's wedding. It had been such a perfect day. She had looked like a peach. But, of course, her mother hadn't been there. She never did like Rod McHenry. He, like so many in Trotter’s Bridge, was tainted with the bad blood. Tragic that Serena Moffit had died before she could help with her twin grandchildren. They had been left with Rod’s mother while Rhonda worked at the chicken factory to support the family. On the facing page was Rod’s obituary. He’d died in a bar fight.
Sighing with real sadness, the woman turned the page. Poor Rhonda. Who could've guessed she'd get that horrible disease? What was it? The one they called after the baseball player. Lou Gherig.
Letting Rhonda go, she turned back to the beginning. An old religious tract was stuck in with flour and water paste that was giving way. A man’s white linen handkerchief, yellow with age, was tucked beside it. She wondered sometimes whether she was the only one in living memory who recalled the wicked murder that had started it all. Everyone concerned was long dead. Four generations had passed. Would the curse of the bad blood carry into the rising generation? Or would it, like the Bible said, end with the fourth generation?
That was the trouble with being a keeper. Sooner or later you knew everything there was to know about everybody. And you worried. Some secrets were almost too heavy to bear.
Chapter One
The audience of ten thousand sat hushed in the humid spring night, straining to hear the fairy-like balladeer. The eerie lyrics of "Guinevere" threaded their enchantment through the crowd. To Alex Campbell, it seemed as if the amphitheater had been transported from Kansas City to the wild Cornish coast on an overcast day. There she and Stewart had once seen the remains of a castle, reputedly the birthplace of King Arthur.
Against an image of its jagged ruins, silhouetted by silver clouds and the sound of waves smashing two hundred feet below, Alex pictured Guinevere riding a white horse, bound for a tryst with Lancelot. She was cresting the hill now, reddish hair streaming behind her. Would he come? Would she be discovered by the king's guard? A worm of guilt worked in her breast, growing as her anxiety grew. Why was she doing this? Why was she risking everything--the fruits of her entire life?
Alex found she was twisting her hands together in her lap, biting her lip. I'm impossibly suggestible she told herself and glanced at the ginger-haired man next to her. All Daniel's attention was fastened on the stage. Used to thinking of him as thoroughly down-to-earth, she was surprised by the look of naked gentleness on his face. An unexpected arrow of jealousy shot through her. The singer Kerry McNee meant something to him. She had given him these seats. She was his patient. And how much more?
Clearly a woman of enormous personal power, the performer was easily capable of swaying an audience as large as this--carrying them away on her voice as though it were some sort of magic carpet. But she was also fragile and vulnerable in a way that would appeal to Daniel.
Why do I care? She was in love with Charles, for heaven's sake. Or was she turning into one of those women who had to have every man in orbit around them? What an unpleasant character defect! Or was it just that things had never really ended with Daniel? She and the man next to her had a history. She and Charles were just discovering one another—their history was in the making.
Applause exploded in the heavy stillness, taking her by surprise. Daniel had jumped to his feet. "Bravo!" he shouted. "Bravo!"
* * * *
Alex found the idea of meeting Kerry McNee in person a little daunting. She and Daniel were waiting at a small table in the Italian trattoria the singer preferred when she came home to Kansas City. Its lights dim, its tables covered with heavy white linen, the little restaurant was quiet and intimate.
"Just how well do you know Kerry McNee?" Alex found herself asking.
He turned to face her, obviously gathering his thoughts from some distance away. "We were in college together. She was my first love." He smiled vaguely.
"Was it reciprocated?" she demanded before she could stop herself.
"Oh yes." This time his smile was more present to the situtation. "And as you've just seen, Kerry doesn't do anything halfway. There were scenes and reconciliations, etcetera. My college years were very turbulent as you can imagine."
She couldn't. She simply couldn't imagine this side of Daniel. To her he had always represented sense, control, safety. It was Charles who was the Romantic.
Clearing her throat, she inquired, "I thought there was something unethical about psychologists being in love with their patients."
He gave a half grin and twisted the stem of his water glass. "All that was over long ago."
Alex wondered. "Did she sing in those days?"
"Kerry's been singing all her life, I think. She's put every ounce of her passion into it. I'm worried she's burning out."
"She didn't sound burnt out tonight. She was incredibly intense."
Daniel nodded, his eyes finally focusing on her face. "That's what I mean. She's growing so intense, I don't see how she can possibly sustain it."
"She's really tapped into the New Age phenomenon with all her Celtic stuff. Her CD's are selling in the millions." Alex toyed with her spoon. "Is McNee her real name?"
Green eyes lighting with laughter, Daniel teased, "Good old Alex. Already delving for the roots."
"It's just that she's so obviously Scots-Irish . . ."
"I know. She sings about the 'voices in her blood'."
"Of course she does."
"Let's just say that I've always known her as McNee."
"But there's some doubt?"
"That's why you've been brought into the case, Alex. I'll let Kerry tell you about it." Abruptly, he sat back, surveying her with an avuncular air. "I only hope that this time you can keep out of trouble."
She was mildly indignant. "You make me sound like one of your incorrigible teenage patients."
He grinned again. "Admit it. Is there anything you like better than a good mystery?"
"All genealogists love mysteries. It's a prerequisite."
"All genealogists don't almost get themselves murdered three times in one year."
Alex shrugged. "As Briggie would say, "'We're not accountants.' Things don't always go according to plan."
"How is your esteemed colleague, by the way?"
"Fit as ever. Spending a lot of time at the ball park."
"She's been trying to get Dad out to a Royals' game. He's managed to maintain his resistance so far, but I think it's just a matter of time."
"A hardened Cards fan like him?"
"The Cards haven't been the same since Whitey left."
At this point, a surprisingly tiny Kerry McNee made her entrance, her silver-blonde hair shining in the dim light like an aura. The plump maitre'd, glowing with goodwill, escorted her to their table. Standing, Daniel kissed her cheek.
"Kerry, meet Alex. She's a fan."
"I sure am," Alex replied warmly. Kerry's powerful persona and her proprietary actions towards Daniel winded Alex unexpectedly. But Daniel deserved some happiness, didn't he? Did she expect him to moon over her forever? Stifling whatever was rising in her, Alex held out her hand.
The singer took it and shook it briefly. She seemed weary. "It's good to meet you, Alex. Daniel has spoken of you."
Sitting down, she opened her menu. "Have you ordered?"
"We waited for you," Daniel told her.
* * * *
"How much do you know about the Lady of Shallott?" Kerry inquired over their cheesecake, fixing Alex with large blue eyes.
"You mean the Tennyson poem?"
"Yes."
Casting her mind back to a freshman English class, Alex tried to recall the lilting text. She'd actually memorized part of it. "There she weaves by night and day/A magic web with colors gay./She has heard a whisper say/A curse is on her if she stay/To look down to Camelot."
The little singer brightened, suddenly animated. "And moving through a mirror clear/That hangs before her all the year/shadows of the world appear./There she sees the highway near/Winding down to Camelot./And sometimes through the mirror blue/The knights come riding two and two./She hath no loyal knight and true,/The Lady of Shallot."
Daniel leaned back in his chair and surveyed the two of them. "What's this all about?"
Moving a sheaf of hair off her shoulder, Kerry explained, "The Lady of Shallot lived on this island with a view of the road to Camelot. She was forbidden to look directly into Camelot, so she sat facing a mirror which reflected all its sights. She wove what she saw into a tapestry." Kerry's eyes took on a distant look, as she saw the scene in her mind. "This was all fine until she made the mistake of falling in love with Lancelot. The mirror was no longer good enough. She left her loom and went to look directly into reality. When the mirror cracked, she knew the curse had fallen upon her, so she got into a little boat where she died just as it drifted into Camelot."
Daniel studied her, an eyebrow raised. Alex could feel the current of intimacy between them. "Lancelot seems to have wrought havoc with a number of ladies. You're the Lady of Shallot, I suppose?"
Forearms on the table, Kerry leaned toward him earnestly, "Isn't it obvious?"
"Kerry, it's only a poem . . . "
"A legend," she corrected. "Legends are powerful things, Daniel. They are woven out of elements which have always existed. That's why they play upon our hearts the way they do. There is something in all of us that recognizes eternal truths."
Startled, Alex heard her own words. She had said almost the same thing to Charles on the phone only yesterday.
"So what's so eternal about the Lady of Shallot?" he asked.
"The desire to want a life that's forbidden to us. It's like Eve and the apple. Like Guineviere and Lancelot."
"The grass is always greener . . . "
"Exactly."
"And what is it you want so desperately?" Daniel asked softly.
Alex was growing embarrassed. Three was a crowd.
"A family," Kerry replied wistfully. "A husband. Children."
So was Daniel her Lancelot? Taking a deep breath, the psychologist drew away and settled back in his chair, studying his patient. Then he looked at Alex. "Enter the genealogist."
"I don't understand," Alex said.
The singer turned to her, eyes bright, as though lit by some inner fire. "There's a curse on me, Alex. Just like the Lady of Shallot.” Seeming to be satisfied by the look of shock Alex felt on her face, she continued. “There’s this women in the town where I come from. She lives in a little old house in the middle of the forest piled with books and papers. You can barely make your way through it. We call her a keeper. It’s a Scots-Irish thing. There’s some sort of relationship between us, but I’m not exactly sure what it is. She told me when I was young, that I must never think of marrying. She said there's 'bad blood' in me. She has refused to explain."
"How odd," Alex replied. "And how dramatic. It sounds like something out of a folk tale. Is she still alive?"
"Yes. She's still in her stone cottage down in the Ozarks. Fitting, isn't it? It’s kind of creepy, because you get the idea that she knows everything about you. What I want is for you to uncover my genealogy for me and find this 'bad blood', whatever it is."
"Are you sure?" Alex asked uneasily. She had ventured on a similar quest of her own which had led to violence only last year.
"I need to decide for myself whether this whole thing is just folk lore or whether there's some basis for concern. Mental illness or something. Daniel will be the first to tell you I’m not altogether stable.”
The psychologist leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Artistic temperament.”
"We might find out some things you don't want to know,” Alex said.
"I'm willing to take that risk. I've thought about it for a long time. I'm tired of looking in the mirror seeing only reflections of life. I've always lived through my music, become different characters, had different lives, but it's like the Lady's loom. It isn't enough anymore. I want to have a real life, before it's too late. I'm thirty-seven."
Studying the tiny woman with her ethereal wreath of hair and enormous eyes, Alex felt the stirrings of compassion. She knew that desire. She shared it. Feeling Daniel's gaze on her, she turned to meet it.
"Are you game for this, Alex?" he inquired.
"Of course."
"Good!" Kerry said. Raising her water glass, she announced, "I propose a toast. To family."
"To family," Alex and Daniel echoed.
Watching Kerry and Daniel's eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, Alex reflected that she herself must possess a bit of the Lady of Shallot, too. Otherwise, why would she so suddenly be aware of the emptiness left by Daniel's going out of her life?
* * * *
"I like her," Alex said later as they journeyed in Daniel's BMW towards her apartment in Westport, the multi-ethnic "old town" of Kansas City.
"She's a passionate little thing," Daniel replied. "What do you think of this Lady of Shallot business?"
"I think I understand it. Don't you?"
He sighed. "Artistic people can get carried away. It wouldn't be the first time Kerry has fallen under her own spell."
"But her desire for a family is fairly basic."
"I suppose so."
"You don't seem sure."
"It sounded good at the time. Kerry can make anything sound good. But on sober reflection, knowing her as I do, I can't really picture her giving up her career to raise children."
"Why not? You say she's burning out. Maybe it's time for a change. Are you game to play Lancelot?"
Ignoring her jibe, Daniel pulled up in front of an aged brick apartment house with square modern sunrooms jutting out from its facade. "The Baltimore, Madam."
"Can you come in?"
He turned to face her. "How's Charles?" His expression and his voice were carefully nonchalant.
"What kind of an answer is that?"
Gazing at her steadily, he asked, "Why do you want me to come in?"
Feeling her cheeks grow hot, Alex reached for the door handle. "Never mind," she said coldly.
"Wait, Alex," Daniel stretched out a hand to detain her. "I apologize. I would like to come in."
They walked through the white-tiled lobby of the once-grand apartment building and out the back door. The elevator hadn't worked since anyone could remember. They reached her apartment via the fire escape.
As she unlocked the triple lock combination, Alex hoped there wasn't any laundry piled on the couch. Had she folded it? She couldn't remember.
Switching on the light, she was relieved to see that the room was in fairly decent order. The two white Bauhaus couches that faced each other across the living room were free of any debris. The square glass coffee table held only today's paper and Stewart's book on Scotland. A bit linty, the imitation oriental rug didn't look too bad, and the junk mail on her cherry wood parson's table was at least neatly stacked.
"I've gotten into Italian sodas," she told him. "Raspberry, lime, chocolate, or blackberry?"
"Lime sounds good," Daniel replied, shrugging out of his blazer and throwing it across the couch. Sitting down, he picked up Stewart's book and began paging through it. He did the same thing every time he came.
Switching on the kitchen light, she opened the white enameled cupboard and took down two of her best glasses. Sometimes she thought Daniel was obsessed by Stewart. He would sit looking at her dead husband's photographs as though there were some key hidden there to his personality, to their relationship, to his tragic death. Where she was concerned, Daniel didn't seem to be able to help being a shrink. That was the reason she could never marry him. He would always wonder about Stewart, compare himself to him. But the devastating Charles had no such hang-ups, just genuine admiration for her dead husband.
She poured a careful measure of lime syrup into Daniel’s glass and a like amount of blackberry syrup into her own. Opening the refrigerator, she removed an unopened bottle of soda water. She had bought it that afternoon. At some level had she known she was going to invite Daniel in tonight?
Placing the sodas on a small, red-lacquered tray, she carried them into the living room and put the tray on the coffee table. Daniel laid down the book. "I can't ever get over how good he was."
Alex sipped her soda and sighed from the heart. She looked at the chrome-framed travel posters which decorated her walls--Stewart's last commission before he had been killed in a terrorist plane crash four and a half years ago. It was only in the past few months that she could look at them without anger or overwhelming grief.
Daniel was studying her. She lowered her eyes. "Tell me about Kerry. As much as you think I need to know. She said you'd fill me in."
"Kerry. Yes." Switching modes, he settled himself back into the couch. "Well, her father is possibly Trotter’s Bridge’s leading citizen. Mayor and Christian gentleman. He inherited a large cattle spread. Kerry always had everything she wanted. I went home with her once. I think her mother, in the absence of any real education, has patterned her life after soap operas. That’s where Kerry gets her flair for the dramatic.”
Alex got up and went to the parson's table to retrieve her Guatamalan carry-all. Rummaging in it, she finally fished out a manilla envelope. "I haven't looked at her birth certificate. Let's see what it has to say." She pulled it out. "She was born in Missouri. Barry County. A year older than me--born in '56. Full name: Kerry Anne McNee. Mother's name is Sylvia Monett. Doesn't sound real, does it? Father is Cameron McNee. They were both thirty years old. Father born in Missouri, mother born in Missouri." Alex tried visualizing the information on a mental biographical sheet like the one she used for genealogical research. When she had it in place, she said, "Hmm. Does she have any brothers and sisters?”
"No. To her great unhappiness. I know her father wishes he had a son.”
“I was just wondering because she was born when they were both thirty. I wonder if there were previous marriages or miscarriages or infant deaths or anything like that.”
"Her mother says Kerry was her miracle baby.”
“Hmmm,” Alex pondered. “Well, unless she wasn’t really her father’s daughter, which I don’t see how any old lady could know, there doesn’t seem to be anything fishy about her birth.”
"You know, Alex, that would be much too easy. If you’re really serious about this, you’re going to have to go down there and meet that ‘keeper’ and find out what the story is.”
“I’ll see if Briggie is available.” Her partner in RootSearch, Inc. was far more amenable to work when it wasn’t baseball season. But, Alex suspected they could still hear the games on the radio.
"You know,” she added, “I'm glad you're going to be taking care of her, Daniel. This could be messy."
He raised an eyebrow, registering irony. "I recall a messy situation about a year ago when you didn't hold that same opinion about me."
"That was different," Alex insisted.
"How?"
She threw up her hands. "You weren't my shrink! And I wanted to prove my independence, prove that I could do hard things on my own."
"And prove your independence, you did." His mouth thinned and the irony disappeared.
It was the old impasse. "Daniel, I didn't want you to think of me as a boo-hooing neurotic."
"Apparently, you didn't want me to think of you at all."
He stood up. It's time I was going."