Acceptable Risk

6

Monday, July 25, 1994

Edward’s eyes blinked open after only four hours’ sleep. It was just five a.m. Whenever he got excited about a project, his need for sleep diminished. Just now, he was more excited than he could ever remember being. His scientific intuition was telling him that he’d stumbled onto something really big, and his scientific intuition had never failed him.

Leaping out of bed, Edward set Buffer into a paroxysm of barking. The poor dog thought there was a life-threatening emergency. Edward had to give him a light swat to bring him to his senses.

After speeding through his morning ritual, which included taking Buffer for a short walk, Edward drove to his lab. It was before seven when he entered, and Eleanor was already there.

“I’m having trouble sleeping,” she admitted. Her usually carefully combed long blond hair was in mild disarray.

“Me too,” Edward said.

They had worked Saturday night until one a.m. and all day Sunday. With success in sight, Edward had even begged off plans to see Kim Sunday evening. When he’d explained to her how close he and Eleanor were to their goal, Kim had been understanding.

Finally, just after midnight Sunday, Edward and Eleanor had perfected a separation technique. The difficulties had been mostly due to the fact that two of the alkaloids shared many physical properties. Now all they needed was more material, and as if an answer to a prayer, Kevin Scranton had called saying that he’d be sending over another batch of sclerotia that morning.

“I want everything to be ready when the material arrives,” Edward said.

“Aye, aye,” Eleanor said as she clicked her heels and made a playful salute. Edward tried to swat her on the top of her head but she was much more agile than he.

After they had been feverishly working for more than an hour, Eleanor tapped Edward on the arm.

“Are you intentionally ignoring your flock?” she asked quietly while motioning over her shoulder.

Edward straightened up and glanced around at the students who were milling aimlessly about, waiting for him to acknowledge them. He hadn’t been aware of their presence. The group had been gradually enlarging as more and more people arrived at the lab. They all had their usual questions and were in need of his advice.

“Listen!” Edward called out. “You’re on your own today. I’m tied up. I’m busy with a project that can’t wait.”

With some grumblings the crowd reluctantly dispersed. Edward did not notice their reaction. He went right back to work, and when he worked, his powers of concentration were legendary.

A few minutes later Eleanor again tapped his arm. “I hate to be a bother,” she said, “but what about your nine o’clock lecture?”

“Damn!” Edward said. “I’d conveniently forgotten that. Find Ralph Carter and send him over.” Ralph Carter was one of the senior assistants.

Within a short time Ralph appeared. He was a thin, bearded fellow with a surprisingly broad red-cheeked face.

“I want you to take over teaching the basic biochem summer course,” Edward said.

“For how long?” Ralph asked. He was obviously not enthused.

“I’ll let you know,” Edward said.

After Ralph had left, Edward turned to Eleanor. “I hate that kind of passive-aggressive nonsense. It’s the first time I’ve ever asked anyone to stand in for me for basic chemistry.”

“That’s because no one else has your commitment to teaching undergraduates,” Eleanor explained.

As promised, the sclerotia arrived just after nine. They came in a small glass jar. Edward unscrewed the lid and carefully spread the dark, ricelike grains onto a piece of filter paper as if they were gold nuggets.

“Kinda ugly little things,” Eleanor said. “They could almost be mouse droppings.”

“I like to think they look more like seeds in rye bread,” Edward said. “It’s a more historically significant metaphor.”

“Are you ready to get to work?” Eleanor asked.

“Let’s do it,” Edward said.

Before noon Edward and Eleanor had succeeded in producing a tiny amount of each alkaloid. The samples were in the bases of small, conical-shaped test tubes labeled A, B, and C. Outwardly the alkaloids appeared identical. They were all a white powder.

“What’s the next step?” Eleanor asked as she held up one of the test tubes to the light.

“We have to find out which are psychoactive,” Edward said. “Once we find out which ones are, we’ll concentrate on them.”

“What should we use for a test?” Eleanor asked. “I suppose we could use Aplasia fasciata ganglia preparations. They would certainly tell us which ones are neuroactive.”

Edward shook his head. “It’s not good enough,” he said. “I want to know which ones cause hallucinogenic reactions, and I want quick answers. For that we need a human cerebrum.”

“We can’t use paid volunteers!” Eleanor said with consternation. “That would be flagrantly unethical.”

“You are right,” Edward said. “But I have no intention of using paid volunteers. I think you and I will do fine.”

“I’m not sure I want to be involved in this,” Eleanor said dubiously. She was beginning to get the drift of Edward’s intentions.

“Excuse me!” called another voice. Edward and Eleanor turned to see Cindy, one of the departmental secretaries. “I hate to interrupt, Dr. Armstrong, but a Dr. Stanton Lewis is in the office, and he’d like a word with you.”

“Tell him I’m busy,” Edward said. But as soon as Cindy started back toward the office, Edward called her back. “On second thought,” he said, “send him in.”

“I don’t like that twinkle in your eye,” Eleanor said as they waited for Stanton to appear.

“It’s perfectly innocent,” Edward said with a smile. “Of course if Mr. Lewis would like to become a principal investigator in this study I won’t stand in his way. Seriously, though, I do want to talk to him about what we are doing here.”

Stanton breezed into the lab with his usual glib hellos. He was particularly pleased to get Edward and Eleanor together.

“My two favorite people,” he said, “but for different parts of my brain.” He laughed at what he thought was an off-color joke. Eleanor proved to be faster than he when she said she’d not known he’d changed his sexual orientation.

“What are you talking about?” Stanton asked. He was genuinely perplexed.

“Simply that I’m confident you are attracted to me because of my intellect,” Eleanor said. “That leaves your instinctual brain for Edward.”

Edward chortled. Repartee was Stanton’s forte, and Edward had never seen him bested. Stanton laughed as well and assured Eleanor that her wit had always blinded him to any of her other charms.

Stanton then turned to Edward. “All right,” he said. “Fun and games are over. What’s the story on the Genetrix prospectus?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at it,” Edward admitted.

“You promised,” Stanton warned. “Am I going to have to tell my cousin she’s not to see you anymore because you’re not to be trusted?”

“Who’s this cousin?” Eleanor asked, giving Edward “a gentle poke in the ribs.

Edward’s face blushed with color. Rarely did his mild stutter affect his speech in the lab, but it did at that moment. He did not want to discuss Kim. “I haven’t had time for any reading,” he told Stanton with some difficulty. “Something has come up that might particularly interest you.”

“This better be good,” Stanton teased. He slapped Edward on the back and told him he was only kidding about Kim. “I would never interfere with you two love doves. I heard from my aunt that old man Stewart surprised you two up in Salem. I hope it wasn’t flagrante delicto, you old rogue.”

Edward coughed nervously while he motioned for Stanton to pull up a chair. He then quickly changed the subject by launching into the story about the new fungus and the new alkaloids. He told Stanton that at least one of them was psychotropic, and he told him exactly how he knew. He even handed Stanton the three test tubes, saying they’d just finished isolating the new compounds.

“Quite a story,” Stanton said. He put the test tubes down on the counter. “But why did you think it might interest me in particular? I’m a practical guy. I’m not titillated by esoteric exotica which you academics thrive on.”

“I think these alkaloids could have a practical payoff,” Edward said. “We could be on the brink of finding a whole new group of psychotropic drugs which at the very least will have research applications.”

Stanton visibly straightened up in his seat. The casual air that he affected vanished. “New drugs?” he questioned. “This does sound interesting. What do you think the possibilities are they might be clinically useful?”

“I think the chances are excellent,” Edward said. “Especially considering the molecular modification techniques which are now available in modern synthetic chemistry. Also, after the psychedelic episode with the crude extract, I felt strangely energized and my mind seemed especially clear. I believe these drugs might be more than merely hallucinogenic.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Stanton exclaimed. His entrepreneurial proclivity had quickened his pulse. “This could be something huge.”

“That’s what we have been thinking,” Edward said.

“I’m talking about you seeing a major league economic reward,” Stanton said.

“Our interest is primarily what a new group of psychoactive drugs can do for science,” Edward said. “Everyone is anticipating some new breakthrough in the understanding of brain function. Who knows? This could be it. If it were to be so, we’d have to figure out a way to finance its production on a large scale. Researchers around the world would be clamoring for it.”

“That’s fine and dandy,” Stanton said. “I’m happy you have such lofty goals. But why not have both? I’m talking about you making some serious money.”

“I’m not concerned about becoming a millionaire,” Edward said. “You should know that by now.”

“Millionaire?” Stanton questioned with a derisive chortle. “If this new line of drugs is efficacious for depression or anxiety or some combination, you could be looking at a billion-dollar molecule.”

Edward started to remind Stanton that they had different value systems, but he stopped in midsentence. His face went slack. He asked Stanton if he’d said billion.

“I said billion-dollar molecule!” Stanton repeated. “I’m not exaggerating. Experience with Librium, then Valium, and now with Prozac has proved society’s insatiable appetite for clinically effective psychotropic drugs.”

Edward assumed a thousand-yard stare out across the Harvard Medical School quad. When he spoke his voice had a flat, trancelike quality. “From your point of view and experience, what would have to be done to take advantage of such a discovery?”

“Not much,” Stanton said. “All you’d have to do is form a company and patent the drug. It’s that simple. But until you do that, secrecy is paramount.”

“There’s been secrecy,” Edward said. He was still acting distracted. “It’s only been a few days that we’ve known we were dealing with something new. Eleanor and I are the only ones involved.” He didn’t mention Kim’s name for fear of the conversation reverting to her.

“I’d say the fewer people you tell the better,” Stanton said. “Also, I could just go ahead and form a company just in case things begin to look promising.”

Edward massaged his eye sockets and then his face. He took a deep breath and appeared to awaken from a trance. “I think we are jumping the gun,” he said. “Eleanor and I have a lot of work to do before we have any idea of what we might have stumbled on.”

“What’s the next step?” Stanton asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” Edward said. He pushed away from the counter and walked over to a glassware cabinet. “Eleanor and I were just talking about that. The first thing we have to do is determine which of these compounds is psychotropic.” Edward brought three flasks back to where they were sitting. He then placed a minuscule amount of each new alkaloid in each flask and filled them all with a liter of distilled water. He shook each briskly.

“How will you do that?” Stanton asked even though from Edward’s story he had an idea.

Edward took three one-milliliter pipettes out of a drawer. “Anybody care to join me?” he asked. Neither Eleanor nor Stanton said a word.

“Such chickens,” Edward said with a laugh. Then he added: “I’m only kidding. Actually I want you around just in case. This is my party.”

Stanton looked at Eleanor. “Is this guy nuts or what?”

Eleanor eyed Edward. She knew he was not foolhardy, and she’d never met anyone as smart as he was, especially when it came to biochemistry. “You’re convinced this is safe, aren’t you?” she said.

“No worse than taking a few tokes on a joint,” he said. “At best a milliliter will contain a few millionths of a gram. Besides, I took a comparatively crude extract with no ill effect whatsoever. In fact it was mildly enjoyable. These are relatively pure samples.”

“All right!” Eleanor said. “Give me one of those pipettes.”

“Are you sure?” Edward questioned. “There’s no coercion here. I don’t mind taking all three.”

“I’m sure,” Eleanor said. She took a pipette.

“What about you, Stanton?” Edward asked. “Here’s your chance to participate in some real science. Plus if you really want me to read that damn prospectus, you can do me a favor as well.”

“I suppose if you two screwballs think it is safe enough, I can do it,” Stanton said reluctantly. “But you’d better read that prospectus or you’ll be hearing from some of my North End mafia friends.” Stanton took a pipette.

“Each can choose his own poison,” Edward said, motioning toward the flasks.

“Reword that or I’m backing out,” Stanton said.

Edward laughed. He was enjoying Stanton’s discomfiture. Too often it had been the other way around.

Stanton let Eleanor choose first, then he took one of the two remaining flasks. “This strikes me as a kind of pharmacological Russian roulette,” he said.

Eleanor laughed. She told Stanton he was too clever for his own good.

“Not clever enough to keep myself from getting involved with you two oddballs,” he said.

“Ladies first,” Edward said.

Eleanor filled the pipette and placed a milliliter on her tongue. Edward encouraged her to follow it with a glass of water.

The two men watched her. No one spoke. Several minutes went by. Finally Eleanor shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “Except my pulse rate went up slightly.”

“That’s from pure terror,” Stanton said.

“You’re next,” Edward said, motioning to Stanton.

Stanton filled his pipette. “It’s a crime what I have to go through to get you on a scientific advisory board,” he complained to Edward. He deposited the tiny amount of liquid on his tongue, then chased it with a glass of water.

“It’s bitter,” he said. “But I don’t feel anything.”

“Wait another few seconds for circulation time,” Edward said. Edward filled his own pipette. He began to have doubts, wondering if there could have been some other water-soluble compound in the crude extract that had caused his psychedelic reaction.

“I think I’m feeling slightly dizzy,” Stanton said.

“Good,” Edward said. His doubts faded. He remembered dizziness had been his first symptom with the crude extract. “Anything else?”

Stanton suddenly tensed and then made a grimace as his eyes darted around the room.

“What are you seeing?” Edward asked.

“Colors!” Stanton said. “I’m seeing moving colors.” He started to describe the colors in more detail, but then he interrupted himself with a cry of fear. Leaping to his feet, he began to frantically wipe off his arms.

“What’s the matter?” Edward asked.

“I’m being bitten by insects,” Stanton said. He continued to try to brush away imaginary pests until he began to choke.

“What’s happening now?” Edward asked.

“My chest is tight!” Stanton croaked. “I can’t swallow.”

Edward reached out and gripped Stanton’s arm. Eleanor picked up the phone and started dialing, but Edward told her it was okay. Stanton had instantly calmed down. His eyes closed and a smile spread across his face. Edward backed him up a step and sat him back down in his chair.

Stanton responded to questions slowly and reluctantly. He said he was busy and didn’t want to be bothered. When asked what he was busy doing, he merely said: “Things.”

After twenty minutes Stanton’s smile waned. For a few minutes it appeared as if he were asleep, then his eyes slowly opened.

The first thing he did was swallow. “My mouth feels like the Gobi Desert,” he said. “I need a drink.”

Edward poured a glass of water and gave it to him. He drank it with gusto and had a second.

“I’d say that was a busy couple of minutes,” Stanton said. “It was also kind of fun.”

“It was more like twenty minutes,” Edward said.

“Are you serious?” Stanton questioned.

“How do you feel generally?” Edward asked.

“Wonderfully calm,” Stanton said.

“How about clairvoyant?” Edward asked.

“That’s a good way to describe it,” Stanton said. “I feel as if I can remember all sorts of things with startling clarity.”

“That’s exactly how I felt,” Edward said. “What about the choking sensation?”

“What choking sensation?” Stanton asked.

“You were complaining about a choking sensation,” Edward said. “You were also complaining about being bitten by insects.”

“I don’t remember that at all,” Stanton said.

“Well, no matter,” Edward said. “The point is we know that compound B is definitely hallucinogenic. Let’s see about the last one.”

Edward took his dose. As they did with Eleanor, they waited for several minutes. Nothing happened.

“One for three is fine with me,” Edward said. “Now we know which of the alkaloids we will concentrate our efforts on.”

“Maybe we should just bottle this stuff and sell it the way it is,” Stanton joked. “The sixties generation would have loved it. I mean I feel great, almost euphoric. Of course, maybe I’m just reacting to the relief of the ordeal being over. I have to admit I was scared.”

“I thought I experienced some euphoria as well,” Edward said. “Since we both felt it, maybe it’s a result of the alkaloid. One way or the other, I’m encouraged. I think we’ve got a psychedelic drug with some calming properties as well as some amnestic properties.”

“What about this clairvoyant feeling?” Stanton asked.

“I’d like to think that is a reflection of an increase in overall brain function,” Edward said. “In that sense perhaps it could have some antidepressant effect.”

“Music to my ears,” Stanton said. “Tell me, what’s the next step with this compound?”

“First we’ll concentrate on its chemistry,” Edward said. “That means structure and its physical properties. Once we have the structure we will work out the drug’s synthesis to obviate our reliance on extracting it from the mold. Then we’ll move on to physiological function as well as toxicity studies.”

“Toxicity?” Stanton questioned. He blanched.

“You had a minuscule dose,” Edward reminded him. “Not to worry. You’ll have no problems.”

“How will you analyze the drug’s physiological effects?” Stanton asked.

“It will be a multilevel approach,” Edward said. “Remember, most compounds with a psychedelic effect function by imitating one of the brain’s neurotransmitters. LSD, for example, is related to serotonin. Our studies will start with single-cell neurons, then move on to synaptosomes, which are ground-up, centrifuged live brain preparations, and finally involve intact neural cell systems like the ganglions of lower animals.”

“No live animals?” Stanton asked.

“Eventually,” Edward said. “Mice and rats most likely. Also perhaps some monkeys. But that’s down the line. We’ve got to look at the molecular level as well. We’ll have to characterize binding sites and message transduction into the cell.”

“This sounds like a multiyear project,” Stanton said.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Edward said. He smiled at Eleanor. Eleanor nodded in agreement. “It’s damn exciting, though. It could be a chance of a lifetime.”

“Well, keep me informed,” Stanton said. He got to his feet. He took a few tentative steps to test his balance. “I have to say, I do feel great.”

Stanton got as far as the door to the lab when he turned around and returned. Edward and Eleanor had already begun work. “Remember,” he said. “You promised to read that damn prospectus, and I’m going to hold you to it no matter how busy you are.”

“I’ll read it,” Edward said. “I just didn’t say when.”

Stanton made his hand into a pistol and put it to his head and pretended to shoot.

“Kim, you have a call on line one,” the ward clerk called out.

“Take a message,” Kim shouted back. She was at the bedside of a particularly sick patient, helping the nurse assigned to the case.

“Go take your call,” the nurse said. “Thanks to you, things are under control here.”

“Are you sure?” Kim asked.

The nurse nodded.

Kim scooted across the center of the surgical intensive-care unit, dodging a traffic jam of beds. Patients had been coming and going all day. She picked up the phone, expecting either the chemistry lab or the blood bank. She had calls in to both places.

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?” a voice asked.

“Who is this?” Kim demanded.

“George Harris, your Salem contractor. I’m returning your call.”

“I’m sorry,” Kim said. She’d forgotten she’d placed the call several hours earlier. “I didn’t recognize your voice.”

“I apologize for taking so long to get back,” George said. “I’ve been out at the site. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to know when the trench will be filled in,” Kim said. The question had occurred to her the day before and had produced some anxiety. Her concern was what she’d do if the trench was filled in prior to Elizabeth’s head being returned to her coffin.

“Probably tomorrow morning,” George said.

“So soon?” Kim exclaimed.

“They’re laying the utilities as we speak,” George said. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Kim said quickly. “I just wanted to know. How’s the work going?”

“No problems,” George said.

After cutting the conversation short and hanging up, Kim called Edward immediately. Her anxiety mounted as the connection went through.

Getting Edward on the phone was no easy task. At first the secretary refused even to try to locate him, saying she’d take a message and Edward would call back. Kim insisted and finally prevailed.

“I’m glad you called,” Edward said the moment he came on the line. “I’ve got more good news. We’ve not only separated the alkaloids, but we’ve already determined which one is psychoactive.”

“I’m happy for you,” Kim said. “But there is a problem. We have to get Elizabeth’s head back to Salem.”

“We can take it up on the weekend,” Edward said.

“That will be too late,” Kim said. “I just spoke with the contractor. He told me the trench is to be filled in the morning.”

“Oh, jeez,” Edward exclaimed. “Things are moving here at breakneck speed. I hate to take the time off. Can’t they wait and fill the trench after the weekend?”

“I didn’t ask,” Kim said. “And I don’t want to. I’d have to have a reason, and the only reason would involve the coffin. The contractor is in touch with my father, and I don’t want him to have any notion that the grave has been violated.”

“Damn it all,” Edward said.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“You promised you’d have that thing back ASAP,” Kim said finally.

“It’s just the timing,” Edward said. Then, after a slight, pause, he added: “Why don’t you take it up yourself?”

“I don’t know if I could,” Kim said. “I didn’t even want to look at it, much less handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle it,” Edward said. “All you have to do is take the end of the coffin off and stick the box inside. You don’t even have to open the box.”

“Edward, you promised,” Kim said.

“Please!” Edward said. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. It’s just that I am so busy at the moment. We’ve started to analyze the structure.”

“All right,” Kim said. When someone close to her asked her to do something, it was hard for her to say no. It wasn’t that she minded the drive to Salem. She knew she should check the progress at the construction site as often as possible. Maybe slipping the box into the coffin wouldn’t be that bad.

“How am I going to get the box?” she asked.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Edward said. “I’ll send it over to you by messenger so you’ll have it before you finish work. How’s that?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Kim said.

“Call me here at the lab when you get back,” Edward said. “I’ll be here at least until midnight, probably longer.”

Kim went back to work, but she was preoccupied. The anxiety she’d felt when she’d heard that the trench was to be filled in so soon had not abated. Knowing herself, she guessed it would remain until she’d returned the head to the coffin.

As Kim scurried back and forth between the beds caring for her patients, she felt irritated that she’d allowed Edward to take the head in the first place. The more she thought about her putting it back, the less she liked it. Although the idea of leaving it in the cardboard box had seemed reasonable when she’d been on the phone, she’d come to realize her sense of propriety wouldn’t allow it. She felt obligated to return the grave to a semblance of what it had been before it had been disturbed. That meant dispensing with the box and handling the head, and she was not looking forward to that in the slightest.

The demands of Kim’s job eventually pushed her concerns about Elizabeth into the back of her mind. There were patients to be taken care of, and the hours flew by. Later, as she was concentrating on a reluctant intravenous line, the ward clerk tapped her on the shoulder.

“You’ve got a package,” he said. He pointed toward a sheepish messenger standing next to the central desk. “You’ve got to sign for it.”

Kim looked over at the messenger. He was intimidated by the SICU’s environment. A clipboard was clasped to his chest. At his elbow stood a computer paper box tied with a string. In an instant, Kim comprehended what was in the box and her heart fluttered.

“The front desk tried to get him to take it to the mail room,” the clerk said. “But the messenger insisted his instructions were to deliver it to you in person.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Kim said nervously. She started toward the desk with the clerk following at her heels. To her horror a bad situation suddenly got worse. Kinnard stood up from behind the desk where he had been writing in a chart and was looking at the receipt. She’d not seen him since their confrontation at the compound.

“What do we have here?” Kinnard said.

Kim took the clipboard from the messenger and hastily signed.

“It’s a special delivery,” the clerk explained.

“I can see that,” Kinnard said. “I also see that it is from Dr. Edward Armstrong’s lab. The question is, what can be inside?”

“It didn’t say on the receipt,” the clerk said.

“Give me the box,” Kim said sternly. She reached over the counter to take it from Kinnard, but Kinnard stepped back.

He smiled superciliously. “It’s from one of Ms. Stewart’s many admirers,” he told the clerk. “It’s probably candy. Pretty clever putting it in a computer paper box.”

“It’s the first time anyone on the staff ever got a special delivery package in the SICU,” the clerk said.

“Give me the box,” Kim demanded again. Her face flushed bright red as her mind’s eye saw the box falling to the floor and Elizabeth’s head rolling out.

Kinnard shook the box and intently listened. From across the desk Kim could hear the head distinctly thumping against the sides.

“Can’t be candy unless it’s a chocolate soccer ball,” Kinnard said, assuming a comically confused expression. “What do you think?” He shook the package close to the clerk.

Mortified, Kim came behind the desk and tried to get hold of the package. Kinnard held it above his head, out of her reach.

Marsha Kingsley rounded the desk from the opposite end. Like most of the rest of the staff in the unit she’d seen what was happening, but unlike the others she came to her roommate’s rescue. Stepping behind Kinnard, she reached up and pulled his arm down. He didn’t resist. Marsha took the box and handed it to Kim.

Sensing that Kim was upset, Marsha led her into the back room. Behind them they could hear Kinnard laughing with the clerk.

“Some people’s sense of humor is sick,” Marsha said. “Someone should kick his Irish ass.”

“Thank you for helping,” Kim said. Now that she had the box in her hands she felt much better. Yet she was visibly trembling.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with that man,” Marsha continued. “What a bully. You don’t deserve that kind of abuse.”

“His feelings are hurt because I’m dating Edward,” Kim said.

“So now you’re defending him?” Marsha questioned. “Hell, I’m not buying the spurned lover role for Kinnard. Not in the slightest. Not that Lothario.”

“Who’s he dating?” Kim asked.

“The new blonde in the ER,” Marsha said.

“Oh, great!” Kim said sarcastically.

“It’s his loss,” Marsha said. “Word has it she was the role model for those dumb-blonde jokes.”

“She’s also the one with the body that doesn’t quit,” Kim said forlornly.

“What do you care?” Marsha said.

Kim sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “I guess I just hate bad feelings and discord.”

“Well, you sure had your share with Kinnard,” Marsha said. “Look at the difference with the way Edward treats you. He doesn’t take you for granted.”

“You’re right,” Kim repeated.

After work Kim carried the computer paper box out to her car and put it in the trunk. Then she vacillated what to do. She’d had plans to visit the statehouse before the issue with Elizabeth’s head came up. She considered postponing the visit until another afternoon. Then she decided there was no reason she couldn’t do both, especially considering that her job at the cottage had to be done after all the workers left.

Leaving her car in the hospital garage, Kim” walked up Beacon Hill and headed for the gold-domed Massachusetts State-house. After being cooped up all day, Kim enjoyed the outdoors. It was a warm but pleasant summer day. There was a slight sea breeze and the smell of salt in the air. Walking by the Common, she heard the complaint of sea gulls.

An inquiry at the statehouse information service directed Kim to the Massachusetts State Archives. Waiting her turn, Kim faced a heavy set male clerk. His name was William MacDonald. Kim showed him the copies she’d made of Ronald’s petition and Magistrate Hathorne’s negative ruling.

“Very interesting,” William said. “I love this old stuff. Where’d you find this?”

“The Essex County Courthouse,” Kim said.

“What can I do for you?” William asked.

“Magistrate Hathorne suggested that Mr. Stewart should petition the Governor since the evidence he sought had been transferred to Suffolk County. I’d like to find out about the Governor’s response. What I’m really interested in finding out is what the evidence was. For some reason it’s not described in either the petition or the ruling.”

“It would have been Governor Phips,” William said. He smiled. “I’m a bit of a history buff. Let’s see if we can find Ronald Stewart in the computer.”

William used his terminal. Kim watched his face since she couldn’t see the screen. To her chagrin he kept shaking his head after each entry.

“No Ronald Stewart,” he said finally. He looked again at the ruling and scratched his head. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried to cross-reference Ronald Stewart with Governor Phips, but I get nothing. The trouble is, not all the seventeenth-century petitions survived, and those that did are not all properly indexed or catalogued. There’s a wealth of such personal petitions. Back then there was a hell of a lot of disagreement and discord, and people were suing each other just as much as they are today.”

“What about the date?” Kim asked. “August 3, 1692. Is there some way you can use that?”

“I’m afraid not,” William said. “Sorry.”

Kim thanked the clerk and left the statehouse. She was mildly discouraged. With the ease she’d found the petition in Salem, she’d had high hopes of finding a follow-up ruling in Boston that would have revealed the nature of the evidence against Elizabeth.

“Why couldn’t Ronald Stewart have described that damn evidence?” Kim wondered as she stalked down Beacon Hill. But then the idea occurred to her that maybe it was significant that he didn’t. Maybe that was some sort of clue or message in and of itself.

Kim sighed. The more she thought about the mysterious evidence, the more curious she became. In fact at that moment she began to imagine it might be associated with the intuitive feeling she had that Elizabeth was trying to communicate with her.

Kim reached Cambridge Street and turned toward the Mass General garage. The other problem that her failure at the statehouse presented was that she was being thrown back to the impossibly large collection of papers in the castle, a daunting task at best. Yet it was apparent that if she were to learn anything more about Elizabeth, it would have to be there.

Climbing into her car, Kim headed north for Salem. But it was not an easy nor quick trip. The visit to the statehouse had put her in the height of rush-hour traffic.

As she sat in the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Storrow Drive, trying to get through Leverett Circle, she thought about the blond woman Kinnard was dating. She knew it shouldn’t bother her, but it did. Yet such thoughts made her especially glad that she’d invited Edward to share the cottage with her. Not only did she truly care for Edward. She liked the message that her living with Edward would send to both Kinnard and her father.

Then Kim remembered Elizabeth’s head in her trunk. The more she thought about Edward’s failure to come along to Salem that evening, the more surprised she was, especially since he’d promised to take responsibility for the head and was fully aware of her distaste for handling it. It was behavior at odds with his attentiveness and, along with everything else, it disturbed her.

“What is this?” Edward asked angrily. “Do I have to hold your hand continually?” He was talking to Jaya Dawar, a brilliant new doctoral student from Bangalore, India. Jaya had been at Harvard only since the first of July, and he was struggling to find an appropriate direction for his doctorate thesis.

“I thought you could recommend to me more reading material,” Jaya said.

“I can recommend an entire library,” Edward said. “It’s only a hundred yards away.” He pointed in the general direction of the Countway Medical Library. “There comes a time in everybody’s life when they have to cut the umbilical cord. Do a little work on your own!”

Jaya bowed his head and silently exited.

Edward redirected his attention to the tiny crystals he was growing.

“Maybe I should carry the burden with the new alkaloid,” Eleanor suggested hesitantly. “You can look over my shoulder and be the guiding light.”

“And miss all this fun?” Edward said. He was using a binocular microscope to observe crystals forming on the surface of a supersaturated solution in the well of a microscope slide.

“I’m just concerned about your normal responsibilities,” Eleanor said. “A lot of people around here depend on your supervision. I also heard the undergraduate summer students complained about your absence this morning.”

“Ralph knows his material,” Edward said. “His teaching will improve.”

“Ralph doesn’t like to teach,” Eleanor said.

“I appreciate what you are saying,” Edward said, “but I’m not going to let this opportunity slip away. We’ve got something here with this alkaloid. I can feel it in my bones. I mean, how often does a billion-dollar molecule fall into your lap?”

“We have no idea whether this compound is going to be worth anything,” Eleanor said. “At this point it is purely hypothetical.”

“The harder we work, the quicker we’ll know,” Edward said. “The students can do without my hand-holding for the time being. Who knows? Maybe it will do them some good.”

As Kim approached the compound her anxieties increased. She couldn’t forget that she had Elizabeth’s head in her trunk, and the longer she spent in direct proximity to it, the more she experienced a vague, uncomfortable foreboding about the course of recent events. Having stumbled onto Elizabeth’s grave so quickly in the renovation process made it seem as if the witchcraft frenzy of 1692 was casting an ominous shadow over the present.

Passing through the gate, which was ajar, Kim feared that the construction people were still there. As she emerged from the trees her suspicions were confirmed. There were two vehicles parked in front of the cottage. Kim was not happy. By that time she’d expected all of the workmen to have departed.

She parked next to the vehicles and slid out from behind the wheel. Almost simultaneously George Harris and Mark Stevens appeared at the front door. In contrast to her response, they were demonstrably pleased to see her.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Mark said. “We were hoping to get you on the phone later, but your being here is far better. We have a lot of questions.”

For the next half hour Mark and George took Kim on a working tour of the renovation. The amazing progress that had been made improved her mood dramatically. To her delight Mark had brought granite samples to the site for the kitchen and the baths. With Kim’s interest in interior design and her sense of color, she had no trouble making decisions. Mark and George were impressed. Kim was even impressed with herself. She knew that the ability to make such decisions was a tribute to the progress she’d made over the years with her self-confidence. When she’d first gone to college, she’d not even been able to decide on the color of her bedspread.

When they had finished with the interior, they stepped outside and began a walk around the building. Viewing the structure from the exterior, Kim told them that she wanted the new windows in the lean-to to match the small, diamond-paned windows of the main part of the house.

“They’ll have to be custom,” George said. “They’ll be considerably more expensive.”

“I want them,” Kim said without hesitation.

She also told them she wanted the roof slate repaired, not replaced with a modern material, as the contractor had suggested. Mark agreed it would look far better. Kim even wanted the asphalt shingles removed from the shed and replaced with slate.

Rounding the building, they came to the utility trench. Kim glanced into its depths, where now ran a waste pipe, a water pipe, an electrical service, a phone line, and a TV cable. She was relieved to see the corner of the coffin still protruding from the wall.

“What about this ditch?” she asked.

“It’ll be filled tomorrow,” George said.

Kim felt an unwelcome chill descend her spine as she reluctantly imagined the terrible dilemma she would have faced had she not made the call to George that morning.

“Will all this be done by September first?” Kim asked, forcing her mind away from such disturbing thoughts.

Mark deferred to George.

“Barring any unforeseen problems we should be fine,” George said. “I’ll order the new casement windows tomorrow. If they’re not here in time we can always hang a temporary window.”

After the contractor and the architect had climbed into their respective vehicles and driven out of sight, Kim went back into the house to find a hammer. With it in hand, she opened the trunk of her car and lifted out the cardboard box.

As she followed the trench to where she could climb into it, Kim was quite astonished with her degree of nervousness. She felt like a thief in the night, and she kept stopping to listen for any approaching cars.

Once she was in the trench and had walked back to where the coffin was, a sense of claustrophobia made the ordeal even worse. The walls seemed to tower above her and from her vantage point seemed to curve out over her head, adding to her fear they might cave in at any moment.

With a tremulous hand, Kim set to work on the end of the coffin. Inserting the hammer’s claws, she pried it back. Then she turned to face the box.

Now that the unpleasant task was at hand, Kim revived the debate as to what she should do in relation to the box. But she didn’t debate long: hastily she untied the string. As much as she hated the idea of touching the head, she had to make an effort to restore the grave to a semblance of its original state.

Lifting the cardboard flaps, Kim reluctantly looked inside. The head was facing up, balanced on a mat of dried hair. Elizabeth was staring back at Kim with her dried, sunken eyeballs partially exposed. For an uncomfortable moment, Kim tried vainly to reconcile the gruesome face with the pleasing portrait that she was having restored, relined, and reframed. The images were such stark opposites that it seemed inconceivable they were the same person.

Holding her breath, Kim reached in and lifted the head. Touching it gave her renewed shivers, as if she were touching death itself. Kim also found herself wondering anew about what had really happened three hundred years previously. What could Elizabeth have done to bring on such a cruel fate?

Turning around carefully to avoid tripping over any of the pipes and cables, Kim extended the head into the coffin. Gingerly she set it down. She could feel her hands touch fabric and other firmer objects, but she didn’t try to look in to see what they were. Hastily she bent the end of the coffin back to its original position and hammered it home.

Picking up the empty box and string, Kim hurried back up the trench. She didn’t begin to relax until she’d put the trash back in her trunk. Finally she took a deep breath. At least it was over.

Walking back to the trench, she looked down at the end of the coffin just to make sure she’d not left some telltale evidence behind. She could see her footprints, but she didn’t think that was a problem.

With her hands on her hips, Kim’s eyes left the coffin and looked up at the quiet, cozy cottage. She tried to imagine what life had been like back in those dark days of the witchcraft scare, when poor Elizabeth was unknowingly ingesting the poisonous, mind-altering grain. With all the books Kim had been reading on the witchcraft ordeal, she’d learned quite a lot. For the most part the young women who presumably had been poisoned with the same contaminant as Elizabeth were the “afflicted,” and they were the ones who “called out against” the witches.

Kim looked back at the coffin. She was confused. The young afflicted women had not been thought of as witches themselves, as Elizabeth had been. The exception had been Mary Warren, who had been both one of the afflicted and one of the accused, yet she’d been released and not executed. What made Elizabeth different? Why wasn’t she just one of the afflicted? Could it have been that she was afflicted but refused to accuse anyone of afflicting her? Or could she have been practicing the occult, as her father had intimated?

Kim sighed and shook her head. She didn’t have any answers. It all seemed to come back to the mysterious conclusive evidence and what it could have been. Kim’s gaze wandered to the lonely castle, and in her mind’s eye she saw the innumerable file cabinets, trunks, and boxes.

She glanced down at her watch. There were still several hours of daylight. Impulsively, she walked over to her car, climbed in, and drove up to the castle. With the mystery of Elizabeth so prominent in her mind, she thought she’d spend a little more time on the daunting task of looking through the papers.

Kim pushed through the front door of the castle and whistled to keep herself company. At the base of the grand staircase she hesitated. The attic was certainly more agreeable than the wine cellar, but her last visit to the attic had been singularly unsuccessful. She’d found nothing from the seventeenth century despite almost five hours of effort.

Reversing her direction, Kim walked into the dining room and opened the heavy oak door of the wine cellar. She flipped on the sconces and descended the granite steps. Walking along the central corridor, she peered into successive individual cells. Recognizing that there was no order to the material, she thought it important that she develop some rational plan. Vaguely she thought that she would start in the very farthest cell and begin to organize the papers according to subject matter and age.

Passing one particular cell, Kim did a double take. Returning to it, she gazed in at the furniture. There was the usual complement of file cabinets, bureaus, trunks, and boxes. But there was also something different. On top of one of the bureaus was a wooden box that looked familiar to Kim. It closely resembled the Bible box which the Witch House tour guide had described as an invariable part of a Puritan home.

Stepping over to the bureau, Kim ran her fingers along the top of the box, leaving parallel trails in the dust. The wood was unfinished yet perfectly smooth. There was no doubt the box was old. Placing her hands at either end, Kim opened the hinged lid.

Inside, appropriately enough, was a worn Bible bound in thick leather. Lifting the Bible out, Kim noticed that beneath it were some envelopes and papers. She carried the Bible out to the hall where the light was better. Folding back the cover and flyleaf, she looked at the date. It was printed in London in 1635. She thumbed through the text in hopes that some sheets of paper might have been stuck in the pages, but there was nothing.

Kim was about to return to the Bible box when the back cover of the Bible fell open in her hands. Written on the endpaper was: Ronald Stewart his book 1663. The handwriting resembled the graceful cursive script Kim recognized to be Ronald’s. She guessed he’d written in the Bible as a boy.

Turning the back flyleaf, Kim found a series of blank pages with the word Memorandum printed at the top. On the first memorandum page following the Bible text she found more of Ronald’s handwriting. Here he had recorded each of the marriages, births, and deaths of his family. With her index finger keeping her oriented on the page, Kim read off each of the dates until she came to the date of Ronald’s marriage to Rebecca. It had been Saturday, October 1, 1692.

Kim was appalled. That meant that Ronald had married Elizabeth’s sister just ten weeks after Elizabeth’s death! That seemed much too quick to Kim, and once again she found herself questioning Ronald’s behavior. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had something to do with Elizabeth’s execution. With such haste to remarry it was difficult for Kim to imagine that Ronald and Rebecca hadn’t been having an affair.

Encouraged by her discovery, Kim returned to the Bible box and lifted out the envelopes and papers. Eagerly she opened the envelopes, hoping for personal correspondence, but each was a disappointment. All the enclosed material was business-related and from a period from 1810 to 1837.

Kim turned to the papers. She went through them sheet by sheet, and although they were older, they were not any more interesting until she came to one that was folded in thirds. Unfolding the multipage document, which had traces of a wax seal, Kim found a deed to a huge tract of land called Northfields Property.

Turning to the second page of the deed, Kim found a map. It was not difficult for her to recognize the area. The tract included the current Stewart compound as well as the land presently occupied by the Kernwood Country Club and the Greenlawn Cemetery. It also crossed the Danvers River, which was labeled the Wooleston River, to include property in Beverly. To the northwest it ran into present-day Peabody and Danvers, which in the deed was called Salem Village.

Turning the page, Kim found the most interesting part of the deed. The buyer’s signature was Elizabeth Flanagan Stewart. The date was February 3, 1692.

Kim pondered the fact that Elizabeth was the buyer and not Ronald. It seemed strange although she did recall the premarital document she’d seen in the Essex County Courthouse giving Elizabeth the right to enter into contracts in her own name. But why was Elizabeth the buyer, especially since it was such a huge tract and must have cost a fortune?

Attached to the back of the deed was a final sheet of paper which was smaller in size and written by a different hand. Kim recognized the signature. It was Magistrate Jonathan Corwin, the original occupant of the Witch House.

Holding the document up to the light since it was difficult to read, Kim learned that it was a ruling by Magistrate Corwin denying a petition by Thomas Putnam, who wanted the Northfields purchase contract declared null and void because of the illegality of Elizabeth’s signature.

To conclude the ruling, Magistrate Corwin wrote: “The legality of the signature of the aforesaid contract stands on the contract bound by Ronald Stewart and Elizabeth Flanagan dated 11th February 1681.”

“My goodness,” Kim murmured. It was as if she were peeking through a window on the late seventeenth century. From her general reading she knew that name Thomas Putnam. He was one of the principal characters in the factional strife that had engulfed Salem Village prior to the witchcraft frenzy and that many historians felt had been the hidden social cause of the affair. It had been Thomas Putnam’s afflicted wife and daughter who’d made many of the witchcraft accusations. Obviously Thomas Putnam had not been aware of the premarital contract between Ronald and Elizabeth when he filed his petition.

Kim slowly folded the deed and the ruling. She had learned something that might be important for her understanding of what happened to Elizabeth. Obviously Thomas Putnam had been upset about Elizabeth’s purchase of the land, and considering his role in the witchcraft saga, his enmity had to have been significant. It could very well have catapulted Elizabeth into the middle of the tragedy.

For a few moments Kim pondered the possibility that the evidence used against Elizabeth in her trial had something to do with Thomas Putnam and the purchase of the Northfields tract. After all, such a purchase by a woman would have been a disturbing act in Puritan times considering the accepted role of women. Perhaps the evidence had been something that was considered compelling proof Elizabeth was a virago and therefore unnatural. But try as she might, Kim couldn’t think of anything.

Kim placed the deed and the attached ruling on top of the Bible, and examined the rest of the papers from the Bible box. To her delight she found one more seventeenth-century document, but when she read it she was less excited. It was a contract between Ronald Stewart and Olaf Sagerholm of Göteborg, Sweden. The contract directed Olaf to build a ship of a new and swift frigate design. The ship was specified to be 128 feet in length, 34 feet 6 inches in beam, and 19 feet 3 inches in draft when fully loaded with 276 last. The date was 12 December 1691.

Kim put the Bible and the two seventeenth-century documents back in the Bible box and carried the box to a console table at the base of the steps leading up to the dining room. She planned to use the box as a repository for any papers she found that related to Elizabeth or Ronald. To that end she went into the cell where she’d found the letter from James Flanagan and brought the letter back to put it with the other materials.

With that accomplished, Kim returned to the room where she’d found the Bible box and began a search through the bureau on which the Bible box sat. After several hours of diligent work, she straightened up and stretched. She’d found nothing interesting. A quick glance at her watch told her it was nearing eight and time for her to head back to Boston.

Slowly climbing the stairs, she realized how exhausted she was. It had been a busy day at work, and she found searching through the papers tiring even if it wasn’t physically demanding.

The drive back to Boston was far easier than the drive out to Salem. There was little traffic until she entered Boston proper. Getting on Storrow Drive for what normally was only a short stretch, Kim changed her mind and drove on to the Fenway exit. She had the sudden idea to pay a visit to Edward in his lab rather than phone him. Since the task of replacing Elizabeth’s head had been so complication-free, she felt guilty she’d been so upset anticipating it.

Passing through the Medical School security with the help of her MGH identity card, Kim mounted the stairs. She’d briefly visited the lab with Edward after one of their dinners, so she knew the way. The departmental office was dark, so Kim knocked on a frosted-glass door that she knew led directly into the lab.

When no one responded, Kim knocked again a bit louder. She also tried the door, but it was locked. After a third knock, Kim could see someone approaching through the glass.

The door opened, and Kim confronted an attractive, slim, blond woman whose curvaceous figure was apparent despite an oversized white lab coat.

“Yes?” Eleanor questioned perfunctorily. She looked Kim up and down.

“I’m looking for Dr. Edward Armstrong,” Kim said.

“He’s not seeing visitors,” Eleanor said. “The department office will be open tomorrow morning.” She started to close the door.

“I think he might be willing to see me,” Kim said hesitantly. In truth she wasn’t entirely sure and for a moment wondered if she should have called.

“Really, now?” Eleanor questioned haughtily. “What’s your name? Are you a student?”

“No, I’m not a student,” Kim said. The question seemed absurd since she was still in her nurse’s uniform. “My name is Kimberly Stewart.”

Eleanor didn’t say anything before closing the door in Kim’s face. Kim waited. She shifted her weight and wished she hadn’t come. Then the door reopened.

“Kim!” Edward exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Kim explained that she thought it better to visit than to merely call. She apologized if she’d caught him at a bad time.

“Not at all,” Edward said. “I’m busy but that doesn’t matter. In fact I’m more than busy. But come in.” He stepped back out of the doorway.

Kim entered, then followed Edward as he headed toward his desk area.

“Who was it who opened the door?” Kim asked.

“Eleanor,” Edward said over his shoulder.

“She wasn’t terribly friendly,” Kim said, unsure if she should mention it.

“Eleanor?” Edward questioned. “You must be mistaken. She gets along with everyone. Around here I’m the only bear. But both of us are worn a little thin. We’re on a roll. We’ve been working nonstop since late Saturday morning. In fact Eleanor has been working that way since Friday night. Both of us have hardly slept.”

They arrived at Edward’s desk. He lifted a stack of periodicals off a straight-backed chair, tossed them in the corner, and motioned for Kim to sit. Edward sat in his desk chair.

Kim studied Edward’s face. He seemed to be in overdrive, as if he’d drunk a dozen cups of coffee. His lower jaw was dancing nervously up and down while he chewed gum. There were circles under his cool blue eyes. A two-day stubble dotted his cheeks and chin.

“Why all this frantic activity?” Kim asked.

“It’s the new alkaloid,” Edward said. “We’re already beginning to learn something about it and it looks awfully good.”

“I’m pleased for you,” Kim said. “But why all the rush? Are you under some sort of deadline?”

“It’s purely an anticipatory excitement,” Edward said. “The alkaloid could prove to be a great drug. If you’ve never done research it’s hard to comprehend the thrill you get when you discover something like this. It’s a real high, and we’ve been reexperiencing that high on an hourly basis. Everything we learn seems positive. It’s incredible.”

“Can you say what you’ve been learning?” Kim asked. “Or is it some kind of secret?”

Edward moved forward in his chair and lowered his voice. Kim glanced around the lab but saw no one. She wasn’t even sure where Eleanor was.

“We’ve stumbled onto an orally effective, psychoactive compound that penetrates the blood-brain barrier like the proverbial knife through butter. It’s so potent it is effective in the microgram range.”

“Do you think this is the compound that affected the people in the Salem witchcraft affair?” Kim asked. Elizabeth was still in the forefront of her mind.

“Without doubt,” Edward said. “It’s the Salem devil incarnate.”

“But the people who ate the infected grain were poisoned,” Kim said. “They became the ‘afflicted’ with horrid fits. How can you be so excited about that kind of drug?”

“It is hallucinogenic,” Edward said. “There’s no doubt about that. But we think it’s a lot more. We have reason to believe it calms, invigorates, and may even enhance memory.”

“How have you learned so much so quickly?” Kim asked.

Edward laughed self-consciously. “We don’t know anything for certain yet,” he admitted. “A lot of researchers would find our work so far less than scientific. What we’ve been doing is attempting to get a general idea of what the alkaloid can do. Mind you, these are not controlled experiments by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, the results are terribly exciting, even mind-boggling. For instance we found that the drug, seems to calm stressed rats better than imipramine, which is the benchmark for antidepressant efficacy.”

“So you think it might be an hallucinogenic antidepressant?” Kim said.

“Among other things,” Edward said.

“Any side effects?” Kim asked. She still didn’t understand why Edward was as excited as he was.

Edward laughed again. “We haven’t been worrying about hallucinations with the rats,” he said. “But seriously, apart from the hallucinations we’ve not seen any problems. We’ve loaded several mice with comparatively huge doses and they’re as happy as pigs in the poke. We’ve plopped even larger doses into neuronal cell cultures with no effect on the cells. There doesn’t seem to be any toxicity whatsoever. It’s unbelievable.”

As Kim continued to listen to Edward, she became progressively disappointed that he did not ask her about her visit to Salem and about what happened to Elizabeth’s head. Finally Kim had to bring it up herself when there was a pause in Edward’s exuberant narrative.

“Good,” Edward said simply when she told him the head had been replaced. “I’m glad that’s over.”

Kim was about to describe how the episode had made her feel when Eleanor breezed into view and immediately monopolized Edward’s attention with a computer printout. Eleanor did not even acknowledge Kim’s presence nor did Edward introduce them. Kim watched as they had an animated discussion over the information. It was obvious Edward was pleased with the results. Finally Edward gave Eleanor some suggestions along with a pat on the back, and Eleanor vanished as quickly as she’d appeared.

“Now where were we?” Edward said, turning to Kim.

“More good news?” Kim asked, referring to Eleanor’s printout.

“Most definitely,” Edward said. “We’ve started on determining the compound’s structure, and Eleanor has just confirmed our preliminary impression that it is a tetracyclic molecule with multiple side chains.”

“How on earth can you figure that out?” Kim asked. In spite of herself she was impressed.

“You really want to know?” Edward asked.

“Provided you don’t go too far over my head,” Kim said.

“The first step was to get an idea of molecular weight with standard chromatography,” Edward said. “That was easy. Then we broke the molecule apart with reagents that rupture specific types of bonds. Following that we try to identify at least some of the fragments with chromatography, electrophoresis, and mass spectrometry.”

“You’re already beyond me,” Kim admitted. “I’ve heard those terms, but I don’t really know what the processes are.”

“They’re not that complicated,” Edward said. He stood up. “The basic concepts are not difficult to comprehend. It’s the results that can be difficult to analyze. Come on, I’ll show you the machines.” He took Kim’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

Edward enthusiastically dragged a reluctant Kim around his lab, showing her the mass spectrometer, the high-performance liquid chromatography unit, and the capillary electrophoresis equipment. The whole time he lectured about how they were used for fragment separation and identification. The only thing Kim understood completely was Edward’s obvious bent for teaching.

Opening up a side door, Edward gestured inside. Kim glanced within. In the center of the room was a large cylinder about four feet high and two feet wide. Cables and wires emerged from it like snakes from Medusa’s head.

“That’s our nuclear magnetic resonance machine,” Edward said proudly. “It’s a crucial tool with a project like this. It’s not enough to know how many carbon atoms, hydrogen atoms, oxygen atoms, and nitrogen atoms there are in a compound. We have to know the three-dimensional orientation. That’s what this machine can do.”

“I’m impressed,” Kim said, not knowing what else to say.

“Let me show you one other machine,” Edward said, oblivious to Kim’s state of mind. He led her to yet another door. Opening it, he again gestured inside.

Kim looked in. It was a hopeless tangle of electronic equipment, wires, and cathode ray tubes. “Interesting,” she said.

“You know what it is?” Edward asked.

“I don’t think so,” Kim said. She was reluctant to let Edward know how little she knew about what he did.

“It’s an X-ray diffraction unit,” Edward said with the same degree of pride he’d evinced with the NMR unit. “It complements what we do with the NMR. We’ll be using it with the new alkaloid because the alkaloid readily crystallizes as a salt.”

“Well, you do have your work cut out for you,” Kim said.

“It’s work but it’s also extraordinarily stimulating,” Edward said. “Right now we’re using everything in our investigative arsenal, and the data is pouring in. We’ll have the structure in record time, especially with the new software that is available with all these instruments.”

“Good luck,” Kim said. She’d derived only a sketchy idea of what Edward had explained, but she had certainly gotten a taste of his enthusiasm.

“So what else happened up in Salem?” Edward asked suddenly. “How’s the renovation going?”

Kim was momentarily nonplussed by Edward’s question. With his preoccupation involving his own work, she didn’t think he was currently interested in her puny project. She’d been just about to excuse herself.

“The renovation is going well,” she said. “The house is going to be darling.”

“You were gone quite a while,” Edward said. “Did you delve back into the Stewart family papers?”

“I spent a couple of hours,” Kim admitted.

“Find anything more about Elizabeth?” he asked. “I’m getting more and more interested in her myself. I feel as if I owe her an enormous debt. If it hadn’t been for her, I never would have come across this alkaloid.”

“I did learn some things,” Kim said. She told Edward about going to the statehouse prior to driving to Salem and that there was no follow-up petition concerning the mysterious evidence. She then told him about the Northfields deed with Elizabeth’s signature, and how it had angered Thomas Putnam.

“That might be the most significant piece of information you’ve learned so far,” Edward said. “From the little reading I’ve done, I don’t think Thomas Putnam was the right person to irritate.”

“I had the same thought,” Kim said. “His daughter, Ann, was one of the first of the girls to be afflicted, and she accused many people of witchcraft. The problem is, I can’t relate a feud with Thomas Putnam with the conclusive evidence.”

“Maybe these Putnam people were malicious enough to plant something,” Edward suggested.

“That’s a thought,” Kim said. “But it doesn’t answer what it could have been. Also, if something were planted, does it make sense that it was conclusive? I still think it had to be something Elizabeth made herself.”

“Maybe so,” Edward said. “But the only hint you have is Ronald’s petition stating it was seized from his property. I don’t think it could have been anything indubitably associated with witchcraft.”

“Speaking of Ronald,” Kim said. “I learned something about him that’s reawakened my suspicions. He remarried only ten weeks after Elizabeth’s death. That’s an awfully short grieving period, to say the least. It makes me think he and Rebecca might have been having an affair.”

“Perhaps,” Edward said without enthusiasm. “I still think that we have no idea how difficult life was back then. Ronald had four children to raise and a burgeoning business to run. He probably didn’t have a lot of choice. I’d bet a long grieving period was a luxury he could not afford.”

Kim nodded, but she wasn’t sure she agreed. At the same time she wondered how much her suspicious attitude toward Ronald was influenced by her father’s behavior.

Eleanor appeared just as abruptly as she had earlier and again enlisted Edward in a private yet animated discussion. When she left, Kim excused herself.

“I’d better be on my way,” she said.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Edward offered.

While descending the stairs and walking across the quadrangle, Kim detected a gradual change in Edward’s demeanor. As he’d done in the past, he became noticeably more nervous. From previous experience Kim guessed he was about to say something. She didn’t try to encourage him. She’d learned it didn’t help.

Finally when they reached her car he spoke: “I’ve been thinking a lot about your offer to come to live with you in the cottage,” he said while toying with a pebble with his toe. He paused. Kim waited impatiently, unsure what he would say. Then he blurted: “If you’re still thinking positively about it, I’d like to come.”

“Of course I’m thinking positively,” Kim said with relief. She reached up and gave him a hug. He returned the gesture.

“We can go up on the weekend and talk about furniture,” Edward said. “I don’t know if there is anything from my apartment you’d want to use.”

“It’ll be fun,” Kim said.

With some awkwardness they separated, and Kim climbed into her car. She opened the passenger-side window and Edward leaned in.

“I’m sorry I’m so preoccupied about this alkaloid,” he said.

“I understand,” Kim said. “I can see how excited you are. I’m impressed with your dedication.”

After they said their goodbyes, Kim drove toward Beacon Hill feeling a lot happier than she had just a half hour earlier.