Acceptable Risk by Robin Cook Page A

silence. “The other night at dinner you made reference to Kim’s ancestor, Elizabeth Stewart. Do you know for a fact that she’d been hanged as a witch, or is the story a family rumor that has been around so long that people have come to believe it?”
    “I can’t swear to it,” Stanton said. “I’ve just accepted what I’d heard.”
    “I can’t find her name in any of the standard treatises on the subject,” Edward said. “And there is no dearth of them.”
    “I heard the story from my aunt,” Stanton said. “According to her the Stewarts have been keeping it a secret since time immemorial. So it’s not as if it’s something they’ve dreamed up to enhance their reputation.”
    “All right, let’s assume it happened,” Edward said. “Why the devil would it matter now? It’s so long ago. I mean I could understand for a generation or so, but not three hundred years.”
    Stanton shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “But I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. My aunt will have my head if she hears I’ve been bantering it about.”
    “Even Kim was reluctant to talk about it at first,” Edward said.
    “That’s probably because of her mother, my aunt,” Stanton said. “She’s always been a stickler for reputation and all that social garbage. She’s a very proper lady.”
    “Kim took me out and showed me the family compound,” Edward said. “We even went inside the house where Elizabeth was supposed to have lived.”
    Stanton glanced at Edward. He shook his head in admiration. “Wow!” he said. “You work fast, you tiger.”
    “It was all very innocent,” Edward said. “Don’t let your gutter imagination carry you away. I found it fascinating, and it has awakened Kim’s interest in Elizabeth.”
    “I’m not sure her mother is going to like that,” Stanton said.
    “I might be able to help the family’s response to the affair,” Edward said. He opened a bag he had on his lap and lifted out one of the plastic containers he and Kim had brought back from Salem. He explained to Stanton what it contained.
    “You must really be in love,” Stanton said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be taking all this time and trouble.”
    “My idea is that if I can prove that ergotism was at the heart of the Salem witch craze,” Edward said, “it would remove any possible remaining stigma people felt who were associated with the ordeal, particularly the Stewarts.”
    “I still contend you must be in love,” Stanton said. “That’s too theoretical a justification for all this effort. I can’t get you to do squat for me even with the promise of lucre.”
    Edward sighed. “All right,” he said. “I suppose I have to admit that as a neuroscientist I’m intrigued by the possibility of a hallucinogen causing the Salem affair.”
    “Now I can understand,” Stanton said. “The Salem witchcraft story has a universal appeal. You don’t have to be a neuroscientist.”
    “The entrepreneur as a philosopher,” Edward remarked with a laugh. “Five minutes ago I would have considered that an oxymoron. Explain to me the universal appeal.”
    “The affair is ghoulishly seductive,” Stanton said. “People like that sort of stuff. It’s like the pyramids of Egypt. There has to be more to them than mere piles of stone. They are a window on the supernatural.”
    “I’m not sure I agree,” Edward said as he put away his dirt sample. “As a scientist I’m merely searching for a scientific explanation.”
    “Oh, bull,” Stanton said.
    Stanton dropped Edward off on Divinity Avenue in Cambridge. Just before Edward closed the door he reminded him once more about the Genetrix prospectus.
    Edward skirted Divinity Hall and entered the Harvard biological labs. From a departmental secretary he got directions to Kevin Scranton’s lab. He found his thin, bearded friend busy in his office. Kevin and Edward had gone to Wesleyan together but hadn’t seen each other since Edward had returned to Harvard to