One Grave Too Many dffi-1

by Beverly Connor

  “I’ll leave tickets at the door.”

  “I appreciate this. It’s not every woman who would let her date bring his ex-wife.”

  “We have an entomologist on staff you can show the bug parts to.”

  “What? Oh.” Frank studied the design on the floor, making a face, as if he had just felt a wave of pain. “I-uh-threw them away.”

  “Threw them away? You threw evidence away?”

  “I didn’t think it was evidence. The Rosewood police weren’t interested. And they were, I thought, bug parts from a deer bone.”

  “What does your friend do for a living?”

  “He’s a roofing contractor.”

  “A roofing contractor. Frank, did you know that before I took the directorship of the museum here, I was an internationally known forensic anthropologist? Did you know that I can give expert testimony in courts of law all over the world about anything concerning the identification and disposition of bones? And you believed a roofer’s identification over mine?” Diane threw up her hands.

  “I’ve known him forever. We play poker together.”

  “What? Is this some kind of guy thing?”

  “No. He said it was from the skeleton of a deer, and I believed him.”

  “He told you he grabbed some deer, skinned him out, and took this bone?” Diane put her forefinger on his chest.

  “No. He said he found it with a pile of deer bones in the woods. I’m sure there were probably antlers present,” he added, as if that were a reasonable defense, “and hooves.”

  Diane put her fingertips to her eyelids. “You do know that once an animal is completely skeletonized, it becomes disarticulated-it comes apart. Does the word co-mingle have any meaning?”

  “No, it doesn’t. I’ve never worked with a forensic anthropologist. I work with white-collar crimes-paper, computers, ideas and people who at least act civilized while they’re stealing from you. All bones look alike to me. Are you going to continue to hit me over the head with this? I’m sorry. He and his wife are best friends of mine. I don’t believe he’d lie to me-I mean, I know they lied originally, but they were desperate. Were the bug parts that important?”

  “Maybe not. You may be able to extract more from deeper inside the bone.”

  “How about that spider’s web?”

  “I’m not sure you could do anything with that anyway.”

  “So the only damage is to your pride?” He grinned.

  “No, to my sensibilities.”

  Frank laughed. He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I have to be in Columbus this afternoon to appear in court, but I’ll be back in time to pick you up. I promise.”

  “OK.”

  “I miss arguing with you.” He kissed her cheek.

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. I miss a lot of things we used to do.”

  “It took you a long time to remember.”

  “Now, that’s not fair. As far as I knew, you were still somewhere up a tree with Cheeta,” he said.

  “That’s Africa, not South America.”

  “You were in Africa?”

  She ignored him. “When you find the pile of bones your friend says he got this one from-even if you find a pair of antlers with matching hooves with them-tell whoever’s in charge to treat it like a crime scene. Don’t let anyone just take the bones and put them in a sack. Their pattern of dispersal will tell you a lot about what kind of agent scattered-or piled-them.”

  “Did you know you get really pretty when you talk about bones? I mean, you always look great, but there is something about the way your eyes shine when you talk about bones.”

  “I’ll see you tonight. Remember, it’s black-tie.” She realized she was still holding his hand, and it felt comfortable. It had been a while since she felt so comfortable.

  Diane spotted Donald, his thick, square body rigid, glaring into the mammoth exhibit.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said as he shifted his glare to her.

  “You took up the plants.” He had a childlike quality to his voice that made her pause a second before she spoke.

  “Donald, they were wrong. There is four hundred million years’ difference between your plants and the ones that belong in here. Yours didn’t even represent the whole tree, only the leaves.”

  “It won’t matter for the event tonight.”

  “Yes, it will. Donald, this is not a battle to go to the mat for. Leave it alone. We have a lot to do before this evening.” Diane turned to go to her office.

  “Wait. There are a couple of things we need to discuss.”

  “Can we do it in my office?”

  Donald followed her into her office. He moved a pile of books from the only chair besides hers and dropped them in an empty box. Diane noted ruefully that it was the box the books had arrived in. She took a seat at her desk and pulled out the budget folders but didn’t open them. Instead, she gave Donald her attention.

  He glanced down at the folders before he spoke. “Some building plans have come to my attention.”

  Diane started to laugh at the way he made it sound as if he were in charge and speaking to a recalcitrant employee. She forced her face to remain in what she hoped was a frown.

  “Came to your attention? How?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “It is important. This discussion will end now unless you tell me.”

  He shifted in the chair as if suddenly off balance. “We can’t afford to start a new building project. This building is too big already,” he said, leaning forward with his hands gripping the arms of the chair.

  Diane stood up. “Donald, I’m too busy for this now.”

  “I found a copy in the waste can by the Xerox machine,” he said quickly. The way the barely articulated words slid out of his lips so fast, she knew he was lying.

  Diane narrowed her eyes. “Do you have the adult education exhibit ready for this evening?”

  “It’s almost finished. The computer people are setting it up. The plans-”

  “Go supervise their work.”

  He hesitated a moment, then stood. “This isn’t the end of this. After tonight, you will have this discussion with me and the board.”

  Diane stared at her closed door for several moments after he left. Maybe she should have talked to him. Milo’s plans for the museum weren’t secret, but Donald must have thought they were her plans. He must have been poking around in her office. She opened the folder and reread the budget figures. Money would certainly come up this evening and she wanted to be prepared. She could deal with Donald later.

  The phone rang. She let it go for several rings and picked up the receiver when no one answered.

  “RiverTrail Museum.”

  “This is the Bickford Museum, confirming an order placed with us. May I speak with Diane Fallon?”

  “This is she. What order are you confirming?” Diane searched her memory, trying to remember what might have been ordered.

  “Casts of Albertosaurus, Pteranodon sternbergi, Tylosaurus, and a triceratops, for a total of 143,500 dollars.”

  “Oh, yes. We received the items in perfect condition. The display is opening this evening. I’m sure our records show that the invoice has been paid. I reviewed the accounts myself.”

  “No, you’re correct, payment was received. This is a new order.”

  Diane stared into space, shocked for a moment. “For the same items?”

  “Yes, identical to the first order.”

  “When was this order placed?”

  “It’s dated last Wednesday. We saw that we had shipped an order for the same items to RiverTrail Museum six months ago, so I’m calling to verify that this is not a duplicate of that order.”

  “I’m glad you called. There has been some mix-up. How did you receive this order?”

  “By fax.”

  “Please cancel the order, and if you don’t mind, would you fax a copy of that order back to me so that I can straighten it out he
re?”

  “Certainly. I’ll send the fax right now.”

  Diane put down the receiver and sat at her desk for a moment, trying to imagine how duplicate orders of a purchase that large and that unique could have been made. She tried buzzing Andie, then remembered that she had gone out to speak with the caterers. She walked into Andie’s office just as the fax was arriving from Bickford. The order was as the man had said, placed the past Wednesday. It showed Diane’s name-and her signature. She punched in the number code to print the recent history of fax transmissions and tried to make some sense out of the order while she waited. Had she actually forgotten and duplicated the order? No, she couldn’t possibly have forgotten; she already had life-sized skeletons of dinosaurs standing in the exhibit hall. In getting away from human bones, she hadn’t expected dinosaurs to cast a giant shadow over her life. Diane had expected to find peace here. She scooped up the report from the print tray and went back to her office.

  Chapter 4

  Frank was late. Diane wasn’t surprised. Columbus, Georgia, was a four-hour round trip, aside from whatever business he had to do there. She wrote a note telling him to meet her at the museum and was taping it to the door when she heard a voice coming from the apartment across the stairwell.

  “Cats aren’t allowed.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Diane turned, tape and message still in hand, and saw a woman in a blue chenille robe and pink hair net peering out of an apartment door.

  “Marvin’s allergic to cats. That’s why we chose this apartment house. Cats aren’t allowed.”

  There was a distant sneeze. The woman’s head retreated momentarily into the apartment, leaving behind a veined hand gripping the edge of the door and a blue sleeve as visible cues that she was still there. After another sneeze and a man’s muffled voice from inside, the woman spoke with that tone of impatience and irritability that arises between two companions of long duration.

  “I’m telling her. She’s right here, and I’m telling her.”

  Diane waited, trying to think of the woman’s name-Ogle, Ogden, Adell, Odell-that was it, Veda Odell. When the rest of Mrs. Odell appeared again, Diane spoke.

  “I’m sorry for his allergy.”

  “He doesn’t need sympathy, he needs for you to get rid of the cat.”

  “I don’t have a cat.”

  Veda Odell thrust out her chin. “You heard Marvin sneezing. He’s allergic to cats. Nothing else. Just cats.”

  “Perhaps he has a cold.”

  Mrs. Odell eased herself a little farther into the hallway, craning her neck as if trying to get a peek into Diane’s apartment. “It’s a cat. He gets this way around cats.”

  Diane taped her note to the door and turned to go. “Well, Mrs. Odell, I don’t have a cat. Maybe one passed through the yard.”

  “No. .” She hesitated, as if just noticing Diane’s black sequined dress and the cashmere wrap over her arm. “That’s a mighty pretty dress. I hope it doesn’t rain tonight.”

  “I think the weather is supposed to be clear. We’re having a party for the contributors to the museum, and I’d hate for the attendance to be low because of rain.”

  “You work for the museum?”

  “I’m the new director of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History.”

  “You are? I heard you’re a grave digger.”

  Diane opened her mouth, closed it again and wrinkled her brow. “A grave digger?” she said at last. “No, Mrs. Odell, I’m not.”

  “Well, I could have sworn,” she said, but let her voice trail off. “Marvin and I were hoping you could tell us about the funeral homes here. The inside scoop, you know.”

  Diane stared a moment before she said anything, trying to imagine the scenario going on inside Mrs. Odell’s head. “No. I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve got to be going. I hope your husband gets better.” Diane hurried to her car.

  It was a short drive to RiverTrail Museum. It’s why she had chosen the apartment, even though they didn’t allow pets. What I’d like to have is a house, she thought, as she drove slowly down the steep meandering road, a big house with big airy rooms-that cleaned themselves. No-she unconsciously clutched the locket that rested on her chest-an apartment is better right now.

  At the bottom of her mountain road she turned onto a stretch of level four lane before starting the climb to the museum. The trees still blossomed with spring blooms, and the days were getting longer. She rounded the curve and RiverTrail came into view. It was a lovely old building, especially with the new renovations. But as the evening grew darker, the outline of the museum would look like an old sanatorium out of a Dracula movie.

  She wheeled her Taurus into the parking space between Andie’s Toyota and Donald’s Lexus, and walked across the pavement to the museum entrance.

  The string quartet had just arrived. Diane held open the door for the four college-student musicians. They looked elegant in their long black dresses, carrying their instrument cases.

  “Thanks, Dr. Fallon,” said the cellist.

  “We really appreciate your asking us here,” tall, willowy Alix, the first violinist, added.

  From the music to the caterers, Diane had used people from the surrounding community. She wanted local support, and thought that giving it in turn would make her job easier.

  “My pleasure. Thank you for coming.”

  Diane peeked into the Pleistocene room on her way to the kitchen. The large vaulted room was now transformed from a work in progress to a rather wonderful exhibit. To make room for a long table of party food, Diane had omitted some of the animals and Paleo-Indian dioramas that would eventually appear in the exhibit. She included only the megafauna, the spectacular big guys, the ancient giant species who always impressed.

  The caterers had laid out an appetizing array of finger food on a table decorated with leafy long-blade plants, hard plastic museum-quality replicas of dinosaurs and a magnificent ice sculpture centerpiece of a mammoth with long curved tusks.

  The head caterer, a woman in her late fifties, stood back smiling and folded her arms. “I think it looks rather good.” She leaned and whispered to Diane, “We found a mold for the ice sculpture. We were quite pleased.”

  “Well, I like it very much. And the food looks wonderful.”

  The first of the guests had started flowing through the doors. Among them were real estate agent Mark Grayson and his wife, Signy. As Diane approached to greet them, she overheard Mark Grayson telling board member Craig Amberson that the museum would be better served if they would sell this piece of prime real estate and move into a building closer to Atlanta. Diane greeted him with a smile anyway. Tonight was not the night for fighting.

  “Good to see you, Mark. Signy. I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” His lips stretched into a thin smile.

  Model-thin Signy, in a red shiny dress, muttered something and gave Diane a smile that looked more mocking than polite. Diane shifted her attention to the other guests. Kenneth Meyers, CEO of NetSoft, and his wife, Katherine, edged in beside the Graysons.

  “Looks like quite a crowd.” Kenneth gave Diane’s hand a firm shake. He was lean and tan, a contrast to his soft, pale wife. “Tell me, did CyberUniverse do a good job for us?” It was no secret that Kenneth was thinking about buying the budding company.

  “They did a wonderful job. I’m very pleased,” Diane told him. “You’ll have to see their animations.”

  She welcomed each guest-board members, contributors, the cream of Rosewood society, fashionably arrayed in black, white and diamonds, rich greens, deep blues and dark maroons. Signy stood out like a bright ruby among them. The quartet began to play a Brahms violin concerto.

  Frank, looking handsome in his tux, arrived with his son, Kevin, his ex-wife, Cindy, and her husband, David Reynolds.

  “I’m sorry,” Frank apologized. “I was late getting back from Columbus.”

  “That’s all right.” She was actually surprised, and pleased, that he
had made it.

  Frank’s ex-wife was blond, petite and very pretty in a plain, long black gown with a string of pearls. David-tall, handsome and friendly-pumped Diane’s hand up and down, telling her how very happy he was that she had invited them.

  “My pleasure.”

  Kevin, sporting a tux and a fresh haircut, shook Diane’s hand solemnly.

  “Frank told me you’re interested in forensic anthropology,” she said.

  “I’m interested in bones and detective work. Is that what you do?”

  “It’s what I used to do.”

  “And damn fine at it.” Diane felt a heavy arm wrap around her shoulder.

  “Harvey Phelps, how are you?”

  Diane gave him a big smile and leaned into him as he kissed her cheek. Aside from his being a large contributor to the museum, Diane genuinely liked him-loud voice, bad jokes and all. He was on the museum board and had been a strong supporter of Milo and now her.

  “I’m better than I have a right to be. I like what you’ve done here. Looks good-all of it.”

  “Oh, Diane you’ve done a great job.” Laura Hillard was a psychiatrist and Diane’s oldest friend, dating from their kindergarten days in Rosewood. She shimmered in a dark blue gown. Even her blond hair, done in a perfect French twist, sparkled. As she gave Diane a light cheek-touching hug, she whispered, “No matter what Signy Grayson says.” Her blue eyes twinkled as she laughed. Mark Grayson was Laura’s ex-husband. After three years their marriage had dissolved into irreconcilable differences. The differences being Laura’s opposition to Mark’s girlfriends.

  Diane managed a genuine laugh along with Laura. “The staff and students worked very hard to get ready.”

  “The catering is great. I adore that ice sculpture. I wish Milo could see this. He would just love to see you carry on his work.” Laura leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Beware of Mark. He’s working the crowd tonight.”

  “Milo would be right at home here.” Harvey Phelps raised a glass to the mammoth.

  As Harvey and Laura looked in the direction of the mammoth, they seemed reflective. “Poor Milo,” said Harvey. “He died right here, you know.”