One Grave Too Many

by Beverly Connor

  “That’s fascinating,” said Frank. “I’ll suggest it to the Rosewood police when I give them the bone.”

  “Did you get in touch with your friends?” asked Diane.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve been calling. I think George said he was going out of town for a couple of days. He should be back today, though. I’m going over there tomorrow.”

  They were interrupted by the muffled strains of “Ode to Joy” coming from Frank’s jacket.

  “Should have left this thing at home,” Frank mumbled. He stepped away from the others and answered his phone.

  Diane stole a glance at him and saw him drop his arms to his sides, lean on the column and put a hand to his face. She went over and touched his arm.

  “Frank?” asked Diane. “Are you all right?”

  He shook his head. “I have to go. It’s George and Louise. The ones with the missing daughter. The two of them and their son were found dead in their home.”

  “Dead?” whispered Diane. “How?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going over there. Look, Diane, I need to . . .”

  “It’s all right. Do what you have to do.” She walked him to the door. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll call later. Tell Kevin I had to leave. Poor kid’s used to me taking off in the middle of things.” He kissed her cheek, and Diane watched him walk to the parking lot before she closed the door.

  Dead—a whole family gone. She put the flat of her palm on the door to steady herself. A missing daughter, and now this. A sudden tap on her shoulder made her jump.

  “I’m sorry, Doc.” It was Jake Houser, the security guard. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Just fine. I wanted to tell you that I’ve been hearing the phone ringing in your office. I wouldn’t mention it, but whoever it is is persistent.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go look at the caller ID.”

  “Oh, and . . .” He grinned broadly. “My son’s here. Guest of Kenneth Meyers. He has a summer job working for him. I’d like you to meet him.”

  “I’d like that, Jake. Let me check this out, and I’ll introduce myself. I overheard you talking to Frank yesterday. You must be really proud.”

  “Proud’s putting it mildly. Dylan’s a great kid. It’s hard these days to raise a good kid. I’m proud—and lucky. Was that Frank I saw leaving just now?”

  “He had to leave. Some friends of his were found dead in their home.”

  Jake’s happy expression dissolved into a frown. “Do you know who?”

  “I think their names are George and Louise Boone, and their son, Jay.”

  Jake backed up and leaned against the wall, his mouth open. “George and Louise. I know them. I play poker with George. Are you sure?” He reached for his cell phone. It rang in his hand and he almost dropped it. “Houser here.”

  He paused. Diane watched the frown on his face deepen.

  “I think so.” He held his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “My God, it’s true. George, Louise, Jay too. They need me down at the station. We’re shorthanded. I know you’ve been very flexible with me. . . .”

  “It’s all right. Tell Leonard you’re going. I think I saw him heading for the upper floors not long ago.”

  “Thanks, Doc. Thanks.” He paused, looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead contacted Leonard on his walkie-talkie.

  Diane walked to her office and unlocked her private door. She was just about to punch the play button on her answering machine when the phone rang again. It frightened her. Frank’s, Jake’s, and now hers—a conspiracy of phones bringing bad news? She trembled slightly as she reached for it.

  “Diane Fallon,” she said into the receiver.

  “Diane. I’m glad I found you. I’ve been calling your home.” It was Gregory. “We’ve lost track of Santos, and believe his right-hand man, Joachim, may have entered the United States last week. I’m trying to verify it.”

  Diane’s knees suddenly felt weak, and she sank onto her chair. “You think he’s coming here?”

  “We don’t know that. I don’t even know if the reports are true. You know how hard it is to verify things. I’ll find out. I just wanted to warn you of the possibility. I don’t want you to worry, Diane. I wouldn’t even have called, but I thought you might hear the news from another source.”

  “Is the team still down there?”

  “I’ve called them back . . . temporarily. They think they’ve located two more mass graves, and I don’t want to start excavation until things are a little more settled.”

  So Gregory was more worried than he let on, she thought. “Is something else going on?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. President Valdividia told some of his friends he’s going to take a vacation. You know how unsettled Puerto Barquis has been the past few months.” He paused. “He may be . . . what do you Americans say? Getting the hell out of Dodge.”

  “Something rather disturbing has happened here.”

  “Something to do with Santos? What is it?”

  Diane told him about the museum party, the music and the note.

  There was a long pause before he spoke. “Of course, it could be a coincidence.”

  “It probably is,” she said. “But if it isn’t, what would be the point? What would he gain?”

  “The point might be to put fear into those who took your place.”

  “Of course, if he shows he can reach any of us, wherever we are, that would be an effective weapon of terror. But it may not be him at all. There are other things going on, things related to the museum.” She opened the drawer and fingered the printouts from the fax as she explained the duplicate orders. “I suppose it could be some clumsy attempt to discredit me.”

  “You don’t think that might be related to Santos too?”

  “It hardly seems likely. I’m under pressure to move the museum and sell the property to developers. This probably has more to do with that. I just can’t see him sending someone up here to make it look like I ordered too many specimens.”

  The two of them chuckled for just a moment, and it tasted to Diane like fresh air.

  “The quartet playing ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King.’ Could that also be related to the museum situation?”

  “Unless it’s a simple coincidence, it has to be. I don’t know how anyone here would know about the music.”

  “People can find out things. Do you have anyone from South America working at the museum?”

  “Yes, we’ve had a graduate student and a lab technician, but I’ve had no reason to suspect them. Besides, they were both from Venezuela.”

  “I think the music is probably an unfortunate coincidence, but let’s not take any chances. We can’t allow people like him to take revenge on humanitarian workers, and certainly not in their homes. I’ll contact our people who are watching him.”

  “It’s so hard sometimes.” Tears brimmed her eyes and almost overflowed onto her cheeks.

  “I know. But remember that you have many friends. Call me anytime, even if you just need to talk.”

  “Thank you, Gregory.”

  She placed the receiver back on the phone. She could handle whoever it was who had placed the orders. But she wasn’t sure she could handle whoever had left the note for the quartet. If the music wasn’t an innocent coincidence, then it was something very mean and ugly. She finally stood up to go back to the party when she heard movement just on the other side of the adjoining door to Andie’s office.

  Diane searched around her desk for a weapon. All she could find was a letter opener decorated with Mayan symbols. She took hold of it, trying to think what to do. Call Leonard? He would still be upstairs. This was foolish. It was probably Andie. She put the letter opener back on the desk and walked out into the hall and around to Andie’s office door. If she opened it from the hall side, at least she would have a place to run. From there someone could hear her shout.

  She touched the d
oor so that it slowly swung open. A figure silhouetted by the desk lamp was going through Andie’s desk drawer.

  Chapter 6

  Diane switched on the ceiling light and heard a sudden intake of breath as the figure popped up from her stooped position, her hand over her chest.

  “Oh . . . Dr. Fallon . . . You scared me.”

  “That makes two of us. Can I help you?” Diane relaxed, relieved she hadn’t brought the Mayan letter opener with her. The intruder was Melissa, the second violinist from the string quartet.

  Melissa smoothed a strand of light brown wavy hair away from her face. “Your assistant, Andie, said she had some extra-strength aspirin in her drawer.” She held up Andie’s keys as if to verify that she had permission to be rambling around in her desk.

  “I imagine that playing for hours can bring on a headache.”

  Her blue eyes looked relieved. “You’re not kidding. That, and dealing with people. Do you know someone asked us to play ‘Memory’?”

  Diane laughed. “I can see it now. Next they’ll want karaoke night at the museum.”

  “Here they are.” She poured two tablets out onto her hand and put the bottle back.

  “There’s a water fountain just outside the door.”

  Melissa’s passage out of Andie’s office left a trail of heavy perfume in her wake. She downed the pills at the water fountain and took a deep breath. “We really do appreciate being asked here. We’ve had several people wanting to hire us.”

  “I’m not surprised people are impressed. The music’s been wonderful.”

  As Melissa turned from the fountain, Diane noticed that under carefully applied makeup, she had a black eye. A brief glance down at her arms discerned no more bruises, but the dark, floor-length sleeveless dress the young woman wore had a turtleneck. Diane fought an urge to turn down the collar to look at Melissa’s throat.

  Too much time spent investigating the products of abuse, she thought. She needed to mind her own business, which was now the museum, and not man’s inhumanity to man. But it haunted her that she had always been too late to help the victims. They were already decayed flesh and bones by the time she saw them. It would have been nice just once to be in a position to stop some atrocity.

  “That black eye looks like it might hurt,” Diane said, letting the sentence hang between them.

  Melissa was young, shy, and that evening Diane was her employer—powerful stimuli to say something about what had happened, if only to lie. They both stood, paused in the hallway.

  “Yes, it does, some. Clumsiness,” Melissa said at last.

  “I was exercising. I have to keep strength in my arms to play the violin. You wouldn’t believe how much stamina it takes to keep your arms at that level for hours. I don’t know how Lacy manages that viola for so long. Anyway, I accidently hit myself in the face with one of my hand weights. Almost knocked myself out.”

  Melissa laughed at herself and Diane thought she heard a slight tremor in her voice—and such long, detailed explanations often meant that the teller was lying.

  “What bad luck, just before the event. I hope it heals quickly.” Diane didn’t pursue it. But her friend Laura knew Melissa’s family. She would mention it to her.

  After seeing that the office doors were locked, Diane walked with Melissa back to the party. Mark Grayson was on his way out.

  “Leaving early?” said Diane.

  “Signy’s staying. I’ve got an overseas conference call. Nice get-together. I’m sure everyone’s having a good time. I’ll see you at the board meeting tomorrow.” He punched the air between them with his finger. It could have been a quick, friendly gesture, the way some men talk with their hands, but it seemed to Diane like he was pointing a gun. She was glad to see the door close behind him.

  Melissa had taken up her place with the string quartet and they began playing Diane’s favorite part of Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto in G Minor—the Allegro Moderato. Diane entered the Pleistocene hall where she mingled, talked, laughed at bad jokes and sipped wine. Her feet hurt from the effects of hardly ever wearing high-heeled shoes, and her head ached.

  “Wow,” Andie said, coming up behind her. “We all did a good job, didn’t we?”

  Diane turned and nodded as she looked at the guests. “Yes, I believe it’s a success. I had my doubts on occasion, but everyone seems to be having a good time. Andie, did you request that the quartet play the Peer Gynt suite?”

  “Who? No, I thought you were handling the music selections.”

  “I did, but someone wanted to hear it, and I just wondered who it was.”

  Andie shrugged just as a good-looking guy tapped her on the shoulder and pulled her toward the murals.

  Diane moved toward the buffet. The ice mammoth looked fresh and unmelted. She reached out to touch the trunk and found it cold and dry.

  “They just replaced it,” Donald said, filling his plate with caviar and crackers. “Apparently, they made several. Someone who works for them must be an ice-carving fool.” He drifted away and melted into a crowd of black tuxedos before she could say anything more to him.

  Signy was working the room in her husband’s absence. She reminded Diane of a mouse cursor trail, the way she and her red dress flashed around the room, flirting with the men, ignoring the women. David Reynolds was Signy’s current target. She threw back her head, laughing at something he said. Diane caught sight of David’s wife, Cindy, at the bison exhibit looking over the head of her son, frowning at the scene. Diane recalled Frank mentioning how easily Cindy could become jealous.

  Kevin was demonstrating the computer animations to a tall elderly woman dressed in a long silk gown as white as her hair, dripping pearls and diamonds. It was the unmistakable Vanessa Van Ross, the museum’s best patron, second only to the late Milo Lorenzo as the driving force behind the museum. Diane threaded her way through the crowd toward them.

  “Diane, dear. I wondered where you’d got to. I just met the most disagreeable young woman. Flashing around like a red sparkler. Called me by my first name. Mark Grayson’s wife. The man has no taste. I guess I shouldn’t speak like this in front of the boy. Just ignore what I say, young man.”

  Kevin cackled. Diane kissed her cheek.

  “It’s good to see you, Vanessa. May I steal you away from Kevin for a moment?”

  “Certainly. Can you pause that thing, young man?” Vanessa Van Ross and Diane stepped away to a private corner.

  “I know nothing about real estate,” Diane said. “Can you tell me why this land is suddenly so valuable? Why does Mark want it so badly?”

  “Did you know Hollis MacElroy?”

  “I’ve heard the name. Farmer, owns a lot of land?”

  Vanessa nodded. “Owned. He died three months ago. When his will is probated, his heirs intend to put his land on the market. It’s considered prime real estate, and it borders the museum property. If they get a good price for it—and they will—this property will increase in value considerably. Rumor has it that a Japanese firm is looking at it for a golf course and country club.”

  “I’m beginning to see.” Diane looked at her watch. It was a little after 8:30 P.M. Mark would be back at his office before 9:00 P.M. for his overseas call. She did some quick calculations. That would make it midmorning in Japan. So, Mark was talking to Japanese businessmen about the museum property. She looked around the room and wondered how many were on Mark’s side.

  She turned back to Vanessa. “But there couldn’t possibly be enough money involved to pay for moving the museum, setting it up someplace else, and still make it worthwhile for Mark’s cronies.”

  “Not unless the museum is shortchanged. That’s the only way I see it working. But I assure you, my dear, I’ll never let that happen. Come, take your mind off that for now. Enjoy your party. You deserve it.”

  Diane tried shoving Mark Grayson’s scheming, the incident with the music and the duplicate purchases to the back of her mind. She tried not to think about Frank and what he must be
going through—seeing friends, a whole family, wiped out, murdered. The things she tried not to think about were beginning to pile up into an impossible mountain of forbidden thoughts. It wasn’t easy to mingle, make small talk and laugh with so much in her head to keep at bay.

  She stood watching the party for the thousandth time, scanning the crowd, looking for some suspicious person who might be an enemy. Donald was talking to the students who had put together the sloth. He was number one on her list for the duplicate orders. Signy was by the bar getting a refill of wine.

  Laura Hillard was talking with the archivist and one of the new curators next to the refreshment table still heaped with food. Seeing Laura reminded Diane that she wanted to mention Melissa’s black eye. She approached Laura and pulled her away with apologies.

  “You know Melissa Gallagher’s family, don’t you?”

  “I know them well. Wonderful people.”

  “I noticed that she has a black eye. It may have been a simple accident, but I’m a suspicious person. A consequence of my previous career.”

  Laura turned her blond head toward the quartet and back to Diane. “I see what you mean. It wouldn’t be her parents. I’d have known. You’re thinking boyfriend, maybe?”

  “I don’t know,” Diane said. “People do get black eyes accidently.”

  “I’ll mention it to her parents.” Both watched Melissa playing her violin. “I tend to think it’s probably nothing.” Laura’s gaze lingered on Melissa a moment before she turned her attention back to Diane. “Mark Grayson’s made headway with some of the board members.”

  “Won’t do any good unless he makes headway with me.”

  “He knows that. He wants to put pressure on you from all sides.”

  “Let him. Maybe it’ll keep him occupied.” Diane hesitated a moment. “Laura, have you seen anyone here you don’t know?” Laura was a rare breed, one of the few fifth-generation residents of the area.

  “N-no.” She glanced briefly around the room. “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “Are there any strangers here?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Some of the catering staff, maybe. Why do you ask?”