Dust to Dust

by Beverly Connor

  Mike, David, and Scott were going to do the pulling. Mike gave them instructions as they took up their places six feet or so back from the well on the side opposite the tree. The three of them gripped the rope firmly. Diane dropped the other end of the rope down the well to Hector.

  “Hector, I want you to listen to me,” she said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Put your good foot in the loop nearest the end of the rope. Use the other loops as handholds. Don’t try to help us by putting your hands on the wall; it’s much too unstable. Just hold on to the rope. Your leg is probably going to hurt, but you have to ignore the pain,” said Diane.

  “How do I do that?” asked Hector.

  “You just do it,” she said. “Scream if you have to, but don’t thrash about, just hold on to the rope. Let us know when you are ready.”

  “You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about the physics of hauling a weight up, and—”

  “Hector, we have the math worked out. Just concentrate on hanging on to the rope,” Diane said. “Remember what I do in my leisure time.”

  “Fishing?” he said.

  Diane smiled. She watched him as he struggled to stand and she wondered whether she needed to go down into the well to help.

  “You doing all right?” she asked.

  “It’s not so bad. I can do it,” he said.

  She winced as he held on to the side of the well to steady himself.

  Hector got his foot in the loop and held on. He started to say something when a stone dislodged from near the top edge and fell with a crash as it hit the rotten wood.

  “You all right?” she said. “Were you hurt?”

  “No,” he said in a voice that could be called squeaky at this point. He definitely sounded scared. “But, I’m ready to get out of here—now. Just don’t drop me, okay?”

  “You’re going to be fine. You’re in good hands. Here we go.”

  Diane signaled for them to pull. They leaned into the rope as if they were in a life-and-death tug-of-war, and Hector rose toward the surface, screaming at the top of his lungs. When his shoulders cleared the top, Diane and Neva pulled him to the edge and dragged him over the tarp and onto solid ground.

  Scott ran over to him. “Hector, are you all right? Are you in pain?”

  Hector lay on the ground breathing hard.

  “I’m fine. Not much pain, really. It’s just that, when Dr. Fallon suggested it, screaming seemed like such a good idea.”

  Diane opened the blade of her pocketknife and ripped Hector’s jeans while David held the flashlight. His skin was bruised and swollen, but it wasn’t an open fracture. What was most noticeable, however, was the broken tibia he held next to his chest.

  “You brought a bone up with you?” said Scott.

  “Well, hell, yeah. I wasn’t going to have all that be a wasted trip. What is it, Dr. Fallon? Tell me it’s not a deer or a dog,” said Hector.

  “It’s not. It’s human,” said Diane. “It’s relatively small, but judging from the epiphyseal union, I’d guess it was from a teenager.”

  “Dang,” said Scott. “Wow.” And then the realization: “A small teenager. Dead. In the well.”

  They heard the siren come up the driveway and stop in front of the house. David had cleared a path to the well by taking down some of his string and stakes. The two policemen led the paramedics around the back of the house to the abandoned well. The local firemen arrived with them. The paramedics set the stretcher down and began attending to Hector.

  “We were thinking,” said one of the paramedics as he began taking vitals, “that maybe we would just drop by here every morning and evening. Save a lot of time.”

  They were the paramedics who had taken Marcella to the hospital, as well as Officers Hanks and Daughtry, and the late Ray-Ray Dildy—and now Hector. They probably decided the house was cursed.

  “His vitals are good,” he said.

  “My granny always said this old witch house is haunted,” the young paramedic said.

  “You know this house, then?” asked Diane.

  “A little. Granny says when she was a young girl, some crazy rich woman, an artist I think she said, lived here. She had all these demon creatures all over the roof,” he said, as he immobilized Hector’s leg.

  “Gargoyles,” said Diane.

  “Is that what they were?”

  “Supposed to ward off evil,” said Diane.

  “I’ll have to tell Granny. From our workload over here the last few days, they needed to be working overtime. Okay, we’re ready to go. Don’t you worry, fella. You’re going to be fine. But these old wells are a bitch, aren’t they?”

  Hector groaned.

  “Do you know her name?” asked Diane.

  “The crazy lady? No, but I imagine Granny does. I’ll ask her,” he said.

  Diane reached in her pocket and handed him one of her cards.

  After the paramedics took Hector and Scott to the hospital, one of the firemen, a tall, sturdy guy who looked as if he could have just reached down and hauled Hector up with one hand, began lecturing Diane about doing the rescue herself.

  “One of you could have ended up in the well with him,” he said. “Or made the whole thing fall in.”

  “I take your point,” said Diane. “But Mike Seger and I are certified in cave rescue and we’ve had a lot of experience. We were aware of the dangers in this situation, and we took steps to make it as safe as we could. Our biggest concern was to get Hector out before the walls caved in on him. After he fell through the top, the sides were unstable and began to fall in before we started pulling him up.”

  The fireman paused a moment and looked into the well before he spoke. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve some experience and that everything worked out. Some people attempt a rescue and have no idea of the things that can go wrong.”

  “Thank you for coming,” said Diane. “All of us appreciate it.”

  The fireman looked at all the string he had to step on and over to get there. “What you people doing here?” he said.

  “This is a crime scene,” said Diane. “We’re searching for buried human remains.”

  “Crime scene? Don’t you guys use yellow tape?” he asked.

  “Sometimes. This is . . . was . . . a search grid,” she said, indicating the layout of strings and stakes.

  He squinted at Diane. “You’re the crime lab lady,” he said.

  “Yes.” But Diane wasn’t sure about the lady part.

  The fireman left and Diane went to the front porch to sit down and rest. David, Neva, and Mike went with her. David turned on the porch light and they pulled up chairs. Neva sat on the glider with Mike, who put his arms around her to warm her.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Diane asked the two of them. “Shouldn’t you be out to dinner or something?”

  “Andie said you and David were here,” said Neva. “I need to tell you some odd stuff about the crime scene I was just on.”

  “And the other thing,” said Mike.

  “Yes. I’m not sure, but I think I’m being followed,” Neva said.

  Chapter 35

  “Followed?” said Diane.“Neva, someone is following you?” Diane gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward.

  “I think so,” said Neva. “I may be wrong.” Neva frowned in a way that put a crease between her eyes at the bridge of her nose, a small expression of insecurity that she made when she was undecided or afraid to commit to her own analysis.

  “But you may be right,” said Mike, urging her to talk.

  “I noticed it yesterday. I feel really silly. It’s just that I kept noticing the same vehicle, a black SUV with tinted windows. I know, that sounds so clichéd. I’ve tried to get behind it and check out the license plate, but I haven’t been able to. It looks so easy in the movies.” Neva brushed a strand of brown hair out of her eyes and smiled weakly.

  “When were you first aware of it?” asked Diane.

&
nbsp; “I think it was after I visited the historical society yesterday morning. That’s down the street from the courthouse. After I looked up some records in the courthouse, I walked down to talk to them,” said Neva. “Nice place. It’s run by volunteers. I’d never been in it in all the years I’ve lived in Rosewood.”

  The two policemen David had enlisted for security had been standing by their car, smoking cigarettes. They threw the butts down and approached the porch.

  “Hi,” one said. “We were just wondering if you still need us tonight—since things kind of went in another direction.” He laughed nervously.

  “Now that we’ve found human bones in the well,” said Diane, “we need someone to keep the area secure. Can you stay?”

  The men looked relieved. Diane guessed they were counting on the extra income.

  “Oh yeah, that’s fine,” said the other policeman. “We’re just going to check the back road.” He moved his hand in a circle, indicating the route. “The whole trip won’t take five minutes. We want to make sure nobody’s parked back there like before.” They went back to the patrol car and drove off down the driveway.

  Diane looked at Neva. “Did you discover anything at the historical society?”

  “Not really, but this is where it gets . . . well, it’s one of those coincidences that makes David nervous,” said Neva.

  David tended to be paranoid and was very proud of it. He said it kept him prepared. His paranoia had been proven justified on too many occasions, which made him a trifle arrogant, but did keep them all primed for any eventuality.

  “The crime scene I worked after lunch today—Mary Phyllis Lassiter. She was an older woman, about seventy, who was strangled in her home sometime last night. The creepy coincidence is . . . she was a volunteer at the historical society and she was there yesterday when I was there, though I didn’t speak to her directly.”

  “How do you speak with someone indirectly?” asked David.

  Neva made a face at him. “The woman I spoke with asked Ms. Lassiter whether she knew of an artist who might have lived years ago in Pigeon Ridge. That’s this community. Apparently, Ms. Lassiter lived here as a girl,” said Neva, “before she moved to Hall County.”

  “Did she know the artist?” asked Diane.

  “She said no. She was knitting and didn’t even look up. Which was kind of strange, because until then, she watched and talked like a magpie to everyone who came in,” said Neva.

  “You were followed and she was murdered?” said Diane.

  “Yes,” said Neva.

  “You’re right,” said David. “That’s the kind of coincidence that makes my scalp tingle.”

  “You didn’t work the crime scene alone, did you?” said Diane, frowning.

  “No. I know your rules. Izzy was working it with me. One thing caving taught me is to follow protocol,” she said.

  “Yes!” shouted Mike. He pulled Neva to him and kissed the side of her head.

  Diane laughed. “It does that.”

  Diane’s phone rang as she was about to ask Neva another question. She took the phone from her pocket and looked at the display. It was Izzy.

  “Hello, Izzy. What’s up?” she said.

  “A little interesting turn of events,” he said.

  “Are you in the crime lab?” asked Diane.

  “Yeh, I’m working on the evidence Neva and I collected today. The wife has one of her Mothers Against Drugs meetings. They meet here in the museum and I like to stay late and work when she’s here.”

  “What’s the interesting turn of events?” asked Diane. She didn’t particularly like the word interesting used in that context. It usually meant something unpleasant.

  “The shoe print we collected from the Lassiter murder today was made by the same hiking boot from the Payden attack. Think we got some punks targeting little old ladies?” he said.

  “That is a surprise,” Diane said. “Have you processed any of the other evidence?”

  “Yes, but the print is the only really valuable thing I’ve found. It was a fairly clean crime scene. Like someone slipped in and out without touching much.”

  “I need to call Hanks,” said Diane. “I’m glad you called me with this. Oh, before you hang up, Neva might be being followed by someone in a black SUV with tinted windows.” She stopped and looked over to Neva. “Did you get the make?”

  “Cadillac Escalade,” said Neva.

  Diane told Izzy the make. “Have you noticed anyone following you?” she asked.

  “No, but I’ll be on the lookout. Escalade. That’s kind of expensive, isn’t it?” he said. “I’ll watch for a tail. Did she get the license number?”

  “No,” said Diane.

  “Like I said, I’ll keep a lookout.”

  After she hung up with Izzy, Diane told the others about the boot print.

  “You’re kidding,” said Neva. “The same person as here?”

  “What do you think?” said David.

  “Izzy was wondering if it might be someone targeting elderly ladies, but I don’t think he knows about the historical society connection. Marcella went to the historical society too, when she was looking into who owned the house. She was asking about the artist who lived here, as well. That seems to be a key—”

  Diane’s phone rang again. This time it was from an unknown wireless caller. She answered.

  “Yes?”

  “Is this Dr. Fallon? This is Delbert Griffin, the paramedic who keeps showing up.” He gave a little laugh. “I asked my granny about that woman’s name, and she doesn’t remember. She said she thought it was something like a bird, but that didn’t sound right to her either. She said it’s been more than sixty years. She and her friends just called her the ‘rich witch.’ Knowing my granny, she might have had another word in there too, that rhymed. Granny was somewhat of a rascal when she was young.”

  “Did she say how old the woman was?” asked Diane.

  “I asked her if the ‘witch’ was real old. She said at the time she thought she was, but she was a teenager, and everyone over thirty looked old. Now that she looks back, she thinks she wasn’t all that old. Granny’s in her seventies, so I don’t know what ‘not all that old’ means to her. I suppose anybody younger than she is.”

  “You and your grandmother have been very helpful,” said Diane. “Thank you for calling. If the name comes to her, please let me know.”

  “I will. You know, when somebody is asked to come up with those old memories, they don’t come to the surface right away. It might be that she’ll wake up in the morning and it’ll come to her,” he said.

  “I hope so. Is Hector doing okay?” asked Diane.

  “He’s in pretty good shape, really. He and his brother are a hoot,” he said.

  Diane agreed, thanked him again, and hung up.

  “Marcella told us the signature on the paintings was a drawing of a bird,” said Diane, after she told the others what the call was about. “It looks like the artist we are looking for had somewhat of a reputation at one time.” Diane stopped and stared at Neva.

  “What?” asked Neva.

  “What you said about the Lassiter woman talking like a magpie. A magpie is a bird.”

  The three of them looked at Diane with a great deal of skepticism.

  “That’s a stretch,” said David. “It doesn’t even make sense.”

  “No. The word just reminded me of something. Initials. The first three letters of magpie are m-a-g. What if she used the bird drawing as a kind of symbolic representation of her initials?”

  “Who?” said David. “What are you talking about?”

  “The writer of the note on the bottom of the desk drawer,” said Neva. “MAG. Remember? So, she was the artist?”

  “Maybe,” said Diane. “It’s just a thought.”

  “A good one,” said Neva.

  David still looked skeptical, but relented that it was a possibility.

  “I need to give Hanks a call. He needs to know about the conn
ection between the crimes so he can coordinate with Hall County.”

  Diane started to key in his number when headlights came up the drive.

  “That must be the policemen coming back from their rounds,” she said.

  “No,” said David, standing up. “Everybody in the house! Now!”

  Chapter 36

  They didn’t linger. All four of them jumped to their feet and headed for the door. David was the closest and reached the door first. He opened it and pulled everyone in, turned out the lights, and locked the door.

  “Everybody stay away from the front windows,” he said in an urgent half whisper.

  “Okay,” Diane whispered back from the darkness of the dining room. “Why are we here?”

  “Those headlights aren’t from the police car,” said David. “They’re set too high.”

  He stood near the doorway trying to see out the window. The lights went dark and they heard a door slam. Diane’s heart beat faster. Neva, next to Diane, had her hand under her coat, ready to pull out her off-duty weapon. Diane could see Mike looking around the room, probably searching for a possible weapon. Knowing him, he probably didn’t really believe anything was wrong, but he wouldn’t be taking any chances.

  “You mean like an SUV,” said Neva.

  “Yes,” said David, “just like an SUV.”

  Diane had to admire David for noticing. She hadn’t. Well, hell. She was about to assess what weapons they could lay their hands on, when a loud banging on the front door interrupted her thoughts. All of them stood stiff, waiting.

  “What the hell are you guys doing in there?”

  Detective Hanks.

  David turned on the light and found all of them staring at him. He winced and rubbed his hand over his balding head.