“How absentminded of me,” Diane said. “I have a friend who might have known the family. The paramedic said his grandmother referred to the woman who owned the house as being rich. Wealthy people in a small town like this would know one another,” said Diane.
“Who are you talking about?” asked Hanks.
“Do you know Vanessa Van Ross?” she said.
“The mayor’s mother?” he said. “You know her?”
“She’s the real power behind the museum,” said Diane.
“And here I was given to understand that you are the queen of the museum,” he said.
“Not at all. I’m just the viceroy,” she said, smiling. “What made me think of Vanessa was your mentioning age. You know Vanessa’s family is filled with centenarians and su percentenarians, don’t you?” she said.
“Actually, no I didn’t,” he said. “What’s a supercentenarian?”
“Someone more than a hundred and ten. Vanessa’s grandmother died not long ago at the age of a hundred and fourteen,” said Diane. “Her mother lives with her and is approaching a hundred. Vanessa is around the age of the paramedic’s grandmother. Between her and her mother, she might know something.”
“Is her mother, ah, clearheaded?” he asked.
“Sharp as a tack,” said Diane. “So was her grandmother up until the time of her death.”
Diane fished her phone out of her jacket pocket and selected Vanessa’s number. The call was answered by the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Hartefeld, this is Diane Fallon. May I speak with Vanessa?” she asked.
“Of course, Dr. Fallon. Anything to get her out of my hair this afternoon,” she said.
Diane heard Vanessa in the background. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harte, give me the phone. And you are going to help me with these photographs? Hello, Diane, dear. How are you?”
“I’m well,” said Diane.
“From what I hear, you are in a well. Is that where you are calling from?”
“Almost. I’m topside now. How do you get your information?” she said, smiling into the phone.
“I visited Marcella and she was having the most wonderful time watching you excavate her well on a computer,” she said. “I do hope that young man who fell in is doing all right.”
“Hector Spearman is doing fine,” said Diane. “Recovering from his injuries, and irritated at having to be off work, but other than that, he’s good. What I was calling about is this house.” Diane explained about the paramedic’s grandmother knowing the place from when she was a girl. “The courthouse records show the owner at the time was Edith Farragut. Did you know her?”
“Edith Farragut. That name does sound familiar. Edith Farragut,” she said again. “I didn’t go to high school in Rosewood. Most of my teenage and young-adult years were spent in Switzerland and other parts of Europe. However, Mother might remember the woman,” said Vanessa.
“She or someone in the house was an artist,” said Diane. “Did pottery and painting, I believe. This would be before 1959.”
“You say the people who lived in that house were wealthy? That wasn’t a particularly wealthy section of Rosewood. It may have been a rental and someone else entirely lived there,” she said.
Diane hadn’t thought of that.
“I’ll ask Mother and get back to you. She’s napping now, so it will be later on this evening. I’ll speak with her when we are having our cocoa.”
“Thank you,” Diane said.
“You’re welcome. I quite like the webcam proposal,” she said. “I should very much like to have a setup in my house. I can be, what do they call it, one of your beta testers,” she said. “Too bad we didn’t think of this when we were putting the dinosaurs together. What fun the schools would have had with that.”
“I’ll set you up first thing,” said Diane. She flipped her cell closed. “Vanessa’s going to speak with her mother this evening,” Diane said to Hanks, then relayed to him the rest of the conversation.
“That might be the break we need. I didn’t think about it being a rental,” he said.
“Neither did I. I think it’s because stuff belonging to the occupant is still here—the desk, the paintings,” said Diane.
“I suppose,” he said. “What have you found in the well, speaking of stuff they left behind?”
“I’ve found the bones of at least two individuals, so far. One is a teenage female who was killed with a sharp blow to the head. She had been butchered and some of her bones crushed, perhaps for pottery temper. I found a large piece of leather and iron hammers that may have been used for crushing the bone, but I won’t know for sure until we examine it.”
Hanks let out a long breath. “Man, that’s cold-blooded and gruesome.”
“It is,” said Diane.
“If you will, keep me informed. Garnett gave me the old case too, even if it’s not related to the attack on Dr. Payden,” he said.
“I will,” she said.
Diane stood up. Rest over. It was time to go back in the well.
Chapter 40
Diane worked in the well past dark. The temperature dropped and her hands got stiff and cold. Her support crew up top were no doubt getting uncomfortable too, so she quit for the night. She had revealed most of a second skeleton. It was in a similar condition to the first—sharp trauma to the head, butchered. The bones belonged to a male in his teens. He was a little larger than the female but not much older. Diane covered over the remaining bones with black plastic and climbed out of the well.
Neva and Scott had taken the excavated bones and other evidence to the lab earlier. Diane asked Neva to use the skull to start a facial reconstruction with the 3-D laser scanner and software. Neva was an artist and Diane taught her how to read a skull to visualize what the face would have looked like. This enabled her to enhance the computer drawing to give her pictures a more realistic quality. She also taught Neva how to make a cast of the skull and do a sculpted representation of the victim. Neva turned out to be very skilled at artistic reconstruction.
David decided to camp out at the well. Marcella again volunteered her living room and the policemen were again on guard, happy for the overtime. Diane fervently hoped there were no more surprises awaiting on Marcella’s property.
“Why don’t you let me finish the excavation?” said David as Diane was climbing into her SUV. “I’m perfectly capable.”
“Of course you are, but I want to finish it,” she said. “It’s almost done. Tomorrow morning ought to finish it.”
“If you change your mind, call,” he said, patting her shoulder and closing the driver’s-side door for her.
He motioned to her and Diane rolled down the window. “Is Frank home yet?” he asked.
“Sometime tonight,” she said. “Call if anything happens.”
David laughed. “What’s left to happen?”
“Who knows?” she said. “Alien abduction?”
“I’ll be sure to call if it happens. You’d like that.”
Diane smiled, waved good-bye, and drove home. Frank’s fraud case in Nashville had taken longer than he expected, but he assured her when she spoke with him earlier that he would be home late this evening and if he could leave early, he would. He also told her he was working on Ellie Rose’s diary and that he was sorry he wasn’t there to see her down in the well.
Diane parked in the drive and went into the house. It was quiet. Frank had a quiet house. She liked that. Quiet was soothing. She locked the door and walked up the stairs to the bedroom, undressed, and ran a hot bubble bath. She reluctantly took her cell phone with her and laid it on the floor next to the tub. She showered first, scrubbing the dirt off her body, and washed her hair. Then she got into the warm, scented bubble bath, leaned her head against the back of the tub, and closed her eyes. Quiet and peaceful, that’s what she liked. She could just sleep here for the night and let all the strain and soreness soak out of her tired muscles.
The sound of the doorbell brought her out of her co
mfortable stupor, but she didn’t move. It rang again. Anyone who would come to her for an emergency would call her cell. So it was probably not any of her crew or anyone at the museum. It wouldn’t be Garnett, Hanks, or Kingsley. They had her number. So did Star, Frank’s daughter. Frank wouldn’t knock; he had her cell number and a key. They all had her number. It probably wasn’t a neighbor with some emergency. There were closer houses than Frank’s to run to. Same for a road emergency. There were closer houses to go to for help. Frank’s house was in the middle of a double lot with lots of trees.
It wasn’t anything she needed to attend to. They would just have to return during civilized hours to ring the doorbell. Diane closed her eyes again.
The doorbell rang again. This time they leaned on it. They banged the door with their fist.
“Okay, this is obnoxious,” said Diane. She submerged a moment, then came up and rubbed her hands over her hair, squeezing the water out of it.
It must be a drunk, she thought. Or someone who had the wrong address. Or maybe it was a process server for some unknown thing someone was suing her for. Whatever it was, she decided not to face it naked. She got out of the tub, dried off, and slipped on underwear and sweats. She dried her hair with a towel. All the while, whoever it was banged on the door and rang the bell. Damn it. What the hell?
She slipped her feet into her fleece-lined house shoes and walked into the bedroom. The ringing stopped. Great, she should have waited longer. She started for a front window to see if she could get a glimpse of a car. The outside security lights came on in the yard on the bedroom side of the house.
The pissant was coming around the house. She turned out the light in the bedroom, walked to the stairs, and peered down to the foyer. She heard someone rattle the back door. Time to call the police and ask them to send a car.
She nearly fell down the stairs when the gunshots were fired. Someone was breaking into the house with a very large gun. Diane didn’t hesitate. She ran to the chest of drawers in the closet and got her gun and ammunition clips. She carried them and her cell up to the attic. She closed the door at the top of the attic stairs and pulled a large chest in front of it. Light from the security lamps shined through one of the dormer windows, giving the attic a spooky glow. She called 911 and explained to them what was happening. She held the phone to her ear with her shoulder, shoved a clip into the butt of the gun, loaded a round into the chamber, and clicked on the safety.
“Stay on the line, ma’am,” the operator said.
“Can’t. I think he is in the house. I’ll call back when I can.”
“Ma’am, stay . . .”
Diane hung up and called Chief Garnett for good measure.
“I’ll make sure they are on their way,” he said. “You have a gun?”
“Yes. I’m holed up in the attic. This is some bold home invader. He must know the police are about to come,” she said.
She listened for footfalls. Frank’s house didn’t have carpet. He had polished wood floors and sound reverberated off them. She heard the footsteps downstairs. Diane took up a position behind a large trunk near the wall. She knew it was filled with Frank’s old National Geographic magazines. They ought to be a fairly decent bullet stopper. This vantage had a view of the door but was not in front of it. If he came up the stairs and began blasting through the lock and moved the chest of drawers, she would have time to shoot before he got to her. It seemed like a good plan.
Only now did Diane notice that her heart was racing and she was sick to her stomach. She heard footsteps on the main stairs. Maybe he wouldn’t find the attic stairs. They were hidden in the bedroom closet.
Her cell rang. Damn, she forgot to put it on vibrate. She answered with a whisper.
“Diane, are you all right? You sound hoarse. This is Vanessa. Mother remembered—”
“Can’t talk now, Vanessa. I’ll call back.”
A booming gunshot slammed against the attic door.
“Is that gunfire?” said Vanessa.
“Yes. Got to go.”
Chapter 41
Diane dropped the cell, rested her shaking arms on the trunk, and aimed the gun at the doorway. If he came straight through the doorway, he might not think to turn to the right until it was too late. He would have to lean into the door to move the chest. He would be off balance. That would give her time—if she was lucky. He hit the door with another earsplitting shot. What if there were more than one of them? Damn, she hadn’t thought of that. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
The chest jumped as another bullet slammed through the back. It sounded like an elephant gun, it was so loud. Diane checked to see if the safety on her gun was off. It wasn’t. Shit. She would get killed if she didn’t start thinking. She moved the switch with her thumb.
Sirens whined in the distance. Hurry. Please, hurry.
The intruder shot the door twice more. The sound was so loud the entire neighborhood should have heard it. She thought she could hear him reloading—clink, clink.
The chest began to inch forward. He was pushing on it now. Diane steadied her gun. He apparently put his shoulder into it, for the chest moved forward at least three feet and he stumbled into the room—facing Diane. He raised his shotgun toward her as she fired three times and ducked behind the trunk. She felt the floor shake when he fell. At the same instant, a blast from his shotgun shook her eardrums and the wall behind her exploded, debris falling over her. Diane lay still a moment, stunned. When her head cleared, she wanted to peek over the trunk, but she was afraid it was a trap. What if he was playing dead? What if he had backup? She was stuck. She crouched behind the trunk and listened to his breathing. It came in gasps, sounding real enough, but she didn’t believe it.
“Help me,” he whispered.
She was too scared to move, too wary to trust. She tried to think what to do, but her brain was too panicked.
Damn, she thought. I’ve been in bad situations before. Why am I suddenly such a coward?
She stayed low and moved slowly to look around the side of the trunk next to the wall. There was a six-inch opening between the wall and the trunk she could have seen through, if it weren’t so dark. The only significant light reflected through the windows from the security lamps. They had suddenly gone dark. The motion detector outside had timed out. Only dim light from the floor below seeped up the stairs and through the open doorway. It did little to illuminate.
The sirens were louder. Help was coming. But the sirens were too loud. She wouldn’t hear him if he moved. Diane stayed still and listened hard through the noise. She stared through the space beside the trunk until her eyes became adjusted to the darkness. She saw a booted foot moving, trying to get up. She shot at it and he yelped.
She heard him whimper and mutter something she couldn’t make out. He seemed to be down, but Diane didn’t trust him. She waited, tempted to shoot him again.
Get some backbone, she told herself.
She heard banging on the door downstairs. The police. But what if it was Frank? He wouldn’t know what he was walking into. She rose slowly, keeping her back flat against the wall, and surveyed the darkened attic. She saw the dark form of the intruder squirming on the floor. The shotgun was within his reach. She aimed her gun at him and made her way slowly to the downed form and kicked the shotgun aside. She stepped over to the door, keeping him in sight, keeping her gun trained on him, and flipped the light switch.
The sight startled her. The man on the floor looked like Ray-Ray Dildy. No, it looked like a slightly younger and different version of Ray-Ray Dildy.
What is this, some kind of maniac crime family?
“Police!” Muffled voices came from downstairs.
Diane walked around and picked up his gun. She looked down at his face. He was scared and suffering. She could see he was wearing a bulletproof vest, but one of her bullets had managed to hit him through the arm opening and another in his leg.
“Help will be here soon,” she said, and walked out of the room, dow
n the attic steps, and out to the stairs. She stood his shotgun in the corner of the stairwell.
“I’m up here,” she called.
She heard running through the house from the rear. They had found the broken back door. She walked down the stairs, her hands held high where they were clearly visible to the police. The first person she saw was Douglas Garnett. He met her at the base of the stairs.
“The intruder is wounded on the attic floor,” she told him.
Diane sat on the living room couch, leaning forward with her head in her hands while the police secured the house. The intruder had wanted her to answer the door. He was going to shoot her and walk away. Frank would have come home and found the door open and her lying on the floor, dead. She took a deep breath and stood up when she heard the paramedics coming down the stairs with a stretcher. They were the same ones who had been making the runs to Marcella’s house.
“Didn’t we just take this guy last week . . . and wasn’t he dead?” one of the paramedics asked Diane as he and his partner passed with the stretcher.
“Must be the same family,” she muttered.
As they went out the front door, she thought she heard one of them mumble that he was going to write a book.
Frank came in a moment later, alarm and bewilderment on his face. Diane looked at him with tears in her eyes. He had gotten away early. What if he had arrived when the intruder came blasting through the door? She put a hand over her mouth, trying to gulp back the fear.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” He ran over to her and she hugged him hard.
“There are a couple of doors you’re going to have to fix,” she said.
Dust to Dust Page 24
