“Oralia Lee, you . . .”
Diane didn’t hesitate: As he spoke she rolled toward him and grabbed both his legs and pulled. He hit the floor hard and lost his gun. Diane scrambled for it, but he reached it first and fired at her. Click. He fired again. Click.
Diane jumped to her feet and ran for the door, down the hall and down the stairs, and to the living room to Archie. His gun was just under his body. She pulled it out just as Burke came down the stairs.
“I got bullets now,” he said as Diane fired, hitting him in the neck.
She jumped up and ran out the door, leaving the two of them behind her. She thought she killed Burke, she didn’t know, but Oralia Lee could possibly be coming to by now. Diane sprinted through the woods toward her house as fast as she could run. It was dawn and the light was welcome. She was tired of the dark.
When she got to her apartment, she fumbled with the keys in her pocket. Her hand was bleeding where the glass shards of her knife had cut her. She managed to get the door open and closed it behind her. She ran up the stairs to the safety of her apartment and called the police.
Garnett sat in her living room on the couch with her while a paramedic bandaged her hand.
“Did you find them?” asked Diane.
Garnett nodded. “Archie and his sister are dead. I guess you know that. I know both of them. I would never have guessed it.”
“We all have our breaking points. Archie was sitting in the tent while we processed the charred remains. They turned out to be people he knew—Bobby Coleman, Izzy’s son, his own niece, for God’s sake. That’s hard. His sister lost her daughter—and grandchild—for what? Nothing. I understand their desire for revenge. I could have been there. What about the Rawsons?”
“Burke Rawson is dead. You were true with that shot. It hit the jugular and he bled out. Oralia . . . is that her name? She’s in a coma.”
Diane was afraid of that; she almost hesitated when she hit her. She had broken her nasal bone and had probably rammed a piece of bone up into her brain. She felt sick.
“You can wait and give your statement later this morning,” he said. “Get some rest.”
“I guess we’ll never know what they did with the bodies of the Sebestyen family—if they were the killers, if the Sebestyens were even killed.”
“Maybe the woman’ll come out of the coma—who knows,” said Garnett.
“How is Adler?” she asked.
“We looked in the basement. No sign of him. We’re thinking he got himself free and escaped,” said Garnett.
Diane nodded, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She sat back up so suddenly that Garnett jumped.
“What basement?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Which basement did you look in?” said Diane.
“The basement of the house.” he said.
“The meth house?” asked Diane.
“The meth house? No, the one last night . . . where Archie and Catherine were killed,” said Garnett.
“No. He was in the burned-out basement of the meth house next door.”
“Holy . . .” Garnett jumped to his feet.
Damn, she hadn’t been clear when she spoke with the 911 operator, and when the police arrived there was too much daylight to see the light in the basement of the meth house.
“My God, he was there all night in this weather. He’ll be frozen to death,” she said, rising from her sofa.
She grabbed her coat and rode with Garnett back to the scene of the crime. The paramedics were close behind.
They all ran from their vehicles to the edge of the gaping burned-out hole in the earth. Adler was still sitting with the ghosts of the dead students.
Epilogue
Diane ran along the nature trail behind the museum. She stopped when she got to the bridge and walked out on the small dock to watch the swans gliding in the water. The sun felt good on her bare arms. It had been a hard winter—too many funerals to attend, too many broken lives, too many unanswered questions.
Adler hadn’t died. But in the cold he lost two fingers, three toes, and his spirit. He resigned his council post and quit politics. His family wanted to blame Diane for his being left out in the cold, but the 911 tapes cleared her. Garnett never got to the bottom of the mix-up in directions.
The Indiana cold case squad traced the lives of the Rawsons. They were in Florida at the time the Sebestyens disappeared. There was evidence the Sebestyens rented a house on the beach near Ruby Torkel in the summer of 1987. But the detectives never got even a hint of where the bodies might be buried. Diane believed they were taken out to sea and dumped into the deep. Jin hoped that Juliet’s memories involved only dolls and that the Sebestyens found the treasure and were living happily and quietly somewhere mysterious.
The treasure. Diane shook her head and continued her run. To Diane, the treasure had been one of the most malignant aspects surrounding the tragedies.
It had taken months to work out all the legal details. At first, the State of Florida didn’t want to relinquish any rights to a possible treasure—which they believed likely to be Spanish gold. They tried legal maneuvers to force Diane to give them the code, but the doll and the code belonged to Juliet Price and Ruby Torkel and they couldn’t be forced to give it up.
Finally Florida made the deal with Juliet and her grandmother and after using ground-penetrating radar and three stout grave diggers, they discovered nothing but the remains of Leander Llewellyn.
Whether there had ever been a treasure, or a new code had been substituted much the same way Diane had done, or someone had already found the treasure years ago, or Leo Parrish was simply a prankster, no one knew. All those people—the Sebestyens, Archie Donahue, Catherine Riverton, Burke Rawson—died for nothing. Just like the thirty-four people in the house with the meth lab. They all died for nothing. Diane ran faster, trying to outdistance all the ghosts. She hoped Jin was right.
Dead End
The bite of the black widow can be deadly. Diane Fallon discovers just how far a particularly cunning black widow will go to get her revenge on Diane for putting her in prison. When she escapes from the lair of her prison cell, the black widow leaves Diane entangled in a web of deception and deadly consequences.
Coming from Onyx in February 2008
About the Author
Beverly Connor is the author of the Diane Fallon Forensic Investigation series and the Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery series. Before she began her writing career, Beverly worked as an archaeologist in the Southeastern United States specializing in bone identification and analysis of stone tool debitage. She weaves her professional experiences from archaeology and her knowledge of the South into interlinked stories of the past and present. One Grave Too Many was the first book in the Diane Fallon series. Beverly’s books have been translated into Dutch and German and are available in countries of the European Union.
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