One Grave Less

by Beverly Connor

  Outside her office, she told Andie she was going across to the other wing.

  “I hope you don’t mind me calling Liam,” Andie said. Her face was creased into a concerned frown.

  “He was very helpful,” said Diane. “Thanks. And don’t worry about this. Look on it as an opportunity. You’re in charge of the museum until Kendel gets back.”

  “I would be more excited about it if it was because you were going on vacation,” she said.

  Diane smiled at her. “Liam did a very good job. Garnett was impressed with his work. So was Gregory.”

  Andie beamed. “He’s really very clever.”

  “Hold down the fort,” said Diane, as she went out the door. “Don’t let anyone intimidate you. They will try. Especially the board.”

  The lobby elevator was just outside the large double doors leading from the office wing of the museum. She might avoid any social interactions if she rode it up to the third floor. Diane couldn’t face any small talk or questions right now, or any sympathetic or curious stares. She stepped in and pushed the elevator button and the door closed before anyone else could get on.

  There were no exhibits on the third floor. It was dedicated to the behind-the-scenes work of the museum—the library archives and exhibit preparations. It was where much of the work of the museum took place. It was just as busy as the other floors, but with people she knew.

  The elevator came out at the overlook to the Pleistocene Room. From there she had to traverse through Exhibit Preparations to get to the other side. Her staff was hard at work. They looked up as she passed through. None looked as if they were afraid she might be there to murder them. That was good. She smiled at them and went on past offices and labs.

  As she passed the staff lounge she stopped and went in for a cold drink of something. Several people were there at tables. Most did not notice her. Some nodded and smiled, looking rather embarrassed. They were some of the newer employees at the museum. The older ones were more or less accustomed to tumultuous strangeness swirling around her.

  Two docents were discussing the weather, lamenting that the ten-day forecast predicted daily thunderstorms. “It probably will be fantastic weather,” one said, “and I’ll have canceled my plans for nothing.”

  Jonas Briggs, her archaeologist, and Korey Jordan, her conservator, were seated at a table in deep conversation.

  “Leo Bassi said she didn’t show up and didn’t call. That’s unusual. You know her, don’t you?” said Jonas.

  “Her and John too. We were at the big site together. Have you called the department?” asked Korey.

  “Not yet,” said Jonas. “Leo mentioned it in passing, and it just occurred to me that perhaps I should check. But I assume someone from her department is on top of it. Still, it’s bothersome. It’s not like her to miss a lecture without notifying someone. She’s too professional for that.”

  Three others at another table were discussing the events in the Mayan Room and poor Madge Stewart. One was wondering if Madge was in some way involved with the Mayan disaster. “I don’t think the Mexicans are going to loan the artifacts now,” another said.

  Diane half listened to the conversations as she looked over the drink selection, deciding what she wanted. She finally decided on a 7UP and put her money in, selected her drink, and started out the door.

  Jonas looked up. “Diane,” he said.

  Not fast enough, she thought.

  “Jonas.” She walked over and he reached out a hand to her. She took it.

  “You doing okay, Dr. F.?” said Korey. His dark face and his amber brown eyes were full of concern.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “What the heck is going on?” asked Jonas, patting the back of her hand.

  “Damn if I know,” said Diane. “But I’m going to find out. Someone seems to be out to thoroughly ruin my reputation. For what reason, I haven’t a clue.”

  “If you need anything, just ask,” said Jonas.

  “Yeah,” said Korey, “whatever you need . . .”

  “Thank you both. I’ll let you know. In the meantime, Kendel is acting director. I need time to work on this.”

  “Oh, no, I hate that,” said Jonas. “I don’t mean Kendel, but . . .”

  “It’ll be fine. I won’t be far off,” she said.

  “I’m sure you’ll have it cleared up in time for the wedding,” said Korey.

  “I’m sure,” said Diane. “Vanessa will insist. It seems nothing is going to interfere with the wedding.”

  They laughed and Diane was glad to leave them thinking she was okay with all of this. But she wasn’t. She hated it. All of it. Right now she was so pissed at Pris Halloran she would like to strangle her with her own microphone cord. But I would be the first suspect, she thought.

  Diane crossed the dinosaur overlook, headed for the west wing—the dark side—where she and her forensic team worked on dark matters, as her museum staff liked to describe the things the crime lab did behind the locked doors. Dark was how Diane felt at the moment. She punched in the code that unlocked the crime lab door and entered.

  Chapter 33

  The crime lab was a warren of glassed-in cubicles, a clean space for a wide range of scientific analyses. Usually there was at least one of her crew working in at least one of the cubicles processing evidence from a crime scene. Now, however, David, Neva, and Izzy were sitting around the conference table drinking coffee with Lynn Webber, the medical examiner. David and Izzy stood as Diane approached.

  “Andie said you were on your way over,” said David.

  “She also said you put Kendel and her in charge of the museum,” said Neva. Her usually smooth face was wrinkled in a scowl. Her honey brown hair was pulled back with a clip that was in danger of being pulled out, given the way she subconsciously tugged at it.

  Diane was getting tired of repeating the same answer. But people would keep asking as they discovered that Diane had stepped down—even temporarily. She hoped it was temporary. She sat in the chair Izzy pulled out for her and took a long drink of her soda.

  “Yes, I put Kendel in charge,” she said, setting her drink down. “Someone is out to get me, to ruin my reputation, to destroy my life, apparently. I need to focus my attention on finding out who the hell it is . . . and why.”

  “I think that Pris Halloran is just awful,” said Lynn.

  Lynn Webber was out of her lab coat, slacks, and boots, and in a formfitting dress of pearl gray silk, a strand of delicate silver chain around her neck, and light gray Italian leather heels on her tiny little feet. Her hair always looked styled, but it was shinier and her makeup fresher. She looked dressed for an evening out, probably meeting someone at the museum restaurant. Their restaurant was one of Rosewood’s finest places to eat.

  “You’re being way too kind to her,” Neva told Lynn.

  “You’ve been here,” said Izzy to Diane, “unless you went to Brazil on your lunch break.” He shook his head, looking as confused as Diane had felt these past few days. “Is there going to be some Interpol agent coming to pick you up? Can they do that here in this country?” he asked.

  “They work with local law enforcement,” said Diane. “Garnett has already talked with me. He’s telling Interpol I’ve been here the whole time. And Gregory has spoken with someone in Interpol.” She turned to David. “You remember Cameron Michaels.”

  David raised his eyebrows. “Yes. UN guy. He’s at Interpol now? Really?”

  “He’s Interpol’s UN representative,” she said.

  “That doesn’t seem like a step up,” said David. “Anything going on with his career?”

  “He seemed happy with the move. I’m just glad we know someone there,” said Diane.

  “I’m eager to meet this Gregory I’ve been hearing so much about,” said Lynn. She eyed Diane over the rim of her coffee cup.

  Diane was glad Lynn wasn’t looking at David. His usual poker face broke into an expression that said there was no way Lynn could compete with
Marguerite. Neva saw him and propped her chin with her hands to stop the smile threatening her lips.

  David didn’t like Lynn. He didn’t actively dislike her, but she was high maintenance—easy to take offense, yet easy to give it. Diane wasn’t crazy about those qualities either, but Lynn had a high level of competence and tended to be very loyal to people she considered her friends. Diane didn’t really mind tiptoeing around her—didn’t mind too much, anyway.

  “I’m glad Gregory’s here,” said Diane. “He’s a comfort.”

  “So,” said Lynn, “everyone’s so excited about the upcoming wedding.”

  “It’s hard to imagine how it can proceed under the circumstances,” said Diane, “but Vanessa is determined.”

  “Personally, I think this is the way to go. Let someone else make all the decisions, and just show up . . . and let them dress you, to boot,” said Lynn.

  Diane didn’t want to talk about her upcoming wedding. It really did seem in the distant future. There were too many things in the way. Too many problems to solve. Right now she couldn’t imagine anyone being happy at her wedding.

  “Have you . . . ,” Diane began. Poor Madge. Diane felt so sad. Madge had lost her life, and her death was being upstaged by other problems—including Diane’s wedding. It was wrong. “Have you examined Madge Stewart?” she said simply.

  Lynn nodded. “I’ve finished her autopsy,” she said, shifting the expression on her face to suit the new topic. “I sent the report to Chief Garnett. Madge Stewart drowned. I didn’t find anything inconsistent with an accident. There were no contusions, and only one light abrasion on her cheek. There was no bleeding in her lungs, no abrasions on her hands or fingers that would suggest a struggle. I found nothing to suggest homicide or suicide. She was a healthy sixty-two-year-old woman.”

  “Do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice?” said Diane.

  Lynn shifted in her chair and locked her fingers together in front of her. “Yes, I suppose you do. She was dressed in expensive clothes and lovely tapestry heels. Would you go walking in the squishy ground on the bank of a lake in your good shoes—especially fabric-covered shoes? It would ruin them. What woman would do that? Those were expensive shoes.”

  “Yeah, but—,” began Izzy.

  “No yeah, buts,” interrupted Neva. “She wouldn’t. Guys might, but none of us girls sitting here at the table would.”

  Izzy shrugged. “I’m just saying . . . not everyone uses good judgment. She might not have known the dirt was soft.”

  “We’ve been having a lot of wet weather lately. She would have to know,” said Lynn. “David showed me where she went in. The ground is pretty messed up by the men who pulled her out of the water. Can’t tell much there. But there is a single chain barrier beside the trail. Beyond the chain, you have to go down a slight grade before you get to the edge.”

  “Yes,” said Izzy, “and there is a large boulder down there that makes a good bench.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And the chain barrier is low. Anybody can step over it.”

  Lynn looked over at him and stood up. Izzy moved back in his chair as if he thought she was going to hit him. Lynn pulled out her chair and turned it over on its side. David and Izzy looked at each other, then stood to see what she was doing.

  “Would you say the back of this chair is about the height of the chain?” she asked.

  “Pretty much. It’s low enough for her to step over, even with high heels,” said Izzy.

  Neva and Diane smiled at him. Diane saw what was coming.

  “I’m about Madge’s height,” said Lynn.

  She started to step over the chair. She was stopped by the tight straight skirt on her dress. Her foot wouldn’t go over.

  “If I wanted to go traipsing over the chain and down the embankment, I’d have to hike up my skirt over my thighs. Madge’s skirt was straight. It did have a pleat in the back.” Lynn turned to point out the pleat in the back hem of her dress. “It aids in walking, but not in climbing. Madge Stewart may have done that, but I just have a hard time seeing a woman like her hiking up her skirt. However . . . ,” she said to Izzy, “she may have had a reason. This is not proof of anything. Diane asked me about the ‘but’ in my analysis. This is it. The shoes and the skirt bother me.” Lynn remained standing and didn’t pick up the chair.

  “You think she saw something?” asked Neva to anyone at the table who might have an answer.

  “Baby swans, maybe,” said Izzy. “Lots of people are crazy about those swans. I think they are damn mean. Have you ever been bitten by one of those things?”

  “Perhaps she was interested in them,” said Lynn. “But she wouldn’t have risked ruining her shoes over them.”

  “But she was at the edge of the lake in her shoes,” said Izzy. “We may never know the reason.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Lynn. “There is nothing I can point to that would require Garnett to keep the case open. Nothing. Good shoes and a tight skirt aren’t enough.”

  Lynn looked as if she were considering something. “Did Madge use a lot of makeup?” she asked.

  Diane didn’t know. She thought back to the board meetings. Certainly she wore makeup, but she didn’t think it was a great amount.

  “Normal amount,” said Diane.

  “She had on what would be normal for evening wear,” said Lynn. “She also had on false eyelashes, nicely done.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Diane.

  “David, come here for a moment, please,” said Lynn. Her words came out like honey.

  David came around the table to Lynn and she moved closer to the chair.

  “If we were together at the trail and we wanted to cross the chain, how would you handle it?”

  David stepped over the back of the chair, then reached over and picked up Lynn like a bride across a threshold, and set her down on the other side. He took her hand as if to guide her down a slope.

  Lynn grinned at him and slowly reclaimed her hand. “I was just thinking that she may have been with someone. A man. There are many women who would ruin a good pair of shoes for the right man. I’m not one of them, but a lot would, especially if they didn’t date much and found the attentions of a man flattering. Did she date a lot or have a special friend?”

  “Not that I’m aware,” said Diane. “I don’t think she was ever married.”

  “It’s just a thought,” said Lynn, righting the chair and pushing it under the table. “I’m meeting someone at the restaurant. Can I leave by the museum side?”

  “Yes,” said Diane. “Take the elevator on the Dinosaur Overlook. Thanks, Lynn.”

  “I’m just real sorry about this. I know she was a friend and board member. It’s a tragedy.”

  She started for the door and turned.

  “Oh, Madge had a pregnancy at least once in her lifetime,” she said.

  Chapter 34

  Maria stared at Ric Johnson’s back as he disappeared into the shadows of the next hut. She searched her mind to recall the story she had read in the Chronicle of Higher Education. The details tumbled out of her brain in bits and pieces. It was about an anthropology student. Kyle Manning, she thought—not Ric Johnson—from the University of Chicago. Married with children. Two of them, she thought. He was on a field trip with other students when he disappeared. The boat they were riding in capsized on the Amazon River. That was five years ago. His body was never found. Until now.

  What was he doing here? Not anthropology. Where did he expect to publish his work? Under Ric Johnson? Did his Ric alias have credentials? Had he simply run away from all his responsibilities to a place where he felt he had none? Maria thought that was probably what happened. A rather mundane solution to a mystery. Better, however, than having drowned. To be fair, she had no idea what his side of the story was.

  Maria looked at the hammock of knotted rope woven with grass. She knelt down to Rosetta’s eye level.

  “I think it would be a good idea to sleep in the truck,” she said.

&
nbsp; “Is something wrong?” The little girl looked worried.

  Maria would have liked to protect her from all worry, protect her from any thoughts of danger. Have her think the trip from here on out would be easy and safe. But in their present circumstances, that was hardly realistic. She had decided earlier on to be as honest with Rosetta as she could.

  “Maybe. I really don’t know. But the man isn’t who he says he is,” she said.

  “Neither are we,” said Rosetta.

  Maria smiled, almost laughing. “You’re right. Sometimes there’s a good reason to conceal who you are and sometimes there’s a bad reason. I don’t know what kind of reason he has.”

  “Who is he?” asked Rosetta.

  Maria glanced at the hut he disappeared into, then looked back at Rosetta and spoke softly—easy to do with her still-sore throat.

  “He was a student at a university in the United States. I saw a newspaper article telling about how he disappeared several years ago and was thought to be dead. He’s changed his name. Maybe it’s nothing to concern us, but I would like to sleep behind locked doors.”

  Rosetta nodded and grabbed Maria around the neck and hugged her.

  “I don’t like him either,” she whispered. “He looks at us funny.”

  “We are an odd pair, two girls alone in the jungle in a beat-up pickup. He may be as suspicious of us as we are of him.”

  “Maybe,” said Rosetta. “He’s not happy like the people here.”

  Maria looked outside at the children running around playing, the adults working and talking. Rosetta was right—they were a happy group. Perhaps Ric simply had the weight of his past life on him. Perhaps he regretted not telling someone that he had not died, and now five years had passed and he probably thought it was too late.

  The two of them walked outside. They watched the people, mostly naked, painted red. Maria wondered if the paint worked as a bug repellant.