Riddle in Bones: An Abishag’s Third Mystery (The Abishag Mysteries)

by Michelle Knowlden

  “Franklin or Frank DiToro was the first guy.” Salinger’s attention was on me so he should have missed Sebastian’s start. Maybe he felt the movement on the couch, as he immediately turned to Sebastian. “You know the name?”

  “Well, yeah,” Sebastian said. He grabbed Salinger’s tablet and swiped for the previous screen. “He’s famous in paleontology circles, made some incredible discoveries. You ever hear of the Eiver Dell Child or the Pontdiere Point? The man’s brilliant, wrote a monstrous amount of books, speaks all over the world.” Sebastian’s eyes burned as if he spoke of a demi-god. “I’ve never met him. I guess I should have recognized his picture, you know, from the book jackets. I’ve read everything he’s written.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Sebastian was gushing. “Dez,” he shouted. “Look at this.”

  Donovan leapt to his feet when Dèsirèe appeared with a coffeepot in her hand. She set the pot down on the dining room table when she saw Sebastian waving the tablet. Donovan immediately lifted the pot reverently as if knighted to be her steward.

  Dèsirèe’s face lit up when she saw the screen. “Frankie DiToro,” she crowed. “That’s a chic photo for him.”

  Frankie? Maybe he was a lounge singer.

  “Dez was an archeology major, before she started her own business,” Sebastian told Salinger. So that’s how Sebastian met her.

  Salinger’s attention fixed again on her as if revising his earlier assessment. “You knew Doctor Telemann also?”

  “But of course,” she said. “I was his assistant one summer.”

  Like me. I wondered if she had also sorted and tagged mule bones. I also wondered why none of the students knew her and why she hadn’t asked after Henry.

  I glanced at Donovan but since he was too busy ogling Dèsirèe, he missed my quizzical look.

  “That was long ago.” She sighed and handed the tablet back to Salinger. “I had more interest in truffles than Tyrannosaurus so I quit the program, much to my father’s disgust. C’est la vie, yes?” She retrieved the coffeepot from Donovan. Their hands entangled briefly before she extricated herself and re-filled our cups. Donovan hovered behind her.

  “I knew Dèsirèe at UCLA, and she recommended me to Doctor Telemann when I entered Claremont’s graduate program,” Sebastian said. “Dez, did Henry know Doctor DiToro ?”

  When she set the coffeepot down again, Donovan immediately lifted it like a trained retriever. She smoothed her apron. “Yes, but I fear not as friends. Old rivals in love, perhaps? I do not know.”

  Salinger leaned forward. “Could you explain, Miss…”

  “Just Dèsirèe.” She spread her hands. “Like Cher. I erased my father’s name when I opened my business. But you care only for what happened between the two men, yes?”

  “Yes,” Salinger said shortly. It pleased me that her charming asides made him impatient. Unlike Donovan, who nearly shivered devotedly at her elbow.

  “It would be more than two years ago, when I start my summer assistantship with Doctor Telemann. Frankie DiToro speaks in Los Angeles for his books and visits the professor. I allow him entry without announcing him, because they were friends, yes? And he, Frankie DiToro, such a famous man, all doors open to him, you understand.”

  We understood. She nodded, satisfied.

  “Then, how do you say? An uproar. Doctor Telemann, breathing fire, he was, pushes Frankie from his office. He say: “How dare you approach me after what you did. You destroyed him. You killed her. Get out!””

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Her eyes wide with delighted horror, she clasped her hands. “Such a terrible scene. I, of course, run after Frankie, to see if he was okay.”

  She didn’t show much loyalty to Doc T. “Was he?” I asked. Sebastian caught my sarcasm if I correctly read his glance. Salinger didn’t look up, his attention on his notes. Coffee sloshing in the pot, Donovan strained to hear Dèsirèe’s answer.

  “Distraught,” she assured me. “He needed a drink so I took him to a hotel bar nearby.”

  “Did he explain who died, who was killed?” Sebastian asked. He seemed calm for someone whose swashbuckling hero had just been evicted by Doc T.

  Tilting her head, Dèsirèe pulled a cloth from an apron pocket and dusted a picture frame above the sideboard. Donovan set the coffeepot on the table and looked urgently about as if hoping a can of furniture polish would appear.

  “He only say that Doctor Telemann had no forgiveness in him, that it had been too long ago. After some drinks, he say that he had lost more, much more than Henry ever had.”

  Sebastian and I exchanged a glance that Salinger caught. “Thank you, Miss… Dèsirèe. You’ve been most helpful.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Show Dèsirèe the other picture—maybe she knew him too.”

  Dèsirèe reacted the same as Sebastian and I had. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “He look familiar, but I know not why. I think it is recent I see him, not when I was at the college.” She returned the tablet and retreated to the kitchen.

  I opened my mouth but now that Dèsirèe had left the room, Donovan came to his senses. “Silence, Miss Greene,” he said.

  The front door opened, and Kat charged into the house.

  “Guess what I found.” She skidded to a stop on the tile floor and gaped at the presence of Salinger, Hoyt, and Donovan.

  “Kathmandu,” Donovan said with that note of distaste whenever he saw her.

  Even I, who admired him, had to admit Donovan had an exceedingly narrow view of how women should appear. I watched Salinger’s response, certain that Kat with her blonde dread locks, tattoos, tank, and shorts would make his cop meter redline. Hoyt suppressed a yawn.

  She casually slung her bulging messenger bag behind her back.

  “What did you find?” Salinger asked pleasantly.

  She swallowed. “Am I interrupting something?”

  He smiled affably. “Not at all. What did you find?”

  “The name of that pizza parlor in Palm Springs,” she said. Kat thought fast.

  But Salinger was sharp too. “With such a très magnifique cook, why would you want pizza?”

  Unfazed, Kat smiled. “You mean Dez? She’s okay, but Les and I have more pedestrian tastes. Sorry, Sebastian, but we planned sneaking out for pizza tomorrow.”

  Sebastian looked amused, but Donovan harrumphed. Yes, he made such lawyerly sounds. “I find that appalling behavior and offensive to Miss Dèsirèe’s hard work,” Donovan said. “And you, Miss Greene, leaving your post for pizza?”

  That was rather hard of him. The man liked pizza too, let me tell you. He ordered it often enough at his favorite Italian café in Venice, California. And Abishag wives did get time off.

  “Oh dry up, Donovan.” Kat spoke under her breath, but since he was standing next to her, Donovan turned red as a beet.

  “Did you have other questions, Jeff?” I asked hurriedly.

  He rose to his feet, marvelous how some men moved so handsomely. “I’m finished here. For now.”

  I escorted him and Hoyt to the door, a wave of hot air hitting me when I opened it. Salinger handed me his card. “In case you or the others remember anything else.” He looked at Kat pointedly.

  “Thank you.”

  As Hoyt headed for their car, Jeff smiled down at me. “You like pizza?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He whistled as he left. Though the heat sweltered and the others complained, I waited till they drove away before shutting the door.

  “He likes you.” Kat’s whisper tickled my ear, and I brushed her away irritably.

  “No he doesn’t. It’s a police technique that just looks like flirting.”

  “You wouldn’t know flirting if it…”

  “Miss Greene?” Donovan frowned at me. “If I could have a word?”

  “She’s got things to do, Donny, so make it quick.”

  The doorbell rang again. I answered it, thinking I shouldn’t leave Kat alone with Donovan. She would probab
ly do him great damage one day.

  It was the doctor. I took him to Henry’s room, leaving him to consult with Dog. I carried Dog’s tray back to the kitchen to find Donovan talking to Dèsirèe about crème brulee. Looking irritated, Sebastian sat at the counter, checking his iPhone. Kat drank lemonade from a quart-sized mug, liberally iced.

  “You wanted to talk to me, Donovan?” I cut into the recipe discussion.

  He made a face. “In the living room, please.”

  I figured he would gripe about my behavior with Salinger, so I started to explain, “I was only trying to make it easier…”

  “Invite me to dinner,” he said.

  I blinked. “What? Why?”

  “Mrs. Harcourt asked me to stay in town to speak with the press about the Telemann issue and support you as needed. The hotel’s restaurant is abysmal, so I would appreciate a good dinner.”

  “I’ll speak with Dèsirèe,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were staying in town?”

  “I didn’t think Telemann would hang on so long. You have any idea how much longer he’ll last?”

  His face looked so boyishly petulant that I almost forgot myself. I wanted to throw myself in his arms to make him smile again. Not appropriate for an Abishag wife, but there it was.

  “Donovan, he’s been here for less than a day. You heard what the doctors said yesterday. It could be weeks.”

  “I wasn’t listening. I had no idea that the director would order me to stay. I’m prime counsel at the agency. You would think they’d stick someone else with jobs like this.”

  He looked cute when he pouted, less when he whined. “It is a publicity coup for the agency,” I reminded him. “You’ve been wanting more face time with the press.”

  “They moved on.” He prodded the glass coffee table with his shoe, scowling. “They won’t be interested again till his funeral.”

  I couldn’t let that pass. “You’re talking about a client and my husband.”

  He looked a little sheepish, but would have continued, when I put a finger to his lips. “You can stay for dinner but I won’t be there. I’m eating with Henry tonight.”

  “Henry? Oh, you mean the professor…” He suddenly leaned close. “Leslie, I’ve missed you. I wish…”

  I swayed, enveloped in his musky aftershave, waiting breathlessly for what would come next. When he stared over my shoulder with an annoyed look, I turned and saw Kat glower. She raised her eyebrows at me. “You finished? We need to talk.”

  The romantic fog lifted. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

  Donovan grabbed my wrist and hissed. “Tell Dèsirèe I’m staying for dinner.”

  “Right.” A headache brewing, I took the fifteen steps to the kitchen. “Dèsirèe, Mister Reid is staying for dinner.”

  Sebastian looked up from his iPhone. “Why?” he demanded.

  “He likes the food better here than at his hotel. It’s just for a couple of hours.”

  “I’ve already put up with him for too long,” Sebastian said.

  “No problem with another for dinner,” Dèsirèe said brightly. “I made more than enough, and it will fill the table to have a nice lawyer.”

  I’m sure Donovan, undoubtedly eavesdropping at the kitchen door, would be pleased.

  “Fine,” I said shortly. “I’ll pick up my own tray when it’s ready.” Sebastian started to protest, apparently just realizing I wouldn’t be eating with them, but I cut him off. “No lip, Sebastian. And be polite to Donovan. Kat and Dog won’t be.” I gave Kat a stern look, but her lips twitched impishly.

  She followed me into the living room as I wished Donovan a good night. Then we went my room.

  “You first,” she said, still working on her lemonade, trying to re-hydrate after the long drive in a car with no air conditioning.

  “Okay, but let’s be quick. Dog’s gotta give me the doctor’s report before dinner. First, I think that Mayfield guy likes me so we can probably get more information from him if I exert a little charm.” I said that with relish as I’ve never had the chance to say that before.

  Kat repressed a smile. “Okay, I’ve something to share along those lines too. Anything else?”

  “Of course.” I know I sounded smug. “From one of the students, Elaine Did-something, I found out that Henry’s Guinevere was Jennifer Eaton. Apparently a paleontologist named Frankie DiToro was also involved. A big ruckus ensued, and Henry left for California.” I tapped my computer. “I’ve more intel along those lines myself.”

  Kat wasn’t listening. “DiToro, eh? Did you know he’s in town?”

  “Explains why Salinger asked about him. Maybe they think he’s the shooter.”

  Kat wrinkled her nose. “He sounds like a hitman, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t tell Sebastian or Dèsirèe that,” I advised. “Apparently he’s like a god in the paleontology world.”

  “You finished?” I could tell she itched to tell me what she’d stashed in her messenger bag.

  “One more thing. Jennifer Eaton was a student at the college in Idaho and married the college president. The president had to step down when he accused another professor of having an affair with his wife. He shot him or shot at him. The news article wasn’t specific.” Kat tried to say something, but I continued. “Later, he took another potshot at the professor, but this time the professor shot the president in the head. Didn’t kill him, but the president lived a near vegetable in an Idaho nursing home for years.”

  I paused for effect. Kat asked urgently. “Was the professor Henry Telemann?”

  I licked my lips. “The shooting happened at his house both times, but they didn’t charge him with the shooting. Neither was Doctor DiToro.”

  Kat’s eyes widened. “Frankie was there too?”

  I nodded. “Henry left Idaho after the shooting. DiToro stayed as a full professor for twenty years. When his books took off, he switched to being an adjunct professor and took to the speaking circuit.”

  “Jennifer Eaton?”

  “Saddest part of the story. She stayed with her husband till he died. Two years later she died too. Breast cancer.”

  Kat scowled. “What’d you expect, Les? It was Karma. The woman messed around on her husband and ruined four lives including hers.”

  I didn’t believe in Karma. “Love’s complicated.”

  She glowered. “No it’s not. It’s really simple.”

  I gazed at her sympathetically. Of course, it was simple for her—she wasn’t a romantic rationalist. She had an uncomplicated relationship with Dog. At the moment, I had a nearly-dead husband, a past boyfriend, the possibility for a couple of future boyfriends, and still knew for certain that it would not end with a “happily every after.”

  Diplomatically I said, “That’s my report. Since everyone else is dead, the person who shot Henry must be Frankie DiToro. Case closed.”

  “If romance led to the shooting, why wait twenty years? How about the fake bones? The altercation with the student? The test answer that made Doctor Telemann turn pale?”

  “Oh right,” I said graciously, checking the time. We still had ten minutes before dinner and the doctor’s report. “Let’s hear your theory.”

  She unzipped the messenger bag. “Your Henry kept all the tests together with a student roster. Hundreds attended, must have been both gratifying and aggravating to grade that many tests. He splashed a lot of red ink on the answers, giving positive and negative comments. Like Sebastian said, the professor never indicated how close a student came to being correct. Which is both mean and intriguing.”

  “Kat…”

  “I took Sebastian’s final, not because he’s a suspect, but I thought you might like to see it.”

  “Why would I…?”

  “Shut up.” She stuffed it into my computer bag. “According to the roster, one final was missing from the file. I found it in Doctor Telemann’s private files.” She presented me a with stapled sheet of papers, a shaky A- on the top. I saw his name, but Kat said i
t anyway, “Christopher Mayfield.”

  I flipped feverishly through the pages, but she stayed my hand. “I know you have to talk to Dog now. Maybe you can read it while you eat dinner. Christopher Mayfield was the shooter, Les. You can use those feminine wiles to get him to confess, but he’s the one.”

  Or not. I stuffed the test and my computer in the bag and started for Henry’s bedroom. I paused at my door to narrow my eyes at Kat. “Be nice to Donovan, Kat. He won’t stay long.”

  I ignored her growl “Not if I can help it” and headed for Henry’s bedroom.

  I found Dog drumming his fingers impatiently. “Sorry,” I said, pressing my cheek briefly to Henry’s, careful not to touch the bandage around his head while sneakily sliding my computer bag under the bed. “Would you mind briefing me after I take a shower?”

  He sighed hugely but nodded. After I finished, I slathered myself with lemon verbena lotion and donned my sorcerer’s nightshirt and red satin kimono. I heard Dèsirèe deliver my dinner tray while I was getting ready. When I exited the bathroom, I caught Dog dipping into my French Onion soup.

  After I ousted Dog from the small writers’ desk where Dèsirèe set the tray, I admired the perfectly presented meal from soup, to broiled sea bass with a mango-leek relish, parboiled baby vegetables, and blackberries with cream for dessert. While covertly sipping the onion soup crusted with cheese bread, I had to severely focus my attention on Dog while taste buds jittered with delight.

  According to the doctor, Henry still hung in there—no sign yet of his organs shutting down. His vitals looked fine, slightly better than yesterday’s measurements. The doctor had commented that the Abishag wife could be responsible for the improvement.

  I fiddled with the spoon. Donovan would not be happy, but I felt thrilled that Henry was doing well. After the research into his past today, I figured he deserved a wife who would care for him, and provide comfort and peace in his last days. Then a thought struck me…

  “And here it comes.” Dog smiled.

  “You don’t think he’s going to…”

  “Wake up? Rise like Lazarus? Like in the stories you Abishag wives tell each other?”