One Grave Too Many

by Beverly Connor

  OK, now that she had opened this can of worms, what was she going to tell Laura?

  “I’m not sure. Some irregularities in purchases. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow at the board meeting.”

  “That sounds cryptic. What would strangers being here have to do with purchases?”

  “It’s just a matter of not wanting to believe that the irregularities have anything to do with people we know.”

  “Now, that does sound bad.” Laura knitted her brows.

  From the look Laura gave her, she must be sounding completely paranoid. “No, just annoying.” She patted Laura’s arm. “I’m sorry I mentioned it tonight. I’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  Hunger pangs had been gnawing at Diane’s stomach since she arrived. She headed back to the refreshment table but was caught by Kenneth Meyers, CEO of NetSoft, with a young man in tow.

  “Have you met Dylan Houser?” Kenneth said, introducing the twentyish young man. “He’s your security guard’s son. Dylan’s a sharp boy. Just the kind of hungry lad that’ll do well in the computer business. High technology’s the thing now.” He slapped Dylan on the back.

  Dylan shook Diane’s hand. He reminded her of a hockey player, the tough, fearless way he carried his youth. His face was a younger version of his father’s: dark hair, dark eyes, without the deep rugged lines. He was also charming and looked good in a tux. Every mother’s dream for her daughters. She hoped he wasn’t Melissa’s boyfriend.

  Diane mentally shook away the thought. She caught herself weaving a whole story out of that one black eye. She reminded herself that this directorship at the museum was supposed to bring her into a kinder world—at least, one free of violence and death. Just as she was thinking those thoughts, Alix, the first violinist, came up and threaded her arm through Dylan’s, and they exchanged a flash of bright smiles. Alix had nary a bruise or blemish on her fair skin.

  “Getting pretty good with that violin,” Dylan said. “I’m beginning to like that kind of music—though a little bluegrass would be nice.” Alix nudged him in the ribs and laughed.

  “I never thought this rambling old building would make such a great museum,” Dylan said to Diane. “Dad took me and Alix on a tour through the rooms earlier this evening, and it’s really impressive. I like those big guys in the other room.”

  “Thank you. We are all very proud of it.” At least, most of us are, she mused as she caught a glimpse of Donald talking with Craig Amberson.

  “I agree with Dylan.” Kenneth took in the room with a sweeping gaze. “It looks good. I like what you’ve done with computers. I’d like to suggest you use more computer simulations of dinosaurs—maybe something interactive, Jurassic Park-style. Some sound effects.”

  He opened his arms wide and, for a moment, Diane thought he was going to imitate a dinosaur. “This is a computer world now. If you want to hold people’s attention, you got to give them high tech. By the way, I’ve got a nice laptop I’m bringing you tomorrow. My compliments. I’d like you to check it out, see how you like it. I’ve installed GPS on it. Just the thing for museum personnel in the field—not that I’d use my position as a board member to help my business.” He laughed, and Diane had to laugh with him. Kenneth was one of the most shameless people she’d ever met.

  Signy sashayed up and neatly slid between Alix and Dylan. “Kenneth’s been telling me some good things about you, Dylan. It must be so exciting graduating, ready to make your mark in the world.”

  Alix rolled her eyes. Dylan smiled politely. “I’ll be going to graduate school in the fall, so the world will have to wait while I make another mark at Harvard.”

  The way Signy eyed her, Diane could tell she was going to say something about moving the museum. Diane started to excuse herself—too late. Signy opened her mouth to speak. However, Craig Amberson came over and interrupted before Signy got out her first syllable.

  “Somebody just told me you’ve been looking at a bone for the police. Going to get back into that business? You think you can do that and run a museum too?”

  Signy obviously approved of the question, if the way she beamed at Craig was any measure.

  “I looked at one bone for a detective as a favor. As well as director, I’m also the curator of the primate skeletal collection. I believe looking at a bone still falls under my purview.”

  It just hit her—in light of what Vanessa had said about the rumor of a golf course—that the museum building would make a grand hotel and restaurant for someone like Craig who was in that business. Something must have shown on her face, for his eyes narrowed as he stared at her.

  “I think looking at bones is fascinating,” said Alix. “Just like that TV show. . . .”

  “I agree,” said Dylan. “My father’s been wanting to write a book. You two ought to get together.”

  “You talking about the bone Dad showed you?”

  “Hush, Kevin. What did I tell you about breaking into other people’s conversations?” Cindy and her son had joined the small group. Diane was starting to feel suffocated.

  “Dad said you told him a whole lot about it,” said Kevin, ignoring his mother.

  “Not that much, really,” said Diane. “I’d need more of the skeleton. Ah, Mrs. Van Ross is talking to the botanical collection manager. I need to speak with both of them. Nice meeting you, Dylan. Excuse me, please.” Diane moved away before anyone else could ask her about that damn bone.

  She spoke briefly with Vanessa and went straight to the buffet table. With the affair flowing along on its own, she could afford to feed her stomach before it started growling.

  Armed with a plate of raw vegetables, a couple of small triangle sandwiches and a glass of wine, Diane headed for the giant short-faced bear exhibit. She sat down on its platform, set down her plate and glass, and took up the sandwich. Just when she thought she had picked a secluded spot without leaving the party completely, she saw Signy, like a red beacon, gliding toward her, a bright smile on her face and wine in hand.

  “Diane. I’m glad you’re alone. The party’s great, but I’ll bet you’re frazzled.”

  It would have been rude to tie her to the bear and stuff an apple in her mouth, so Diane gave her the best smile she could manage.

  “I’m holding up. I hope Mark had a chance to enjoy the exhibits before he had to leave.” Diane took a bite of sandwich.

  “Oh, he loved them.” Signy sat down and nearly tipped her wine onto the platform, spilling a few drops, which started to run toward the middle of the exhibit. “Oops, good save,” she said, giggling, catching it before losing the whole glass.

  Diane wiped up the running spill with her napkin as Signy moved her China plate and wineglass. Diane was wondering if she should have closed down the wine bar. She looked up, wine-stained napkin in hand, as Alix and Melissa approached, offering fresh napkins.

  “Dr. Fallon, Mrs. Grayson. You’re just the two we need to see.”

  Diane nodded a thank you and finished the cleanup. The two musicians began a two-pronged conversation with her and Signy. Melissa asked about playing at a Junior League function of which Signy was an officer, and Alix seemed to be inquiring about a summer job.

  Diane was grateful to have Signy Grayson’s attention diverted from what she knew was going to be a pitch for her husband. As Melissa talked to Signy, Alix picked up Diane’s plate and wineglass and handed them to her as the violinist sat down on the exhibit platform opposite Diane.

  “We’ve both had experience working at Disney World.” She launched into an animated Disney World greeting, and Diane laughed. “They teach you to be very friendly,” said Alix. “Melissa and I would really like to do something with the children’s programs at the museum.”

  “Why don’t you and Melissa bring your résumés by this week and leave them with Andie? Disney World has pretty tough standards—that’s certainly in your favor—and we’re looking for assistants for our docents, the tour guides. With your qualifications, there shouldn’t be a problem. You will hav
e to put in some time learning the exhibits.”

  “Great! You’ll have our résumés tomorrow morning.”

  “It looks like with your music and a job at the museum, the two of you are going to be busy.”

  “Daddy always said that all play and no work makes one very poor.” Alix rose and shook Diane’s hand. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for us. Melissa, I think we’d better get back to our violins.”

  “Well,” said Signy, watching the girls’ retreating backs and retrieving her glass of wine, “they are certainly an energetic pair.”

  “Youth,” said Diane.

  Signy frowned, as if she’d been insulted, but after a moment her face brightened. “Diane, I wanted to give you a word to the wise. I really think you should give Mark’s ideas some thought.”

  “Signy, do you really think Milo went forward with his plans”—Diane gestured, taking in the room—“without giving considerable thought to the alternatives? He looked into several possibilities before deciding to renovate this location. He considered it to be by far the best, and I agree.”

  “I’m just asking you to give it some more thought,” said Signy. “Mark will win. He always does. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.” She smiled and sipped her wine.

  I’ll drink to that last part, Diane thought, washing down a bite of sandwich with a drink. She managed to avoid discussing moving the museum with any would-be champions for Mark’s cause for the remainder of the evening. Toward the end, as the guests were leaving, the string quartet entertained them with a little bluegrass and jazz. It was a good ending to what was actually a successful evening, but one Diane was relieved was behind her.

  When everyone had gone and only Leonard, the night guard, and the cleaning crew remained in the museum, Diane climbed into her car, almost too tired to drive home. Despite her exhaustion, she made it home without running her car into a tree, and went straight to bed without even expending the energy to take off her makeup. Cold crisp sheets on bare skin—it felt good. She slept until 7:30 in the morning—when the phone rang.

  Chapter 7

  “Did I wake you?” Frank’s voice sounded like a rasp on sandstone.

  “Frank, are you all right?” Diane asked.

  “Can I come over?”

  Diane hesitated a moment, filled with dread about hearing details of murder. But these were Frank’s friends. And so was she. “Sure. I’ll fix you breakfast,” she said.

  “I’ll bring it. It’s the least I can do for waking you up.”

  Diane jumped out of bed and into the shower. She had just pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt when the door-bell rang. After slicking her wet hair back with a comb, she opened the door.

  Frank was in running sweats, but she could tell from the smell of shampoo that he hadn’t been running. He set two sacks on the table. The bulky one was filled with doughnuts; the other with cups of coffee from Vance’s Café.

  “I’ll make us some bacon and scrambled eggs to go with the doughnuts,” she said.

  She also put on a pot of coffee. Why Frank liked Vance’s coffee was a mystery. To say it tasted like dredge from the Chattahoochee River was giving it flattery it didn’t deserve.

  Diane microwaved strips of bacon while she scrambled three eggs. Frank stood in the doorway of the narrow efficiency kitchen as she worked. “Kevin had a great time last night. It was good of you to let him and his mother come.”

  “No problem.” She took down a couple of plates from the cabinet and warmed them in the oven. She felt awkward, like he had brought a huge gorilla in with him that neither of them wanted to mention, yet it was taking up so much space.

  “I think Cindy’s husband, David, was the one who wanted to come, to rub elbows with some of the big guys.”

  “And did he?” Diane asked.

  “Must have. Cindy said she wants to invite us over for supper next week.”

  “Us?”

  “You and me.”

  Diane looked over at Frank through narrowed eyes.

  “She’s not matchmaking.”

  “No. I don’t think she is. I think Mark Grayson is using David to try and talk me into selling the museum property.”

  “What’s that about?”

  “Grayson hopes to make a killing on a big real estate sale he’s cooking up involving the museum. I imagine he wants to buy it himself and sell it for a heck of a lot more than he would pay for it.” Diane divided the scrambled eggs and slices of bacon—two-thirds on Frank’s plate and one-third on hers. “It’s all rather complicated, and I’m not sure how he plans to accomplish it without gutting the museum’s holdings. He’s been trying to push the old Vista Building on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he holds an interest in that.”

  “Why is he after you and not the board?” Frank took a plate from her cupboard and stacked the doughnuts on it.

  “Oh, he’s after them all right—to put pressure on me. But even if he gets every member of the board to sign off on it, he still has to convince me.”

  “You have that much power?”

  “I certainly do, thanks to Milo.” Diane stood with the plates in her hand, staring at the pyramid of assorted doughnuts. “Were you expecting an army of policemen?”

  “I thought you might like a choice.”

  She set the plates on the table. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”

  “I brought coffee.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She brought two mugs and filled them at the table from her pot of fresh brewed coffee.

  Frank sat down and started eating. “You make the best eggs.”

  “The secret is to not put milk in them, and to cook them slowly until they’re just done.”

  “So how come you have so much more say-so than the board?”

  “Do you know Vanessa Van Ross?”

  “I know of her. Richest old woman in the state, isn’t she?”

  Diane frowned at him. “I don’t know that, but she has money, and she and Milo had a thing.”

  “She must be one hundred and twenty. He was what? Sixty?”

  “He was sixty-five. What is it with you guys? You think women stop being someone you can love when they get crow’s-feet?”

  “She’s got more than their feet.”

  “She set up the foundation and gave Milo final power over practically everything.”

  “So the board’s only show?”

  “Almost. Milo hired me as an assistant while I was still in South America. He fixed it so that not only would I become director if anything happened to him, but all the power would pass to me as well.”

  “Was he expecting to die?”

  “No. But he had a heart condition. It obviously crossed his mind.”

  “At least he knew it was a possibility.” Frank stared into his coffee.

  Diane put a hand on his arm. So the gorilla was about to awaken. “How are you?” she asked.

  Frank set his coffee down and capped the rim with his hand. The steam rose through his fingers. It was several moments before he spoke.

  “Jay was just fourteen. They found him outside, lying under a tree—shot in the back. George and Louise were upstairs in their bed.”

  She could see Frank was making a big effort to sound objective.

  “Frank, I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t help but think it’s my fault. If I’d taken that bone more seriously.”

  Diane rose, went around the table and started to hug him. Instead she put a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault. I know it must feel like it is, but it’s the murderer’s fault.” He grabbed her hand and held it. “What do you think happened?”

  He pulled away, and Diane walked back to her seat. “I don’t know. I’m afraid the detective in charge seems to like their daughter, Star, for it. But as far as I can see, she has little evidence and isn’t likely to get any. But. . . .”

  “But what?”

  “They did find the gun—or at least the caliber of gun they believe was the murder
weapon.”

  Diane sensed there was more. She reached out for his hand. “And?”

  “They think it was Louise’s gun. George bought it for her several years ago. One of the policemen at the scene thought he recognized it because he gave Louise lessons with it. Last year, Star stole it and took it out to shoot it with her boyfriend. When George found out, he took it and locked it up and grounded Star.”

  “Do you think their daughter could have done it?”

  “She was a handful. Hell, that’s being kind. As soon as Star hit fourteen, she turned from this sweet little girl into this rebellious kid.” He took a drink of his coffee. “But it doesn’t feel right. I can’t see her killing her parents, and I sure can’t see her shooting Jay.”

  “If she’s into drugs . . . they can change you.”

  “I know, but her little brother? I don’t think she’d do it. She adored him. The detective in charge is just taking the easy way out.”

  “What about this boyfriend of hers?”

  “They’re looking for him. He hasn’t been home in weeks. His parents don’t know where he is. Right now, it’s frustrating, being an Atlanta detective. I have no jurisdiction whatsoever even though I live in Rosewood, and the homicide guys refer to me as just a PC.”

  “Politically correct?”

  “Paper cop.”

  “Oh.” She could see that hurt him. “What about the bone?”

  “They don’t think it’s relevant, especially now that they know George just picked it up in some woods. It could have come from anywhere. Star looks much better to them.”

  “One human bone’s still a body. It’s rather a large coincidence, them finding a human bone a few days before they get killed. I think it’s important.”

  “And . . .” He stopped, looked at her and frowned and looked away.

  “And what?”

  “And I don’t know. For some reason they don’t believe you.”

  “You’re kidding. In that case, find another osteologist to look at the bone.”

  “Would you write up a report on it? Please? In the meantime, I’ll send a photograph of it to a couple of other forensic anthropologists. They can ID it from a photo?” Diane nodded. “If Detective Warrick doesn’t want the information, I can give it to Star’s attorney when they find her.”