Dust to Dust dffi-7

by Beverly Connor

  “That’s what he told me. He said she didn’t want to get his hopes up. But he did say that about a week before she died, she was optimistic about something. She didn’t tell him what.”

  “Well, I’m glad we got the prison visit over with.” Kingsley grinned at her. “I’m sorry. I know you hated it.”

  “It’s so depressing. Surely there must be a better model for a penal system,” she said.

  “I’d like to go to Stacy’s apartment. Are you up for it?” he asked.

  “I need to check in at the museum for a while, then the crime lab. I’ll pick up a crime scene kit and meet you there. We need to process her apartment the right way, even though it’s been trampled all over.”

  Chapter 12

  When Ross Kingsley dropped Diane off at the museum, the first thing she did was go to her office suite, take a hot shower, and change clothes. Relieved to have the smell of prison off her, she went to her desk and checked in with Andie Layne, her administrative assistant, and Kendel Wil liams, her assistant director.

  The museum had been running so smoothly lately, it almost scared her. And today hadn’t brought any emergencies either: no fires to put out, no problems to solve, no large shipments overdue, no displays to put on hold, no cranky curators, no lost children-and the number of visitors to the museum was still on the rise. They were making money. So far, so good.

  After her meetings, Diane spent an hour doing paperwork. Most of the time she didn’t mind the budget reports, the requests, the letters, or even cutting through the red tape that frequently accumulated in the course of business. Doing paperwork was like oiling the machinery of the museum. Paperwork kept things running; it gave her staff what they needed to do their jobs; it kept the museum on the cutting edge. Less paperwork meant the museum was getting static. Diane particularly didn’t mind it today. It was so far removed from the world of prisons. The moment she walked into the old Gothic building, she welcomed the smell of the museum, the smooth wood walls, brass fixtures, polished granite floors-and most of all, the happy people. She finished signing the last report and headed upstairs to archaeology to see Jonas Briggs.

  Jonas had a two-room suite on the third floor, across from the archaeology exhibits. One room was his office; the other was a small lab where he did most of his work. His office was wall-to-wall bookcases and was filled with as many books and papers as Marcella’s. He did have a couple of blank spaces on the walls where he had hung enlarged photographs of archaeological excavations from the thirties. In another space he’d hung an abstract painting with bold, bright slashes of color, which he said was done by an elephant. A table flanked by two stuffed chairs sat in one corner of the room. A Staunton sandalwood chessboard was always set up on the table and he and Diane played when time would allow.

  Jonas was sitting at his desk. A young couple Diane recognized from a photograph as Paloma Tsosie and her husband, Mark, sat in the two stuffed chairs.

  “Diane, come in,” said Jonas. He rose from behind his desk and introduced Marcella Payden’s daughter and son-in-law. Jonas had said they were both teachers on the Navajo reservation. They looked younger than Diane had imagined. They also looked younger than their pictures. They must have both been just out of college.

  “I wanted to thank you for the hotel,” said Paloma, rising to shake Diane’s hand. “It’s so nice, and so convenient to the hospital.”

  Paloma looked like an early version of her mother. She was petite, had an oval face, honey blond hair, large blue eyes, and full lips.

  Her husband, Mark, had short black hair, dark eyes, and light brown skin. He had a lean face, a slender nose, and sharp cheekbones. They were an attractive couple. Mark stood with his wife and shook Diane’s hand, reiterating the thanks his wife had offered for Diane’s hospitality. Diane felt sincerity from both of them. They were grateful for her kindness and it showed in their eyes and their firm, lingering handshakes.

  “You’re welcome. I’m fond of your mother and it’s the least I could do,” said Diane. “She has done some wonderful work for the museum. We’re very excited about the collection she is putting together.”

  Mark offered Diane his chair, but Jonas shoved a stack of journals off a chair and brought it around for her. Paloma and Mark sat back down. Jonas rolled his desk chair around so he wouldn’t be behind his desk.

  “How is Marcella?” asked Diane.

  Paloma grasped her husband’s hand. “She still has swelling in her brain. The doctors are hopeful. I’m not sure what that means.” She looked at Mark and Jonas, and back at Diane. “They won’t say much.”

  “They probably don’t know much,” said Jonas. “We just have to wait. Marcella’s a fighter.”

  Paloma smiled briefly. “She is that. We have an appointment to speak with the detective this afternoon. I’m worried he’s off in the wrong direction,” she said. “Jonas told us how he was questioned.”

  “It’s just the way the detectives do things,” said Diane. “Don’t read too much into it.”

  “This arguing thing-Mother loves scholarly debates and her friends love to argue with her. She never bothers debating people who don’t have intelligent ideas. It’s just the way she is. It’s obvious to me it was those hooligans who attacked you and that detective-Hanks-who also attacked Mother. What’s wrong with him that he can’t see that?”

  “He’s just getting the obvious interviews out of the way first,” said Diane.

  It wasn’t exactly true, but she could see Paloma getting herself worked up, and she doubted Hanks would interview Jonas again.

  “I hope so,” said Paloma. “Unless they find out who did all of it, Mother will never feel safe in that house again, and she loves her house. She said it needs to be on If Walls Could Talk, you know, that home-and-garden show about old houses.”

  “I’m sure Dr. Fallon is right,” said Mark. “The detective has to understand her world before he can understand what happened to her. When he sees she’s not a woman who brings enemies around her, he’ll look outside her circle.” His wife smiled at him.

  Diane asked Jonas, “Did you ask Paloma what her mother’s words that night might have meant?”

  Jonas looked blankly at Diane for a moment. “Oh, I clean forgot. There’s just so much going on,” he said.

  “What?” asked Paloma.

  “When I found… While we were waiting for the ambulance, Marcella was conscious for a few moments. She said what sounded like ‘tiger after all loose moment.’ I don’t know if I heard it right. Her voice was faint,” said Jonas. “We couldn’t make anything out of it.”

  “She said, ‘Tiger after all. Lewis moment,’ ” said Paloma, nodding her head. She looked over at her husband, who agreed. “If she could make sense right after she was hurt, then there’s a chance she’ll not be permanently damaged. Don’t you think?” She gazed at all of them, as if looking for agreement.

  Mark nodded. “I think you’re right.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “That’s hopeful.”

  Diane and Jonas glanced at each other, shrugged slightly, and focused back on Paloma.

  “That makes sense to you?” asked Jonas.

  “Lewis Blaire is one of her colleagues at Arizona. He’s a cognitive archaeologist. His work is about-”

  “Perception,” said Jonas, nodding.

  “He has the idea we perceive things subconsciously before we do consciously, and that ability gave early man an edge to deal with fast predators like the sabertoothed tiger,” said Paloma.

  Diane cocked an eyebrow and looked at Jonas.

  “The idea is that you perceive a predator subconsciously and act instinctively before it has a chance to jump you. Kind of an early-warning system.” Jonas wiggled his hand. “I have my doubts, but the idea is supported by some brain-function research. I just don’t think it could help you outrun a sabertooth.”

  “Mother liked the concept because it happened to her,” said Paloma. “She was surface collecting in an overgrown field
-I was with her-and suddenly out of the blue, she jumped way to the side and almost knocked me down. She scared me. I asked her what was wrong, why had she done that, and she said she didn’t know. Well, we looked down and saw there was a rattlesnake lying in the grass, and if she had taken another step forward, she would have stepped on it. If you believe Lewis’ concept, her subconscious perception had caused an instinctive involuntary physical reaction that saved her from the snake before she could even think about it. She calls those kind of phenomena ‘Lewis moments.’ ”

  “Interesting,” said Diane. “That means she probably had one of those moments before she was attacked.”

  Paloma nodded. “But the sabertooth got her anyway.”

  “So what does this mean, really?” asked Diane.“Marcella saw or heard something that didn’t register, but caused her to react in some way and-what?”

  They were silent for a minute, looking at each other in turn. Jonas spoke first.

  “I think that’s exactly what happened. She subconsciously detected some threat and reacted in some way, but no threat appeared immediately. That’s what she meant by ‘tiger after all.’ There was a sabertooth in the bushes after all and it attacked her.”

  Chapter 13

  Diane suggested they all go to the museum restaurant for lunch. As they stepped into the elevator just outside Jonas’ office, Paloma wrapped her sweater tight around her and gave a little shiver. She looked fragile and frightened and very young. Mark put an arm around her shoulders.

  “I had to buy a sweater when I got here,” she told Diane. “I’m not used to it being so chilly this time of year.”

  “It’s a little colder than normal here,” said Diane. But what she thought was how vulnerable the young couple looked. He in his loafers and jeans and blue T-shirt, and she in her sandals and jeans and peasant blouse, they were innocents.

  “I’ve been trying not to turn my heat on at night,” said Jonas, “but in a few days, I’m going to have to give in.”

  The restaurant had a medieval atmosphere with its vaulted ceilings and rough-hewn wood tables. It was cozy, especially in the evenings when each table was lit by can dlelight. At the time of day they were there, it had sunlight streaming in from the wall of windows and French doors leading to the trellis garden. The restaurant was full of diners. The waitress showed them to a booth in the corner and left them with tall menus written in calligraphy.

  “Suddenly, I’m hungry,” said Paloma, her eyes darting over the menu.

  “If you like steak, I suggest the filet,” said Diane.

  She was convinced that high-protein foods and chocolate were medicine, and the two of them looked as if they needed some strong medicine. The very idea of losing someone you love is the scariest, most helpless feeling in the world. She hoped Paloma wouldn’t have to face the loss of her mother, especially to such a mean cause.

  “I agree,” said Jonas, “the steaks here are great.” He closed his menu without looking at it. “You’ve talked me into it.”

  They all ordered steak, salad, and baked potato, with Paloma ordering a baked sweet potato with her meal.

  While they waited for their food, Diane talked about the museum and its holdings, inviting them to take a look around when they had the time. Mark commented that he wasn’t used to so much green and it would be fun to bring his students there on a field trip if the school ever got a windfall for traveling.

  “We won’t hold our breath,” said Paloma, smiling.

  The waitress brought their food and the four of them were well into their lunch before anyone brought up Marcella. Diane told Paloma about the beautiful work her mother did and described the reconstructed mask-pitcher in Marcella’s workroom.

  “That was one of the pieces she dug up in the backyard,” said Paloma.

  “I’m not that well versed on pottery,” said Diane, “but to me it didn’t look Native American.”

  “It isn’t,” said Paloma. “It’s modern, but Mother didn’t know how old. One of the things that excited Mother about the house is all the stuff she found. One of the previous owners must have been an artist and a potter. Best of all, whoever it was used a bonfire kiln, like Mother uses. Mother found a pit in the backyard where the pots were fired. She excavated hundreds of broken sherds from the fire pit. For my mother, that was like finding a yard full of gold. Whoever the potter was, he used natural clays and tempers like she uses.”

  “I wonder if the artist could have been someone from the university?” said Diane.

  “Mother thought they might have been an archaeologist,” said Paloma. “But she knows practically every archaeologist who’s ever worked with pottery and she said there isn’t anyone from Bartrum in the literature. Mother told me a lot more about all the pottery finds, but I have to confess, at a certain point I kind of glaze over.” Paloma smiled. “I didn’t get bit by the archaeology bug the way she did.”

  “The mask she was reconstructing in her workroom is so beautiful. Did she have any clue who the artist might be?” said Diane.

  Paloma shook her head. “She’s been trying to find out. The house was empty for several years. You may have noticed it got a little run-down. The guy she bought it from had inherited it from an uncle. He didn’t know any owners before that. She talked to some of her neighbors. They didn’t know anything either. Evidently there is a large turnover in the area because of all the students from Bartrum.”

  When they had finished eating, Diane talked them into dessert. Paloma and her husband ordered pecan pie. Diane and Jonas had chocolate cake. Both were specialties of the restaurant. Mark asked Diane how they pronounced pecan here. Diane told him it was like puh-CON. That a pee-can is a receptacle. He laughed. It took Jonas and Paloma a second for the joke to register. It was good to see Paloma laugh.

  “I saw a lot of pieces of broken garden ornaments when I was at the house,” said Diane.

  Paloma and Jonas both nodded.

  “Mother found a lot of modern artifacts in the yard,” said Paloma. “All kinds of pieces of statues, birdbaths, gargoyles. Someone at some point liked to decorate the garden in all manner of statuary. Mother said it was impossible to tell if they were in the same time frame as the pottery, but she was having a great time.”

  Paloma’s eyes were suddenly moist. She blinked and took a drink of water. “Why would anyone hurt her so cruelly?” she asked.

  Diane didn’t think she expected an answer. There was never a good enough answer to satisfy that question.

  “She had some paintings on the living room wall that were stolen the night of the attack,” said Diane. “Three portraits. Do you know anything about them?”

  “She didn’t have them when I was over at her house a couple of weeks ago,” offered Jonas.

  Paloma nodded. “She called me last week, so excited. They were hidden inside a wall in one of the upstairs rooms. She found them when she tore out the wall for a doorway. She thought they might have been done by the same artist who did the pottery.”

  “Inside a wall? Interesting. Were the paintings signed?” asked Diane.

  “I don’t know,” said Paloma. “I couldn’t talk to her very long that evening; I was late to a meeting.” She started to cry and her husband pulled her over to him and hugged her.

  Diane wished she had something comforting to say.

  After a minute Paloma straightened up and took another drink of water. “Sorry. It’s just so unfair.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Diane.

  “She told me one of the sheds out back was a potter’s shed,” said Paloma. “It was mostly filled with a lot of junk, but she found some pieces of furniture there that she wanted to refinish. She was like a kid in a candy store with all the stuff she was finding.” Paloma smiled. “Most people would have thought it all junk and trash. Archaeologists have a different view about old things.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Jonas.

  Diane almost mentioned the odd note on the bottom of the desk drawer, but decided not t
o say anything. It seemed, at this particular moment, a little too disturbing. Instead, she changed the subject to the mummy the museum inherited a year ago and all the surprises that came with it. By the end of dessert, Paloma seemed to be feeling better.

  Mark glanced around the restaurant. “I don’t see our waitress,” he said.

  “Would you like something else?” asked Diane.

  He grinned. “Oh, no, this will last me well into next week. I was just looking for the check.”

  “She won’t be coming with a check,” said Jonas. “It’s a little-known secret that when Diane brings a guest to the restaurant, the waitstaff don’t bring the check to the table. See, in the museum, Diane is queen. Really, it’s true.” Jonas chuckled. “We have a herpetologist who is terrified of Diane and hides when he sees her coming. Afraid he might be banished or something.”

  “He lost a snake in the museum,” said Diane. “It turns up at odd times and scares the staff. He can’t seem to catch it or tell me why it’s still in the building. It should have made its way outside by now.”

  Paloma and Mark both laughed. “We appreciate all this,” said Mark. “It’s comforting to get to town and not be strangers.”

  “I’m just sorry your visit is for this reason,” said Diane. She paused. “I really think Marcella will come out of it.” I’m hoping, she thought.

  “She has a very hard head,” said Jonas.

  “She does that,” said Paloma.

  When they got up to leave, Diane spotted Ross Kingsley at another table. She took her leave of Jonas, Paloma, and Mark and walked over to his table.

  “Diane,” he said when she sat down, “I’ll be ready to go to Mr. Dance’s house when I finish. Couldn’t resist the cake here.”

  “I had a piece too. I’ll go up to the crime lab and get a kit. You want to pick me up outside the lab?” asked Diane.

  “Sure. Look, I really do appreciate your help in this. I don’t know where else I’d get free forensic expertise.” He grinned at her.