“That’s true.” Neva nodded. “You know those little animals I do from clay? He loves that. I gave him one I did of a mustang.”
“Mike admires talent.”
Diane pulled her shirt off over her head and reached for her blouse-crisp white with an embroidered neckline.
Neva stared at Diane’s rib cage. “My God, did you get that when you fell?”
Diane looked down at her ribs. A large patch of skin had started to turn blue. “Must have been when I grabbed onto the rope. I swung into the wall pretty hard.”
“It looks sore.”
Diane fingered the bruise and made a face when it smarted. “It is a little tender. I’ll put an ice pack on it when I get home.” She pulled the blouse over her head. “This has been quite an eventful trip.”
“I’ll say. Do you think the sheriff will let us process the evidence?”
“I imagine he’ll go along with the coroner.” Diane scooped up her dirty clothes, rolled them up and tucked them into her pack, and walked with Neva to the vehicles. Diane climbed in hers and started the engine. She waved at Neva and MacGregor as they climbed into Mike’s SUV.
The next order of business was to get the body of Caver Doe logged in and secured in the museum forensic lab until arrangements could be made for the autopsy. That job was made easier by a call on her cell phone from Sheriff Burns as she drove back to Rosewood. As she had suspected, the possibly fifty-year-old case of Caver Doe did not rank as a priority in Sheriff Burns’s pressing caseload. He was more than happy to let Diane arrange the processing of the body.
Diane scrolled down her cell phone address book to the number for Lynn Webber, the medical examiner for Hall County, and got Lynn on the phone.
“Well, hello, Diane Fallon. What can I do for you?”
As soon as she spoke in her deep South Georgia accent Diane visualized Lynn’s dark, well-coiffed hair and manicured nails. Lynn didn’t look like a medical examiner until you saw her elbow-deep in the bowels of a cadaver.
“I have a special situation here, and your expertise immediately came to mind.”
“Flattery usually works with me, but this sounds like a problem.”
“No, really, this could be a welcome break from what we usually see.” She explained the circumstances and the condition of Caver Doe to Lynn.
“You have the most experience with mummified remains of anyone in the area, so I’d like you to do the autopsy,” Diane said. “And the entrance to the cave is in Hall County, so technically, it could have been your body-sort of.”
“I looked at the MRI of the Egyptian mummy for your museum. That is the extent of my experience.”
“Yes, and that gives you much more experience than anyone else around.”
“A fifty-year-old mummy?”
Mike blew his horn as he passed her on the road. He was a much faster driver than Diane.
“Fifty, sixty, seventy. We don’t know the exact age. But his Moon Pie wrappers look pretty old.”
Lynn laughed. “This isn’t a joke, is it? Did that Brewster Pilgrim tell you to call me?”
“No, this is legit.”
“Okay, send him over. You want your mummy stripped when I’m finished, I guess?”
“Yes, please. And. . thanks, Lynn.”
“You tell Brewster that if this is a joke, payback’s a bitch.”
It took about twenty minutes for Diane to deliver the body to the hospital morgue where Lynn worked, and another twenty minutes to check it in with the attendant on duty. By the time the mummy was safely inside his drawer Diane was more than ready to be in her small Rosewood apartment soaking in her large claw-footed tub.
Just as Diane had anticipated, the bubble bath was soothing and relaxing. She would have preferred warm water, but with the bruises on her midsection, she opted for a cooler soak. She was leaning back in the tub when she heard Frank’s knock on the front door. He had a rhythmic knock he did with his knuckles before he let himself in with the key Diane had given him. And he always called out when he entered.
“Diane, it’s me.”
“I’m in the tub.”
“That sounds nice. Let me put the food down and I’ll join you.”
She smiled to herself as she heard him rattling around in the kitchen and then his footfalls coming toward the bathroom.
“You look all relaxed. Hard day at the cave?” He sat on the edge of the tub and dipped his hand in the water. “A little cool. How long you been soaking?” He shook the bubbles off his sleeve.
“I’m about ready to get out.”
Frank Duncan was a detective in the Metro Atlanta Fraud and Computer Forensics Unit, where he investigated everything from white-collar and computer crimes to identity theft. They had dated before she went to South America to work for World Accord International looking for and excavating mass graves. When she returned to take over directorship of the museum, she had been surprised to discover that his blue-green eyes still made her quiver when his smile made them crinkle at the corners and sparkle-like they did now.
“We have the rest of the evening and two full weeks,” he said.
“I am so looking forward to being in a mountain cabin with you, and no dead bodies, blood spatter, or fussy board members.” Diane relaxed back in the tub, feeling content and peaceful in the cool water, glad Frank was here.
“I brought some Thai food for dinner. Thought we could eat in the living room, look out your picture window, listen to music and. . ” He let his words drift off as he sloshed the water back and forth with his hand. Diane sat up in the tub and smoothed the water out of her hair with her hands. Frank took the towel she had folded and laid on the counter and opened it up. “I can help.”
Diane pulled the plug in the bathtub, stood up and reached for the towel. “Great, I’m in the mood to be waited on.”
“Diane, what happened?” Frank held on to the towel as he stared at the blue bruise that covered the length of her left rib cage.
“It’s nothing. I bumped into a wall in the cave.”
“It’s not nothing, and you don’t get a bruise like that bumping into a wall.”
“I was hanging on to a rope at the time-it was swinging. Look, it’s just a bruise. I get bruises all the time when I’m caving.”
“I see you naked on a fairly regular basis and I have never seen you bruised up like this.”
Diane grabbed at the towel. Frank wrapped it around her and helped her dry off.
“There’s not much to tell, really.”
“When you say there’s not much to tell, I know there’s a story lurking. What happened?”
“I fell through some loose rocks. . an ordinary caving mishap.”
“Fell through some loose rocks, hanging on a rope? I’m not getting a picture of this. You are going to have to draw a little better.”
Damn. Diane could see she was going to have to tell him. The last thing she wanted to hear from Frank tonight was a lecture on the dangers of caving. Noncavers just didn’t understand the allure of caves-and it wasn’t like she had accidents every weekend. “At least let me get dressed.”
“Is that necessary?” He drew her close.
Later, Diane, in faded jeans and a tee, sat on her sofa cross-legged, finishing her chicken-and-cashew-nut dinner. Frank sat on the other end enjoying a dish of spareribs in peanut curry sauce. Brahms’s “Waltz in A-flat” was just finishing on her CD player.
Frank took the plates to the kitchen and came back with a cup of coffee for each of them. “Okay, now that you’ve had time to think out your story, are you going to tell me how you got that bruise?”
Diane should have known he wouldn’t forget. She explained how the rocks were caught in the hole, creating a false floor, trying to make it sound like nothing. In fact, the near miss had rattled her, but she found ignoring it was more effective for her peace of mind than dwelling on it. What nagged at her the most was not as much the near fall, but the fact that she had overlooked something dangerous.
/>
“Mike was there with some rope,” she said. “That’s why I cave with several people. We watch one another’s backs.”
“But for a while you were hanging by your fingers?”
Diane stared at the stereo. She had put some Beethoven sonatas on low. She was wondering now if she should turn up the volume and drown out the conversation. She glanced at the remote and sighed. “Yes. But when you climb rocks you develop strong hands.”
“Right. How far would you have fallen?”
“Not that far. I’m not sure,” Diane said as she took a long sip of her coffee and made a grab for the remote. Frank, apparently, anticipated her move and grabbed it first.
“Yes, you are. You map caves. You have that little laser gadget with you. Don’t tell me you didn’t measure the height of the chamber once you were in it.”
“Okay. Thirty feet.”
“Thirty feet! God, Diane, that could have killed you.”
“Probably only broken some bones. But I didn’t fall. Look, most of the time caving is uneventful, in terms of actual danger. This was an unusual trip.” She glared at him directly in his eyes. “Frank, I love caving. I’m a good caver, and a safe one.”
She decided not to mention the rock slide. That wasn’t even a near miss. They got out of the tunnel in plenty of time. . sort of.
“This is actually a fairly tame cave so far. But what was interesting was what we found in the chamber,” she said.
Frank raised his eyebrows. “What did you find?”
“A mummified caver who wasn’t as lucky as I was. Looks like he probably broke some bones and couldn’t get out.”
Frank shook his head. “Do you have some kind of compass that points you to dead bodies?”
“I think he got into that chamber from another entrance no one knows about. We may have discovered a connection to an entirely different cave. That kind of discovery is important to us cavers.”
“What good luck you had your crime scene people with you.”
“Wasn’t it? We got a call out to Jin and he brought the crime scene kit. We found quite a few things that may have belonged to the deceased. There’s no indication so far of who he might be. We’re calling him Caver Doe.”
“Caver Doe. . nice. How long do you think he was down there?”
“The body was pretty well desiccated, and he had an old carbide lamp with him. Several decades, I’m thinking-maybe from the fifties, maybe earlier. I won’t know until I examine him.”
The telephone’s sudden ring was shrill compared to the music that had just been playing. Diane wasn’t going to pick it up. But a glance at the caller ID told her it was Gregory.
Gregory Lincoln was Diane’s former boss at World Accord International. He had seen her through the tough time when her adopted daughter was murdered in South America. Even though now he was back in his home in England and she in the States, they had kept in touch and talked at least once a month.
“Diane, this is Gregory.”
“Hi, Gregory, it’s good to hear from you. It must be in the wee hours of the morning there. Is everything all right?”
“Just fine. It’s not too far beyond midnight. I do some of my best work at this time.”
“How’s your family?” Diane smiled at Frank. He leaned back on the sofa and took one of Diane’s feet and began to massage it. Frank had a knack for massage. She forced her mind back to what Gregory was saying.
“Marguerite is fine. The boys are in the United States. They went to space camp this summer. Got this thing about wanting to be astronauts. And how’s your museum faring?”
“We inherited an Egyptian mummy, so now everyone thinks we’re a real museum.”
Diane heard him chuckle. Gregory had the sort of low, throaty laugh that made you want to laugh along with him.
“You don’t say. A real Egyptian mummy. You’ll have to send pictures. Marguerite loves mummies.”
“I will. He was unwrapped, but we managed to get our hands on the amulets that were in his original wrappings. Our Web site has pictures. I’ll e-mail you the URL.”
“Your museum is the reason I called. I’m afraid I volunteered you to a friend. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Volunteered me?”
“Your expertise. He’s sending you the bones of a witch.”
Chapter 7
“The bones of a witch?” said Diane. “Did I hear you right, Gregory?”
Frank lifted his brow, gave her that okay-this-is-interesting look of his, took her other foot and began kneading tender spots on the bottom of it.
“Perhaps I should have said the bones of an alleged witch. This is going to take a bit of explaining.”
“I’m all ears.”
“There’s a charming little museum here in Dorset we like to visit with the boys. It’s really more like the old cabinet of curiosities. It’s housed in this charming sixteenth-century cottage. John Rose is the proprietor. He’s collected a lot of odd bits of the cultural and natural history from around here. I think he barely makes a living at it. One of his main attractions is a skeleton called the Moonhater witch.”
“Moonhater witch?” Diane raised her eyebrows at Frank and he returned a quizzical look of his own.
“Legend has it that the skeleton was found in Moonhater Cave-the name, I believe, refers to smugglers. Anyway, the stories say the witch was killed by a young man. Seems he stabbed her with some sort of magical sword, but not before the witch had turned his bride into a pillar of salt.”
“Fascinating story, but I won’t be able to tell him if she was a witch.” She grinned at Frank, who, from his knitted brow and upturned lips, was anxious to hear the other end of the conversation. She retrieved her foot and leaned her back against him before the faces he was making caused her to burst out laughing.
Gregory chuckled. “I don’t think he expects that. John doesn’t believe in witches. Legends aside, he would like to know something about his skeleton.”
“I’ll be glad to look at the bones. But tell me, there are plenty of forensic anthropologists in the UK; why-”
“Is he sending it across the ocean? That’s where the story gets a little more bizarre.”
“It gets more bizarre?”
Frank began massaging her shoulders and neck. He is really is good at this, thought Diane as she moved her shoulders under his grip.
“There are two other parties interested in possessing the bones. One party is the owner of Moonhater Cave. It is one of several caves in the area that are tourist attractions. It has the pillar of the unfortunate girl.”
“The pillar of salt she turned into? It’s in the cave?”
Frank stopped and turned so that he could see her face. His eyes twinkled the way they did when he was about to hear the punch line of a joke. Diane smiled at him and pointed to her shoulders. He rolled his eyes and resumed kneading her muscles.
“Yes. It’s actually a rather large column formation that had the good or bad luck, depending on your perspective, to have a vague resemblance to a woman. The image has been enhanced by the creative use of a chisel and sandpaper. Whoever it was did quite a good job, actually-subtle, made good use of the natural form of the stone for her flowing gown.”
“And the cave owner wants the bones back to go with his statue.”
“Yes. Sort of keep the family together.”
“Who’s the other party?” asked Diane.
“A handful of Druids or Wiccans. Marguerite tells me there’s a difference, but I don’t know what it is. They claim the bones are of an ancestor. Of course, given that they found a descendent of nine-thousand-year-old Cheddar Man, that very well could be true.”
“Cheddar Man was found somewhere near you, wasn’t he?”
“Close. In Somerset, actually, in Cheddar. Somerset also has a cave with a statue of sorts, only this one is of a witch who was turned to stone by a monk. There are bones associated with it too-which are owned by a museum in Somerset. The Somerset cave owner is trying to g
et those bones back. Probably where the Moonhater Cave owner got the idea. Caves with stories are rather popular here.”
“So he thinks the Druids-or Wiccans-or this other cave owner might try to steal them?”
“He’s afraid they might. The Wiccans involved are some kind of outcast coven, or whatever, it seems. They threatened John with black magic-something that’s prohibited by the Wiccan home office, apparently. Anyway, John feels his bones would be safer if they were examined in the U.S., and I told him I’d help. So. .”
“Sure, I’ll help.”
“Great! John will be delighted. I thought you would, so I took the liberty of telling him to go ahead and send them. They are already on their way. John said he’ll call. He wants to talk with you before you actually do the analysis.”
“Does he know if the bones were actually found in the cave?”
“No.”
“I’ll need samples of soil from the cave.”
There was a pause for a moment. “A sample will be sent along to you shortly with the bones.”
“Why does it sound like there is a story there?”
“Because I collected the sample. Marguerite and I went on a tour of the Moonhater Cave. And I surreptitiously collected a sample from the floor. Marguerite said I was disgraceful. The owner has some strict rules about carrying things out of the cave, but she provided the distraction-quite shameful, really.”
Diane laughed out loud at the image of the very proper Gregory and his wife on a mission, stealing dirt from a cave. “How did Mr. Rose acquire the bones?”
“Bought them from a family who had them in a box in their basement for about a hundred years-that is, they were in the basement for a hundred years.”
“Was the story of the provenance written on the box?”
“No. It was handed down. So you see, the whole thing’s rather iffy. John is actually glad now that the bones have no provenance. It strengthens his case-not that he really has anything to worry about.”
“Gregory, it sounds interesting. I’ll look forward to examining them.”
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