One Grave Less (8 page)

Diane and Laura were childhood friends. When Diane was twelve years old, her father moved the family to Tennessee, but she and Laura remained friends. Diane returned to Rosewood briefly when she was in high school to take accelerated college courses from Milo Lorenzo. That’s when she met Vanessa, who was a friend of Milo. It was Milo who later hired Diane as assistant director of the museum. When he was felled by a heart attack, Diane became director of the museum.

“Vanessa told Madge not to go around repeating rumors, and to remember Kendel,” said Laura.

Diane fingered the menu, pretending to look at it, not wanting to look at her friends. Not because she was embarrassed by rumors, but because of a free-floating annoyance she was feeling lately toward everyone she knew.

“Kendel is still suffering fallout from the gossip Madge spread about her,” said Diane.

“I told her that unlike Kendel, you would probably sue her,” said Vanessa.

“I would,” said Diane.

“I don’t think she’ll say anything to anyone else,” said Laura.

Diane looked up from the menu, having decided she would order red meat when the waitstaff came. She was angry with Laura. She wasn’t sure why; perhaps today she was just tired of Laura’s always trying to smooth things over. Sometimes things didn’t need smoothing over.

“She will gossip,” said Diane. “It’s in her nature as it’s in the nature of the scorpion to sting.”

“Now, Diane,” clucked Laura.

“Did she tell you I found her in the supply closet eavesdropping on my conversation with Martin?”

The two of them raised their eyebrows. Laura had a drink halfway to her lips. Vanessa put her head in her hand and groaned.

“What did she say to you exactly?” Diane asked them.

“I don’t think that would help . . . ,” began Laura.

Diane put a hand on her forearm. “It would help. This is my reputation, my career. I need to know the kind of life this rumor is taking on.” She looked directly in Laura’s eyes. “This can’t be smoothed over. It has to be dealt with.”

“She’s right,” said Vanessa. She lifted a hand and waved for the waitress. “But let us order first. I’m very hungry.”

Laura and Vanessa both ordered the salmon. Diane ordered a filet, rare. After the waitress brought the drinks, Diane looked at Laura.

Laura sighed. “She said
48 Hours
is looking to do an exposé on your drug dealings in South America.”

Diane shook her head. “That’s not even the right media.” She told them about Martin Thormond’s call from Brian Mathews.

“Brian Mathews is a travel reporter,” said Vanessa.

“Yes, he is,” said Diane. “He is currently in Peru reporting.”

“I don’t understand,” said Laura. “He called Martin from Peru? Why Martin? Why didn’t he call you? Or Vanessa? Or the police, even? I mean, if he heard some rumor in Peru?”

“Why, indeed,” said Diane. “Of course, there is just the caller’s word that he was Brian Mathews.”

“Oh,” said Laura. “Yes, I see. I didn’t think of that.”

“Martin was rather furtive when he approached me as everyone was leaving. I know that Madge noticed him. I suspect she smelled a little gossip and hid in the closet . . . which has doors into the hallway and the boardroom. Apparently she did a little embellishing on the way to the restaurant.”

“Apparently so,” said Vanessa.

“Look,” said Diane, “I’ll take a hiatus until I figure . . .”

Vanessa shook her head. “Every couple of months you offer to step down, whenever some drama happens. Stop it. I’ll have a long talk with Madge. She’ll listen to me.”

Diane wasn’t so sure.

“Why would someone do this?” asked Laura.

“I don’t know,” said Diane. “But I will find out.”

Their meals came and for a short while they concentrated on their food.

“You know,” said Laura after a pause, “Thomas Barclay would be easier to get along with if you would ease up on him during meetings.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Diane, cutting her steak and spearing the piece with her fork.

“Yes, you do. You try to get under his skin,” said Laura. “He’s really not so bad.”

“Perhaps. But from the board I need ideas and solutions. The first thing Thomas always wants to do is blame someone. That really doesn’t help. Now, Kenneth was helpful. But for someone whose job it is to keep track of the bottom line, Thomas was far off the mark wanting to close the night classes. But in the spirit of trying to get along with him, I’ll be glad to now have my wedding somewhere—”

“Nice try, dear,” said Vanessa. “The invitations are out, we have your dress, everything is in play, as it were.”

Diane sighed. “I hope it isn’t a white dress with a veil.” She had left all the wedding planning to Vanessa. “I’ve done the white dress thing.”

“No, dear. No white dress, no veil,” said Vanessa.

“I don’t want one of those floppy hats either . . . or a tiara . . . though I might be persuaded by a simple gold coronet.”

Vanessa smiled. “I’m sorry, dear, I get to wear the coronet. You’ll have to wait to find out about the rest. We won’t embarrass you.”

“You’ve seemed unsettled lately,” said Laura.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Ariel. And about Frank. Frank’s a good father. What he’s done with Star after her family was slaughtered is fantastic. And his son, Kevin, is a great kid. Ariel would have thrived in this environment,” said Diane. “I . . .”

“Feel guilty about being happy,” said Laura.

Diane shrugged. “Perhaps. It’s that terrible might-have-been that keeps after me.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose to keep herself from tearing up. “But this is what is. I’ll deal with it.”

They ate in silence for several minutes.When they did speak it wasn’t about the museum break-in. It was clear that Vanessa hadn’t told Laura about Simone Brooks. That was what had Diane worried at the moment. What was that about?

 

It had been a long day. Diane had thin-sectioned the bone—cutting a paper-thin slice from it for examination under the microscope. The thin-section revealed that the child had normal bone growth. He or she wasn’t undernourished and the bone showed no sign of disease. A healthy child before tragedy struck.

When Diane finished her examination she took a bone sample down to Deven Jin, the director of her DNA lab in the basement, for stable isotope analysis. The types, numbers, and ratios of stable isotopes absorbed from food and water the child had consumed would tell them the types of foods that were in the child’s diet. If they were lucky, they would be able to identify the area from which the foods had come—maybe even pinpoint the local population in which he or she had lived. That could lead to a DNA comparison. Then, perhaps, someone would know who the child was.

It was late when Diane left the museum. Frank would probably be home already. She lived in his home. He kept telling her it would be their home, but she had resisted calling something
hers
that he had nurtured for years.

Frank’s Queen Anne-style house sat several hundred feet back from the road amid huge oak trees. It was a lovely house and well maintained—like Frank—grounded in fine tradition and possessing of a sound structure.

His white Chevy Camaro was parked in the driveway. She pulled in beside it and hurried into the house, glad to be home. Frank apparently heard her drive up and was putting dinner on the table—one of his favorites and hers too—spaghetti.

Frank kissed her and took her purse and guided her in to the living room. Frank was about three inches taller than Diane’s five-nine. He had salt-and-pepper hair that was still mostly pepper. And the most beautiful blue-green eyes. She never tired of looking at him or the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

He had been out of town for several days and this was the first she had seen of him since the events at the museum. She hugged him again.

“Miss me, did you?” He grinned. “I understand you had some excitement. Sorry I couldn’t call last night.”

Frank was a detective in the Metro-Atlanta Fraud & Computer Forensics Unit and he traveled periodically in connection with his cases.

“It’s all right. How was your case?” she asked.

“Not good. The guy escaped from the courthouse and now the U.S. Marshals get to deal with him.”

He stood a moment looking at her. She didn’t know what emotion was playing around his lips. It was something between amusement and dread.

“What?” she said.

“Might as well get the bad stuff out of the way first. Then we’ll eat and catch up,” he said.

Diane stepped back. “What bad stuff?”

He took a breath.

“You have an enemy out there,” he said. “I’ve received several calls telling me that you’re seeing men while I’m out of town.”

Maria jerked her hand with the gun from behind her and fired at the hulk on her. She felt the sound of the blast ripple through her chest. It was an earthquake shaking her bones, but instinctively she knew she was not shot. She did not feel the trauma telling her that her flesh had been pierced or torn. What she saw was the shock in the eyes of the man on top of her. She shoved him and he fell onto his back, crying out as he hit the ground. A large stain of blood was spreading on his shirt. Maria knocked his gun away from him.

The gunshot had hit his shoulder. He was now incapacitated in both arms. She grabbed the kerchief from around his neck and stuffed it under his shirt and over the wound. That was the extent of mercy she was willing to give him. She began searching his pockets.

“Damn you,” he groaned, and tried to head butt her.

But he was slow and Maria hit him in the side of his jaw with her fist. His head jerked back and hit the ground.

“You don’t have the right to my life,” she croaked at him.

All the adrenaline that had been keeping her going was fading. She ached and itched all over. She was hot, hungry, and scared—and she smelled bad. But she forced herself to continue searching him, choking back feelings of guilt. Her fingers shook as she went through his pockets aided by the light from the flashlight that she set on the ground.

She found another set of keys, more money, a Swiss Army knife, a longer knife in a scabbard on his belt, another gun, and ammunition. She took all of them.

“You cruel bitch. Don’t leave me like this,” he croaked at her as she gathered up all his belongings.

She ignored him. It was hard knowing she was going to leave him like she had left his partner and that they would have a slim chance of survival.

“Don’t leave me like this . . . please.” He was scared. It made her sick. But she ignored him.

Rosetta was already at the truck inventorying its contents. Maria shook her head with amazement. The little girl couldn’t have gotten as far as she had without being a really smart and practical kid.

“They were getting supplies,” said Rosetta, shaking with excitement. She had found treasure. “A lot of it is whiskey,” she added, awe in her voice. “This will be good for trading.”

Practical kid.

Maria looked over the contents. There was fresh food—vegetables and salted meat, most of which would not last on a long trip. But they would eat well for a while and save the jerky that Rosetta had in her backpack. There were medicinal supplies, mail, fabric, a hammer and nails, and a paperback romance.

She took the letters and threw them in the cab of the truck, hoping they contained clues as to what the hell her kidnapping was about. She grabbed one of the bottles of whiskey and one of the several knives she had acquired in the past hour and climbed in the truck. Rosetta climbed in the other side.

The seats were a brown vinyl that were worn and torn. The floorboard was bare metal—no carpets, no rubber mats. It was beat-up inside and out and smelled like mildew, but it looked good to Maria. She tried one of the keys and the engine started up immediately. It had a full tank. So far, so good.

“Let me see the map,” she said.

Rosetta pulled it out of the backpack she had set between her feet and handed it to her.

Maria pointed at the map. “I’m thinking we should avoid both of these villages. They are too close by and we will be in danger from Julio’s friends and enemies.”

“Where will we go?”

Maria detected a little fear in Rosetta’s voice. Maria didn’t blame her. She was terrified herself.

“Here.” She pointed to the map. “This is a railroad. It runs along the borders of Peru and Brazil. If we can make it there, we can get a long way across the Amazon. I’m thinking about trying to get to some archaeological digs I know about, or maybe a tourist attraction, and get some help from there. We have lots of choices and they lie in this direction. The roads will not be as good, but I think it’s our best bet.”

“None of the roads are good,” said Rosetta. “You’re right about the villages. They are not good either.”

Maria took the bottle of whiskey and the knife and got out of the truck. She walked to the felled man who was still groaning. She set the whiskey down beside him and stuck the knife in the ground several feet away.

“This is the best I can do for you,” she said. “Keep in mind, you would have done nothing for me.”

She walked away, got in the truck, and drove into the darkness, following the route she had laid out. It was a rough ride over terrain that was hardly a road. The two of them didn’t speak for a long while, not until there was more than a mile between them and the men whose truck they took.

“Why didn’t you tell them you are not Mama?” Rosetta asked after a while.

“If they don’t know my name, they’ll be searching for Diane Fallon, not me. That makes it a little less dangerous for us. And it gives Diane Fallon a little protection. From what those men have said, it sounds as if someone with a lot of money is looking for her. Their influence may have a far reach. If they think I’m Diane, perhaps they won’t go looking for her in Georgia. But they’re going to look for me even if they discover who I am, because I know too much—or, at least, they’ll think I do. I wish I knew who it is who’s looking for Diane.”