One Grave Less (15 page)

“Gentlemen,” said Diane, “I will be glad to share any information I have through Chief Garnett. The details of the evidence we process in the crime lab are not mine to share, even though the incident under investigation happened here in the museum. I’m not trying to be difficult, but rather, trying not to step on any Rosewood toes. As for any questions you have about me personally, at this point I know very little about what is going on. I know a great deal about what I did in South America. None of it involved drugs.”

They glanced briefly at each other. Diane could see they weren’t satisfied, but she could also see they hadn’t collected enough information before they questioned her. She bet it was a last-minute decision. They had already spoken with Garnett and were going to the crime lab and got the idea they would surprise her. But they didn’t have enough information to carry out a thorough interview and now they would be kicking themselves all the way back to Atlanta. Or they wouldn’t go to Atlanta—they would try to interview Simone and speak with her parents. Garnett must not have filled them in on his interview with Simone’s parents or they would have asked her what job Simone was doing for her. Next time they came back, they would be better prepared, maybe, but it still would be with erroneous information.

They left and Diane was about to call Andie in to see what she had done with Edmond Carstairs and his flowers when her in-house line rang. It was the groundskeepers. They had found a body.

The man standing in the road pointing the gun at them was heavyset with a black beard and hair. His worn, disheveled khaki clothes drooped from his sagging shoulders and under his bulging belly and he dripped in sweat. Another man similarly dressed but with less hair and less beer belly stood off to the side. He also had a gun, but at least it was not aimed at them.

Bandits.

They would steal everything, possibly including their lives. Maria slammed on the brakes. She told Rosetta to get down on the floor. The little girl slid off the seat and snuggled up to her backpack. Maria put a hand on the gun beside her, glanced at the little face looking up at her from the floor, and stiffened her resolve.

The bandit kept the gun pointed at Maria and began walking toward the truck. The other man was edging toward the other side of the vehicle.

Was Rosetta’s door locked? She must have telegraphed her concern with her eyes, for the little girl’s hand snaked up and hit the lock on the door.

Maria gripped the gun and kept a frightened look on her face—which wasn’t hard. Perhaps if the man saw she was afraid, he wouldn’t think her a threat. He wouldn’t be alert. She could beat him.

The second bandit walked around to the passenger side. Whereas the first bandit, with his squinted eyes and the rigid set of his mouth, had the look of someone focused on a task, the second one grinned as if witnessing a joke. He muttered something to his partner.

“He said, ‘We got two scared birds.’ And something I didn’t hear,” Rosetta whispered. “I don’t think it was good.”

Maria could see in his face that he was someone who enjoyed scaring his victims. She switched the gun to her left hand to hide it from view between her door and her seat. The second bandit tried Rosetta’s door. It was locked. He said something in Spanish again and moved away toward the rear.

The first bandit closed in on her. He held the gun up to the window and motioned for her to open the door. She tried rehearsing in her head how she was going to counter him, but she couldn’t make anything work. There wasn’t enough time to think.

He jerked the door. It was locked. He pointed the gun at her and yelled.

“He wants you to open the door,” said Rosetta.

I’m sure he does
, Maria thought. She put her hand on the door handle and hesitated. She was going to shoot as soon as the door cleared his body. She flipped the lock with her thumb.

He jerked the door open partway and then slammed it back hard against her hand, causing Maria to drop the gun. He opened the door again and grabbed at her, pulling her out. She fell to the ground and reached for the gun with her other hand. He kicked it under the truck and aimed his at her head. He was going to shoot, she saw it in his eyes.

Damn it, if she was going to die, it would be fighting. She was about to grab for his legs when a scream startled them both. The bandit turned his head toward the second man and Maria rolled under the truck and grabbed her gun. She shot the first bandit in the foot. He yelled and fell to his knees. She shot again, hitting him in the thigh. His hand with the gun appeared under the truck as she scrambled toward the front. He pulled the trigger and the sound was loud in the confined area, but she was out of the way. She moved quickly from under the truck. Dirt and plant matter scratched her face and got in her mouth. She ignored the discomfort.

The screaming coming from the second bandit continued.

The first one yelled something, but all Maria could make out was “
la niña
.”

That was enough. With the driver’s door open, Rosetta was exposed.

Maria hurried. Crouching, she moved around from the front to the driver’s side, where the bandit was aiming his gun inside toward Rosetta.

Maria didn’t hesitate. She fired the gun, hitting him in the head.

The second bandit was still yelling. She heard what he was saying now. It was something about his arm being eaten. She wished she had learned more Spanish. Any Mississippian archaeologist worth her salt should learn Spanish, she thought. Why the heck had she learned German?

She eased past the dead bandit, past the driver’s door toward the rear of the truck. The problem of getting the snake out of the bed of the truck was solved. The anaconda was on the ground, wrapping its gigantic slithering body in a tightening coil around the fallen second bandit.

The strike of the anaconda is lightning fast. They aren’t poisonous, but they have teeth curved back so that when they bite it is like fishhooks locking on and digging into the flesh. The snake’s mouth now held the man’s bare forearm in what could fairly be called a death grip. He no longer held the gun, and his hand was useless.

“
Mi brazo
,” he mewled over and over again.

Maria looked at him a moment, remembering his expression as he leered at her and Rosetta.

“
Ayúdame, por favor, ayúdame
,” he cried.

She closed the tailgate of the truck and walked back to the driver’s side. She grabbed the first bandit’s gun off the ground, but she didn’t search him for items they could use. She didn’t have the stomach for it. She climbed in the truck and closed the door.

“Are you all right?” she asked Rosetta, who was climbing into the seat.

Rosetta nodded her head.

“He must not have seen the snake when he jumped in the back of the truck,” said Rosetta. “You already made her mad. He just made her madder.”

“Evidently,” said Maria. “He probably made the mistake of pointing his gun at her.”

She started the truck and sped away as fast as the trail would allow. She didn’t look in the rearview mirror.

“You feel bad?” said Rosetta.

“How many people have I killed? Four?” muttered Maria.

“One. Just that bad man back there. He was going to shoot me. The others were alive when we left them,” said Rosetta.

Maria gave her a grim smile.

She tried to empty her mind of the events. She was doing what had to be done. She was struggling to survive. She had to get Rosetta back to her mother.

After five minutes of driving in silence, rounding a curve she came face-to-face with an abandoned truck not too different from theirs. The hood was up and the engine was steaming. Probably the bandits, she thought. Probably why they were on foot. She drove slowly through the brush around the truck, not stopping.

The trail got better and worse at the same time. The road grew wider, the jungle got thicker. Fronds grew out over the road and brushed the top of the vehicle. Maria worried that it would become too thick and the trail would peter out and disappear and they would have to walk.

She drove on.

Rosetta reached over and touched her arm.

“I did bad things. All I wanted to do was find Mama, so I sometimes did bad things.”

Maria squeezed her hand. “I don’t imagine you did anything too bad,” she said.

“At St. Anne’s when we did bad things we had to do penance. I think Mama is sometimes a Presbyterian. I don’t think they do penance. I hope she’s still a Presbyterian.”

Maria smiled at her. “What kind of penance would you have to do? You were so young.”

“Sister Alice or Father Joe made us work in the garden or help wash dishes. Sometimes Father Joe did penance with us. He said when we did bad things maybe it was his fault for not teaching us better. When Mama was there I never did penance. She just talked to me.”

They had come to a narrow bridge over a creek. Maria slowed down and stopped. She got out of the truck and walked over to examine the bridge. The creek was only ten feet or so wide and it was shallow. The bridge, not large, was built of wood that was worn. It had been patched many times in haphazard ways. Maria got the feeling it had been fixed by whoever had to go over it at the time it was in disrepair.

She walked across it, stamping on the boards. They creaked but appeared strong. There was no railing. The bridge was wide enough for the truck, but just. She turned to go back. Rosetta was watching her from the front window. Maria grinned and waved at her.

“Is it strong enough?” asked Rosetta when Maria climbed in.

“I believe so.” She patted the little girl on the leg. “Don’t worry. Tell me more about the mission where you stayed. It sounds like it was a good place.”

“It was nice. There were always kids to play with. The sisters took care of a lot of people,” Rosetta said. She stretched up in the seat, looking at the bridge. “I’ll wait until we are across the bridge to tell you about them.”

“It won’t take long,” Maria said. “It’s a short ride. Would you like to walk across and wait?”

Rosetta shook her head vigorously. “I’ll stay with you.”

Maria approached the bridge slowly. She told herself that it was at least the width of a parking space. She could make that. The bridge immediately groaned from the weight of the front wheels but she didn’t stop. She listened for sounds of cracking, reminding herself they had to go only a few feet, and if it fell in, the creek was not deep. Of course, they would be without transportation.

She pressed the gas pedal and drove the rest of the way at a quicker clip, exhaling when they were on firm ground. From the rearview mirror she saw that it was still intact. Drama over nothing, she thought.

Rosetta looked relieved as she peered out the back window. “We didn’t make the crocodile mad this time,” she said.

The body had been pulled up on the bank.

Not a good procedure for an agency with a crime scene unit on-site
, thought Diane.

She saw David and two of the groundskeepers standing over the body. They turned toward her as she approached. Diane was still fifteen feet away when she recognized the body—the gray hair, charcoal skirt, and rose blouse. She stopped and put a hand over her heart. Her stomach turned over.

Dear God. It’s Madge Stewart
.

David said something to the groundskeepers and walked over to her.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Right now it looks like she fell into the pond. No obvious evidence of foul play. The gardeners found her. They thought she might be alive. That’s why they pulled her out,” he said.

“Of course. How long?” Diane asked, still staring at the body, hoping it wasn’t there, that she was seeing things.

“Not long,” said David. “Perhaps an hour. One of the gardeners saw her drinking a glass of tea on the restaurant patio about an hour and a half before they found her.”

Diane put her hands on her face. She and Madge weren’t the best of friends, but Madge was a member of her board.

“You handle this,” Diane said.

“I thought I would,” said David. “I’m sorry. This is a shocker.”

Diane nodded her head.
Poor Madge
, thought Diane.
She loved her life
. Diane heard people approaching. She turned, half expecting gawkers from the museum, but it was the medical examiner, Lynn Webber, and the coroner, Whit Abercrombie. Diane saw Chief Garnett several feet behind them walking at a catch-up pace.

Lynn Webber was several inches shorter than Diane’s five feet nine. She had shiny short black hair that always looked as if she just left the beauty shop. She wore a white lab coat over her clothes, and expensive hiking boots.

Whit Abercrombie, a taxidermist by trade, had been the coroner of Rose County for several years. He had wanted to quit several times, but people always talked him out of it. They, like Diane, appreciated Whit’s apolitical, logical approach to his job. He was a striking-looking man with straight black hair, dark eyes, bright white teeth, and a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard.

The two of them eyed Diane for a moment.

“Is this someone you know?” asked Lynn, frowning.

“It’s Madge Stewart,” Diane said.

“Oh, no,” said Lynn, laying a hand on Diane’s arm. “I’m so sorry. I met her a couple of times. She loved the museum, didn’t she?”

“Oh jeez,” said Garnett. He and Whit shook their heads.

“What happened?” Whit asked.

“On the face of it, it looks as if she slipped in and drowned,” said Diane, and David nodded. “But I don’t know what happened.”

“Was she hiking the nature trail?” asked Whit, with a raised eyebrow.

Diane could see he was looking at the one foot that had a shoe—a dressy, fabric kitten-heel shoe—the inch-and-a-half heel not good for walking the nature trail.