One Grave Too Many (7 page)

“It’s so hard sometimes.” Tears brimmed her eyes and almost overflowed onto her cheeks.

“I know. But remember that you have many friends. Call me anytime, even if you just need to talk.”

“Thank you, Gregory.”

She placed the receiver back on the phone. She could handle whoever it was who had placed the orders. But she wasn’t sure she could handle whoever had left the note for the quartet. If the music wasn’t an innocent coincidence, then it was something very mean and ugly. She finally stood up to go back to the party when she heard movement just on the other side of the adjoining door to Andie’s office.

Diane searched around her desk for a weapon. All she could find was a letter opener decorated with Mayan symbols. She took hold of it, trying to think what to do. Call Leonard? He would still be upstairs. This was foolish. It was probably Andie. She put the letter opener back on the desk and walked out into the hall and around to Andie’s office door. If she opened it from the hall side, at least she would have a place to run. From there someone could hear her shout.

She touched the door so that it slowly swung open. A figure silhouetted by the desk lamp was going through Andie’s desk drawer.

Diane switched on the ceiling light and heard a sudden intake of breath as the figure popped up from her stooped position, her hand over her chest.

“Oh . . . Dr. Fallon . . . You scared me.”

“That makes two of us. Can I help you?” Diane relaxed, relieved she hadn’t brought the Mayan letter opener with her. The intruder was Melissa, the second violinist from the string quartet.

Melissa smoothed a strand of light brown wavy hair away from her face. “Your assistant, Andie, said she had some extra-strength aspirin in her drawer.” She held up Andie’s keys as if to verify that she had permission to be rambling around in her desk.

“I imagine that playing for hours can bring on a headache.”

Her blue eyes looked relieved. “You’re not kidding. That, and dealing with people. Do you know someone asked us to play ‘Memory’?”

Diane laughed. “I can see it now. Next they’ll want karaoke night at the museum.”

“Here they are.” She poured two tablets out onto her hand and put the bottle back.

“There’s a water fountain just outside the door.”

Melissa’s passage out of Andie’s office left a trail of heavy perfume in her wake. She downed the pills at the water fountain and took a deep breath. “We really do appreciate being asked here. We’ve had several people wanting to hire us.”

“I’m not surprised people are impressed. The music’s been wonderful.”

As Melissa turned from the fountain, Diane noticed that under carefully applied makeup, she had a black eye. A brief glance down at her arms discerned no more bruises, but the dark, floor-length sleeveless dress the young woman wore had a turtleneck. Diane fought an urge to turn down the collar to look at Melissa’s throat.

Too much time spent investigating the products of abuse, she thought. She needed to mind her own business, which was now the museum, and not man’s inhumanity to man. But it haunted her that she had always been too late to help the victims. They were already decayed flesh and bones by the time she saw them. It would have been nice just once to be in a position to stop some atrocity.

“That black eye looks like it might hurt,” Diane said, letting the sentence hang between them.

Melissa was young, shy, and that evening Diane was her employer—powerful stimuli to say something about what had happened, if only to lie. They both stood, paused in the hallway.

“Yes, it does, some. Clumsiness,” Melissa said at last.

“I was exercising. I have to keep strength in my arms to play the violin. You wouldn’t believe how much stamina it takes to keep your arms at that level for hours. I don’t know how Lacy manages that viola for so long. Anyway, I accidently hit myself in the face with one of my hand weights. Almost knocked myself out.”

Melissa laughed at herself and Diane thought she heard a slight tremor in her voice—and such long, detailed explanations often meant that the teller was lying.

“What bad luck, just before the event. I hope it heals quickly.” Diane didn’t pursue it. But her friend Laura knew Melissa’s family. She would mention it to her.

After seeing that the office doors were locked, Diane walked with Melissa back to the party. Mark Grayson was on his way out.

“Leaving early?” said Diane.

“Signy’s staying. I’ve got an overseas conference call. Nice get-together. I’m sure everyone’s having a good time. I’ll see you at the board meeting tomorrow.” He punched the air between them with his finger. It could have been a quick, friendly gesture, the way some men talk with their hands, but it seemed to Diane like he was pointing a gun. She was glad to see the door close behind him.

Melissa had taken up her place with the string quartet and they began playing Diane’s favorite part of Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto in G Minor—the Allegro Moderato. Diane entered the Pleistocene hall where she mingled, talked, laughed at bad jokes and sipped wine. Her feet hurt from the effects of hardly ever wearing high-heeled shoes, and her head ached.

“Wow,” Andie said, coming up behind her. “We all did a good job, didn’t we?”

Diane turned and nodded as she looked at the guests. “Yes, I believe it’s a success. I had my doubts on occasion, but everyone seems to be having a good time. Andie, did you request that the quartet play the
Peer Gynt
suite?”

“Who? No, I thought you were handling the music selections.”

“I did, but someone wanted to hear it, and I just wondered who it was.”

Andie shrugged just as a good-looking guy tapped her on the shoulder and pulled her toward the murals.

Diane moved toward the buffet. The ice mammoth looked fresh and unmelted. She reached out to touch the trunk and found it cold and dry.

“They just replaced it,” Donald said, filling his plate with caviar and crackers. “Apparently, they made several. Someone who works for them must be an ice-carving fool.” He drifted away and melted into a crowd of black tuxedos before she could say anything more to him.

Signy was working the room in her husband’s absence. She reminded Diane of a mouse cursor trail, the way she and her red dress flashed around the room, flirting with the men, ignoring the women. David Reynolds was Signy’s current target. She threw back her head, laughing at something he said. Diane caught sight of David’s wife, Cindy, at the bison exhibit looking over the head of her son, frowning at the scene. Diane recalled Frank mentioning how easily Cindy could become jealous.

Kevin was demonstrating the computer animations to a tall elderly woman dressed in a long silk gown as white as her hair, dripping pearls and diamonds. It was the unmistakable Vanessa Van Ross, the museum’s best patron, second only to the late Milo Lorenzo as the driving force behind the museum. Diane threaded her way through the crowd toward them.

“Diane, dear. I wondered where you’d got to. I just met the most disagreeable young woman. Flashing around like a red sparkler. Called me by my first name. Mark Grayson’s wife. The man has no taste. I guess I shouldn’t speak like this in front of the boy. Just ignore what I say, young man.”

Kevin cackled. Diane kissed her cheek.

“It’s good to see you, Vanessa. May I steal you away from Kevin for a moment?”

“Certainly. Can you pause that thing, young man?” Vanessa Van Ross and Diane stepped away to a private corner.

“I know nothing about real estate,” Diane said. “Can you tell me why this land is suddenly so valuable? Why does Mark want it so badly?”

“Did you know Hollis MacElroy?”

“I’ve heard the name. Farmer, owns a lot of land?”

Vanessa nodded. “
Owned
. He died three months ago. When his will is probated, his heirs intend to put his land on the market. It’s considered prime real estate, and it borders the museum property. If they get a good price for it—and they will—this property will increase in value considerably. Rumor has it that a Japanese firm is looking at it for a golf course and country club.”

“I’m beginning to see.” Diane looked at her watch. It was a little after 8:30 P.M. Mark would be back at his office before 9:00 P.M. for his overseas call. She did some quick calculations. That would make it midmorning in Japan. So, Mark was talking to Japanese businessmen about the museum property. She looked around the room and wondered how many were on Mark’s side.

She turned back to Vanessa. “But there couldn’t possibly be enough money involved to pay for moving the museum, setting it up someplace else, and still make it worthwhile for Mark’s cronies.”

“Not unless the museum is shortchanged. That’s the only way I see it working. But I assure you, my dear, I’ll never let that happen. Come, take your mind off that for now. Enjoy your party. You deserve it.”

Diane tried shoving Mark Grayson’s scheming, the incident with the music and the duplicate purchases to the back of her mind. She tried not to think about Frank and what he must be going through—seeing friends, a whole family, wiped out, murdered. The things she tried not to think about were beginning to pile up into an impossible mountain of forbidden thoughts. It wasn’t easy to mingle, make small talk and laugh with so much in her head to keep at bay.

She stood watching the party for the thousandth time, scanning the crowd, looking for some suspicious person who might be an enemy. Donald was talking to the students who had put together the sloth. He was number one on her list for the duplicate orders. Signy was by the bar getting a refill of wine.

Laura Hillard was talking with the archivist and one of the new curators next to the refreshment table still heaped with food. Seeing Laura reminded Diane that she wanted to mention Melissa’s black eye. She approached Laura and pulled her away with apologies.

“You know Melissa Gallagher’s family, don’t you?”

“I know them well. Wonderful people.”

“I noticed that she has a black eye. It may have been a simple accident, but I’m a suspicious person. A consequence of my previous career.”

Laura turned her blond head toward the quartet and back to Diane. “I see what you mean. It wouldn’t be her parents. I’d have known. You’re thinking boyfriend, maybe?”

“I don’t know,” Diane said. “People do get black eyes accidently.”

“I’ll mention it to her parents.” Both watched Melissa playing her violin. “I tend to think it’s probably nothing.” Laura’s gaze lingered on Melissa a moment before she turned her attention back to Diane. “Mark Grayson’s made headway with some of the board members.”

“Won’t do any good unless he makes headway with me.”

“He knows that. He wants to put pressure on you from all sides.”

“Let him. Maybe it’ll keep him occupied.” Diane hesitated a moment. “Laura, have you seen anyone here you don’t know?” Laura was a rare breed, one of the few fifth-generation residents of the area.

“N-no.” She glanced briefly around the room. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Are there any strangers here?”

“No. I don’t think so. Some of the catering staff, maybe. Why do you ask?”

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.”