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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