Read Online Dead Secret by Beverly Connor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beverly Connor
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Medical, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Police Procedural, Georgia, Fallon, Women forensic anthropologists, Diane (Fictitious character), Forensic anthropologists, Fallon; Diane (Fictitious character)
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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.”
“I think so. Thanks for helping out. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were engaged in. Oh, how is David?”
Gregory liked to keep track of his former employees. Especially the ones who worked for him at the time of the massacre that killed Diane’s daughter and many of their friends at the mission in South America.
“He’s doing fine. You know he’s doing crime scene work for me.”
“He’s okay with that?”
“Yes. We’ve put several criminals in jail, and David has found that satisfying.”
“That’s good. I think about all of you a lot. And you and your fellow, Frank, are fine?”
“Yes. We’re going on a vacation tomorrow for two whole weeks.” Diane put a hand over Frank’s as she talked about him.
“Good for you! He must be something special to be able to pull you away from work.”
“He is indeed.” Diane squeezed his hand. “Good to hear from you, Gregory. Take care.”
Diane hung up the phone and turned toward Frank. “That was Gregory.”
“I gathered. Your side of the conversation was interesting. Sounds like you have another body from a cave to look at? A witch?” Frank grinned at her.
“That’s what he said—a witch with a story.” Diane related Gregory’s side of the conversation to Frank’s chuckles.
“Pillar of salt. It sounds rather biblical. You know,” he said without losing his smile, “it seems to me that a lot of people die in caves.”
Diane kissed him rather than go where that conversation was leading.
The next two weeks passed by in a relaxing blur of fishing, hiking and cuddling up with Frank. Diane was surprised at how easy it had been to let go and just enjoy being on vacation. Frank seemed to have just as easily been able to let go of his job. That was a good sign, she’d thought several times. They enjoyed each other’s company. Only occasionally did she find her mind wandering to Caver Doe and the witch bones—she couldn’t deny she was intrigued. Unfortunately Diane had to cut her vacation short by one day. Andie, Diane’s office manager at the museum, had called and told her that Helen Egan, the grandmother of Diane’s friend and mentor, had died and that the funeral was scheduled for Sunday.
Diane arrived back at her office on Sunday morning rested and happy that the museum was still standing and the crime lab was not overflowing with unprocessed evidence. In fact, it looked as if they didn’t need her. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. She smiled and sifted through the stack of clippings Andie had cut from the papers while she was gone. She found a two-week-old front-page story about the mummified caver they had found, along with everything Diane had told the deputy. She noted with satisfaction that they didn’t have any pictures.
Yesterday’s paper lay on top of her cluttered walnut desk. The headline across the front page read: Helen Elizabeth Price Egan, 1891-2005 . Most of the front page was taken up with the story of Vanessa Van Ross’s grandmother, who had died at age 114. Diane and some of the museum staff were going to her funeral later in the morning.
Vanessa Van Ross was the most prominent member of the museum board, RiverTrail’s most generous contributor, and Diane’s mentor. Diane stared at the photograph of the young Helen Elizabeth, wondering if she had any idea she would go on to live a hundred years after it was taken.
Andie Layne, Diane’s administrative assistant, came bop-ping in with two cups of steaming hot tea, put one in front of Diane and sat down in the chair opposite her desk.
“Good to have you back.
“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.”
“I think so. Thanks for helping out. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were engaged in. Oh, how is David?”
Gregory liked to keep track of his former employees. Especially the ones who worked for him at the time of the massacre that killed Diane’s daughter and many of their friends at the mission in South America.
“He’s doing fine. You know he’s doing crime scene work for me.”
“He’s okay with that?”
“Yes. We’ve put several criminals in jail, and David has found that satisfying.”
“That’s good. I think about all of you a lot. And you and your fellow, Frank, are fine?”
“Yes. We’re going on a vacation tomorrow for two whole weeks.” Diane put a hand over Frank’s as she talked about him.
“Good for you! He must be something special to be able to pull you away from work.”
“He is indeed.” Diane squeezed his hand. “Good to hear from you, Gregory. Take care.”
Diane hung up the phone and turned toward Frank. “That was Gregory.”
“I gathered. Your side of the conversation was interesting. Sounds like you have another body from a cave to look at? A witch?” Frank grinned at her.
“That’s what he said—a witch with a story.” Diane related Gregory’s side of the conversation to Frank’s chuckles.
“Pillar of salt. It sounds rather biblical. You know,” he said without losing his smile, “it seems to me that a lot of people die in caves.”
Diane kissed him rather than go where that conversation was leading.
The next two weeks passed by in a relaxing blur of fishing, hiking and cuddling up with Frank. Diane was surprised at how easy it had been to let go and just enjoy being on vacation. Frank seemed to have just as easily been able to let go of his job. That was a good sign, she’d thought several times. They enjoyed each other’s company. Only occasionally did she find her mind wandering to Caver Doe and the witch bones—she couldn’t deny she was intrigued. Unfortunately Diane had to cut her vacation short by one day. Andie, Diane’s office manager at the museum, had called and told her that Helen Egan, the grandmother of Diane’s friend and mentor, had died and that the funeral was scheduled for Sunday.
Diane arrived back at her office on Sunday morning rested and happy that the museum was still standing and the crime lab was not overflowing with unprocessed evidence. In fact, it looked as if they didn’t need her. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. She smiled and sifted through the stack of clippings Andie had cut from the papers while she was gone. She found a two-week-old front-page story about the mummified caver they had found, along with everything Diane had told the deputy. She noted with satisfaction that they didn’t have any pictures.
Yesterday’s paper lay on top of her cluttered walnut desk. The headline across the front page read: Helen Elizabeth Price Egan, 1891-2005 . Most of the front page was taken up with the story of Vanessa Van Ross’s grandmother, who had died at age 114. Diane and some of the museum staff were going to her funeral later in the morning.
Vanessa Van Ross was the most prominent member of the museum board, RiverTrail’s most generous contributor, and Diane’s mentor. Diane stared at the photograph of the young Helen Elizabeth, wondering if she had any idea she would go on to live a hundred years after it was taken.
Andie Layne, Diane’s administrative assistant, came bop-ping in with two cups of steaming hot tea, put one in front of Diane and sat down in the chair opposite her desk.
“Good to have you back.
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