Beverly Connor - Dust to Dust

“I have someone searching the courthouse records,” said Diane. “Tell me about the three paintings on the living room wall.”

“That was the most fun thing. I was knocking out a wall upstairs, and there they were. Very nice, I thought. They seemed like they fit the house. I hung them in the living room,” she said.

“Were they signed?” Diane asked.

“In a way. There is a picture of a bird in the lower-right corner of each one. A black-and-white bird. I thought the artist might have a bird name, like Finch, Crow, Sparrow-there are any number of surnames that are birds. That’s a thought,” said Marcella. “Perhaps there is something in the paintings that we can date.”

“The thieves took the paintings,” said Diane.

“Why would anyone steal those old paintings?”

“That’s one of the things we hope to find out. They also took your pottery that was in the living room hutch.”

“I don’t know what the paintings were worth, but they are going to be sorely disappointed in the pots. They aren’t real artifacts,” said Marcella.

Marcella pronounced each word with a short pause. Diane noticed her voice was fading quickly.

“What did you make of the subjects in the paintings?” asked Diane.

“One was a young woman, another was a young man-actually, they looked more like teenagers. The background of both was woods. Very wistful faces. The third was a woman, perhaps in her thirties, sitting in a chair.”

Marcella stopped talking and her eyes suddenly grew wide. Diane was alarmed that she might be feeling ill.

“Well, why didn’t I notice it before?” Marcella said. “She was sitting on a chair at a desk-the desk I found in the potter’s shed.”

Marcella leaned back and put a hand to her head and took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid I’m tiring you out,” said Diane.

“It’s this damn headache that comes and goes that tires me out,” she said. “It’s good for me to think. I need to be able to think.”

“Your thinking is just fine. Thank you for allowing us to experiment in your yard.”

“My pleasure,” whispered Marcella. “Experimenting is good. I have always liked the University of Georgia motto-do you know what it is?”

“No, I confess I don’t.” Diane grinned. “I don’t even know the motto of Bartrum University.”

“Georgia’s is Et docere et rerum exquirere causas ,” Marcella said slowly.

Diane’s Latin was terrible, unless it had something to do with anatomy. She merely raised her eyebrows.

“To teach, to serve, and to inquire into the nature of things. I love inquiring into the nature of things.”

“That is a nice motto,” said Diane. She squeezed Marcella’s hand and started to leave.

“Bartrum’s,” whispered Marcella, “is Quaerite et invenietis : Seek and ye shall find.”

“I’ll remember that,” Diane said.

Paloma and Mark were gone when Diane came out of the ICU. Diane guessed they were in the cafeteria. She punched the elevator button and waited. The doors opened and Lynn Webber was standing in front of her, managing to look stylish in her bright white lab coat. Diane got on the elevator.

“Were you looking for me?” asked Lynn.

“No,” said Diane. “I have a friend in ICU.”

Lynn looked very uncomfortable and it was all Diane could do not to smile.

“You do? I’m so sorry. I hope they are doing well,” Lynn said.

“She is improving,” said Diane.

“I read an archaeologist was attacked in her home. Is that your friend?” she asked.

“Yes, it is. Marcella Payden,” Diane said.

Lynn was standing in front of the elevator buttons. She made no move to push them.

“I’m going to the lobby,” said Diane. She pointed to the elevator buttons in front of Lynn.

“Well, hell,” said Lynn. “Have you read the newspaper or not?”

Diane smiled. “Yes, I have.”

“I suppose you’re mad?” said Lynn.

“No, not particularly. I’m rather concerned about the political fallout for you.”

“That reporter went way beyond what I wrote,” Lynn said.

“I thought I recognized a shift in writing style,” said Diane.

“I called her and asked why in the world she said the things she did about the two crimes being similar. She said it’s her style to write what seems reasonable and let the facts shake out. If they are wrong, people will correct her.” Lynn threw up her hands. “That’s how she gets at the truth? Can you imagine that logic? What kind of epistemology is that?”

“Have you had many calls?” asked Diane.

“I probably have. My assistant is answering the phone. I’ve been out of the office,” she said.

I don’t blame you , thought Diane.

Lynn punched the button for the lobby and the elevator moved with a lurch. “Are you parked in the parking garage?” asked Lynn.

“Yes,” Diane said.

“Me too. Have you heard from Ross?” asked Lynn.

“No. I expect to,” said Diane.

“I hope this won’t make his job more difficult,” Lynn said.

The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. They stepped out as several people brushed past them to get in. Diane and Lynn headed for the exit to the parking garage.

“I take it from the article that Stacy was murdered,” said Diane.

“Yes. A first-year student could have made the call. Hell, anyone who watches forensic crime dramas could have seen it was murder,” she said.

A great many people were going to be unhappy with the findings, especially the way in which they were announced. Probably the only satisfied person at the moment was Harmon Dance. And quite possibly, the reporter.

The exit to the parking garage was just off a small hallway. Diane pushed on the large gray door. Just as they were outside, a man approached. Lynn started to speak, but stopped.

“You vindictive bitch. You stupid, vindictive bitch.” The man was taller than either of them, but wasn’t quite six feet. He was slim, but pudgy, had a round face and a head of thick, wavy, reddish brown hair. His eyes were close together and he had a cruel twist to his mouth. He held a newspaper in his right hand and was hitting the palm of his left hand with it.

“Oran Doppelmeyer,” said Lynn. “I see you hate having your incompetence revealed. And after you have made such efforts to hide it.”

“You think you can get away with this pathetic stunt? It’s only going to show you up for the pissy little amateur you are.” He stopped in front of Lynn and reached for her arm. “Don’t think…”

Lynn’s jaw clinched. “Get your hand off my arm,” she said.

Diane could almost hear Lynn’s teeth grinding.

“You need to go somewhere and calm down,” Diane said to him.

He turned toward Diane without letting go of Lynn. “Who the hell are-Ow!”

Lynn had karate-chopped the arm that held her. Before he could react, Diane shoved her Rosewood identification in his face.

“Stop, or I’ll place you under arrest. You think the newspaper makes you look bad now, wait until it gets the story that you attacked Dr. Webber. You won’t be able to spin yourself out of it. Back off now and calm down.” Before Lynn beats you up , she felt like adding.

He stared at Diane’s identification for a long moment.

“What’s this?” he said. “Crime lab?”

“Yes, and I can arrest if the need arises. Lynn, why don’t you go on to your car?”

“And leave you alone with this maniac? No.” Lynn was in a fighting mode.

Jeez , thought Diane. They’re both maniacs .

Diane started to tell Lynn she needed to go first and let him save some face, but she could see Lynn wasn’t in the mood to allow any face-saving measures for Doppelmeyer. The door opened and several men filed out, heading to their cars. They eyed the three of them as they passed. The heavyset men wore beards and overalls and clearly made Doppelmeyer uncomfortable.