Beverly Connor - Dust to Dust

“We were thinking,” said one of the paramedics as he began taking vitals, “that maybe we would just drop by here every morning and evening. Save a lot of time.”

They were the paramedics who had taken Marcella to the hospital, as well as Officers Hanks and Daughtry, and the late Ray-Ray Dildy-and now Hector. They probably decided the house was cursed.

“His vitals are good,” he said.

“My granny always said this old witch house is haunted,” the young paramedic said.

“You know this house, then?” asked Diane.

“A little. Granny says when she was a young girl, some crazy rich woman, an artist I think she said, lived here. She had all these demon creatures all over the roof,” he said, as he immobilized Hector’s leg.

“Gargoyles,” said Diane.

“Is that what they were?”

“Supposed to ward off evil,” said Diane.

“I’ll have to tell Granny. From our workload over here the last few days, they needed to be working overtime. Okay, we’re ready to go. Don’t you worry, fella. You’re going to be fine. But these old wells are a bitch, aren’t they?”

Hector groaned.

“Do you know her name?” asked Diane.

“The crazy lady? No, but I imagine Granny does. I’ll ask her,” he said.

Diane reached in her pocket and handed him one of her cards.

After the paramedics took Hector and Scott to the hospital, one of the firemen, a tall, sturdy guy who looked as if he could have just reached down and hauled Hector up with one hand, began lecturing Diane about doing the rescue herself.

“One of you could have ended up in the well with him,” he said. “Or made the whole thing fall in.”

“I take your point,” said Diane. “But Mike Seger and I are certified in cave rescue and we’ve had a lot of experience. We were aware of the dangers in this situation, and we took steps to make it as safe as we could. Our biggest concern was to get Hector out before the walls caved in on him. After he fell through the top, the sides were unstable and began to fall in before we started pulling him up.”

The fireman paused a moment and looked into the well before he spoke. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve some experience and that everything worked out. Some people attempt a rescue and have no idea of the things that can go wrong.”

“Thank you for coming,” said Diane. “All of us appreciate it.”

The fireman looked at all the string he had to step on and over to get there. “What you people doing here?” he said.

“This is a crime scene,” said Diane. “We’re searching for buried human remains.”

“Crime scene? Don’t you guys use yellow tape?” he asked.

“Sometimes. This is… was… a search grid,” she said, indicating the layout of strings and stakes.

He squinted at Diane. “You’re the crime lab lady,” he said.

“Yes.” But Diane wasn’t sure about the lady part.

The fireman left and Diane went to the front porch to sit down and rest. David, Neva, and Mike went with her. David turned on the porch light and they pulled up chairs. Neva sat on the glider with Mike, who put his arms around her to warm her.

“What are you guys doing here?” Diane asked the two of them. “Shouldn’t you be out to dinner or something?”

“Andie said you and David were here,” said Neva. “I need to tell you some odd stuff about the crime scene I was just on.”

“And the other thing,” said Mike.

“Yes. I’m not sure, but I think I’m being followed,” Neva said.

“Followed?” said Diane.“Neva, someone is following you?” Diane gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward.

“I think so,” said Neva. “I may be wrong.” Neva frowned in a way that put a crease between her eyes at the bridge of her nose, a small expression of insecurity that she made when she was undecided or afraid to commit to her own analysis.

“But you may be right,” said Mike, urging her to talk.

“I noticed it yesterday. I feel really silly. It’s just that I kept noticing the same vehicle, a black SUV with tinted windows. I know, that sounds so clichéd. I’ve tried to get behind it and check out the license plate, but I haven’t been able to. It looks so easy in the movies.” Neva brushed a strand of brown hair out of her eyes and smiled weakly.

“When were you first aware of it?” asked Diane.

“I think it was after I visited the historical society yesterday morning. That’s down the street from the courthouse. After I looked up some records in the courthouse, I walked down to talk to them,” said Neva. “Nice place. It’s run by volunteers. I’d never been in it in all the years I’ve lived in Rosewood.”

The two policemen David had enlisted for security had been standing by their car, smoking cigarettes. They threw the butts down and approached the porch.

“Hi,” one said. “We were just wondering if you still need us tonight-since things kind of went in another direction.” He laughed nervously.

“Now that we’ve found human bones in the well,” said Diane, “we need someone to keep the area secure. Can you stay?”

The men looked relieved. Diane guessed they were counting on the extra income.

“Oh yeah, that’s fine,” said the other policeman. “We’re just going to check the back road.” He moved his hand in a circle, indicating the route. “The whole trip won’t take five minutes. We want to make sure nobody’s parked back there like before.” They went back to the patrol car and drove off down the driveway.

Diane looked at Neva. “Did you discover anything at the historical society?”

“Not really, but this is where it gets… well, it’s one of those coincidences that makes David nervous,” said Neva.

David tended to be paranoid and was very proud of it. He said it kept him prepared. His paranoia had been proven justified on too many occasions, which made him a trifle arrogant, but did keep them all primed for any eventuality.

“The crime scene I worked after lunch today-Mary Phyllis Lassiter. She was an older woman, about seventy, who was strangled in her home sometime last night. The creepy coincidence is… she was a volunteer at the historical society and she was there yesterday when I was there, though I didn’t speak to her directly.”

“How do you speak with someone indirectly?” asked David.

Neva made a face at him. “The woman I spoke with asked Ms. Lassiter whether she knew of an artist who might have lived years ago in Pigeon Ridge. That’s this community. Apparently, Ms. Lassiter lived here as a girl,” said Neva, “before she moved to Hall County.”

“Did she know the artist?” asked Diane.

“She said no. She was knitting and didn’t even look up. Which was kind of strange, because until then, she watched and talked like a magpie to everyone who came in,” said Neva.

“You were followed and she was murdered?” said Diane.

“Yes,” said Neva.

“You’re right,” said David. “That’s the kind of coincidence that makes my scalp tingle.”

“You didn’t work the crime scene alone, did you?” said Diane, frowning.

“No. I know your rules. Izzy was working it with me. One thing caving taught me is to follow protocol,” she said.

“Yes!” shouted Mike. He pulled Neva to him and kissed the side of her head.

Diane laughed. “It does that.”

Diane’s phone rang as she was about to ask Neva another question. She took the phone from her pocket and looked at the display. It was Izzy.

“Hello, Izzy. What’s up?” she said.

“A little interesting turn of events,” he said.

“Are you in the crime lab?” asked Diane.

“Yeh, I’m working on the evidence Neva and I collected today. The wife has one of her Mothers Against Drugs meetings. They meet here in the museum and I like to stay late and work when she’s here.”