Beverly Connor - Dead Secret

“Charlotte just came from England. She has asked my coven to help her reclaim the bones of her ancestor.”

“Coven?” This ought to be good, thought Diane.

“I’m a Wiccan. Charlotte is a Druid. Though not the same, we share a kindred spirit. . if for nothing else than that we are both misunderstood minority religions.”

“What do you want with me?” asked Diane, although she suspected she already knew.

“Annwn is my ancestor,” said Charlotte. “We know that her bones were sent here from the Rose Museum in Dorset.”

Diane raised her eyebrows slightly, surprised that the witch had a name. It intrigued her. She wondered if it was her real name, or just families filling out the legend over the years. “Exactly what are you asking of me?”

“That you give the bones back so that I can take them home and bury them properly.”

“Surely you must know that I can’t do that.”

Charlotte tucked her stray locks of hair behind her ears, leaned forward, and looked earnestly at Diane. “People of goodwill can do anything,” she said.

“Wouldn’t you agree that my goodwill should extend to those who entrust items to me?”

“So you do have them?”

“Actually, I don’t know whether I do or not. I just got back from a two-week vacation. I really don’t know what may have arrived during my absence. So our conversation may be moot.”

“Can you check to see if you have them?” asked Charlotte.

Diane looked at her watch. “Not right now. I’m leaving soon.”

Caitlin stood and leaned on Diane’s desk. “Look, I told Charlotte that in this country we place value on ancestral remains. I explained to her about the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act.”

“NAGPRA does not apply here. We know they are not the bones of a Native American,” said Diane.

“I’m making an analogy. Work with me. We have the act because many of us over here place value on returning remains to their descendants.”

“Nevertheless, I could not give them to you if I were to have them. And Miss Shanahan, please sit down.” To Diane’s surprise, Caitlin did as she was told.

“Why can’t you give them to me?” asked Charlotte.

“You know there is another claimant. What if he walked in and asked for them and I gave them to him?”

“He’s not related.”

Diane was actually glad they came to see her. It was a good opportunity to learn about some of the lore surrounding the bones. “Why do you think they are the bones of your ancestor?” she asked.

“The story of Annwn has been in my family for generations,” said Charlotte, holding her arms wide, as if that would encompass all her ancestry. “She was a Druid, she was accused of being a witch, and she was murdered in a cave.”

“Why do you think these specific bones are hers?” asked Diane.

“How many bones of witches in caves can there be?” Caitlin was getting exasperated.

Diane had the impression that if Caitlin knew where the bones were, she’d make a break for them.

“Apparently more than one,” said Diane.

Caitlin looked over at Charlotte, who nodded in agreement with Diane. “There’s another set of bones from Somerset said to be those of a witch that were discovered in a cave,” she said.

“You’re kidding. . ” said Caitlin.

“Why do you think these bones and not the others are your ancestor?” Diane asked the question again.

Diane heard the door open in the next room-Andie taking Vanessa her tea.

“The story is different. In the case of the Somerset bones, the alleged witch was killed by a monk through some kind of ritual. . She was supposedly turned to stone.” Charlotte waved a hand as if dismissing the story.

“Wasn’t Annwn turned into. . ” began Caitlin.

“Salt?” said Diane.

“No,” said Charlotte. “Some people say Annwn turned some woman to salt, but that’s not what happened.”

“But the stories from the two caves sound very similar-stone, pillar of salt. How do you know it’s not just one story with several variations?”

Charlotte sighed heavily. “Annwn was a Druid artisan. She was deceived by her husband and his Roman lover, the daughter of a government official. They lured her into a cave, and while she talked with her beloved, the Roman woman crept up behind her and stabbed her in the back. The pillar of salt was probably a Christianized addition to the story, influenced by the biblical story of Lot’s wife. The story I just told you has been in my family for generations. No one was turned to salt. I mean, you can’t really do that.”

“I think it’s obvious,” said Caitlin. “The bones are her ancestor.”

Diane stared at both women for a moment, then slid open the bottom drawer of her desk and took out a sealed packet, opened it, walked around her desk and stood in front of Charlotte.

“Will you give me a sample of your DNA?”

The two of them looked at her as if she’d asked them to pee in a glass. Diane pulled a swab from the kit.

Diane smiled. “I’ll take it from your cheek. Doesn’t hurt.”

“Why?” asked Charlotte, her mouth turned down into a frown.

“If we can get some usable DNA from the bones then there’s a chance we can tell if the bones are truly your ancestor.”

Charlotte looked over at Caitlin. Both stared at Diane as if she were pulling some kind of trick on them.

“It’s my understanding,” she said, “that the Druids were scholarly people.”

“We are,” said Charlotte.

“A positive result would strengthen your case.”

“What proof do I have that you won’t manipulate the data?” asked Charlotte.

“I’m a person of goodwill.”

Charlotte still hesitated. Caitlin was on the verge of telling her not to do it. Diane could see the suspicion in her eyes. Maybe if she gave them a little information, it might ease their suspicions.

“I was asked to take a look at the bones to find out what I can. Mr. Rose wants to know everything he can about the skeleton. You say you are a relative. This is a possible way to prove it.”

“I suppose I have no choice.”

“You always have a choice. This is simply the only way I know of supporting your claim.”

“Or dismissing it,” said Caitlin.

Diane suspected that Caitlin was more interested in the protest than the disposition of the bones.

Diane looked at Charlotte. “If she is not a relative, then you don’t want to claim her, do you?”

“She’s someone’s relative,” said Caitlin. “She should be treated with dignity.”

“She will be. I treat every body I examine with dignity.” Diane put her forearms on her desk and leaned forward. “Look, this is the way I communicate with people who have died long ago. I read what is written in their bones. I respect the information that they tell me.”

“Go ahead,” said Charlotte. “I’m trusting you to tell me the truth.”

She opened her mouth and allowed Diane to take a swab from the inside of her cheek. Diane sealed the swab in its pouch, went behind her desk, labeled it and locked it in the bottom drawer.

“Thank you. I assure you I will tell you the truth when I have it. I have no interest in doing otherwise. Now I’m going to have to leave. I’m attending a funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” said Charlotte. “Not someone very close, I hope.”

“I’m close to her family.”

“A death in the family is very sad.”

“Yes, it is. However, she was a hundred and fourteen when she died, and we also have reason to celebrate her life.”

“I didn’t know people could live that long,” said Caitlin. “Imagine.”

“It is hard to imagine,” said Diane, rising to show them out the door.