Beverly Connor - Dead Secret

Vanessa was sitting on the couch in the sitting room that adjoined Diane’s office, sipping the tea that Andie had brought her. “That was very strange. I confess, Andie and I sort of eavesdropped.”

“I’ll say,” said Andie. “I thought they were going to run over me. They’re witches?” She hesitated. “Sorry, couldn’t help but listen.”

“Wiccan and Druid. As I understand it they’re not the same, and neither is necessarily a witch. Anyway, it was interesting. I don’t know if I can discover if the story goes with the skeleton, but it’ll be fun working on it. Andie, did we get a package from the Rose Museum in England while I was gone?”

“Yes. The paperwork is in your in box. Mr. Rose said in the letter that he doesn’t want you to start until you speak to him. There were also some pretty cool photographs with the paperwork-this statue in a cave. I thought you’d like that. Do you really think you can get DNA from the skeleton? I had the idea from reading the paperwork that the skeleton is really old, like really old, like over a thousand years.”

“I don’t know if I can get any usable DNA or not. It will certainly be interesting if I do.”

Vanessa stood up. “I suppose it’s time. I have to tell you, I’m dreading this. People from all over are coming. Even the governor is sending someone. It is going to be a long funeral. Gram would hate it.”

Diane gazed out the window of Vanessa’s limo as they pulled up in front of the First Presbyterian Church. It was a huge structure built with granite from Georgia. The rock, blue when it was freshly quarried, had weathered to a dark bluish gray after ninety-two years of exposure to the elements. Helen was twenty-two years older than the church. Her daughter was two years older than the ninety-two-year-old structure. Odd and somehow comforting, thought, Diane, that people could be older than this stone edifice.

The central sanctuary had tall stained-glass windows in shades of blue and green and was flanked by two medieval-looking towers. The parking lot was to one side and was already filling up. Vanessa was right: A great many people were there-many more, Diane guessed, than her grandmother had known. But as Vanessa said, this was the price for being from a prominent family and for living way past a hundred.

Vanessa asked Diane to sit with her and her family-five generations of them beyond Helen Egan. The family members smiled at Diane and patted Vanessa’s arm as they sat down.

As Vanessa held on to her hand, Diane realized that her mentor was probably mourning the loss of her only grandmother, but also of Milo Lorenzo, the museum founder. Vanessa had said good-bye to him here also. It was Milo who had hired Diane. The museum was his life’s work, the centerpiece of all his creative endeavors, and he died much too young of a heart attack before it was finished. Diane was supposed to be the assistant director, but thanks to Vanessa and to Milo’s will, she became director with all the power that Milo had designed for himself. But more than the visionary of the museum, Milo was the love of Vanessa’s life, and Diane could feel the loss flowing from her like a current of electricity as she sat silently on the hard wooden pew.

The church was filling up quickly now. Diane looked behind her at the people. She spotted Korey, her head conservator, Mike, Andie and Kendel sitting together. They must have come together from the museum. She saw most of the board members either seated or entering the church. Some who caught her eye nodded. The mayor was there; so were the chief of detectives and the police commissioner. She spotted several businessmen from Rosewood and Atlanta whom she knew because they were large contributors to the museum. Attendance was a who’s who of Rosewood and beyond. Diane put an arm around Vanessa’s granddaughter, eight-year-old Alexis Van Ross, who had come from the pew in front of her and slid in beside her.

The service began. Diane hoped it would be a short one. The minister was a young man full of hope and awe that someone he knew had lived such a long life. It was not a sad service. It was filled with references to the great events, inventions and changes Helen had witnessed in her many years.

As Diane listened to the minister’s words, she had the unexpected realization that she had not had a memorial service for her daughter, Ariel. Her thoughts brought tears to her eyes, and she blinked to try to keep them at bay. Why had she never done that? Because, she thought, answering her own question, she did everything she could to avoid dealing with the fact that Ariel was dead. Diane fingered the locket at her throat. She absently pulled Alexis to her, and the little girl leaned into Diane and put her arms around her waist.

Before Diane realized it, the ushers were at the end of the pews to let the family file out of the church first. When Diane stood, it was a relief. She was glad the service was over. She held Alexis’s hand and walked out with the family.

“Just the cemetery now and it will be over.” Vanessa patted Alexis’s blond curls. “You know, I’m going to put it in my will that I don’t want a funeral. I’m not sure I agree with this final good-bye ritual.”

Right now Diane agreed with her. The limo drove up and the driver opened the door for Vanessa, Diane and Alexis. Alexis had bonded with Diane ever since she’d been given a private tour of the museum.

“Can I spend the night at your house sometime?” she asked.

“Alexis. . ” said Vanessa.

I would like that, thought Diane. “Sometime,” she said. “I’ll talk to your mother in a few weeks; how will that be?”

Alexis was the farthest generation from Helen Egan-her great-great-great-granddaughter. Diane wondered if the little girl understood just what an amazing thing that was.

Rose Street Cemetery wasn’t far from the church. Diane could already see the tops of the larger monuments. It was an old cemetery, fifty years older than Helen Egan. It seemed fitting. Helen Egan would be buried beside her husband, who had died half a century earlier than she.

The limo driver drove them to the plot, now covered with a tent under which were rows of chairs for the family. Diane didn’t want to sit through another service. She told Vanessa she was going to stand with her people from the museum.

“Of course, dear.” Vanessa looked around at the cars pulling onto the shoulder of the small roadway. “I can’t believe this many people came to the cemetery. What could they be thinking?” Vanessa cocked her lips into a half smile. “Come, Alexis. It won’t be long now.”

Diane walked to where Andie and the others were standing.

“Hey, Dr. F.,” said Korey. “Want a ride back with us? We brought the minivan.”

“Probably so. Let me talk to Vanessa when the graveside service is over.” She stood between Andie and Korey as people gathered around and listened to the final words.

The ceremony was very short, to Diane’s relief. When it was over, they all stood in a line of people waiting to express their condolences to the family.

Vanessa was speaking to the mayor and a tall man with dark salt-and-pepper hair as Diane approached. The mayor frowned when he saw Diane, but quickly recovered. She guessed he had just remembered that she was now a friend and not a foe. She hadn’t really spoken with him since an argument resulting from his urging that the museum be moved. She didn’t really want to speak with him now, but there he was.

“I hear a lot of good things about the. . museum,” the mayor said.

Diane knew he almost said “crime scene lab,” but realized at the last minute that this wasn’t the venue to talk about it.

Diane nodded and muttered, “We do our best.”