Beverly Connor - Dead Secret

“Diane-” he whispered.

“I’m fine.” She cut him off, stopped him from saying anything further.

Frank was right; she could see it in Mike’s eyes. He cared very much for her. Diane had no doubt he cared for Neva, too. But right now Diane was vulnerable, and she could see that Mike was ready to step in and try to fix whatever was wrong. She stood up.

“There are some things I need to do.”

“Sure. Let me know if I can help.”

“I will. I’m going to be closing the museum. . only for a few days, I hope.”

Mike looked startled. She started to give him the reason that she and Kendel had come up with, but she found she couldn’t lie to him.

“I can’t tell you why. And if you will, please don’t mention it to anyone. I’m going to tell the staff.”

“No, of course not. Neva asked me if I ever mention to anyone what goes on in the crime lab. I don’t know much, but I never talk about what little I do know.”

“I didn’t think you did. We may have a leak, and I had to ask everyone. I’m asking Frank, too. I’m also looking at myself. The wrong people may have overheard me talking.”

“Is everything all right here?”

“No, Mike, it’s not. But I intend to make it right.”

“I want to help you.”

“I know you do. But now, though, I must ask you to work at home, since I’m closing the museum for the weekend.”

Mike started to leave. He didn’t want to; she could see him hesitate, search for something else to say, make some other offer of help. Finally, he turned and walked out.

She called David and asked him to meet her at the feeding dock on the swan lake-the large pond with a family of swans that was the centerpiece of the nature trail.

The nature trail was a half-mile loop in the midst of a wooded garden in back of the museum. It was part of the museum’s exhibits, only outside, growing, and ever changing with each season. It was filled with trilliums, bluet, violets, azaleas, rhododendrons, berries, trees, shrubs, birds, butterflies and more plants than she could remember, and it was always beautiful. She didn’t want to imagine it filled with smoke. Damn whoever was behind this.

She stood on the feeding platform and threw the arriving swans bread crumbs she had picked up in the restaurant. She heard footfalls come onto the bridge and looked up to see David approaching. She left the swans and walked with him deeper into the trail.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie?” he said, and sneezed.

“Because I’ve gone completely paranoid. I don’t want to be overheard. David, how do you feel about sleep?”

“I don’t need that much. What do you want me to do?” He sneezed again. “Next time we do cloak-and-dagger, can we meet at McDonald’s or someplace like that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you’re allergic.” Diane told him of her suspicions and outlined the plan that had been working in her mind. “I think Lane Emery is involved in some way. I’m going to ask Garnett to help search the museum tonight and try to catch Emery or the kidnappers in the act tomorrow. Can you stay at the museum a few days?”

“I can do that. Why do you think it’s Emery?” said David.

“A hunch really. First of all, there had to be a third person involved in kidnapping me. Going to the elevators, I saw Emery when I left the osteology lab. He could have signaled my kidnappers that I was coming.” Diane looked over at David watching the swans. She couldn’t tell from his face what he was thinking.

“Do you have any more than that?” he asked, not taking his eyes off a particularly feisty swan.

“I was speaking with Kendal, Andie, Chanell and Emery earlier-asking their advice. . ” Diane hesitated for a moment. The reasons for her suspicions did sound weak. “He’s the one who suggested we close down for the weekend. There was just something in the way he said it. . I don’t know.” Diane was beginning to feel silly.

“If there’s a bomb threat, it makes sense to close down.”

“There’s not a bomb threat. The guys who kidnapped me said they would burn the museum down. It was Emery who suggested bombs. He said that was about the only way to effectively burn the building.”

“He has a point,” said David.

“Yes, he does. I said all I really had was a hunch. But it occurred to me that the kidnappers had no real expectation that I would just hand over evidence-they didn’t even ask for all the evidence. However, if they made a threat like the one they made, there was a very real expectation that I would close the museum for a couple of days. That way they could just take what they needed without a problem-especially if they had the head of security on their side.”

“Okay, I’m starting to buy into it,” said David. “But what if you are wrong about him?”

“Then I will apologize profusely and we’ll have at least searched the museum for incendiary devices.”

David laughed. “I’ll talk to Garnett and take care of the details,” he said.

“Thanks. I need to tell Vanessa Van Ross what’s up.”

David raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“I always keep her apprised of anything that affects the museum. People think that I don’t answer to anyone, but I do answer to her.”

Diane walked with David back to the museum. He sneezed all the way. Diane felt as though a weight had been lifted from her just to be able to express her suspicions.

Diane drove to Vanessa Van Ross’s home. Vanessa lived in the oldest section of Rosewood, where many of the trees were even older than her 114-year-old grandmother had been. Her huge house was at the end of a long, tree-lined, winding drive.

Diane pushed the doorbell and waited. The house was so well insulated she didn’t hear footfalls until the door was opened by the housekeeper, Mrs. Hartefeld, a fixture who had been with Vanessa for years. She was a tall, straight-backed woman in a dark gray pantsuit that matched her hair and eyes. Diane always thought she looked out of place in modern apparel-she should be wearing Victorian clothes to match her physical appearance. Despite her dour face, Mrs. Hartefeld was a friendly, happy person with a good sense of humor. She led Diane into the parlor, a white and gold French Provençal room that made her feel like she was waiting for the queen. Perhaps she was.

“Dr. Fallon, I wanted to thank you for giving my grand-daughters a personal tour of the museum. They felt so special. They are still talking about it.”

“I was happy to do it. I’m glad they enjoyed themselves.”

“I’ll get Mrs. Van Ross. She’ll be delighted to see you. May I get you something to drink-coffee, tea, soda?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Hartefeld.”

Diane stood by the fireplace looking up at a portrait of Milo Lorenzo staring down at her. His hand was on a Greek Ionic column pedestal. She sensed his disapproval and she felt guilty.

“Diane, dear. What a surprise,” Vanessa Van Ross said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I’m afraid my phones might be tapped.”

Vanessa raised her eyebrows. “Sit down and tell me about it.”

Diane sat on a white silk chair, hoping that the seat of her pants wasn’t soiled from the basement. She told Vanessa about the kidnapping, the threats, what happened to her mother, and how the two thugs claimed responsibility-including what they wanted. She thought Vanessa would give her the now-familiar openmouthed stare of surprise, then chastise her for letting things get so out of control.

Vanessa did neither. She sat very still in her white and gold French sitting room, looking at the portrait of Milo.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.