Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

“I’ve called them back. . temporarily. They think they’ve located two more mass graves, and I don’t want to start excavation until things are a little more settled.”

So Gregory was more worried than he let on, she thought. “Is something else going on?” she asked.

“I don’t know. President Valdividia told some of his friends he’s going to take a vacation. You know how unsettled Puerto Barquis has been the past few months.” He paused. “He may be. . what do you Americans say? Getting the hell out of Dodge.”

“Something rather disturbing has happened here.”

“Something to do with Santos? What is it?”

Diane told him about the museum party, the music and the note.

There was a long pause before he spoke. “Of course, it could be a coincidence.”

“It probably is,” she said. “But if it isn’t, what would be the point? What would he gain?”

“The point might be to put fear into those who took your place.”

“Of course, if he shows he can reach any of us, wherever we are, that would be an effective weapon of terror. But it may not be him at all. There are other things going on, things related to the museum.” She opened the drawer and fingered the printouts from the fax as she explained the duplicate orders. “I suppose it could be some clumsy attempt to discredit me.”

“You don’t think that might be related to Santos too?”

“It hardly seems likely. I’m under pressure to move the museum and sell the property to developers. This probably has more to do with that. I just can’t see him sending someone up here to make it look like I ordered too many specimens.”

The two of them chuckled for just a moment, and it tasted to Diane like fresh air.

“The quartet playing ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King.’ Could that also be related to the museum situation?”

“Unless it’s a simple coincidence, it has to be. I don’t know how anyone here would know about the music.”

“People can find out things. Do you have anyone from South America working at the museum?”

“Yes, we’ve had a graduate student and a lab technician, but I’ve had no reason to suspect them. Besides, they were both from Venezuela.”

“I think the music is probably an unfortunate coincidence, but let’s not take any chances. We can’t allow people like him to take revenge on humanitarian workers, and certainly not in their homes. I’ll contact our people who are watching him.”

“It’s so hard sometimes.” Tears brimmed her eyes and almost overflowed onto her cheeks.

“I know. But remember that you have many friends. Call me anytime, even if you just need to talk.”

“Thank you, Gregory.”

She placed the receiver back on the phone. She could handle whoever it was who had placed the orders. But she wasn’t sure she could handle whoever had left the note for the quartet. If the music wasn’t an innocent coincidence, then it was something very mean and ugly. She finally stood up to go back to the party when she heard movement just on the other side of the adjoining door to Andie’s office.

Diane searched around her desk for a weapon. All she could find was a letter opener decorated with Mayan symbols. She took hold of it, trying to think what to do. Call Leonard? He would still be upstairs. This was foolish. It was probably Andie. She put the letter opener back on the desk and walked out into the hall and around to Andie’s office door. If she opened it from the hall side, at least she would have a place to run. From there someone could hear her shout.

She touched the door so that it slowly swung open. A figure silhouetted by the desk lamp was going through Andie’s desk drawer.

Diane switched on the ceiling light and heard a sudden intake of breath as the figure popped up from her stooped position, her hand over her chest.

“Oh. . Dr. Fallon. . You scared me.”

“That makes two of us. Can I help you?” Diane relaxed, relieved she hadn’t brought the Mayan letter opener with her. The intruder was Melissa, the second violinist from the string quartet.

Melissa smoothed a strand of light brown wavy hair away from her face. “Your assistant, Andie, said she had some extra-strength aspirin in her drawer.” She held up Andie’s keys as if to verify that she had permission to be rambling around in her desk.

“I imagine that playing for hours can bring on a headache.”

Her blue eyes looked relieved. “You’re not kidding. That, and dealing with people. Do you know someone asked us to play ‘Memory’?”

Diane laughed. “I can see it now. Next they’ll want karaoke night at the museum.”

“Here they are.” She poured two tablets out onto her hand and put the bottle back.

“There’s a water fountain just outside the door.”

Melissa’s passage out of Andie’s office left a trail of heavy perfume in her wake. She downed the pills at the water fountain and took a deep breath. “We really do appreciate being asked here. We’ve had several people wanting to hire us.”

“I’m not surprised people are impressed. The music’s been wonderful.”

As Melissa turned from the fountain, Diane noticed that under carefully applied makeup, she had a black eye. A brief glance down at her arms discerned no more bruises, but the dark, floor-length sleeveless dress the young woman wore had a turtleneck. Diane fought an urge to turn down the collar to look at Melissa’s throat.

Too much time spent investigating the products of abuse, she thought. She needed to mind her own business, which was now the museum, and not man’s inhumanity to man. But it haunted her that she had always been too late to help the victims. They were already decayed flesh and bones by the time she saw them. It would have been nice just once to be in a position to stop some atrocity.

“That black eye looks like it might hurt,” Diane said, letting the sentence hang between them.

Melissa was young, shy, and that evening Diane was her employer-powerful stimuli to say something about what had happened, if only to lie. They both stood, paused in the hallway.

“Yes, it does, some. Clumsiness,” Melissa said at last.

“I was exercising. I have to keep strength in my arms to play the violin. You wouldn’t believe how much stamina it takes to keep your arms at that level for hours. I don’t know how Lacy manages that viola for so long. Anyway, I accidently hit myself in the face with one of my hand weights. Almost knocked myself out.”

Melissa laughed at herself and Diane thought she heard a slight tremor in her voice-and such long, detailed explanations often meant that the teller was lying.

“What bad luck, just before the event. I hope it heals quickly.” Diane didn’t pursue it. But her friend Laura knew Melissa’s family. She would mention it to her.

After seeing that the office doors were locked, Diane walked with Melissa back to the party. Mark Grayson was on his way out.

“Leaving early?” said Diane.

“Signy’s staying. I’ve got an overseas conference call. Nice get-together. I’m sure everyone’s having a good time. I’ll see you at the board meeting tomorrow.” He punched the air between them with his finger. It could have been a quick, friendly gesture, the way some men talk with their hands, but it seemed to Diane like he was pointing a gun. She was glad to see the door close behind him.

Melissa had taken up her place with the string quartet and they began playing Diane’s favorite part of Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto in G Minor-the Allegro Moderato. Diane entered the Pleistocene hall where she mingled, talked, laughed at bad jokes and sipped wine. Her feet hurt from the effects of hardly ever wearing high-heeled shoes, and her head ached.