Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

When everyone had gone and only Leonard, the night guard, and the cleaning crew remained in the museum, Diane climbed into her car, almost too tired to drive home. Despite her exhaustion, she made it home without running her car into a tree, and went straight to bed without even expending the energy to take off her makeup. Cold crisp sheets on bare skin-it felt good. She slept until 7:30 in the morning-when the phone rang.

“Did I wake you?” Frank’s voice sounded like a rasp on sandstone.

“Frank, are you all right?” Diane asked.

“Can I come over?”

Diane hesitated a moment, filled with dread about hearing details of murder. But these were Frank’s friends. And so was she. “Sure. I’ll fix you breakfast,” she said.

“I’ll bring it. It’s the least I can do for waking you up.”

Diane jumped out of bed and into the shower. She had just pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt when the door-bell rang. After slicking her wet hair back with a comb, she opened the door.

Frank was in running sweats, but she could tell from the smell of shampoo that he hadn’t been running. He set two sacks on the table. The bulky one was filled with doughnuts; the other with cups of coffee from Vance’s Café.

“I’ll make us some bacon and scrambled eggs to go with the doughnuts,” she said.

She also put on a pot of coffee. Why Frank liked Vance’s coffee was a mystery. To say it tasted like dredge from the Chattahoochee River was giving it flattery it didn’t deserve.

Diane microwaved strips of bacon while she scrambled three eggs. Frank stood in the doorway of the narrow efficiency kitchen as she worked. “Kevin had a great time last night. It was good of you to let him and his mother come.”

“No problem.” She took down a couple of plates from the cabinet and warmed them in the oven. She felt awkward, like he had brought a huge gorilla in with him that neither of them wanted to mention, yet it was taking up so much space.

“I think Cindy’s husband, David, was the one who wanted to come, to rub elbows with some of the big guys.”

“And did he?” Diane asked.

“Must have. Cindy said she wants to invite us over for supper next week.”

“Us?”

“You and me.”

Diane looked over at Frank through narrowed eyes.

“She’s not matchmaking.”

“No. I don’t think she is. I think Mark Grayson is using David to try and talk me into selling the museum property.”

“What’s that about?”

“Grayson hopes to make a killing on a big real estate sale he’s cooking up involving the museum. I imagine he wants to buy it himself and sell it for a heck of a lot more than he would pay for it.” Diane divided the scrambled eggs and slices of bacon-two-thirds on Frank’s plate and one-third on hers. “It’s all rather complicated, and I’m not sure how he plans to accomplish it without gutting the museum’s holdings. He’s been trying to push the old Vista Building on me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he holds an interest in that.”

“Why is he after you and not the board?” Frank took a plate from her cupboard and stacked the doughnuts on it.

“Oh, he’s after them all right-to put pressure on me. But even if he gets every member of the board to sign off on it, he still has to convince me.”

“You have that much power?”

“I certainly do, thanks to Milo.” Diane stood with the plates in her hand, staring at the pyramid of assorted doughnuts. “Were you expecting an army of policemen?”

“I thought you might like a choice.”

She set the plates on the table. “Have a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”

“I brought coffee.”

“No, you didn’t.” She brought two mugs and filled them at the table from her pot of fresh brewed coffee.

Frank sat down and started eating. “You make the best eggs.”

“The secret is to not put milk in them, and to cook them slowly until they’re just done.”

“So how come you have so much more say-so than the board?”

“Do you know Vanessa Van Ross?”

“I know of her. Richest old woman in the state, isn’t she?”

Diane frowned at him. “I don’t know that, but she has money, and she and Milo had a thing.”

“She must be one hundred and twenty. He was what? Sixty?”

“He was sixty-five. What is it with you guys? You think women stop being someone you can love when they get crow’s-feet?”

“She’s got more than their feet.”

“She set up the foundation and gave Milo final power over practically everything.”

“So the board’s only show?”

“Almost. Milo hired me as an assistant while I was still in South America. He fixed it so that not only would I become director if anything happened to him, but all the power would pass to me as well.”

“Was he expecting to die?”

“No. But he had a heart condition. It obviously crossed his mind.”

“At least he knew it was a possibility.” Frank stared into his coffee.

Diane put a hand on his arm. So the gorilla was about to awaken. “How are you?” she asked.

Frank set his coffee down and capped the rim with his hand. The steam rose through his fingers. It was several moments before he spoke.

“Jay was just fourteen. They found him outside, lying under a tree-shot in the back. George and Louise were upstairs in their bed.”

She could see Frank was making a big effort to sound objective.

“Frank, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t help but think it’s my fault. If I’d taken that bone more seriously.”

Diane rose, went around the table and started to hug him. Instead she put a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault. I know it must feel like it is, but it’s the murderer’s fault.” He grabbed her hand and held it. “What do you think happened?”

He pulled away, and Diane walked back to her seat. “I don’t know. I’m afraid the detective in charge seems to like their daughter, Star, for it. But as far as I can see, she has little evidence and isn’t likely to get any. But. . ”

“But what?”

“They did find the gun-or at least the caliber of gun they believe was the murder weapon.”

Diane sensed there was more. She reached out for his hand. “And?”

“They think it was Louise’s gun. George bought it for her several years ago. One of the policemen at the scene thought he recognized it because he gave Louise lessons with it. Last year, Star stole it and took it out to shoot it with her boyfriend. When George found out, he took it and locked it up and grounded Star.”

“Do you think their daughter could have done it?”

“She was a handful. Hell, that’s being kind. As soon as Star hit fourteen, she turned from this sweet little girl into this rebellious kid.” He took a drink of his coffee. “But it doesn’t feel right. I can’t see her killing her parents, and I sure can’t see her shooting Jay.”

“If she’s into drugs. . they can change you.”

“I know, but her little brother? I don’t think she’d do it. She adored him. The detective in charge is just taking the easy way out.”

“What about this boyfriend of hers?”

“They’re looking for him. He hasn’t been home in weeks. His parents don’t know where he is. Right now, it’s frustrating, being an Atlanta detective. I have no jurisdiction whatsoever even though I live in Rosewood, and the homicide guys refer to me as just a PC.”

“Politically correct?”

“Paper cop.”

“Oh.” She could see that hurt him. “What about the bone?”

“They don’t think it’s relevant, especially now that they know George just picked it up in some woods. It could have come from anywhere. Star looks much better to them.”