Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

“Of course. Korey, fill the policemen in on the break-in.”

She started to escort the mayor to Korey’s office, but it had a large window open to the lab.

“This way,” she said, and they stepped out into the hallway.

As they emerged into the hallway, an older man, about five foot seven, if he weren’t slightly stooped in the shoulders, stopped to greet her. “Dr. Fallon. I wanted to thank you for the opportunity to work here.” With his white hair, bushy eyebrows, toothbrush moustache and crystal blue eyes he might have been a wizard dressed up in modern, albeit well-worn clothes.

“Jonas Briggs.” Diane clasped his outstretched hands in hers. “My pleasure. This is-”

“Mayor Walter Sutton,” Jonas said. “Yes, we’ve met, after a fashion. Crossed verbal swords in the city council meetings. Democracy is a wonderful thing, don’t you think, Mayor?”

The expression on the mayor’s face suggested that he didn’t think democracy was wonderful at all. “Yes, yes,” he muttered.

“Jonas, may I use your office?” she asked.

“Certainly. It’s unlocked. I was just going to the staff lounge. Introduce myself to some of the people in the museum here.”

Jonas Briggs looked like a man who had found a home.

“His office is on this floor,” Diane told the mayor. “We’ll use it, rather than going downstairs to mine.”

Jonas’ office was across from the archaeology exhibits, the smallest section in the museum. In the back of his office was a small workroom. Through its open doorway Diane could see pieces of broken pottery sitting on worktables.

In his outer office he had already moved in large bookcases and filled them to capacity with his books. On the wall were enlarged photographs of archaeological excavations. From their dress, the archaeology crew looked like they were from the thirties. In one corner of the room was a table flanked by two stuffed chairs. A Staunton sandalwood chessboard was set up on the table and a painting of bold, bright slashes of color hung on the wall.

Diane sat behind the desk and indicated one of the stuffed chairs for the mayor.

“What is it you want to talk about?” she said as he pulled the chair nearer the desk and sat down and leaned forward, resting both elbows on the arms of the chair. If Jonas was a wizard, the mayor was a toad.

“I’m going to be blunt, Ms. Fallon. I believe in speaking plainly and getting to the point. It saves time, and time is money.”

“Please do, Mr. Sutton.”

He twisted and sat half upright. His frown deepened and he stared hard at her. She kept a pleasant expression on her face and held his stare. She was tempted to ask him if this was a contest.

“There are two things I want to talk with you about. First, it has come to my attention that you are interfering in police business.”

Come to my attention was an unpleasant weasel phrase that annoyed Diane. She raised her brow and cocked her head. “I believe you’re misinformed.”

“Misinformed?” He leaned forward. “I have this from the police chief himself.”

“He is misinformed.”

“Let’s not dance around this, Ms. Fallon. You were seen by two policemen at a crime scene-the George Boone house.”

“Detective Janice Warrick had released the house before I was asked to take a look at it. As far as the detectives were concerned, it was no longer a crime scene.”

“You were asked there by an Atlanta detective who has absolutely no jurisdiction in the case.”

Diane was beginning to wonder just how good a friend Izzy Wallace was to Frank. “Again, you have been misinformed.”

“Frank Duncan is an Atlanta detective. He’s in the fraud division, not even homicide. He has absolutely no business interfering in a Rosewood matter.”

Walter Sutton leaned farther forward and placed a hand on the desk. For a moment, Diane thought he was going to pound it. She had never met the mayor and was becoming increasingly puzzled by his hostility. She’d learned from her friend Gregory that you only show anger in diplomacy when it gives you an advantage, and that most of the time, calm in the face of anger gives you the most advantage-so Diane remained outwardly calm.

“Mr. Sutton. Frank Duncan is executor of Louise and George Boone’s will. He is now, on their deaths, guardian of their minor daughter-who has been arrested for murder. It is most certainly his business to protect her interests and secure for her a defense. I’m shocked that you would think otherwise. A responsibility of that nature is a sacred trust.”

The mayor glared a moment before he settled back on the seat of the chair. “There’s another matter that’s of the utmost importance to this community.”

Diane knew what was coming and she almost laughed. Instead she picked up a pencil lying on the desk. Another of Gregory’s little bits of wisdom: Put a desk between you and the subject and trifle with a writing instrument. It works mainly in Western cultures, he had told her. There are so many authority figures that it’s subconsciously associated with-teachers, principals, doctors, psychiatrists, lawyers. . just one more little thing that can give you a psychological edge.

“And what would that matter be?” she asked, absently rolling the pencil between her palms.

The mayor shifted in his seat.

“We’ve been working hard to build a community with a strong economic base,” said the mayor, straightening up in the stuffed chair.

“I know,” said Diane. “We at the museum are proud to have contributed to that base by being able to hire more than a hundred employees, not to mention offering two business opportunities-the restaurant and the museum shop-to local entrepreneurs. And, of course, there are our liaisons with the local schools, technical colleges and university.”

“Yes, well, there’s an opportunity to enhance the museum’s contribution.” By getting us to fall on our sword, thought Diane. “I understand,” the mayor continued, “that you have refused to consider an opportunity that would not only be good for the museum, but bring much-needed jobs to the community.”

“Mr. Sutton. You have me completely bewildered. You came in here under the impression that I was interfering in police business. However mistaken that impression was, you were correct in condemning that as inappropriate behavior. So you can see why I’m now puzzled that you’re interfering in museum business, which is my business.”

Mayor Sutton’s face reddened slightly. Gregory always said she would make a terrible diplomat, because she took such a perverse pleasure in making the other person mad. She had to confess he was right.

“When it is something so important to the community, as a leader it’s my business as well. Look, Ms. Fallon, we’ve gotten off to a shaky start. It was not my intention to make you defensive, but to ask you to see reason. It’s not fair to the people that you use a position you fell into by the merest chance.”

“Chance?”

“I have no desire to embarrass you, but you know Milo Lorenzo hired you because he was a friend and had compassion for you. Losing your job, being out of work for a year. That’s hard on anyone, and I’m not condemning you for it. However, had Milo known he was going to die so soon, he would have changed the way the museum governance was set up. You shouldn’t use this accidental power you have to make bad decisions. You are in over your head.”

Diane laughed out loud. “Yes, we have gotten off to a bad start. Part of the reason is that from the first you have all these assumptions that aren’t true. However, to explain, I would have to go into a whole history that, quite frankly, is none of your concern. Be that as it may, what you and some members of my board have to learn to deal with is that I do have the power. And I will use it to benefit the museum.”