Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

“At the time, I was corresponding with Milo and agreed to accept his offer to come to the museum. I thought it would be the most wonderful place to raise her. During that time, I didn’t visit the U.S. When I came back, it was going to be with her.”

“What happened?” asked Frank.

“What happened.” Diane sighed and rubbed her eyes and pressed her forehead with her fingertips. “We’d been there three years, and my team and I had made a lot of headway collecting damning evidence against Santos. We thought President Valdividia would arrest him. We overestimated the president’s power. He was afraid. We were coming back from the capital, and about three miles from the mission we heard gunfire. There’s no going fast on those roads. As we grew closer we heard ‘The Hall of the Mountain King’ wafting through the jungle.”

Diane stopped, unable to speak for several moments. “When we finally got to the compound, Santos had. . he had. . had killed everyone in the compound, including. . There was blood everywhere. He had already taken most of the bodies. That’s the way he liked to do things-bury his atrocities in hidden mass graves. We found Ariel’s CD player in the middle of the compound, set on repeat so that it played ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ over and over. He’d left her. .” Diane’s mouth quivered and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “He’d left her bloody little shoes with the CD player. She must have been so scared, and I wasn’t there for her.”

Diane curled up in a ball, clenched her fists, trying to breathe through the sobs. Frank pulled her against him again and stroked her back. It was several more minutes before she could speak again, several minutes of trying to breathe deeply, trying to stop the flow of tears. When she began again, her voice was a tremor. “All that death was aimed at me because I’d nailed his lies-but I hadn’t counted on his vengeance. I thought maybe Ariel had run and hidden in the jungle. There were often survivors from his massacres. That’s how we found eyewitnesses. I ran through the bush yelling for her, looking everywhere until they-my friends-dragged me away.”

Again they sat in silence. Frank rested his chin on the top of her head as they sat intertwined on the couch. Diane listened to the rain’s steady drive on the roof.

“I said some insensitive things about how I’d go crazy if I lost Kevin, especially like George lost Jay. I’m so sorry-I had no idea.”

“You didn’t know. Very few people here do.”

Diane shifted and lay her head on his shoulder and looked through the photographs of Ariel. Besides grief, the worse feeling was the regret at not just taking her and leaving. Why did she wait for the damn paperwork? Ariel could be here, right now, with her.

“Gregory-he was my boss-changed out teams. My objectivity was compromised along with everyone else’s on my team. I took a leave of absence for a year.”

“What did you do?”

“For a while, nothing. I came back to the United States and hid out in my apartment, taking benzodiazepine to try to deaden the pain, until some of my caving friends talked me into exploring a few caves. Caves are very peaceful places-like being in a womb, I suppose. Caving helped. Milo asked me to come here. I almost said no, but I spent a few months learning about museums in general and RiverTrail in particular.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I wasn’t really fit company for anyone. I was very bitter, angry at the drop of a hat. I had to work my way through a lot of stuff before I wanted to see anyone.”

“I would have understood.”

“I didn’t want anyone’s understanding. I didn’t want to feel good for a long time. I didn’t deserve to feel good.” Diane fought back the tears. She was so tired of crying. Her head hurt and her eyes were sore and swollen.

“The museum has been good for me,” she said, “even with all its little problems with the board.” The rain increased and lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the tree line for a second. The crack of thunder rattled the windows. “Ariel wasn’t afraid of the thunder and lightning. She thought it was a great show, and she was really into loud noises. I worried about her little ears. I wouldn’t let her have earphones, no matter how much the nuns begged me.”

“ ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ was written on the note you gave me to analyze.”

“Yes. Someone, I don’t know who, left the note for the musicians to put it on the playlist.”

Frank pushed away and stared at Diane. “A coincidence?”

“Perhaps.” Diane told him about her conversations with Gregory and about the possibility of one of Santos’ associates being in the United States.

“Diane, why didn’t you tell me? This is serious.”

“It’s also a long shot. He’s run the president out of Barquis. I doubt it’d be worth the effort to come after me. These days the U.S. is in no mood for terrorists. I’m sure Santos is aware of that. I’ve suspected that it has something to do with Mark Grayson trying to get me to sell the museum property.”

“That would be a cruel thing to have done. Is he that mean?” asked Frank.

“I believe he, like a lot of dictators, wants what he wants.”

“Have you confronted him?”

“I have no proof whatsoever. But I’m getting pressure from all sides.” She told him about the unpleasant visit from the mayor. “So I’ve heard that rumor about me before.”

“I’ll tell Izzy. He didn’t know. . ”

Diane stood up and began gathering the pictures. “He didn’t know. I wonder why, then, he felt justified in relaying the rumor.”

“He was looking out for me. I’m sure he’ll apologize.”

“I suggest he doesn’t come around me for a while, or he won’t like the consequences. The mayor didn’t.”

Diane looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost four A.M. Maybe we can get a couple of hours’ sleep before we have to get up. You don’t have to go in to work tomorrow, do you?”

“No. I’ve had some time coming to me. I’m using it to try to take care of things.” He stood up and gathered the coffee cups and took them into the kitchen. When he came out, he caught Diane going into the bedroom and put his arms around her waist and held her close.

“Diane, you’ve been a big help to me. I didn’t realize the cost.”

“I guess I’m just a sucker for hard stories.”

The grounds personnel were hard at work cleaning up the broken limbs and debris when Diane arrived at the museum. Storms are good at cleaning out the dead wood of a forest, and apparently this one went to work along the nature trail and the larger trees around the museum.

“Much damage?” she asked the head gardener, a small silver-haired man who’d retired from the university grounds department a couple of years ago.

“Not much. Mostly in the nature trail. We did have a tree limb fall against the west wing, but, fortunately, no windows were broken.”

As Diane walked up the steps and into the museum she heard voices raised in anger coming from the stairwell.

It sounded like Melissa Gallagher quarreling with some man.

“Don’t be like this, Mike. You don’t understand.” Melissa sounded close to tears.

“No, I don’t, and I really can’t deal with it anymore.” It was Mike Seger, the geology graduate student.

Diane hurried up the stairs in time to see Mike close his hand around Melissa’s arm.

“What’s going on?” said Diane.

“Nothing,” said Melissa.

“It doesn’t look or sound like nothing.” Diane held Mike in her gaze. “You’re going to bruise her arm, the way you’re holding it.”

“I’m not holding it that hard,” Mike said. But he let her go.