Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

“No. And I don’t want to spread rumors either. I don’t know for sure if this is true, but the source seemed very sincere, and is in a position to know.”

“So you’re putting it all in my lap?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. How about lunch at the museum sometime? We’re opening the restaurant in a few days.”

“You’re on. What’s this I hear about you digging again? You found a body?”

“I’d prefer not to go into that right now. Where did you hear?”

“On the TV news. Something about the Abercrombie farm. I just caught the tail end of it. Wouldn’t have caught that, but your name jumped out at me.”

“Oh, great. I suppose Grayson and his bunch heard it too.”

“So what? I think it would be good for the museum to have a forensic anthropology unit.”

“Don’t even think it.”

“Talk to you later.”

Diane hoped this was the last of her involvement in the Melissa saga. As much as she wanted to stop any abuse, this was turning out to be an odd can of worms. She locked up her office and walked out of the museum just as Frank drove up.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Maybe we can have a late dinner after we see Star.”

“Maybe, but I need to get in bed early. I’m working two jobs now.”

“I appreciate that too.”

“I guess you heard we were on the TV news,” she said.

“What? You mean. .”

“Digging at the Abercrombie farm,” she said.

Frank groaned. “We’ll have to ask the sheriff to double security around the clock. The place will be crawling with TV newspeople. It goes with the territory, I guess.”

Frank called the sheriff on his cell phone. The sheriff had already heard the news. Diane could hear his cursing coming from Frank’s phone.

On the way to the hospital, Diane explained what they had accomplished at the animal pit. “The last thing we found before shutting down was another human bone-an arm bone.”

“Another one? Are you sure?”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep asking if I’m sure. Yes, I do know the bones of the human skeleton.”

“I wasn’t doubting you. I’m just-surprised, I suppose. I’m still surprised at this whole thing-George, Louise, Jay. It still doesn’t seem possible.”

They parked in the visitors’ area at the hospital and entered the building. Diane didn’t like hospitals. She didn’t suppose many people do. She didn’t like the antiseptic smell, nor passing rooms where people lay sick with their relatives around them. On a primal level it was frightening, like a dark room or hanging your arms or legs off the bed at night. She saw Star’s room up ahead-the only one with a guard sitting outside the door. As they drew nearer, they heard a raised voice inside the room, apparently directed at Star.

“Don’t try this passive-aggressive shit with me, girl. It won’t work. I’ll let you sleep all night in your own urine.”

Frank shot ahead and entered the room before Diane. The guard, a policeman that looked to Diane like he might still be in high school, let him pass unchallenged. He stopped Diane.

“I’m with Frank Duncan,” said Diane.

He lay the book he was reading under his chair. “I’ll have to search your purse.”

“Sure.”

Diane opened her purse, which was basically a large billfold with a shoulder strap, and the policeman looked around in the zippered areas. Diane couldn’t imagine what kind of weapon he thought he would find in the small spaces.

“Have anything in your pockets?”

“Only this.”

Diane pulled out a small leather card case with her drivers license, one credit card, two fifty-dollar bills, and a small picture of Ariel. After spending years traveling, she developed a habit of carrying important identification on her person, not in a place that was easy to get separated from.

“That’s fine.” He motioned her in.

Inside, Frank was trying to find out what was going on. Star and a nurse’s aide were both talking at the same time. Star’s black hair, which was short in the family photograph, was almost to her shoulders and fringed on the ends. The blond streak that had framed her face was now a purple-fuchsia and had grown out to the ends. Her pixie face was as pale as the pillowcase, even in anger, and her dark brown eyes were made to look even larger by the dark circles underlining them. Star looked small in the hospital bed and pitiful with bandages on both her wrists, halfway up her forearms. Restraints on her upper arms fastened her to the bed.

“I rang for the nurse over an hour ago. You can’t tie me to the bed and leave me here without any bathroom breaks.”

The nurse’s aide, a woman in her mid-forties dressed in a stained white pantsuit, looked as if she were trying to stare Frank down.

She turned to Star. “There’s a lot of sick people on this floor. We don’t have time to run to you every five minutes.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to let her go to the bathroom than change her sheets?” Frank was having a hard time remaining calm and polite.

“She can hold it until we have time to get to it.”

The stubborn set of the woman’s face angered Diane. This was a health-care worker, for heaven’s sake.

“Are you aware,” said Diane, “that ‘holding it,’ as you put it, can lead to a bladder infection?”

“No worse than she deserves,” muttered the woman so low that Diane almost didn’t catch it.

Frank shot out of the room so suddenly that it startled even Diane. The woman looked at the door, then at Diane, a stubborn frown setting around her mouth. “Where’s he going?”

“I imagine to the head nurse or to the hospital administrators.”

As the woman started out the door, Diane called after her, “Star needs help,” but the aide didn’t look back.

Diane walked out the door to the policeman, who spoke before Diane had a chance to say anything. “I just guard the door-I don’t change bedpans.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Diane with her best sweet voice. “And you shouldn’t have to. But I need you to undo her restraints so she can go to the bathroom and clean up.”

He sighed and rose, putting his book down again. Diane noticed it was a Western. He stepped into the room long enough to unlock the restraints. Diane thanked him and helped Star out of bed. There was a large wet place on the sheets and the back of her gown.

“So you’re Uncle Frank’s girlfriend,” said Star as she went into the bathroom.

“We date,” said Diane.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“None of your business,” said Diane pleasantly and heard Star give a faint laugh.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

“Should you get your bandages wet?” asked Diane.

“I’ll just turn on the shower and rinse off my body. I won’t get them wet. God forbid that bitch should have to change them for me.”

“You have some more pajamas?”

“In the dresser drawer. Some underwear too.”

Diane was glad that Star was concerned with cleanliness and dignity. People in despair give up their pride first-“pride goeth before the fall,” a meaning of the aphorism that made more sense to Diane than the one more often attributed to it.

Of course, Star might not have meant her injuries to be life threatening. She could have only wanted to get out of jail or to get attention. But Diane noted that her bandages covered half of her forearm, a serious sign. Often people bent on suicide slit their wrists lengthwise up the arm, along the vein, to insure a bleed out. That looked like what Star did. She must be in tremendous emotional pain to have done that with a dull cutting tool, Diane thought.