Dead Past

lunch,” said Diane.
    In the kitchen Frank was stirring a skillet filled with bubbling spaghetti sauce. He was dressed in a casual maroon sweater and tan slacks. She kissed him on the cheek.
    “You get home early today?” she asked.
    “I did. I finished a big case and figured you probably skipped at least one meal. And I was right,” he said grinning at her. “It’s ready now; you’ll just have time to change and wash up.”
    “Then I’d better hurry.” Diane changed into sweatpants and shirt and bare feet, washed her hands, and sat down at her dining table, waiting to be served. He had already poured a glass of red wine. Diane took a sip.
    “I could get used to this,” she said.
    “So could I. I love getting off early. Can’t wait for retirement.” He kissed the top of her head as he put the plate in front of her. He brought out a salad and Italian bread and sat down.
    “I don’t know what to say,” said Diane.
    “I expect I’ll reap some benefits.” He grinned at her.
    Diane asked about his case as they ate. It was a complicated embezzlement in a large company in Atlanta and reached as far away as Seattle, Washington.
    “Getting enough for court is always the tricky part,” he said. “I think we’re ready.”
    Diane told him about the explosion case, filling him in on everything that happened since she last saw him.
    “David said the GBI is handling the meth lab case now. We’re all relieved they are,” she said.
    “They have more clout to subpoena records. That’s the only way they’re going to find out who’s behind the lab—follow the money.” Frank took a sip of wine. “So the thinking now is it’s someone out for justice for the victims?”
    “Yes, which is why I told Garnett that I am through investigating. I’m sure he was relieved. I do tend to stick my nose in too much occasionally. Although, what we’ve been doing lately is more armchair detective work.”
    “I can see how Garnett would not be enthusiastic about the latest theory of the crime. But it looks like the perp did kill the wrong person and he did hit Jin on the head. That’s the problem with being a vigilante. You skip all the checks and balances.”
    “I know,” agreed Diane.
    “Why don’t we talk about anything but crime? It seems that’s all we ever talk about. You want to go away for a weekend with me?”
    “Love to, but I’m saving all my money for Paris,” said Diane.
    Frank laughed. “We could go to the mountains—maybe Gatlinburg. I’ll spring for it.”
    “Maybe. That sounds good. Let me get through these cases first. We’re still processing the material from the Cipriano and Stanton murders. And I’m still looking for the items stolen from the museum. I’m out a four-thousand-dollar seashell, among maybe thirty thousand dollars’ worth of other items.”
    “Someone would pay that much for a seashell?” said Frank.
    “It’s big,” said Diane.
    “I know, but . . . four thousand dollars?”
    “It’s also rare.”
    “Is it gold?” asked Frank.
    “That would be the cowrie shells,” she said.
    Just as she was about to reach for another piece of bread to dip in the small plate of olive oil, the phone rang.
    “Well, damn,” she said. “I guess I’d better get it.”
    She got up and went to the living room. The caller ID said it was the hospital. Diane answered it.
    “Dr. Fallon, this is Jesse Kincaid.”
    “Yes, Mr. Kincaid. Is Darcy all right?”
    “She’s coming along well. She asked me to call. Seems she needs to talk with you about something important and wonders if you could drop by tomorrow morning. She’s told us about it and I advised her to come clean. It’s the only way to make things right.”

Chapter 38

    Darcy Kincaid’s room was filled with bouquets of flowers from well wishers.
    “Many are from people Darcy doesn’t even know,” said Mrs. Kincaid. “There were so many we gave some away to other patients so there would be a little space in her room. People really like Darcy.” She rubbed her hands together nervously.
    She is probably suggesting that I should like her, too, thought Diane.
    “The flowers are all beautiful,” said Diane.
    Darcy was sitting up in bed. Her mother held her hand. Her father stood just behind Mrs. Darcy at the head of his daughter’s bed.
    Darcy’s face was black and blue still, with a hint of green and yellow. Her eyes were swollen, but not as much as they had been, Diane imagined. Her dark hair was neatly combed