Dead Secret

. . . Well, I won’t say anything about a fellow sheriff. The point is, Donnie’s girlfriend said she got a big envelope in the mail before he was released. Inside it was a smaller envelope addressed to Donnie and one to her. Hers was a letter from Flora Martin asking her to keep Donnie’s letter safe until he got out. Which is what she did. He read it and told his girlfriend that he had a family inheritance after all. Wouldn’t tell her what it was and kept his letter close to him all the time. We found no sign of it among his things.”
    Diane perked up. So Flora Martin’s—formerly Jane Doe’s—great-grandson expected to come into money. “Did you get a look at their house?” she asked.
    “By the time I got there somebody had ransacked it and the landlord had thrown everything out on the street.”
    Diane was disappointed. “That’s too bad.”
    “There were some old diaries, but they were ruined. Got rained on. I had a look; the pages were sopping wet and muddy and stuck together and the ink had run.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “My deputy put them in a sack. I’ll see what she did with them. But they were ruined.”
    “We have people at the museum who specialize in bringing ruined items back to life. My conservator can dry out and clean the diaries and separate the pages.”
    “Can he unrun the blurred ink?”
    “The conservation lab and the crime lab have an ESDA.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Electrostatic detection apparatus. We can read what was indented on the page.”
    “I think I saw something like that on TV. I’ll see what Sally did with them. That’s about all I’ve found out.”
    “That’s a lot, Sheriff. Thanks for calling.”
    “Sure thing. Tell me, is Singer going to get over that urti-whatever?”
    “It can last a long time, and it can come back in spots and itch. It’s a nuisance, but he’ll be fine.”
    “I think he’s going to rethink his attitude on bugs from now on. My secretary’s baking him a bug-shaped cake. She’s kind of looking forward to getting even.”
    “Oh, how old was Flora, exactly?” Diane had estimated the bones as putting her between seventy and eighty.
    “She was seventy-seven.”
    “Do you know where she lived when she was a little girl?”
    “No idea. I’ll see if I can dig that up.”
    “Thanks.”
    Diane sat thinking about what the sheriff had told her and did some figuring on her notepad. It seemed pretty evident to her that when Flora Martin was fourteen years old in 1942 she saw something, and whatever it was had to do with the submerged Plymouth. That was why her great-grandson Donnie was at the quarry with a scuba diver looking for it. Considering how things turned out, Diane guessed that Flora’s knowledge of what happened was the family inheritance, and it seemed likely that blackmail was how Donnie was going to collect that inheritance—unless there was something valuable at the bottom of the lake, he got it, and it was taken from him when he was killed.
    Before Diane left her office, she called Mike’s number. She was about to hang up when he answered, out of breath. “Neva?” he said.
    “No. It’s me, Diane.”
    “Hey, Doc. How’s everything going?”
    “Going well. I need a favor.”
    “Sure,” he said.
    “Don’t be so quick to agree. You aren’t going to like it.”
    “I’ll do it anyway.”
    Diane smiled at his eagerness to please her. “We called MacGregor. He’s been getting the same crazy phone calls about rabbits and the food chain.”
    “You’re kidding. What you think that’s about?”
    “I think it has something to do with the cave, but I have no idea what. It’s just that a lot of things have been happening since we found that body in the cave.” She paused and took a breath. “MacGregor’s cousin’s trailer burned down.”
    “Damn. Was anybody hurt? Is that connected with the calls, you think?”
    “No one was hurt, but I understand they lost everything. I don’t know if that is connected to the calls, but I told MacGregor to stay in David’s condo for a few days.”
    “Oookay.” Mike was sounding cautious now.
    “I told him you would be staying there too. Presumptuous of me, I know.”
    “Sure. I’ll do it. Is Neva staying at Frank’s?”
    “She’s decided to stay in the museum. All the crime unit are. I’ve sent the rest of the staff home until next week.”
    There was silence on the other end of the phone for several moments. “Look, Doc, I need to know if Neva is