Dead Secret

you have done. You’ve hurt me and people I love and you want my goodwill?”
    “About your mother, that wasn’t—”
    The blast that exploded through the phone was so loud it hurt Diane’s ear.
    “Mr. Taggart? Are you there? Mr. Taggart?” Diane heard the phone click.

Chapter 46
    Jin rushed into her office as Diane was calling 911.
    “That was a gunshot!” he shouted.
    “Yes, it was. . . .”
    “Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?” the calm, businesslike voice of the dispatch operator said.
    Diane identified herself and gave her phone number and a description of what had just happened. In talking to 911, she realized that all she knew for certain was that she had been called by a man who claimed to be Emmett Taggart, and that the earsplitting sound she’d heard sounded like a gunshot. She couldn’t even give the caller’s number because her caller ID had been blocked.
    “Can you be reached at this number?” the dispatcher asked.
    “Yes,” replied Diane.
    “Stay on the line, please.”
    Diane and Jin looked at each other, not knowing exactly what to think or do. The operator came back on.
    “An officer has been dispatched to the scene. He may be back in touch with you later.”
    “Thank you,” said Diane.
    When she put the phone down she was still stunned. “What do you reckon?” said Jin.
    “I don’t know.”
    Neither moved for several moments, as if waiting for something. So much had just happened. Emmett Taggart had confirmed his complicity in the deaths of how many people? Five? What was he saying about her mother?
    Diane was brought out of her thoughts by the throbbing of her aching jaw. She picked up the ice pack and held it to her face.
    Jin stood up and headed toward his lab area. “I’ll fax Caver Doe’s—I mean Dale Wayne Russell’s—letter to Garnett.”
    Diane nodded. Her mind went back to worrying about what effect the coming publicity surrounding two violent deaths inside the crime lab would have on the museum. She relived in her mind the events and wondered what she could have done differently.
    She tried to get some work done, but gave up. She started to go see how the cleanup was coming when the phone rang. It was Garnett.
    “Emmett Taggart has been shot. We have his wife, Rosemary, in custody.”
    “I thought he lived in Atlanta. How did the Rosewood police get involved?”
    “He and his wife are staying with their grandson, Robert Lamont, who has a farm that lies inside the Rosewood city limits. Mrs. Taggart’s not saying anything. She, uh, only wants to talk to you.”
    “Me? I don’t even know the woman. I met her only briefly at Helen Egan’s funeral.”
    “I don’t know why, but that’s what she says.”
    “You need us to work the crime scene?” asked Diane.
    “Get David and Neva to do the work—you and Jin are witnesses.”
    “Should I be talking to Mrs. Taggart?”
    “She says she won’t talk to anyone else.”
    “Okay. Get a search warrant for the entire premises—outbuildings and grounds. Jin can do the outside search.”
    “Very well. What are you thinking?”
    “I’m just being thorough.”
    “How’s your jaw?”
    “Hurts like hell. Looks worse.”
    Before she left her office Diane checked her appearance in the mirror. Her face was now swollen and badly discolored. She could already hear what Frank was going to say when he saw this. He had been threatening to quit work just to be able to watch after her well-being. She was beginning to think she did need a keeper.

    Diane remembered Robert Lamont when she saw him. He was the auburn-haired man who was at the funeral with his running-for-senator uncle, Steve Taggart, and his grandparents, Rosemary and Emmett Taggart. Lamont’s farm was larger than Diane had expected. It reminded her of Tara in Gone with the Wind —the run-down Tara, not Tara in her prime. Not that Lamont’s place was dilapidated. It was more shabby chic. The Greek Revival two-story columned house needed fresh paint, as did all the outbuildings. However, the yard was freshly mowed, the fields looked well-kept, and the black-and-white cows looked contented.
    When their crime van pulled to a stop in the circular driveway, Garnett was already there. He informed them that the search warrant covered only the room in which Emmett had been shot.
    “Damn,” said Diane. “Why?”
    “The victim’s son, Steven Taggart, already had lawyers in the judge’s chambers when I went to get the warrant. They