Dead Secret

them?”
    “He’s afraid they might. The Wiccans involved are some kind of outcast coven, or whatever, it seems. They threatened John with black magic—something that’s prohibited by the Wiccan home office, apparently. Anyway, John feels his bones would be safer if they were examined in the U.S., and I told him I’d help. So . . .”
    “Sure, I’ll help.”
    “Great! John will be delighted. I thought you would, so I took the liberty of telling him to go ahead and send them. They are already on their way. John said he’ll call. He wants to talk with you before you actually do the analysis.”
    “Does he know if the bones were actually found in the cave?”
    “No.”
    “I’ll need samples of soil from the cave.”
    There was a pause for a moment. “A sample will be sent along to you shortly with the bones.”
    “Why does it sound like there is a story there?”
    “Because I collected the sample. Marguerite and I went on a tour of the Moonhater Cave. And I surreptitiously collected a sample from the floor. Marguerite said I was disgraceful. The owner has some strict rules about carrying things out of the cave, but she provided the distraction—quite shameful, really.”
    Diane laughed out loud at the image of the very proper Gregory and his wife on a mission, stealing dirt from a cave. “How did Mr. Rose acquire the bones?”
    “Bought them from a family who had them in a box in their basement for about a hundred years—that is, they were in the basement for a hundred years.”
    “Was the story of the provenance written on the box?”
    “No. It was handed down. So you see, the whole thing’s rather iffy. John is actually glad now that the bones have no provenance. It strengthens his case—not that he really has anything to worry about.”
    “Gregory, it sounds interesting. I’ll look forward to examining them.”
    “I think so. Thanks for helping out. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were engaged in. Oh, how is David?”
    Gregory liked to keep track of his former employees. Especially the ones who worked for him at the time of the massacre that killed Diane’s daughter and many of their friends at the mission in South America.
    “He’s doing fine. You know he’s doing crime scene work for me.”
    “He’s okay with that?”
    “Yes. We’ve put several criminals in jail, and David has found that satisfying.”
    “That’s good. I think about all of you a lot. And you and your fellow, Frank, are fine?”
    “Yes. We’re going on a vacation tomorrow for two whole weeks.” Diane put a hand over Frank’s as she talked about him.
    “Good for you! He must be something special to be able to pull you away from work.”
    “He is indeed.” Diane squeezed his hand. “Good to hear from you, Gregory. Take care.”
    Diane hung up the phone and turned toward Frank. “That was Gregory.”
    “I gathered. Your side of the conversation was interesting. Sounds like you have another body from a cave to look at? A witch?” Frank grinned at her.
    “That’s what he said—a witch with a story.” Diane related Gregory’s side of the conversation to Frank’s chuckles.
    “Pillar of salt. It sounds rather biblical. You know,” he said without losing his smile, “it seems to me that a lot of people die in caves.”
    Diane kissed him rather than go where that conversation was leading.

    The next two weeks passed by in a relaxing blur of fishing, hiking and cuddling up with Frank. Diane was surprised at how easy it had been to let go and just enjoy being on vacation. Frank seemed to have just as easily been able to let go of his job. That was a good sign, she’d thought several times. They enjoyed each other’s company. Only occasionally did she find her mind wandering to Caver Doe and the witch bones—she couldn’t deny she was intrigued. Unfortunately Diane had to cut her vacation short by one day. Andie, Diane’s office manager at the museum, had called and told her that Helen Egan, the grandmother of Diane’s friend and mentor, had died and that the funeral was scheduled for Sunday.
    Diane arrived back at her office on Sunday morning rested and happy that the museum was still standing and the crime lab was not overflowing with unprocessed evidence. In fact, it looked as if they didn’t need her. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. She smiled and sifted through the stack of clippings Andie had cut from the papers while she was gone. She found a two-week-old front-page