Dead Secret

story about the mummified caver they had found, along with everything Diane had told the deputy. She noted with satisfaction that they didn’t have any pictures.
    Yesterday’s paper lay on top of her cluttered walnut desk. The headline across the front page read: Helen Elizabeth Price Egan, 1891-2005 . Most of the front page was taken up with the story of Vanessa Van Ross’s grandmother, who had died at age 114. Diane and some of the museum staff were going to her funeral later in the morning.
    Vanessa Van Ross was the most prominent member of the museum board, RiverTrail’s most generous contributor, and Diane’s mentor. Diane stared at the photograph of the young Helen Elizabeth, wondering if she had any idea she would go on to live a hundred years after it was taken.
    Andie Layne, Diane’s administrative assistant, came bop-ping in with two cups of steaming hot tea, put one in front of Diane and sat down in the chair opposite her desk.
    “Good to have you back. You and Frank get a lot of fishing in?”
    “Sure did. He taught me how to fish for trout. A lot more active than sitting in a boat with a pole. We had a great time.”
    “So you think you guys will ever get married?”
    Diane took another drink of tea, hoping Andie didn’t see the grimace on her face. Life with Frank would be great, and he had certainly hinted that they should marry, but Diane was convinced that they got along so well because they saw each other so little. They were never in each other’s pockets, tripping over each other’s feet, or irritated by each other’s idiosyncracies.
    “Things are going well the way they are,” muttered Diane.
    Fortunately, Andie didn’t linger on the subject, but went dancing on to the next thing on her mind.
    “Neva told me about the caving trip you guys had. Wow. Exciting.” She pointed to the newspaper clipping peeking out of the folder, sipped her tea and swung her legs back and forth. “That mummy you found—you think it was an accident or murder?” Her thick auburn curls shook as she talked in her animated way, and she looked delighted at the thought of murder.
    “Accident is the most likely scenario.” Diane sipped her green tea. It tasted like Andie had squeezed an orange into it.
    Andie looked over at the photograph on the wall of Diane descending on a rope into the vertical entrance of a cave. “I just don’t see how you all can go down into a cave like that. I would be terrified.”
    “It’s fun. You kind of have to like dark, closed-in places.”
    Diane glanced at her e-mail as she listened to Andie. Nothing urgent. Andie had answered and filed away most of her messages while she was gone. She could also see that Kendel had handled the rest. Life had gotten easier in the museum since she’d hired Kendel Williams, her assistant director.
    Between Kendel and Andie, her absence was hardly noticeable. That is, if she didn’t look at the stack of queries from her curators—requests for larger budgets, more room, and all the assorted concerns they invariably had.
    “I understand it’s really beautiful inside a cave. I’ve seen pictures. . . .”
    “Sometimes caves are beautiful; sometimes they’re pretty ugly. Depends on the cave. But every cave has its own magic. This one we’ve been mapping’s pretty nice. Very large, with a variety of formations.”
    “Neva said you almost had a bad fall. That sounds scary.”
    “Sort of. Mike threw me a rope, so it ended well. We did find the lost caver because of it.” That was how Diane handled the question about her fall when it came up—made light of it, praised Mike, and diverted attention elsewhere. So far, with everyone except Frank, it had worked.
    “The lost caver. That sounds forlorn, doesn’t it?” Andie stared for a long moment at the photograph of Diane hanging on the rope, then laid a folder on Diane’s desk. “These are the letters that need your signature. But you can wait till after the funeral. Wow, a hundred and fourteen. Imagine that. After she became a teenager, she lived another hundred years.”
    “It is amazing to think about. Vanessa has had her grandmother a long time. This must be hard on her.”
    “If I’m gonna live that long, I’d hate to live most of my life as an old woman,” Andie said.
    “Spoken like a youngster,” a soft voice behind her said.
    They looked up to see Vanessa Van Ross standing in the doorway wearing a dark blue silk suit. Her silver hair was swept up in her usual