Dust to Dust

said Hanks. “We found her .”

Chapter 51
    Diane sat frozen for a moment. Speechless.
    “I thought that would surprise you,” said Hanks.
    “Are you saying you’ve found Maybelle Agnes Gauthier? She’s alive?” said Diane.
    Diane wondered whether her face looked like David’s, Izzy’s, and Neva’s did—wide-eyed, drop jawed. She didn’t know why she was so stunned. Vanessa’s mother was alive and she was about the same age as Gauthier.
    “I’m going out to interview her late this afternoon,” said Hanks. “I thought you would like to come along.”
    “Yes,” said Diane, “definitely.”
    “She’s alive?” David said when Diane hung up. “The woman who wrote on the desk drawer? Actually, do we really know that was her? What do we know about her? Do we really know she even lived in the house?”
    “We are fairly sure she was an artist who did oil paintings,” said Neva. “Vanessa’s mother remembered her—right? We don’t know if she was into ceramics or if she was a murderer. David’s right, we really don’t know much about her. We just suspect a lot. Do you think she’s as clearheaded as Vanessa’s mother?”
    “No idea,” said Diane.
    “I really doubt it,” said Izzy. “I’ve been thinking about that writing on the desk. You know, it’s kind of crazy.”
    “You think?” said Neva.
    “Okay, smarty, hear me out,” said Izzy. “What if her family knew she was crazy and was going to come take her to the funny farm, and she got wind of it? Maybe she left the message so that, I don’t know, her imaginary friends would find it and save her. I mean, who else did she expect would find it? I’m betting she’s loony tunes.”
    “She might have been taking drugs when she wrote that,” said David. “She was an artsy type. Maybe a member of the beat generation. Were they only writers, or could other artists claim membership?”
    “Beat generation?” said Neva.
    David shook his head. “I forget how many babies we have here. This was before you were born. Google it.”
    “David,” said Diane, “it was before you were born.”
    “Yeah, maybe, but I have an old soul,” he said.
    A call came in about a crime scene and Diane sent Neva and Izzy out on the call. It was the kind of scene Diane hated—someone killed in a bar. It meant dealing with people who were intoxicated, belligerent, and evasive.
    “Take backup,” said Diane. “Call and ask that my bodyguards be assigned to you. I’m going out later with Hanks to the retirement home.”
    “Sure,” said Neva. “Tell us all about it when you get back.”
    Neva and Izzy retrieved their crime scene kits from the locker and headed out. Diane asked David to look for a match for the fingerprints on the items retrieved for the well and to call UGA to get a list of Escalades with parking permits.
    “I want to know as soon as you can find out. Neva may be busy for a while,” said Diane.
    She went back to her office to finish up her paperwork. Before she began, she called Vanessa.
    “Diane, we must be psychic,” said Vanessa. “I was about to call you to report our progress. We found a stack of letters from the dates you and I were talking about. We are just sitting down to begin reading them.”
    “That’s good news, Vanessa. I called with some interesting news of my own. Detective Hanks found Maybelle Gauthier in a retirement home. We are going to see her late this afternoon.”
    There was a pause. “Did he, now? How clever of Detective Hanks. She’s alive. I’ve been thinking that she was probably buried near that house. But she’s alive—and retired? You say she is in a retirement home? I wonder what she retired from?” said Vanessa.
    Diane could hear her speaking with her mother and she heard Lillian’s clear voice say she wanted to go see her.
    “I guess you heard that,” said Vanessa.
    “Yes, I did,” said Diane.
    She was about to say that it wouldn’t be a good idea today; then she thought that perhaps it might. Lillian Chapman was a contemporary of Maybelle. There was a chance Lillian could get through to her whereas they might not. Diane had no idea what condition Maybelle Gauthier was in. Like Lillian, she was getting close to a hundred.
    “Let me make a call,” said Diane.
    At four o’clock they were in Vanessa’s limousine—Diane, Vanessa, Lillian, Detective Hanks, and Mrs. Hartefeld, who, Vanessa said, “insisted on coming to look after Mother.” Diane knew better. Like the rest of them,