Dust to Dust

in the evenings when each table was lit by can dlelight. At the time of day they were there, it had sunlight streaming in from the wall of windows and French doors leading to the trellis garden. The restaurant was full of diners. The waitress showed them to a booth in the corner and left them with tall menus written in calligraphy.
    “Suddenly, I’m hungry,” said Paloma, her eyes darting over the menu.
    “If you like steak, I suggest the filet,” said Diane.
    She was convinced that high-protein foods and chocolate were medicine, and the two of them looked as if they needed some strong medicine. The very idea of losing someone you love is the scariest, most helpless feeling in the world. She hoped Paloma wouldn’t have to face the loss of her mother, especially to such a mean cause.
    “I agree,” said Jonas, “the steaks here are great.” He closed his menu without looking at it. “You’ve talked me into it.”
    They all ordered steak, salad, and baked potato, with Paloma ordering a baked sweet potato with her meal.
    While they waited for their food, Diane talked about the museum and its holdings, inviting them to take a look around when they had the time. Mark commented that he wasn’t used to so much green and it would be fun to bring his students there on a field trip if the school ever got a windfall for traveling.
    “We won’t hold our breath,” said Paloma, smiling.
    The waitress brought their food and the four of them were well into their lunch before anyone brought up Marcella. Diane told Paloma about the beautiful work her mother did and described the reconstructed mask-pitcher in Marcella’s workroom.
    “That was one of the pieces she dug up in the backyard,” said Paloma.
    “I’m not that well versed on pottery,” said Diane, “but to me it didn’t look Native American.”
    “It isn’t,” said Paloma. “It’s modern, but Mother didn’t know how old. One of the things that excited Mother about the house is all the stuff she found. One of the previous owners must have been an artist and a potter. Best of all, whoever it was used a bonfire kiln, like Mother uses. Mother found a pit in the backyard where the pots were fired. She excavated hundreds of broken sherds from the fire pit. For my mother, that was like finding a yard full of gold. Whoever the potter was, he used natural clays and tempers like she uses.”
    “I wonder if the artist could have been someone from the university?” said Diane.
    “Mother thought they might have been an archaeologist,” said Paloma. “But she knows practically every archaeologist who’s ever worked with pottery and she said there isn’t anyone from Bartrum in the literature. Mother told me a lot more about all the pottery finds, but I have to confess, at a certain point I kind of glaze over.” Paloma smiled. “I didn’t get bit by the archaeology bug the way she did.”
    “The mask she was reconstructing in her workroom is so beautiful. Did she have any clue who the artist might be?” said Diane.
    Paloma shook her head. “She’s been trying to find out. The house was empty for several years. You may have noticed it got a little run-down. The guy she bought it from had inherited it from an uncle. He didn’t know any owners before that. She talked to some of her neighbors. They didn’t know anything either. Evidently there is a large turnover in the area because of all the students from Bartrum.”
    When they had finished eating, Diane talked them into dessert. Paloma and her husband ordered pecan pie. Diane and Jonas had chocolate cake. Both were specialties of the restaurant. Mark asked Diane how they pronounced pecan here. Diane told him it was like puh-CON . That a pee-can is a receptacle. He laughed. It took Jonas and Paloma a second for the joke to register. It was good to see Paloma laugh.
    “I saw a lot of pieces of broken garden ornaments when I was at the house,” said Diane.
    Paloma and Jonas both nodded.
    “Mother found a lot of modern artifacts in the yard,” said Paloma. “All kinds of pieces of statues, birdbaths, gargoyles. Someone at some point liked to decorate the garden in all manner of statuary. Mother said it was impossible to tell if they were in the same time frame as the pottery, but she was having a great time.”
    Paloma’s eyes were suddenly moist. She blinked and took a drink of water. “Why would anyone hurt her so cruelly?” she asked.
    Diane didn’t think she expected an answer. There was