Dust to Dust

it, but you don’t know them like I do,” she said.
    “You may not know them as well as you think,” said Diane.
    Diane and Kingsley left the mall with Samantha. They watched her drive off before they got into Kingsley’s Prius.
    “She needs help,” he said.
    “Yes, she does. And her parents need to wake up and realize they have another daughter to care for. She’s old enough to be out on her own. If she decides to make the break, it will be harder on all of them.”
    Kingsley glanced at the package of copies Diane held in her hand. “So, how do we go about deciphering that?” he said as he left the parking area and headed back to Rosewood.
    “I’ll ask Frank to do it,” said Diane.
    She removed the first several pages of the diary from the store bag. The writing looked like gibberish to her—a lot of stars, squares, wavy lines, letters that didn’t make sense, and numbers scattered throughout.
    “He can do stuff like this?” said Kingsley.
    “He and Jin too. They love codes, but—and if you repeat this, I’ll have to kill you—Frank is better at it,” said Diane.
    Kingsley laughed. “He can really decipher that?”
    “Sure. I’ll have to see if he has time. If not, I’ll ask Jin to do it,” she said.
    “I think the thing I appreciate most about working with you—aside from your brilliant mind, of course—is that all the people around you have such unusual talents that are terribly useful and interesting.”
    “That’s true. I have a great appreciation of them myself,” said Diane.
    They rode in silence for a while, Diane still trying to make sense of the writing. She gave up and slipped the pages back into the bag. Her talents simply didn’t run to encryption.
    “You know I have to reinterview all of Stacy’s band members,” Kingsley said after a while. “I was completely fooled by Samantha and Jimmi. I thought they were telling me the truth.”
    “They probably saw themselves as telling you the truth. You heard her. Samantha makes her own reality. It’s apparently the way she copes,” said Diane. “It’s apparently the way her parents are coping.”
    “Perhaps, but I’m a pretty bad detective when I can’t tell if kids are telling me lies,” said Kingsley.
    “They aren’t kids. They’re nascent adults. They’re always a challenge. But, yes, I agree you will have to talk with them again.”
    The rest of the way to Rosewood, they discussed what they had learned, which, other than the spectacular revelation that Samantha Carruthers discovered Stacy Dance’s body, and that Ellie Rose Carruthers kept a diary, wasn’t a lot.
    They both believed that Kathy Nicholson, the neighbor across the street, did not, in fact, see the face of Ryan Dance. But at this point, she believed she did, and probably could not be shaken from that belief.
    “Do you think the father, Dr. Carruthers, could have killed Stacy?” asked Kingsley.
    “I don’t know. He has a temper.”
    “Yes, but it was mostly verbal,” said Kingsley.
    “Mostly verbal? What about his charging up to the car and banging on the roof?” said Diane. “That seemed pretty physical.”
    “But when I was facing him, he could have been much more threatening and in my face, but he wasn’t. I think he is basically a timid man. That’s why he works out his bravery in the games. He never has to face anyone.”
    “What does he do for a living?” asked Diane.
    “He’s a podiatrist,” said Kingsley. “Works mainly in sports medicine.”
    “Still,” said Diane, “if he thought Stacy might be able to free her brother, what would he do? I think just the possibility of it might enrage both Samantha’s mother and father.”
    “I don’t know if the mere possibility would make him go over the edge,” said Kingsley. “But I think the police should look at his alibi—assuming they reopen the case. I hope Dr. Webber comes through.”
    “I wonder how it’s going. Lynn should have the body by now. . . . In fact”—Diane looked at her watch—“she should have had the body for several hours.”
    “If she finds that it’s a homicide, my boss and I—he likes to be in on these things—will take the evidence you collected to the detective in charge and ask him to reopen the case.”
    “Then it will be out of your hands?” asked Diane.
    “I think so. Stacy’s father asked only that we determine if her death was murder. We’ll have done that—provided Webber finds what we hope she finds.”
    They pulled up