Dust to Dust

wall.”
    “That was the most fun thing. I was knocking out a wall upstairs, and there they were. Very nice, I thought. They seemed like they fit the house. I hung them in the living room,” she said.
    “Were they signed?” Diane asked.
    “In a way. There is a picture of a bird in the lower-right corner of each one. A black-and-white bird. I thought the artist might have a bird name, like Finch, Crow, Sparrow—there are any number of surnames that are birds. That’s a thought,” said Marcella. “Perhaps there is something in the paintings that we can date.”
    “The thieves took the paintings,” said Diane.
    “Why would anyone steal those old paintings?”
    “That’s one of the things we hope to find out. They also took your pottery that was in the living room hutch.”
    “I don’t know what the paintings were worth, but they are going to be sorely disappointed in the pots. They aren’t real artifacts,” said Marcella.
    Marcella pronounced each word with a short pause. Diane noticed her voice was fading quickly.
    “What did you make of the subjects in the paintings?” asked Diane.
    “One was a young woman, another was a young man—actually, they looked more like teenagers. The background of both was woods. Very wistful faces. The third was a woman, perhaps in her thirties, sitting in a chair.”
    Marcella stopped talking and her eyes suddenly grew wide. Diane was alarmed that she might be feeling ill.
    “Well, why didn’t I notice it before?” Marcella said. “She was sitting on a chair at a desk—the desk I found in the potter’s shed.”

Chapter 28
    Marcella leaned back and put a hand to her head and took a deep breath.
    “I’m afraid I’m tiring you out,” said Diane.
    “It’s this damn headache that comes and goes that tires me out,” she said. “It’s good for me to think. I need to be able to think.”
    “Your thinking is just fine. Thank you for allowing us to experiment in your yard.”
    “My pleasure,” whispered Marcella. “Experimenting is good. I have always liked the University of Georgia motto—do you know what it is?”
    “No, I confess I don’t.” Diane grinned. “I don’t even know the motto of Bartrum University.”
    “Georgia’s is Et docere et rerum exquirere causas ,” Marcella said slowly.
    Diane’s Latin was terrible, unless it had something to do with anatomy. She merely raised her eyebrows.
    “To teach, to serve, and to inquire into the nature of things. I love inquiring into the nature of things.”
    “That is a nice motto,” said Diane. She squeezed Marcella’s hand and started to leave.
    “Bartrum’s,” whispered Marcella, “is Quaerite et invenietis : Seek and ye shall find.”
    “I’ll remember that,” Diane said.
    Paloma and Mark were gone when Diane came out of the ICU. Diane guessed they were in the cafeteria. She punched the elevator button and waited. The doors opened and Lynn Webber was standing in front of her, managing to look stylish in her bright white lab coat. Diane got on the elevator.
    “Were you looking for me?” asked Lynn.
    “No,” said Diane. “I have a friend in ICU.”
    Lynn looked very uncomfortable and it was all Diane could do not to smile.
    “You do? I’m so sorry. I hope they are doing well,” Lynn said.
    “She is improving,” said Diane.
    “I read an archaeologist was attacked in her home. Is that your friend?” she asked.
    “Yes, it is. Marcella Payden,” Diane said.
    Lynn was standing in front of the elevator buttons. She made no move to push them.
    “I’m going to the lobby,” said Diane. She pointed to the elevator buttons in front of Lynn.
    “Well, hell,” said Lynn. “Have you read the newspaper or not?”
    Diane smiled. “Yes, I have.”
    “I suppose you’re mad?” said Lynn.
    “No, not particularly. I’m rather concerned about the political fallout for you.”
    “That reporter went way beyond what I wrote,” Lynn said.
    “I thought I recognized a shift in writing style,” said Diane.
    “I called her and asked why in the world she said the things she did about the two crimes being similar. She said it’s her style to write what seems reasonable and let the facts shake out. If they are wrong, people will correct her.” Lynn threw up her hands. “That’s how she gets at the truth? Can you imagine that logic? What kind of epistemology is that?”
    “Have you had many calls?” asked Diane.
    “I probably have. My assistant is answering the phone. I’ve been