Dust to Dust

where it gets . . . well, it’s one of those coincidences that makes David nervous,” said Neva.
    David tended to be paranoid and was very proud of it. He said it kept him prepared. His paranoia had been proven justified on too many occasions, which made him a trifle arrogant, but did keep them all primed for any eventuality.
    “The crime scene I worked after lunch today—Mary Phyllis Lassiter. She was an older woman, about seventy, who was strangled in her home sometime last night. The creepy coincidence is . . . she was a volunteer at the historical society and she was there yesterday when I was there, though I didn’t speak to her directly.”
    “How do you speak with someone indirectly?” asked David.
    Neva made a face at him. “The woman I spoke with asked Ms. Lassiter whether she knew of an artist who might have lived years ago in Pigeon Ridge. That’s this community. Apparently, Ms. Lassiter lived here as a girl,” said Neva, “before she moved to Hall County.”
    “Did she know the artist?” asked Diane.
    “She said no. She was knitting and didn’t even look up. Which was kind of strange, because until then, she watched and talked like a magpie to everyone who came in,” said Neva.
    “You were followed and she was murdered?” said Diane.
    “Yes,” said Neva.
    “You’re right,” said David. “That’s the kind of coincidence that makes my scalp tingle.”
    “You didn’t work the crime scene alone, did you?” said Diane, frowning.
    “No. I know your rules. Izzy was working it with me. One thing caving taught me is to follow protocol,” she said.
    “Yes!” shouted Mike. He pulled Neva to him and kissed the side of her head.
    Diane laughed. “It does that.”
    Diane’s phone rang as she was about to ask Neva another question. She took the phone from her pocket and looked at the display. It was Izzy.
    “Hello, Izzy. What’s up?” she said.
    “A little interesting turn of events,” he said.
    “Are you in the crime lab?” asked Diane.
    “Yeh, I’m working on the evidence Neva and I collected today. The wife has one of her Mothers Against Drugs meetings. They meet here in the museum and I like to stay late and work when she’s here.”
    “What’s the interesting turn of events?” asked Diane. She didn’t particularly like the word interesting used in that context. It usually meant something unpleasant.
    “The shoe print we collected from the Lassiter murder today was made by the same hiking boot from the Payden attack. Think we got some punks targeting little old ladies?” he said.
    “That is a surprise,” Diane said. “Have you processed any of the other evidence?”
    “Yes, but the print is the only really valuable thing I’ve found. It was a fairly clean crime scene. Like someone slipped in and out without touching much.”
    “I need to call Hanks,” said Diane. “I’m glad you called me with this. Oh, before you hang up, Neva might be being followed by someone in a black SUV with tinted windows.” She stopped and looked over to Neva. “Did you get the make?”
    “Cadillac Escalade,” said Neva.
    Diane told Izzy the make. “Have you noticed anyone following you?” she asked.
    “No, but I’ll be on the lookout. Escalade. That’s kind of expensive, isn’t it?” he said. “I’ll watch for a tail. Did she get the license number?”
    “No,” said Diane.
    “Like I said, I’ll keep a lookout.”
    After she hung up with Izzy, Diane told the others about the boot print.
    “You’re kidding,” said Neva. “The same person as here?”
    “What do you think?” said David.
    “Izzy was wondering if it might be someone targeting elderly ladies, but I don’t think he knows about the historical society connection. Marcella went to the historical society too, when she was looking into who owned the house. She was asking about the artist who lived here, as well. That seems to be a key—”
    Diane’s phone rang again. This time it was from an unknown wireless caller. She answered.
    “Yes?”
    “Is this Dr. Fallon? This is Delbert Griffin, the paramedic who keeps showing up.” He gave a little laugh. “I asked my granny about that woman’s name, and she doesn’t remember. She said she thought it was something like a bird, but that didn’t sound right to her either. She said it’s been more than sixty years. She and her friends just called her the ‘rich witch.’ Knowing my granny, she might have had another word in there too, that rhymed.