One Grave Less

I guess you got me,” she said. “I’ve always hired professionals to clean up the mess so you wouldn’t know, but I forgot about nosy neighbors.” She paused a beat, studying his face. “You weren’t concerned, were you?”
    They stood close together, facing each other in front of the wood-mantled fireplace in the living room. It was a cozy room with an Oriental rug, overstuffed sofas and chairs, and oak and walnut furniture.
    He smiled, as if considering the prospect and finding it amusing. Then he frowned. “Only about the caller. The call was traced to a throwaway cell. That seems a little too deliberate for a run-of-the-mill prankster. And the phrase—‘entertaining men’—seemed off. I thought you ought to know in case you’ve attracted some kind of stalker variant.”
    “I wonder if it’s related to the phone call Martin Thormond received,” she whispered, almost to herself, looking over at the fireplace screen with the bronze tree of life design.
    “You’ve had other harassing phone calls?”
    “Not harassing.” Diane repeated what Martin’s caller had said about her dealing drugs in South America. “I called the reporter, but he’s in Peru—as in South America. Rather disturbing. I have no idea what it was about.”
    Frank narrowed his eyes. “It may be just someone’s idea of a joke,” he said, and pulled her close, holding for a moment. “But it bears watching.”
    It did indeed bear watching. Rumor and gossip are potent weapons , thought Diane. She wondered who was aiming them in her direction.
    Frank gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Let’s eat, and afterward you can tell me about your last couple of days. Scuttlebutt tells me that it was exciting.”

    It felt good to have Frank back in town. He and his partner were good at their jobs. Their success rate was so high that they consulted frequently with other computer fraud units across the country. He had been away for several days this trip. She’d missed him.
    They sat across from each other at one end of the large rectangular table in the dining room, another cozy room with its own fireplace and comfortable furniture. August was too warm for a fire, but Frank’s beautiful fireplace screens were almost as good.
    She and Frank had made a pact not to talk about work at the dinner table unless it was about an interesting museum exhibit. The food tasted better that way. So Diane picked another topic. The rituals surrounding their upcoming wedding, though to her it was just as unnerving as talk of murder. She had wanted to go to a judge for a quiet ceremony. Dress in a nice traveling suit. Nothing fussy . . . no flowers . . . no music. Few people . . . maybe just a witness.
    Vanessa, Laura, and half of Diane’s staff wouldn’t hear of it. Vanessa insisted that the ceremony take place in the Pleistocene Room of the museum. Diane refused to take part in planning a wedding, especially her own. “Fine,” Vanessa had said. “We’ll do it.” And so they were.
    Diane twined the spaghetti around her fork. “I had lunch with Vanessa and Laura today,” she said.
    “How did that go?” asked Frank.
    “I’m a little nervous about what they’re planning for me to wear, but at least I might get a gold coronet. I can see myself coming down the aisle with a crown.”
    Frank smiled. “So fitting, too,” he said. “I haven’t seen it, but I hear Star picked out your dress.”
    Diane looked horrified. “Star? The girl with the fuchsia hair?”
    Frank adopted Star when her parents, his best friends, were murdered. At the time she was a troubled teen with hot-pink hair and an attitude to match.
    “It hasn’t been fuchsia in a long time.” Frank grinned at Diane. “Besides, since you bought her the new wardrobe in Paris, her tastes in clothing have undergone a radical change for the better.”
    “I’m glad she decided she liked school,” said Diane.
    Frank put his hand over hers. “I wasn’t making any headway trying to convince her to go to the university. If you hadn’t made your astounding offer to buy her a Paris wardrobe if she tried school out, she’d be working flipping burgers, and not in prelaw. Thank you for that.”
    “I’ve discovered that bribery often works very well,” said Diane. “Anyway, she had such strong feelings when she was wrongly accused of her parents’ murders that I think she would have eventually found her way to law school or some justice-oriented program.”
    “I’m not so sure.