One Grave Less

know?”
    “Simone was investigating something—we don’t know what—that Oliver Hill had discovered before his death. Something she only recently found among his things. She decided to take it on as her own project. I think it is what got her hurt. Do you remember Oliver saying anything about an investigation he was doing? Or something bad going on at the mission? Anything he might have said, no matter how odd.”
    “Odd? You know—knew Oliver. He was the definition of odd. No, nothing stands out. He was always melancholy, except when he was around Simone. What a pair those two were, like two injured birds. If something was going on, you would expect David to be tuned in to it. But I guess we all have our blind spots. Even dear paranoid David.” She paused.
    “Birds. There was one thing Oliver said that was odd. I don’t think it means anything, but . . . He was sitting out in the garden with me drinking coffee one morning, watching the birds. You remember the colorful macaws that came up. Wasn’t your little Ariel always trying to get them to talk?”
    “Yes, I remember,” said Diane.
    “Oliver asked me if I knew how the first child abuse prevention societies began. He said they were connected to cruelty to animals. That children were considered the property of their parents, which meant that parents could do anything they wanted to them. It was when someone convinced a judge that a child being abused was a little animal that the child got relief. He said that was the beginning. He thought it odd that animals and children were so often lumped together. I thought the whole conversation was strange and sad.”
    Diane’s mind cast back to the bag that Simone hid in the museum—animal parts and the bone of a human child.
    “Why would one of us betray the rest of us?” asked Martine.
    “Money would be the only reason I can think of,” said Diane. “A lot of it. It’s almost always money.”
    “Perhaps you are right. How are you doing?” Martine asked abruptly.
    “I’m good. I’m director of a museum here in the United States. I’m getting married in a couple of weeks,” said Diane.
    “Married? Oh, wonderful. Is he a good man?”
    “He’s rational, loving, smart, honest. Yes, he’s a good man.”
    “All that? Are you sure he is a man?” said Martine.
    Diane laughed. “Thank you for talking with me, Martine.”
    “I’ll give you my e-mail. Let me know about Simone. I’m glad you direct a museum. That’s good. Surround yourself with beauty. It’s the only thing that helps.” She rang off after giving Diane her e-mail address.
    Diane sat in the chair thinking for a long time. She listened to the hammering in the other room. Listened to Star kibitzing.
    She called up Google on the computer and typed in parrot feathers and South America and some of the other keywords describing things that were in Simone’s bag. As the hits came up, Diane was rather startled by what she found.

Chapter 43
    “Benjamin Constant,” said Maria, looking out over the town nestled on the edge of the Amazon River.
    “’Mos Eisley spaceport: You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.’ ” Rosetta’s voice was solemn. Maria laughed and Rosetta giggled.
    They stood at the railing of a tourist boat taking them down the Amazon River, breathing in the wind in their face. The smells were different from the lush rain-forest smells. People made a difference to the ambient aroma, and not in the best way. But Maria wasn’t going to complain.
    “I take it you and your mother saw Star Wars ,” said Maria.
    “A lot,” said Rosetta.
    Maria realized that Rosetta must constantly review her memories of her time with her mother. Her recollections of all the happy times were so clear.
    They had gotten lucky on their trip through the forest toward Benjamin Constant. They had trekked as close to the river as they dared, hoping to catch sight of a tour boat. They were both tired. Maria kept Rosetta behind her, to protect her from being hit by the limbs and brush Maria was pushing out of their way. She forced her way through a thick section of growth, wishing she had a machete, and came face-to-face with a tall young blond male holding a camera and wearing Rail Riders clothing.
    Maria stopped, ready to fight.
    “ Você está perdido? ” he said. It sounded like Portuguese with a faint Swedish accent.
    Rosetta peeked out from behind Maria.
    “Sort of lost,” Rosetta said.