One Grave Too Many

was more frightened than we were. For us, it was no more than pot hunters. You think it was the murderer?”
    Jonas said the word murderer as if he were incredulous over the possibility. She doubted archaeologists ever dealt with murderers.
    “I don’t know, Jonas,” she said.

Chapter 34
    Diane crossed the creek and hiked back to her car. Inside she stopped and rested a moment before she put the key in the ignition. What she would have liked to do is go home and sleep. Instead, she drove to the Rosewood jail.
    Rosewood’s jail was new. The interview room they were allowing the lawyer and Diane to use smelled of paint and disinfectant.
    “It seems like it’s taking a long time,” said Diane, looking at her watch.
    “Yes, it does,” said Serena Ellison. “I hate it when they have me cooling my heels.”
    As if someone had been waiting outside listening for the time when Diane and the lawyer were the most impatient, the door suddenly swung open. Star, escorted by the guard, slouched into the room wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. She was pale and looked thin in the baggy, ill-fitting clothes.
    “How’s Uncle Frank?” she said as she came through the door.
    “He’s doing well,” said Diane. “I saw him this morning and he was much improved from yesterday.”
    Star came to the table and sat down. The guard looked for a moment like she was going to stay until Star’s lawyer shot her a stern glare.
    “How are you doing?” asked Diane.
    She shrugged. “It’s boring and the guards are mean.”
    “How are they mean?” asked Serena.
    “They say stuff to me, like I’m going to hell.”
    “Are they doing anything else mean? Hitting you, withholding your food?”
    “Withholding the food would be a kindness around here. No, they don’t hit me or anything. They shove a little, that’s all.” She looked at her lawyer. “Can’t you get me out of here?”
    “I’m going to try again today. But you have to have a place to go.”
    Star looked like she would cry.
    “She can stay with me,” said Diane. Probably too rashly, but the grateful look on Star’s face was worth it.
    “That’ll be good. Now Star, don’t get your hopes up about getting out today or tomorrow. Most likely they won’t grant bail, but they might, and I’ll keep trying,” said Serena.
    “The important thing,” said Diane, “is that you take care of yourself. I’ll come see you as often as I can, but I don’t know how often that’ll be. I’m making progress with the case, and Frank’s getting better. Hold on to that.”
    Star nodded.
    “And be polite,” said Serena. “It won’t kill you. If you act hard, they’ll think you’re hard and treat you that way.”
    “When I get out of here, can we sue them?”
    “We’ll see,” said Serena. “Let’s take care of one case at a time.”
    It was hard to watch Star being led back to jail, and Diane was glad to be rid of the place when she left. She could only imagine what it must be like to not be able to leave. She thanked Serena Ellison and headed to the museum.
    When Diane saw her office upon her first arrival at the museum, she thought her private bathroom was nice, but a little extravagant. Lately, she’d been using it as much as her apartment bathroom and was glad to have it. She showered, changed clothes and put on enough makeup to look presentable.
    She told Andie to screen her calls, and she settled in to work on her backlog of paperwork. If she didn’t get caught up, her detractors wouldn’t have to resort to pranks to try and remove her; she’d sabotage herself. First, however, she called the hospital to check on Frank. “Critical” was all they would tell her.
    Diane worked on museum business and found it to be a nice break from the past few days. That’s great, she thought, thinking of her main job as a break. . . . She shook her head as she signed a requisition form.
    It was almost two o’clock when she heard raised voices in Andie’s office. Andie was trying to tell someone Diane couldn’t be disturbed. Diane rose as the door burst open. A woman stood in front of her desk. She was in her early thirties, Diane guessed. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a severe french twist. She wore a brown pantsuit, crisply pressed. Her brow was furrowed into an angry expression.
    “Can I help you?” said Diane, sitting back down.
    “You can help by minding your own damn business.”
    Diane’s gaze shifted from her desk, filled with piles of