One Grave Too Many

Tonight was not the night for fighting.
    “Good to see you, Mark. Signy. I’m glad you could make it.”
    “Wouldn’t miss it.” His lips stretched into a thin smile.
    Model-thin Signy, in a red shiny dress, muttered something and gave Diane a smile that looked more mocking than polite. Diane shifted her attention to the other guests. Kenneth Meyers, CEO of NetSoft, and his wife, Katherine, edged in beside the Graysons.
    “Looks like quite a crowd.” Kenneth gave Diane’s hand a firm shake. He was lean and tan, a contrast to his soft, pale wife. “Tell me, did CyberUniverse do a good job for us?” It was no secret that Kenneth was thinking about buying the budding company.
    “They did a wonderful job. I’m very pleased,” Diane told him. “You’ll have to see their animations.”
    She welcomed each guest—board members, contributors, the cream of Rosewood society, fashionably arrayed in black, white and diamonds, rich greens, deep blues and dark maroons. Signy stood out like a bright ruby among them. The quartet began to play a Brahms violin concerto.
    Frank, looking handsome in his tux, arrived with his son, Kevin, his ex-wife, Cindy, and her husband, David Reynolds.
    “I’m sorry,” Frank apologized. “I was late getting back from Columbus.”
    “That’s all right.” She was actually surprised, and pleased, that he had made it.
    Frank’s ex-wife was blond, petite and very pretty in a plain, long black gown with a string of pearls. David—tall, handsome and friendly—pumped Diane’s hand up and down, telling her how very happy he was that she had invited them.
    “My pleasure.”
    Kevin, sporting a tux and a fresh haircut, shook Diane’s hand solemnly.
    “Frank told me you’re interested in forensic anthropology,” she said.
    “I’m interested in bones and detective work. Is that what you do?”
    “It’s what I used to do.”
    “And damn fine at it.” Diane felt a heavy arm wrap around her shoulder.
    “Harvey Phelps, how are you?”
    Diane gave him a big smile and leaned into him as he kissed her cheek. Aside from his being a large contributor to the museum, Diane genuinely liked him—loud voice, bad jokes and all. He was on the museum board and had been a strong supporter of Milo and now her.
    “I’m better than I have a right to be. I like what you’ve done here. Looks good—all of it.”
    “Oh, Diane you’ve done a great job.” Laura Hillard was a psychiatrist and Diane’s oldest friend, dating from their kindergarten days in Rosewood. She shimmered in a dark blue gown. Even her blond hair, done in a perfect French twist, sparkled. As she gave Diane a light cheek-touching hug, she whispered, “No matter what Signy Grayson says.” Her blue eyes twinkled as she laughed. Mark Grayson was Laura’s ex-husband. After three years their marriage had dissolved into irreconcilable differences. The differences being Laura’s opposition to Mark’s girlfriends.
    Diane managed a genuine laugh along with Laura. “The staff and students worked very hard to get ready.”
    “The catering is great. I adore that ice sculpture. I wish Milo could see this. He would just love to see you carry on his work.” Laura leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Beware of Mark. He’s working the crowd tonight.”
    “Milo would be right at home here.” Harvey Phelps raised a glass to the mammoth.
    As Harvey and Laura looked in the direction of the mammoth, they seemed reflective. “Poor Milo,” said Harvey. “He died right here, you know.”
    “Here, where?” said Diane.
    “Where the mammoth is standing,” said Laura. Milo Lorenzo was Diane’s predecessor, as well as the one who recruited her to the museum. Most of the renovations and ideas for the exhibits were Milo’s. Taking RiverTrail from the old-fashioned model of simple static cataloging and displaying of artifacts into the current concept of museum philosophy—interactive, educational, and research oriented—was his dream. The building plans Donald wanted to complain about were Milo’s.
    “This is where he had his heart attack?” said Diane. She remembered the last time she had talked to him on the phone. He was in as much hurry as she was for her to finish her job in South America and come to Rosewood to take up her new position as his assistant director. He’d died two days later.
    Laura and Harvey nodded. “If the old boy had to die,” said Harvey, “this was as good a place as any.”
    Diane left Laura and