One Grave Too Many

door to her office and Andie followed her in and sat down in front of her desk.
    “Didn’t. Some of us went out. We were all dressed up and didn’t want to waste it.”
    Diane sighed. Gone were the days when she could stay up all night and not feel like she had a hangover the next morning. “Donald put the wrong plants in the exhibit.”
    “I know. He said you need to learn how to save money. I didn’t want to tell you until after the party.”
    “And he wonders why I don’t appoint him assistant director. Any other stuff you were waiting to tell me?”
    “Yes. The rock woman and the bug guy are complaining that their offices are too small.”
    “The geologist and the entomologist?”
    “Yeah, that’s what I said. Rocks and bugs.”
    “Their offices are off their respective exhibit rooms. I don’t think we can rearrange everything to suit them. Besides, they have offices on campus. They can make do.”
    “I think they’re just bugged because the collection managers have larger offices.”
    Diane rolled her eyes. “Anyone else?”
    “The archaeologist wants to put in an exhibit on ancient Egypt.”
    “What? She’s not even an Egyptologist.”
    “Not she—he,” said Andie. “ She got a job at some university out of state. The archaeology department offered the museum appointment to one of their emeritus faculty members.”
    “Jonas Briggs?”
    “That’s right. Real sweet guy.”
    “Look, we aren’t adding many cultural items yet. We only have exhibits of the Paleo-Indian because of his interaction with megafauna. We’ll have to ask them to appoint someone else.”
    “He really is a nice guy. He knows a lot about Paleo-Indians too. And he’s been telling me some really cool stuff about ape archaeology.”
    “Ape archaeology?”
    “Yeah, it’s interesting. These archaeologists are excavating sites where apes have lived for centuries.”
    “Finding anything?”
    “Tools.”
    “Tools? Is this a joke?”
    “No, really, he showed me the article in Scientific American. It would make a great exhibit.”
    Diane shook her head. “I’ll talk with him. In the meantime, I don’t want to see any requisition forms for mummies.”
    “Got it.”
    “Next.”
    “The exobiologist wants to know if he can put a sunroof in the attic for his telescope.”
    Diane stared at Andie openmouthed. “You mean that the biologist they sent us is—”
    Andie held up her hands. “Just kidding. A little bit of X-Files humor.”
    “After the Egyptologist, I thought you were serious. Is that everything?”
    “So far.”
    “Good. If those are all our problems, we’re very lucky. I think we can have this place ready for the general public in a couple of weeks. Let me know when the workmen arrive to move the rest of the paleo exhibits. And if you see Donald, tell him I want to see him—immediately.”
    “Oh, this arrived for you a minute ago.” Andie read the label. “It’s from Frank Duncan.”
    “This must be the bone.”
    “Bone? I thought you weren’t . . .”
    “So did I.”
    “You know, we have room to set you up a lab.”
    “No,” Diane snapped. “This is the last one.”

Chapter 8
    Diane sat in her office and rolled the bone in her hand, feeling its rough surface with her sensitive fingers. Only four inches of broken bone, yet it was a body. If the bone had any distinguishing mark and she had an identical X ray, it could provide an identity. She took the photographs from the envelope and went over the measurements again.
    Nothing had changed. The bone appeared to be male, but it certainly didn’t have to be. Some females are quite large and very strong. Whoever it was was also young. The young shouldn’t die.
    Diane closed her eyes for a moment. The image of dirt-covered, tangled bones standing out in relief flickered before her. Dirty little ragged dresses, tiny shoes, broken bones and skulls with bullet holes, all shoved together in one mass grave. Wickedness still caught her by surprise, even though she had looked upon its work so many times.
    She opened her eyes and reached for the telephone. She had to call information to get the number, and spell the name several times, but she finally reached Ranjan Patel.
    “Ran, this is Diane Fallon.”
    “Diane Fallon, yes. Good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”
    “I have a favor that I hope you can do.”
    “I will try.”
    “I have a bone I’d like to have a stable-isotope analysis performed on.”
    “I see. Tell me about