One Grave Too Many

wait till they’ve worked a bit. See who’s rising to the top. I’m real proud of the boy.”
    “What I can’t figure,” said Frank, “is where he got his brains.”
    “Not from his daddy, that’s for sure. I told Carol it’s a good thing he looks like me, or I’d be suspicious. How’s your Kevin?”
    “Growing. He’s in eighth grade now. I’m glad I have a while before I have to start shelling out for college tuition.”
    “I hear you there.”
    “Diane Fallon here?” asked Frank.
    Jake turned and looked in her direction. “Yes, she’s here.”
    Diane was still standing underneath the huge tusks of the mammoth. She watched Detective Frank Duncan of the Metro-Atlanta Fraud and Computer Forensics Unit set down a briefcase at the door and cross the wide marble lobby into the Pleistocene room. He had the same handsomeness, the same smile, the same familiar face—perhaps just a little older than the last time she saw him.
    “Nice,” he said, reaching up and brushing the tips of his fingers along the bottom of a gigantic curved tusk. It reminded her of that Celine Dion song—“It’s All Coming Back to Me Now.”
    “Did these things used to roam the neighborhood?” he asked.
    “Up until about ten thousand years ago.”
    “Long gone, eh?”
    “A mere blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things.”
    He stood under the head and tusks of the mammoth with her, his eyes searching her face. “You look good. Damn good.”
    Diane brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “Too much time in the sun. My face is looking like parchment.”
    Frank shook his head. “A few lines around the eyes and mouth only give you character. You’re a little thin, maybe. Didn’t they feed you in South America? You’re all right, aren’t you? Didn’t pick up anything?”
    “No, Frank, I didn’t pick up anything. I’m fine.”
    Frank tilted his head to one side, inspecting her wrist and arm. “A fellow I know came back from the Amazon and he had this insect bite on his arm that wouldn’t go away. Swelled up, started itching and turned black. When he couldn’t stand the itch any longer, he went to the doctor. The doctor thought it was a boil and started to lance it. Just as he touched the skin with his scalpel,” Frank touched his finger gently to her forearm, “the thing burst open and this big, black, ugly fly crawled out of his arm and flew off. Disgusting.” He tickled her skin with the tips of his fingers.
    Diane pulled her arm back reflexively, but smiled despite herself. “You haven’t changed. What are you doing at the museum this late?”
    His eyes were smiling again, searching her face. “I just got off from work. I was passing this way.”
    “Don’t tell me that. You don’t pass this place going anywhere.” She stepped out of the exhibit, still holding the artificial leaves like an odd bouquet.
    “It’s been a couple of years. . . .” he began.
    “Three years.”
    “I wanted to see you. How about a late dinner?”
    He was wearing jeans and a navy sweater and smelled like aftershave. He hadn’t just stopped off from work. Diane wished she didn’t feel so comforted by that realization. She lay the leaves next to the exhibit and dusted off her hands, aware that she must have the aroma of the day’s accumulation of glue, paint and perspiration. “How about you telling me why you’re really here?”
    “I really came to see you. Talking with you got me worried about you. What happened? Why did you give up your career?”
    “I changed jobs. People do that.” Diane turned away from his gaze and started toward the Bison antiquus . “I need to check out the exhibits before I leave. We’re having a preopening party for the contributors tomorrow evening.”
    “Wait.” Frank put a hand on her arm. “I want to know about you. What do you mean, you aren’t a forensic anthropologist anymore? What happened in South America?”
    Diane stopped and looked into Frank’s blue-green eyes. “Just one mass grave too many.”

Chapter 2
    Diane walked with Frank to pick up his briefcase and led him to her office off a corridor to the right of the museum entrance. She moved a stack of books from a chair, pulled it up to her desk and motioned for Frank to sit down. She tore off a piece of butcher paper from a roll standing in the corner beside a tall oak bookcase and spread it on her desktop. “I’ve been back in town three months.”
    “I just found out last week. I saw Andie in the