One Grave Too Many

converted into a bed. She hadn’t even tried to find one that went with the carpet. Instead, she bought an Oriental rug to go in front of the sofa and pretended the carpet under it wasn’t there. In front of the sofa she had a cherry wood coffee table. The only other pieces of living room furniture were a black leather stuffed chair and a stereo. Not an elegant room, but one her mother would have said had potential.
    Diane headed for the kitchen to make coffee. Frank followed and began stuffing her refrigerator with Italian food.
    “It’ll just spoil in mine,” he said. “And I’ll have to clean it out, and I hate cleaning out the refrigerator.”
    She filled the coffeemaker with water and turned around into Frank’s arms. She had forgotten what a good kisser he was.

Chapter 19
    “I missed you,” said Frank. “I should have mailed you all those letters I wrote. I should have come to find you in the jungle.”
    Diane looked into his eyes; they were more blue than green at the moment. “It’s good to be back. It’s good to be standing right here, right now,” she said and kissed him again.
    “Can I stay the night?” he whispered against her ear.
    “I told myself if we ever got together again, I was going to go slower this time,” said Diane. “Go places with you, get to know you . . .”
    “So can I stay the night?”
    She giggled as the kitchen filled with the aroma of coffee. How long had it been since she actually giggled?
    “What the hell? Maybe we’ll get tired of each other—then we can go on dates and get to know each other.”
    “I can tell you my deepest, darkest secret right now—you know that and you’d know the worst about me.” He rubbed her back under her shirt and his touch both chilled and warmed her skin.
    “What’s that? What’s the worst thing to know about you?”
    He pulled her closer and nuzzled her ear. “I know how to play the accordion.”
    Diane pulled back and looked him in the eye. “No, you’re kidding. That’s not true.”
    “It is.” He put his forehead against hers.
    “I’m not sure I can handle that,” she said. “What if some evening I find you playing a polka under my window?”
    “You don’t have to worry. I have it under control.”
    He kissed her again, and Diane felt the strains of “Ode to Joy” vibrating against her breasts.
    Frank stepped away, pulled out his phone and looked at the display. “Cindy,” he said, pushing the ANSWER button.
    “Hey,” he said. “How’s Kevin?”
    While he was talking, Diane filled two cups with fresh coffee and took them into the living room on a tray with cream and sugar.
    Frank came out of the kitchen holding his hand over the phone. “She wants us to come over for dinner this Saturday.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as he said it, smiling, perhaps at Cindy’s bad timing.
    Diane felt the hand of Mark Grayson at work. “Tell her I’d love to and I’ve got a bottle of wine I’ve been dying to open, but it’ll have to wait until I get some museum business resolved that’s hanging over my head.”
    Frank put the phone back up to his ear and repeated almost verbatim what Diane had said. He listened for several seconds. “I’ll give her that argument, but this thing at the museum really has her tied up right now. She’s not been able to go anywhere.” He paused. “I’ll do that and get back to you. Can I speak with Kevin?” The pause was shorter. “Homework, in the summer?” Pause. “Yeah, I’d forgotten about that. I’ll give you a call later.” He pushed the END button and put the phone back in his pocket.
    “I suppose you heard that. It looks like you’re right—David must want to pressure you. She was pretty insistent we come for dinner.”
    “She was asking you to convince me?”
    “Yes.”
    “Not being able to talk to Kevin wasn’t a part of it, was it?”
    “I don’t know. I hope not.” Frank was pensive for a long moment. “That wouldn’t be like Cindy—unless she’s under a lot of pressure from David. I can tell her no. It’s not a problem.”
    “I don’t mind going. But let’s wait a few days and see how much pressure comes our way over it. You know, it could just be her way of letting you know that it’s OK with her if you and I are together.”
    “That wouldn’t be like Cindy either. So where were we?”
    “Drinking our coffee?” Diane handed him a cup she had dressed with cream and sugar.
    “Was that it? I thought we were going to drink