Scattered Graves

what your job is, I don’t see why we can’t get along,’’ he said.
‘‘Good,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Let me ask you, did you know any of the mayor’s friends?’’ she asked. ‘‘They were all very well educated.’’
‘‘Were they? I went to Cal State as an undergradu ate and Chicago for med school. Where did they go?’’ He smirked as if expecting her to say Podunk U. Maybe he didn’t know them.
‘‘University of Pennsylvania, Wharton School of Business,’’ she said.
His smirk faded. ‘‘Really? What the hell were they doing being policemen here? Did they flunk out?’’
‘‘No, they did quite well. I was hoping you knew them and could answer that question—what were they doing here? Puzzling isn’t it?’’ she said.
‘‘It is,’’ he said. ‘‘Bryce go to school there too?’’
‘‘Bryce had the best grades of all of them,’’ she said.
‘‘I wouldn’t have thought that,’’ he said.
‘‘Probably because he was working outside of his discipline,’’ said Diane.
Eastling shook his head and thought for a minute as if processing the new information.
‘‘Can’t help you with any of them.’’
He brushed past her and went on in.
She watched him through the glass doors and saw him meet Jennifer Jeffcote-Smith, who must have been there ahead of him. They stood for a moment talking. It became clear to her now, he was smitten with Jenni fer. From the body language, Diane wasn’t sure if it was reciprocated. That’s why he found her a job here. And possibly why he was so pissed with Diane. She had spoiled all his plans by being the rightful occupant of the osteology lab. They headed toward the cafeteria. An odd place for an assignation, but probably a safe one. Who would suspect a hospital cafeteria as the site for a romantic rendezvous?
Frank drove up and Diane got in the car. She was not looking forward to the ride home. Frank was very slow to anger, but she sensed she had crossed his threshold.

Chapter 38
    They drove back home in silence. Diane dozed along the way and awoke with a start when the car stopped, realizing that her own vehicle was still parked at the museum.
    Frank built a fire while Diane took a shower and put on a warm nightgown and robe. She sat on a sofa and watched the flames dancing in the fireplace. Occa sionally the wood popped and tiny sparks flew onto the rock hearth. She smelled the hot chocolate Frank was making—one of his ultimate comfort foods for cold nights of fighting crime and maniacs. He’d made it for her more than once.
    Frank came from the kitchen with two cups and gave her one. He sat down on the sofa opposite hers.
‘‘How are you feeling?’’ he asked.
His voice always made him sound even tempered. It was one of the things Diane admired about him, but now she found it a bit annoying.
‘‘Physically, I feel fine. I’m a little weary of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know you’re angry with me.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ he said, ‘‘I am. Why did you go running out after that guy? Why did you offer to exchange yourself for the hostage? You should never do that. Why didn’t you just wait for the police to arrive? You have no training in that kind of physical police work.’’ His voice wasn’t as calm now. He set his cup down without taking a drink.
‘‘I thought I could handle the situation,’’ said Diane.
She jumped as a lightbulb blew out in the table lamp beside the sofa, plunging them into a darkness broken only by the firelight. Frank got up and turned on the overhead chandelier. Before he sat down again, he got a bulb from the closet in the hall. Diane watched him unscrew the old bulb and screw in the new one, an act that strangely tickled her brain and oddly re minded her of the loose rock in her desk fountain. Frank laid the old bulb on the table, turned off the chandelier, and sat back down.
As Diane watched him, she realized that was an other idiosyncrasy she had always liked in Frank. He took care of problems in his house immediately. If a light blew, he replaced it. If a faucet dripped, he re paired it himself or had it fixed right away. If a door sagged, he had it straightened. If you wait, he said, it’ll only get worse and you’ll have a bigger repair. Consequently, his house was always in order—though not necessarily always neat. He did have a high toler ance for paper clutter, especially on the dining room table, that bothered Diane. But the house always worked. Nothing was ever