Scattered Graves

they managed. This year David had had his comfortable rug pulled out from under him when the new mayor of Rosewood decided to rearrange the spoils of his election victory.
Frank reached out a hand and grasped hers. ‘‘I know,’’ he whispered.
Diane had been able to adjust to being replaced as director of the crime lab mainly because of Frank. Living with Frank held nice surprises. He was the most levelheaded, reasonable person she had ever known. She hadn’t realized how calming it would be just being with him on a daily basis.
The last things Frank did before going to bed were to play the piano—some beautiful piece—then, before turning out the light, he wrote in a journal. After their first several days living together, Diane mentioned that she hadn’t known he kept a journal.
‘‘It started when Kevin was younger. Cindy and I were in the middle of our divorce, and Kevin was having trouble dealing with it and with some problems at school,’’ Frank had told her. ‘‘I could see he was suffering. I started reading psychology books and searching the Internet. I was looking for some way to help us both through a rough time. There’s a mountain of junk psychology out there. You’d be surprised how little of it has any factual basis. But you know how we detectives are...’’
‘‘Handsome and sexy?’’ Diane had said.
‘‘Thorough. We leave nothing undone. I uncovered a couple of articles on new research into how people can make themselves happier.’’
‘‘I have some ideas on how I could make you hap pier,’’ Diane had said, smiling at him.
‘‘I’ll take you up on that.’’ He had kissed her.
‘‘Tell me about your journal first,’’ she had said.
‘‘Had I known you were such a tease,’’ he’d said. ‘‘The research involved a simple technique which I thought at first was too good to be true. But it turns out it works. Every night before I go to sleep, I think of three good things that happened that day and I write them in my journal. Then I spend a moment thinking about why they occurred. That’s all there is to it.’’
‘‘And this works?’’ Diane remembered being in credulous.
‘‘It does. It worked for Kevin, and it works for me. It helped Kevin realize that not everything was going wrong in his life. It’s very subtle, but it works. It im mediately improved my dreams, and I noticed that I had a happier outlook on life. It has a long-term calm ing effect on me. Hadn’t you noticed?’’
‘‘You’ve always been a calm, happy guy,’’ Diane had told him. ‘‘According to your brothers, you were born that way.’’
‘‘This still helps,’’ he’d said.
‘‘You write down things that go well in your job?’’ Diane had asked.
‘‘Sure. If I solve a case, or if I see something nice like a dog riding down the road with his head hanging out the window and a smile on his face, or you. I write a lot about you. Just a sentence or two, like the times you returned from a caving trip with no bruises or near-death experiences. Then I go to sleep having thought only about the good things during the day and not about the meanness I saw or the guy that got away.’’
Diane adopted that habit. She didn’t write it down. She just went to sleep listing in her mind the good things that went well during the day. Frank was right. It was subtle, but it worked.
Diane was wondering what three good things she could possibly think of from this stupid day. Being with Frank was definitely one of them. She started to kiss him when the telephone interrupted the moment and Frank went to answer it.
‘‘It’s for you,’’ he said, coming back with the phone in his hand. ‘‘There’s something going on at the mu seum that needs your attention.’’

Chapter 11
    ‘‘What happened?’’
    Diane was in the sitting room off of her office with a docent, Andie, the night security supervisor, two par ents, and a seven-year-old boy with tears in his eyes. The father was pacing up and down, uncertain whom to be angry with. The furniture in Diane’s office suite was very comfortable—plush sofa, stuffed chairs—but everyone in the room looked as if they might be sitting on nails. It didn’t help that Diane’s face looked like the loser’s in a heavyweight boxing bout. The child kept glancing at her as if she were an ogre who might grab him and eat him at any moment.
    ‘‘Emily, what happened?’’ Diane asked the docent again.
Emily was a tall athletic girl