Scattered Graves

left, carrying his cup of coffee.
Diane stood at the door, sipped her coffee, and watched him get into his car. She smiled and waved as he pulled out of the driveway. It felt so domestic. She closed the door. I don’t have to think about murder any more , she thought as she got ready for work. I have to think about Neanderthals—and maybe getting arrested .
    ‘‘Have you heard?’’ said Andie when Diane walked into her office. She had a newspaper spread out on her desk.
    ‘‘About the mayor? Yes,’’ said Diane. ‘‘That’s a shocker.’’
    ‘‘And he was just here. Do you think someone will come talk to us about him?’’ said Andie, excitement danc ing in her eyes. Diane thought Andie would have had her fill of murder when Diane was director of the crime lab.
    ‘‘Probably,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Strange, isn’t it? So far the police don’t know any thing,’’ said Andie. ‘‘Or at least they aren’t telling the news what they know. You don’t think you’ll be a suspect, do you? I mean, you were suing him.’’
Diane noticed Andie didn’t seem at all disturbed by the prospect of her boss being a murder suspect. Maybe Diane’s being a suspect was starting to be old hat to her.
‘‘I doubt it,’’ said Diane.
Diane went to her office and sat down at her desk. It was unsettling having the mayor gunned down. It was too much like third-world-style politics, a break down of the rule of law. The thought gave her an urge to want to stop it. She got on her computer and looked up the story on the Web. The online media didn’t have much more than Andie had told her.
Mayor Spence Jefferies was found in his kitchen, shot in the back of his head. He was found early this morning by an aide who came around to the house when he couldn’t get in touch with the mayor about a meeting scheduled for this morning. Diane reached for the phone, then stopped. Who did she think she was going to call? Why was she calling anyone about this anyway? She didn’t do murder anymore. She stood up and left her office.
‘‘I’m going to work on the Neanderthal exhibit,’’ she told Andie.
‘‘Sure thing, Dr. F,’’ said Andie, not looking up from the newspaper.
    ‘‘I wish we could use a fountain,’’ said one of the exhibit planners, standing back, looking at the di orama of the Neanderthals. ‘‘Real water falling from the rocks would be so cool.’’
    ‘‘And the mold and mildew would look so real,’’ said another.
‘‘True,’’ said the first.
Diane started to say something about the placement of vegetation when her phone rang. It was Kendel, her assistant director. Diane answered it with a tinge of expectation of good news.
‘‘I did it,’’ said Kendel.
Diane could hear the excitement in her voice even over the static of the weak signal between the cell phones.
‘‘You were able to get it?’’ said Diane. ‘‘Kendel, that’s great.’’
The staff working on the exhibit all stopped at the sound of Kendel’s name. They all knew she was nego tiating for a set of Neanderthal bones—a real coup for a small museum like RiverTrail. The museum had casts of various skeletons on display, but none of the real thing.
‘‘It’s the most expensive thing we’ve purchased,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘But, I have to tell you, they are a nice set of bones. You’re going to like them.’’
‘‘Good job, Kendel,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Really good job. We’re all looking forward to seeing them—hopefully the public will too.’’
Kendel had just recently gotten her mojo back after being accused of stealing artifacts—an accusation that nearly cost her her career. Having her back to her old self meant good things for the museum. Kendel was skillful at acquiring quality collections.
‘‘She got the Neanderthal skeleton?’’ the staff said simultaneously when Diane got off the phone.
‘‘Yes, she did,’’ said Diane. She started to elaborate when her phone rang again. This time it was Andie.
‘‘Dr. F, you have a policeman here to see you,’’ said Andie.
‘‘I’m sure it’s about yesterday’s meeting. I’ll be right there.’’ Diane eyed the diorama again and made a suggestion about where to place more vegetation be fore she left to see the policeman. She wondered if Peeks had sent him to arrest her. She sighed.
The policeman was Izzy Wallace, a friend of Frank’s and a man who had not liked Diane very much in the beginning of their relationship, believing she