One Grave Less (20 page)

He stopped talking for several moments.

“No, she has not been to Brazil. In fact, I and a great many other people were meeting with her here in Rosewood at the times when these men were supposedly murdered. I might add, we haven’t been able to verify who these men are and if they are indeed dead . . . or even exist.”

When he hung up, Garnett looked at the phone with distaste. “That will help some,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Diane.

“We have to stop this. It’s not only you and the museum at stake. Every case the crime lab has processed is in danger,” he said.

“Are you really going to ask Frank’s unit for help?” asked Diane.

“Yes. I’m hoping they have some international connections that I don’t. It sounds like you have connections that I don’t.”

“Our contact at Interpol is Cameron Michaels, who worked with us in Porto Barquis. He was our liaison with the United Nations. He’s now Interpol’s representative to the UN. He’s looking into it for me,” she said.

“Andie’s right,” said Garnett. “This is happening too fast.”

“It’s obviously just rumormongering,” said Diane. “They don’t really care whether authorities believe the charges. They just want the rest of the world to believe it. It really messes up my life.”

“That’s probably the point,” said Garnett.

“The first I heard of any rumor about South America was from that travel reporter, Brian Mathews,” said Diane. “I’m going to try and get a phone call to him, wherever he is.”

“I think he has a blog,” said Andie. “He probably has his itinerary on there.”

“Good thinking, Andie. Get the details for me, please. I’m going to call Vanessa, Mr. Mathews—and Colin Prehoda, and sic him on that Halloran woman.”

“Good,” said Andie. “You need to get a lawyer like Prehoda on that . . . that . . .
woman
. Tell him to force her to make an on-air retraction. Naked.”

Diane and Garnett chuckled. “I’ll do that.”

Diane walked into her office and sat behind her desk. Garnett followed and pulled up a chair. She supposed he wanted to hear what Mathews had to say. She stared at the water fountain on her desk. It looked like a miniature grotto. That’s where she would like to be—in a nice, quiet cave. That would be heaven.

But first she needed to call Vanessa. She wasn’t looking forward to that. She also needed to postpone her wedding. She hated that idea, but with everything going on, she didn’t want to walk down the aisle into the hands of U.S. Marshals, or the FBI, or whoever would come to arrest her should things get really out of hand.

Maria committed the pattern of the city to memory—the mounds, the lines scarring the ground, every pile of rocks she could see. At the next overnight stop she would draw it on the back of the map. That was all she could do. Damn. Her fingers itched for some mapping equipment and a trowel. And the peace to work unmolested.

She reluctantly climbed down from the ancient vantage. At the foot of the mound the edge of a smooth-looking object caught her eye. She scraped her boot gently over its surface—an artifact. She picked up the item along with a companion piece near it. A potsherd. A fragment of pottery. A fragment of the history here. The faint markings on the scorched surface looked as if the object had been shaped by coiling a snake of clay. She flicked the edge of the piece with her thumbnail. The substance had a gray temper, perhaps slate. She took the sherds with her and slipped them in the backpack.

Rosetta had gathered up enough unburned wood and had a meal cooking. More soup.

“The vegetables will not be good tomorrow,” said Rosetta. “We should eat as much as we can. I picked out the things we can save and threw the rest away.”

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be lost in the jungle with,” said Maria.

Rosetta smiled.

As their breakfast cooked, Maria walked over to the arrow on the ground she had made the previous night and checked the direction it pointed against the reading of her compass. They lined up almost perfectly. Nothing wrong with her compass. She hadn’t thought there would be, but it was a safety precaution to check. She took out the map and arranged it on the hood of the truck, spreading it out with her hands and weighing it down with the compass, orienting them both to the north.

She thought she knew where they were on the map. She wanted to get to a place called Benjamin Constant. But there were no marked roads from where they were to where she wanted to go. The road she could connect up with looked to be about seventy miles away. That’s a long way through the jungle.

She hoped the truck would start. If not, they were in for a long walk. She put the compass and map in the truck.

“You doing okay?” she asked Rosetta. “Need help?”

“I’m fine. It’s almost cooked,” she said.

Food and sleep had made Maria feel better, think better. This was really a simple problem simply solved. Just get to a phone. The last few days she had been so filled with fear she couldn’t think and she’d bought into Rosetta’s fear of the man who worked at an embassy. Whoever he might be, he couldn’t possibly have control over everyone at all embassies and consulates, or whatever official places they had here. Her plan was to call John and tell him what had happened. He would find out what she needed to do and get help for her. Easy.

As she waited for the food to get done, she took her knife and cut a couple of bandannas from the bolt of brightly designed fabric. She put one over the top of her head and tied it in back. The other one she tied around her neck as a scotch against the sweat and to afford her bare skin some protection from the bugs.

Rosetta handed her a bowl of soup. “You look colorful,” she said.

“Trying to keep the bugs out of my hair. Do you want me to make you one?”

“Okay. Let’s eat first,” said Rosetta.

They sat in the back of the truck and ate the soup with the last of the bread. Rosetta had used a lot of vegetables, so it was more of a stew. It tasted good. She had boiled some beef jerky with it and, though it was a little chewy, it added flavor. And it was protein.

“You look happy,” said Rosetta. “You like finding these ruins, don’t you?”

“I do. I wish we could stay and explore. But maybe I can come back,” she said.

“Would you really come back here?” asked Rosetta.

“Sure. With armed guards,” Maria said, smiling at her and taking a spoonful of soup.

The sound of the jungle was loud. It was almost like music the way the birds and monkeys called to one another. She wished she had the luxury to sit and enjoy it. She hadn’t expected an adventure when she got here—just look at a few sites, talk with some archaeologists, and meet up with a tour group from Atlanta. She wondered if she had been reported missing or if they just thought she’d changed her mind. Foolish not to be more definite with her plans. She wasn’t a good traveler. She hadn’t been careful enough.

“Good food, Rosetta. I don’t know what I’d be eating if I were alone. I’d probably end up poisoning myself.”

“We still have bars and the jerky I took from the Ferreras. I took a lot of stuff that wasn’t mine. Jopito really liked his new clothes, especially these boots, and these protein bars were his. I’ll bet he’s really mad.” Rosetta didn’t look happy at the prospect.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” said Maria. “Those people who kidnapped me had no right to do that. People have no right to bully you, kill you, take away your freedom, or hurt you in any way. If Jopito Ferrera lost his good clothes, it is a small price to pay. Consider it reparations for his bullying you. We did what we had to, to escape.”

Rosetta nodded and took another bite of her soup. “I can cook better than this,” she said.

“This is great. I’ll bet you’re a real chef in a kitchen with equipment and fresh food.”

“I am. If you can cook, you are useful. Around here you have to be useful,” she said.

“We are going to get out of this,” said Maria. “I have a plan. We are going to get to a place called Benjamin Constant. I’m thinking there will be telephone service and I can call for help. We’ll call your mother. She will be so glad to hear from you. I’m going to call my boyfriend and ask him to contact the embassies . . .”

Rosetta shook her head vigorously. “No, I told you, we can’t. That’s where the bad man is.”

“Rosetta, listen to me. He can’t have that much influence. Do you know which embassy he worked for?”

Rosetta shook her head.

“This is a good plan,” said Maria. “We have money. We’ll find an inn and wait for help. We should be safe.”

Rosetta put her bowl down and started crying. She tried to climb out of the truck, but Maria pulled her back, put her own food down, and held on to her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby girl.” Maria’s voice was very quiet.

Rosetta cried for several minutes. Maria didn’t push her. She stroked her hair and rocked her.

“I don’t have any papers,” said Rosetta into Maria’s shirt. Her voice was muffled and so soft Maria almost didn’t understand her.

“Neither do I. Mine were lost when I tried to get away from my kidnappers. They are down a river somewhere. We can get new papers,” she said.

Rosetta shook her head without looking up. “No. Mama was waiting for papers. They never came before the bad stuff happened. The bad man said she was not really my mama because the papers didn’t come.”

The adoption hadn’t gone through, thought Maria. That added a complication. There was no way she could take a child across all the borders they had to cross with no papers. Perhaps just her word that Rosetta was her child would do. But her original visa didn’t list a child with her. Damn.

Maria held Rosetta so she could see her face. She put a hand under her chin.

“I’ve never liked paperwork. What matters is that in your heart Diane Fallon is your mother, and in her heart you are her daughter. It just means I have to adjust the plan, but I’m going to get you to her, I promise. The United States has a constant problem with illegal aliens crossing the border, so how hard could it be?” She smiled at Rosetta and hugged her. “You are going to get home to your mama. I won’t leave you here.”

Maria took the bandanna from around her neck and wiped Rosetta’s tears. Then she wrapped Rosetta’s head with it like she had her own.

“There, we both look very fashionable,” she said.

“You promise?” said Rosetta.

“I do. If it looks like we will have a hard time crossing the borders, we’ll just call your mama to come down here. No problem.”

“She’ll come, won’t she?”

“She would walk over hot coals to get here. We’ve gotten away from the bad men. We just have to get to a place we can make a call.”

Rosetta hugged Maria hard. She picked up her bowl and the two of them finished eating. Maria helped Rosetta clean the dishes and they packed everything away.

Now, for the moment she had been dreading. Would the truck start? She didn’t really want to walk to Benjamin Constant. She got in the truck, pressed the gas pedal, and turned the key.

Vanessa answered the phone herself.

She was probably expecting my call
, thought Diane.

“Vanessa,” she said, “have you seen Pris Halloran on the news?”

Of course she had. But Diane’s mind was a blank about how to start the conversation. “Hello, how are you?” didn’t seem to fit the situation.

“I have,” said Vanessa. “I suppose this is payback for all those crime scenes you threw her out of.”

“I suppose so,” said Diane, wondering how Vanessa knew about that. It wasn’t anything she ever had occasion to discuss with her.

“I’ve recalled Kendel from Mexico,” continued Diane. “She and Andie will take care of the running of the museum while I find out what is going on.”

“I hate the necessity,” said Vanessa, “but I see your point.”

Vanessa hadn’t tried to talk her out of it. Diane was faintly disappointed.

“This has just been terrible,” said Diane. “I . . .”

“Don’t apologize, girl,” said Vanessa. “Just find out who is behind all this. Do you think it has anything to do with poor Madge?”

Diane hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t really thought that Madge’s death was anything but an accident . . . except for the shoes.

“I don’t know,” said Diane. “We don’t know yet exactly what happened to her. It’s so sad.” Then she added, “Madge was wearing tapestry-covered heels. Weren’t they her favorites?”

“Yes, she loved those shoes,” said Vanessa. “Why?”

“I’ll tell you when I understand it better myself,” said Diane. She paused for several moments. “I think, with all that’s happened, I had better put off . . .”

“No,” said Vanessa. “You are not postponing your wedding. There has to be a limit to how much we allow nefarious strangers to control our lives.”

“Did I tell you that Gregory Lincoln arrived for the wedding?” said Diane.

“No. I received an RSVP from him. Good, I’m glad he’s here. Does he have a place to stay?”

“He’s staying with Frank and me,” said Diane.

“I’ll be delighted to meet him.”

Diane bid Vanessa goodbye and hung up. She didn’t think it was a good idea to continue with the wedding, but she was only the bride. Whatever . . . She didn’t feel like having an argument about it. She and Frank should have just eloped and told everyone the news when they returned.

Diane called Colin Prehoda next. He had also seen the news broadcast. It was sinking in that almost everyone in the viewing area must have seen it. How many people, she wondered, believed that she was a murderer? For most people, an accusation repeated in the news media was enough to make them believe it. Accusations are powerful weapons. That’s probably why whoever was behind this had chosen rumors and character assassination as their weapon—send up smoke signals and hope people would cry fire.