One Grave Less (25 page)

“He brought the chain back here,” said Izzy.

“Just being thorough,” said David. “I’ll check each link. There might be a partial. I’m not optimistic. The lake was deep where she went in—about seven feet. Jin dived and did a grid search of the bottom. He found her other shoe and a few beer cans.”

Diane nodded. “Do you feel like it was an accident?” she asked David.

He hesitated. “As bad as I hate to say it, I’m like Lynn. Yes, I think it was an accident. But it nags at me. I don’t know if it’s because it was someone I knew, or because of my basic suspicion of all deaths that occur when you are under ninety and not asleep in bed.”

Diane looked at the other two.

“Accident,” said Izzy. “Neva said she couldn’t swim.”

Diane looked over at Neva.

“She said she never liked the idea of getting her hair wet or water up her nose. But she liked boating. She wasn’t afraid of the water,” said Neva. “She was illustrating a book about two kids learning to sail. We were talking at lunch one day outside on the patio. When she found out I was an artist, she liked talking to me.”

Diane realized that she had never had a good conversation with Madge, really. Just party conversation at the museum events, or mildly unpleasant conversations at board meetings. The thought increased her feelings of guilt. She had never really tried to get to know Madge. She was a more interesting person than some of her annoying habits had led Diane to believe.

“What about you, Neva? What do you think?” asked Diane.

“Accident. Isn’t the simplest explanation the most likely? For it to be homicide, the story gets too complex. And nothing whatsoever indicates she jumped into the lake to drown herself.” She paused. “What about you?”

“I don’t know. The shoes do bother me a little. But why would anyone do anything to Madge? She was the most unlikely person to be murdered. Unless it was some maniac wandering the nature trails behind the museum. We’ll leave it to Garnett.”

“He’d like us to do more of that anyway,” said Izzy.

“Yeah, I know,” said Diane. “I’m just a criminalist busybody.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Izzy. He turned to David. “Did I?”

David’s chuckle was interrupted by a knock at the door on the museum side of the lab.

Diane raised her eyebrows and got up and looked at the tiny built-in monitor beside the door. It was Gerda Sorenson from the mailroom. The tiny blond woman looked nervous, casting glances to her right where the crime lab guard for the museum entrance was posted. He sat in an office with a glass front and was dressed like the Rosewood policeman he was. Gerda probably thought he could come out and pull a gun on her at any minute. Many of the museum personnel were leery of the third floor west wing of the building.
If they only knew about the equipment David kept in the basement
, Diane thought as she opened the door.

“Hello, Gerda,” said Diane. “Can I help you?”

“I need to talk with you. I think. It’s about Madge. I should have said something yesterday.”

Diane thought that was an interesting thing to say. Madge wasn’t dead yesterday. But Gerda saw something—she had Diane’s attention.

“Please come in.” Diane showed her to the seat left vacant by Lynn Webber when she departed.

Gerda Sorenson was in her forties, petite, tanned, with a slightly lined face that went along with being a sun worshipper. Her hair was pale blond and her eyes, light blue. She wore a sand-colored cotton jumper with lots of pockets, and a pastel yellow shirt.

“You know David Goldstein, Neva Hurley, and Izzy Wallace?”

Gerda nodded. The crime lab staff spent many of their breaks in the museum break room, frequently ate at the restaurant, and often visited the exhibits. Since not one of them was shy, they were well known to most of the museum staff.

Gerda sat quietly for a moment. No one said anything but simply waited for her story to unfold in its own time.

“A mailroom is like the post office,” she said simply. It came out like a Zen koan.

Gerda paused and Diane half wondered if she wanted them to meditate on it. Instead, Diane nodded encouragement.

“Only I or people who work for me can put up or deliver the mail. No one can just come in and go through it,” she said.

Diane cocked an eyebrow.
Ah
.

“Yesterday morning I came in and found Ms. Stewart in the mailroom going through bags of mail waiting to be put up. She had spilled part of a bag on the floor,” continued Gerda.

She twisted the gold band on her ring finger as she spoke. “I was stunned. I asked her what she was doing. I used a little harsh language, I’m sorry to say. But this was serious. She said she had ordered a catalog and was looking for it. The board members have mailboxes if they want to receive mail here, and some, like her, do. I told her that she can’t go rummaging through the mail, that it was against the law. She . . .” Gerda stopped a moment. “I don’t like speaking ill of the dead. She’s not here to defend herself.”

“Nevertheless,” said Diane, “we need to hear your story.” Diane pitched her voice so that she hoped she was both comforting and reassuring to Gerda that she was doing the right thing.

Gerda nodded, still twisting her ring. “Ms. Stewart got all huffy. She stuck her chin out and said she was going to tell Vanessa Van Ross on me. Just like that—those words. She said she was going to tell on me. I told her it was illegal even for Mrs. Van Ross to go through the mail like that. I suggested to her that we both go speak with you. She got huffy again and said, ‘Well, we’ll just forget this, then.’ And she stormed out of the room.”

“That was all she said she was looking for?” asked Diane. “A catalog?”

“That’s what she said. I couldn’t imagine the . . . well, the arrogance of tossing people’s mail on the floor to look for a catalog. I told her that anything that came in for her was put in her box. When she left I looked at the boxes that had been filled the previous day. I swear, it looked like she had been rummaging through them as well. Just for a catalog.”

Gerda paused again. She had stopped twisting her ring and had her hands neatly folded in front of her. “I wasn’t going to mention anything, even though I know I should have. She shouldn’t have been going through people’s mail like that. But I thought it would be better to just let it pass. Then she died. Drowned. I heard about it when I came in this morning. I didn’t know if it was important, but I thought I ought to tell someone.”

“You did the right thing,” said Diane. “Was there anyone in the hallway or nearby who might have been with her?”

Gerda thought for a moment. “I don’t recall anyone.”

“How did she get in?” asked Diane.

“With a key,” said Gerda. “I just assumed that all the board members have masters.”

Hardly. Diane would never give masters or submasters to the board members. Only she, Vanessa, and Security had that level of keys.

“How many people in the mailroom have a key to it?” asked Diane. She knew that only Gerda and Andie were supposed to have mailroom keys.

“Just me and your assistant. And mine hasn’t gone missing. I don’t give it to anyone. When I’m off, Andie opens the door for my assistant.”

“What was Madge wearing?” asked Diane.

“Wearing?” said Gerda, as if she didn’t understand the question, or perhaps thought it to be strange.

“Was she dressed casually, or dressed up?” said Diane.

“Oh, she was fairly dressy in a casual kind of way. She wore black slacks, a rust-colored blouse, and a black shirt jacket,” she said.

“What about her shoes?” asked Izzy.

Diane and Neva suppressed smiles.

“She had on a pair of Naughty Monkeys,” she said.

Izzy sat very still with an expression on his face that said from now on he would leave all fashion questions to Diane and Neva.

Gerda didn’t notice Izzy’s blank stare and went on speaking. “I noticed because my daughter wears them and I thought they were kind of young for Ms. Stewart. They were very pretty, though. Open toed, multiple animal prints in yellow, red, and orange. Low sling heel. Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I thought she was dressed young. She was not vulgar, mind you—she was tasteful and she looked nice—her clothes just, well, looked young.”

“What about her makeup?” asked Diane.

If Gerda thought the questions odd, she didn’t show it.

“Nice. Professionally done. It was really the best I’ve seen Ms. Stewart look. We take some of the quilting classes together at the museum and I see her regularly,” she said.

“Would you say she was dressing better, dressier, younger than usual?” asked Diane.

“Yes. She was that day. But the change was fairly recent. I was in class with her last week and she looked like she usually did. That’s not to say she looked bad. She was a good dresser. Just different. Not dressing to be noticed. That’s what my daughter would have said about her.”

Gerda paused and pressed her lips together. “They are saying it was an accident,” she said. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“There’s no evidence at all that says it wasn’t an accident. Anytime something unexpected happens to someone, we have to ask a lot of questions that may seem irrelevant. It’s one of the things we do here,” said Diane.

She could almost hear Izzy shouting in his head:
No, it’s not! It’s not supposed to be. You are supposed to let the detective ask the questions
. And he was right. She didn’t look over at him.

Gerda glanced around the room as if just now realizing that this was her chance to get a look at the dark side.

“Were there any other things you noticed about yesterday?” asked Diane.

Gerda looked back at her. “No, that’s all I can remember. I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

“Thank you,” said Diane.

She stood and so did Gerda. Diane escorted her back to the door and let her out. Thanking her again for coming to them, and telling her that Chief Garnett might want to speak with her, but it would be all right.

“So,” said Diane as she sat back down, “was Madge into something, or was this just Madge being Madge? Have any of you changed your mind about this being an accident?”

Izzy shook his head. “I still think it was an accident. This new info is suspicious, but still nothing to say the woman was murdered. Do they look like monkeys?”

Neva patted his arm. “No, but they are flashy and kind of cool.” She looked at Diane. “I have to agree, but . . . that ‘but’ is still hanging out there.”

Diane looked at David, who had a very low suspicion threshold.

“It’s worth some further investigation. The things we have already talked about, and her breaking into the mailroom, are suspicious, but what bothers me the most is the abrupt change in her looks, coupled with all the above. I hate to say it, but Lynn may be onto something.”

“I agree that it needs looking into,” said Diane. “I’ll tell Garnett and he can decide.” She looked over at Izzy and he grinned at her.

“Hey, little buddy.” Izzy looked at Neva. “Is Mike coming back for the big wedding?”

Neva smiled. “He wouldn’t miss it.”

“Where is he now? Did you say in the ice again?” he asked.

Neva frowned. “Yes. He said he wasn’t going ice caving again, but the company talked him into it. I’m really nervous.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Izzy. “He’s probably already finished. Isn’t he due back pretty soon?”

Neva nodded. “He’s supposed to call or e-mail tonight.”

Diane understood Neva’s nerves. The whole idea scared her too. She, Mike, Neva, and Jin were caving partners. Mike was a really good caver and expert rock climber. Always extra cautious. Mike was also her geology curator and she needed him back to discuss the new exhibit he had pitched to her before he left. She wished museum concerns were the only ones she had. She might not even be director when he got back.

So much strange unpleasantness had descended and was picking like vultures at her and her friends. Poor Madge. Whatever Diane thought about her, Madge enjoyed her life and deserved to live it.
Accident
was just not sitting well with her. And even if it was an accident, what took her to the edge of the lake?

“Do you have anything new on Simone and the Mayan exhibit?” Diane asked.

Neva shook her head. “I’ve given the information we have to the DEA guys. They were very interested, as you can imagine.”

“They interviewed me,” said Diane. “At least they didn’t arrest me. They had heard the rumors.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Neva. “Was it unpleasant?”

“Mildly. I expect them back, just on general principles.”

“David is going over the detritus from the Mayan exhibit, literally with a fine-tooth comb,” said Neva.

“I’m hoping to find some transfer from the guys who attacked,” said David. “I’m determined to prove the fire didn’t destroy everything.”

Diane nodded. “David and I are having dinner with Gregory and Frank at the museum restaurant, so I’m going back to my office to freshen up. I appreciate the work you guys are doing. I know I haven’t been around much.”

“Sure,” said Neva. “Anything we can do, we will. You know that.”

Diane left and went back to her museum office, where she had a change of clothes. She was looking forward to one evening of peace. Then again, Gregory would be back from the hospital. She was eager to hear what he had discovered. She opened the door to Andie’s office.

Andie was laughing and talking to a tall man, light brown hair, medium complexion, and boyish good looks.

“Steven,” said Diane in surprise.

It was Steven Mays, one of the people she had worked with in South America. Gregory and David had been trying to get him on the phone at the State Department in Washington.

“It’s great to see you!” said Diane.