door to her office.
‘‘What do you think they’re talking about?’’ said Andie, giving up her seat at Diane’s computer.
Diane looked at the message.
Sometimes the dead are guilty. A prank? An uneas iness began creeping up Diane’s spine to the back of her neck.
‘‘Are you going to respond?’’
Andie’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten she was still standing there by the desk.
‘‘I don’t know.’’ But she found herself clicking the REPLY button, and she wrote a simple note,
‘‘What do you think it does mean?’’ asked Andie.
Diane shook her head. ‘‘Probably some selfrighteous person who doesn’t like the museum being connected to the crime lab.’’
She also was beginning to think that it wasn’t such a good idea. But Rosewood had her between a rock and a hard place on that one.
Odd, in any case. Something else she had recently described as odd. Oh, yes, the flowers. That was odd too.
David appeared at the door, interrupting her thought. ‘‘Garnett just called. We have another case.’’
Chapter 18
Diane drove her car to the address David had given her. Briarwood Lane was a cul-de-sac of old frame houses and large mature trees in a mixed neighbor hood of Hispanics, whites, and blacks, many of whom were standing in their yards, looking in the direction of the asphalt-roofed house with gray shaker siding where several emergency vehicles were parked.
David, Jin and Neva had arrived just ahead of her and were just emerging from their van. Chief Garnett, Sheriff Braden, Whit Abercrombie, and several others were standing beside a car that Diane recognized as Lynn Webber’s.
As Diane approached, Garnett turned toward her and she caught sight of Allen Rankin, Rosewood’s pathologist. She stopped abruptly when she saw Lynn Webber sitting sideways in the driver’s seat with her feet on the asphalt road, sobbing.
‘‘I don’t understand this,’’ Lynn was saying. ‘‘What is this about?’’
For a moment Diane thought that Lynn was, of all things, under arrest...and it hit her all of a sudden. The neighborhood. Lynn Webber sobbing. She looked at Garnett.
‘‘It’s Lynn’s diener, Raymond, isn’t it?’’ She didn’t even know his last name.
Garnett nodded. ‘‘Raymond Waller. He came home for lunch and didn’t come back. When he was late, Dr. Webber called his home and his cell. When she couldn’t get in touch, she came to his house and found him.’’
‘‘She came to his house?’’
‘‘She said she has several bodies backed up, and he was always reliable.’’ Garnett lowered his voice. ‘‘She can get kind of feisty when she’s let down. I take it she was going to bring him back to work.’’
Diane had experienced some of her feistiness. It wasn’t how she would have described it. ‘‘Was he murdered?’’
‘‘Yes. Hit on the back of the head. Somebody threw water in his face. Maybe an attempt to revive him.’’
‘‘This is really odd.’’ There it was, that word again.
‘‘Odd . . . at least. Look, I have no idea what’s going on here, but I want everyone involved with those hanging victims to be extra careful. I’m going to send a squad car by everyone’s home, but maybe you can get your museum security to help with your people.’’
‘‘We’ll come up with a plan. Chief, I’ve had a couple of other disquieting things happen.’’
Garnett frowned as she handed him the note she had printed out and told him about the flowers. While she spoke, her gaze darted at the various people watching, looking to see if she recognized anyone she might have seen in the museum or the parking lot. No one looked familiar.
‘‘You replied to the E-mail. You should have talked to me first.’’
‘‘I thought it was museum business.’’
‘‘And you don’t know who left the flowers?’’
‘‘I’ve asked everyone that I know.... I just assumed you didn’t,’’ she added, with half a smile.
Garnett chuckled. ‘‘No.’’
‘‘Why are you two laughing? You think this is funny?’’ Lynn Webber flew out of her car and stood before them, anger flashing in her red-rimmed eyes.
‘‘Dr. Webber—’’ began Garnett.
‘‘I’m sorry, Lynn,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We were just trying to deflect some of the tension. We are very disturbed by all this. I met and worked with Raymond and liked him. Of course I don’t think it’s funny. Neither does the chief.’’
Lynn Webber shook her head, as if trying to shake out some thought. ‘‘I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’’
‘‘Why don’t you let me take you home?’’ said Sher iff Braden. ‘‘You don’t need to see any more of this, and
