‘‘Lots of things scare me.’’
‘‘Maybe, but you have it under control. Like just now when that guy called. You were so calm.’’ He grinned a boyish grin that deepened his dimples. ‘‘You look good, too. So how about it—will you go out with me again?’’
‘‘Again? This is not going out. It’s eating together at the museum. And no, I can’t go out with you. We can go caving together, but we can’t date.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Three reasons. I’m dating someone else, I’m your boss and I’m older than you are—by too many years. Any one of those reasons, for me, is a nonstarter. All three—well, it isn’t going to happen.’’
He put a hand on his chest. ‘‘You’ve broken my heart.’’
‘‘I doubt it. It’s the hunt you like. Besides, the antic ipation is often better than the reality.’’
‘‘You know, for guys that isn’t true.’’
Diane laughed. She had been so tense, all her mus cles were still ready for fight or flight. She relaxed. The release felt good.
The remainder of the meal, Diane asked Mike ques tions about the cave he had arranged for them to visit.
‘‘You say it hasn’t been mapped?’’ That information excited her. She loved cave mapping.
‘‘None of the wild sections have.’’ Mike pushed his plate to the side and tried to talk Diane into dessert.
‘‘You’ve tried to tempt me enough, I think.’’
‘‘We could share.’’
‘‘Definitely not. Who in the caving club has mapping experience?’’ she asked.
‘‘I think most everyone has done a little traversing. If you’re talking serious mapping, you’ve had the most experience. I’ve had some, and there’s Stan. I know several would like to learn.’’
‘‘Maybe that can be one of our goals.’’ Diane pushed her plate back and gave the waitress her credit card as she appeared at the table.
‘‘I’ll get it,’’ said Mike, putting his wallet on the table.
‘‘No. I appreciate the information on the diamonds.’’
‘‘Then let me leave the tip.’’ He fished out several bills and left them under his tea glass. ‘‘If you can get the woman to come in, I’ll have a look at her diamond.’’
‘‘I’m not sure how I’d manage that.’’ Diane signed the receipt the waitress brought back, and stood up, retrieving her purse. ‘‘I do appreciate the information, and I’m sorry about the phone call.’’
Mike’s smile disappeared. ‘‘That was strange. Do you think he’s watching you? I’ll walk you to your car.’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘I’m going to my office first and give Garnett a call. I’ll be fine. I’ve given security a heads-up.’’
They threaded their way through the tables. As they passed the trellis garden, an outdoor part of the res taurant, Diane heard her name called from the dark ness. She turned, peered into the flickering shadows and made out Izzy Wallace. He sat at a small table on the terrace, dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, across from a woman that Diane guessed was his wife. She tried to recall her name, but she couldn’t remember what Frank said it was.
‘‘Izzy. How are you?’’
He stood and introduced his wife, who nodded and patted her mouth with her napkin.
‘‘We just love this restaurant. Such atmosphere,’’ she said.
‘‘We’re very proud of it. You should come in the daytime sometime. They have a wonderful salad and fruit buffet and, of course, the museum is open in the daytime.’’
Izzy kept eying Mike, so Diane introduced him. ‘‘This is Mike Seger, one of our geologists here at the museum.’’
‘‘That was a lot of excitement at Dr. Webber’s house,’’ he said. ‘‘Poor guy nearly wet his pants.’’
‘‘Izzy!’’ cautioned his wife.
‘‘This business has everyone in an uproar,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘The chief’s hanging a lot on the forensics.’’
Diane felt Izzy was trying to draw her into a conver sation about the crime scene. Even if it wasn’t inap propriate, Izzy wasn’t someone she confided in.
‘‘Is he? Well, you two enjoy the rest of your dinner. The chocolate cake is to die for.’’
She left them and walked as far as the entrance with Mike. He continued on out the door, and she used her key to enter the primate room and crossed over to the lobby. She waved at the security guard on duty and went back to her office. Before she called Garnett, she wrote down the conversation with John Doe Caller, as she named him, as accurately as she remembered. When she finished, she dialed Garnett’s number.
‘‘There was a little miscommunication with the sur veillance guys. When they tapped your phone, they didn’t make arrangements for your cell. What did he want?’’
‘‘I wrote it down. I’ll fax it to your office tonight.’’
‘‘That’d be good. I’ll have it first thing. We’ve hired a profiler to come and take a look at the evidence. He used to work for the FBI. Supposed to be real good. He’ll want to talk to you.’’
