he asked.
‘‘I really don’t know. It arrived in this morning’s
mail. This came with it.’’ She gave him the note. ‘‘That’s it? ‘Bitch’? Do you know what it means?’’
he asked.
‘‘No. I haven’t a clue. Not much of one anyway. I
was attacked here in the museum last night by the
same man who attacked me in the hospital. He called
me a bitch on both occasions.’’ Diane told him about
the attacks, about his anger, and what he had said—
about her being a dirty dealer.
‘‘You think it may be related to the artifacts?’’ he
asked. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me yesterday when I was
here about the first attack and what he said?’’ That’s the trouble when you decide to withhold
important information from the FBI. They want to
know why and you need a really good explanation.
Diane took a deep breath.
‘‘I wasn’t sure it was related. I had just been attacked in my home; that’s why I was at the hospital.
Well, not exactly attacked. Let me start from the
beginning.’’
Diane told him about waking up in the wee hours
of the morning, about falling in the blood.
‘‘The assault at the hospital was violent, and whatever happened in my apartment was extremely
violent—they seemed at the time to be related. The
artifacts—well, that wasn’t violent. At least not at our
end, though something may have been going on at
Golden Antiquities. When I woke up yesterday morning I was drugged and confused and it took a while for
the barbiturates to get out of my system. Apparently
someone had put sleeping pills in both my and, I suspect, Ross’ drinks when we dined together. That’s why
he fell asleep at the wheel. At least that’s the hypothesis until he gets some tests back. But, that’s why I
slept through a violent murder in my living room.’’ ‘‘Okay, I’ll admit, that’s not a bad answer. Ross was
drugged too? Why?’’ Jacobs asked.
‘‘I think someone wanted to make me sleep soundly.
But rather than keep up with who got which drink,
they just doctored both of ours,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I just
discovered that the waiter who filled our drinks didn’t
show up for work yesterday.’’
‘‘That’s cold. Ross could have died,’’ said Jacobs.
He shook his head. ‘‘There was only blood, no body
in your apartment?’’
Diane nodded. ‘‘The blood trail indicated the body
was dragged outside and put in the trunk of my car.’’ Jacobs cocked an eyebrow. ‘‘They didn’t arrest
you?’’
‘‘The DA wanted to. The barbiturates in my tox
screen gave me an alibi of sorts. I’m not out of the
woods.’’
‘‘No one saw anything?’’ he asked.
‘‘Or heard anything, which is really strange. I can
hardly walk across the floor without my downstairs
