SCATTERED GRAVES
A DIANE FALLON FORENSIC INVESTIGATION
BEVERLY CONNOR
AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY
Praise for the Novels of Beverly Connor
‘‘Calls to mind the forensic mysteries of Aaron Elkins and Patricia Cornwell. However, Connor’s sleuth in fuses the mix with her own brand of spice as a pert and brainy scholar in the forensic analysis of bones.... Chases, murder attempts and harrowing rescues add to this fast-paced adventure.’’ —
‘‘Connor combines smart people, fun people, and dan gerous people in a novel hard to put down.’’ —
‘‘Connor grabs the reader with her first sentence and never lets up until the book’s end....The story satisfies both as a mystery and as an entre?e into the fascinating world of bones. . . . Add Connor’s dark humor, and you have a multidimensional mystery that deserves comparison with the best of Patricia Cornwell.’’
—
‘‘In Connor’s latest multifaceted tale, the plot is ser pentine, the solution ingenious, the academic politics vicious... chock-full of engrossing anthropological and archaeological detail.’’ —
‘‘Connor’s books are a smart blend of Patricia Cornwell, Aaron Elkins, and Elizabeth Peters, with some good, deep-South atmosphere to make it authentic.’’
—
‘‘Crisp dialogue, interesting characters, fascinating tid bits of bone lore, and a murderer that eluded me. When I started reading, I couldn’t stop. What more could you ask for? Enjoy.’’
—Virginia Lanier, author of the Bloodhound series
‘‘Beverly Connor has taken the dry bones of scientific inquiry and resurrected them into living, breathing characters. I couldn’t put [it] down until I was finished, even though I wanted to savor the story. I predict that Beverly Connor will become a major player in the field of mystery writing.’’
—David Hunter, author of
‘‘Fans of... Patricia Cornwell will definitely want to read Beverly Connor . . . an author on the verge of superstardom.’’ —
‘‘Connor’s breathtaking ability to dish out fascinating forensic details while maintaining a taut aura of sus pense is a real gift.’’ —
ALSO BY BEVERLY CONNOR
DEAD HUNT
DEAD PAST
DEAD SECRET
DEAD GUILTY
ONE GRAVE TOO MANY
SCATTERED GRAVES
A DIANE FALLON FORENSIC INVESTIGATION
BEVERLY CONNOR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS A special thanks to Anne Bohner, Kristen Weber, and Robbie.
Chapter 1
Diane Fallon studied the Neanderthal child staring at her from his perch. His chubby face didn’t look all that different from his modern
‘‘Will you lookee here...’’
For a fraction of a second Diane was startled, as if the resin figure of the Neanderthal had suddenly come to life. She smiled to herself and turned to see a lanky kid, she guessed about thirteen years old, looking wide-eyed at the Neanderthal exhibit. Behind him stood Sheriff Bruce Canfield of Rose County and an older man she did not know.
The sheriff was holding a cardboard file box, the kind with a lid and handholds on the sides. His widebrimmed sheriff’s hat sat on top of the box. Canfield was a large man in his late fifties with a full head of dyed brown hair. He was wearing his khaki sher iff’s uniform and Diane thought he looked a little sheepish.
She hadn’t heard them come in, with all the noise created by the staff working on the dioramas for the new human-evolution exhibits.
‘‘Hello, Diane,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘Sorry to barge in here like this.’’ He set the box on a nearby table. ‘‘This here’s Arlen Wilson and his grandson Henry. Arlen has a farm out in the county.’’ The sheriff’s booming voice echoed across the room, and several exhibit preparers glanced their way, then back at their work.
Arlen Wilson, the grandfather, was a man who looked to be in his sixties. He was taller than the sheriff by an inch or two. He had a ruddy complexion, white thinning hair, and the beginnings of a beer belly hang ing over his belt. He and his grandson both were dressed in worn jeans, short-sleeved plaid shirts, and baseball caps.
‘‘Nice meeting you,’’ Arlen said. He took off his cap and grinned broadly as he shook her hand.
The teen, Henry, was not as tall as his grandfather. He was close to Diane’s five nine and about as lean as she was. From the broad grin on his boyish face, Diane surmised he was happy to be here in the museum.
‘‘I heard you was doing something to the primate room.’’ Henry turned to his grandfather. ‘‘Lookit how real they are.’’
Diane was afraid Henry was going to reach out and touch them, as she was often tempted to. He looked at each small scene in turn—the child on the boulder, a man making stone tools, a Neanderthal burial. On another pass, his gaze finally saw the little girl in the back of the cave hiding behind a rock, peering out at the other child. Henry grinned.
‘‘She playing hide-and-seek?’’ he asked.
‘‘Maybe,’’ said Diane. ‘‘That’s for you to decide. We’re trying to make each exhibit tell small stories, but you have to supply some of the plot from what you see.’’
