So, Diane thought, Peeks told at least Curtis he was going to keep them waiting at the gate. That wasn’t a surprise.
‘‘We have told you all we know. Now I’m going to my client.’’ Colin turned and walked off.
‘‘Let him go,’’ said Janice. ‘‘He’s right.’’
‘‘The hell he is,’’ said Curtis, but he didn’t try to follow. Instead he turned his attention to Diane.
She assumed that Colin figured that anyone who could scale a wall could take care of herself. ‘‘Do you have anything to add?’’ he said.
‘‘We came here to look at the house. I don’t sup pose you’d let me do that,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Hell no,’’ he said. ‘‘That court order isn’t any good now. There’s been another murder.’’
‘‘I figured as much,’’ said Diane.
Diane could see that Curtis was in a personal quan dary. He really wanted to do something to her. But at the moment all he could manage was harsh words, and not many of those. He looked as if he would like to smack her right there.
The ambulance arrived at that moment. It came up the drive and halted a few feet from them. Diane was relieved. That gave Curtis something else to think about.
‘‘You know where to find me,’’ she said and turned and walked off as Colin had.
She half expected him to run after her, tackle her to the ground, and handcuff her, but she heard no footfalls. She walked down the drive and out the gate. It was with some relief that she climbed into her SUV and drove off.
She didn’t drive far. At the first opportunity she pulled off the road and took out her cell phone. She sent a text message to Detective Janice Warrick and asked her to take pictures of the house and surfaces. She didn’t know if Janice had a camera with her, but if she did, perhaps she would at least get some views of the interior of the house. Diane didn’t know now how long she would have to wait to get inside the house.
She drove back to the museum and parked in her spot. As she got out and started toward the door, a small Asian woman, about fifty years old, dressed in a pantsuit, with a camera around her neck, ap proached her.
‘‘Are you Dr. Diane Fallon?’’ she asked, smiling.
‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane, smiling back.
The woman handed Diane a sheaf of folded papers. ‘‘You’ve been served. Have a good day.’’
Chapter 19
Diane opened the paper.
She hurried up the steps and went to her office be fore any other strange person caught sight of her.
‘‘You’ve gotten a lot of calls,’’ said Andie as she handed Diane her mail. ‘‘Reporters are calling every five minutes. They want to know about the woodchipper murderer.
‘‘Refer them to Sheriff Canfield,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I do, but they want to talk with you,’’ said Andie.
‘‘Too bad,’’ said Diane.
‘‘They also want to ask about Delamore,’’ said Andie.
‘‘Tell them no comment,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Vanessa phoned. She’s back. I told her about the Neanderthal bones that Kendel bought. I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t help it. It’s just so cool.’’
Diane smiled as she went through the mail. ‘‘That’s fine. Was she excited?’’
‘‘Oh, yes. She’s already planning the opening party for the exhibit.’’
‘‘It’s going to be a while. We have a long way to go,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Anything else?’’
‘‘You got several calls from someone who wouldn’t leave a name, some woman.’’
‘‘Probably the process server who just gave me this.’’ Diane waved the papers.
‘‘Process server? Are we getting sued?’’ Andie’s eyes went round and worried.
‘‘No. Rosewood is. Ms. Jeffcote-Smith, the newly hired forensic anthropologist, was fired. Her lawyer wants me as a witness,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Oh, well, as long as it’s not us,’’ said Andie. To her, anything associated with the museum was ‘‘us.’’ Diane appreciated her loyalty.
Andie handed Diane several pink pieces of paper. ‘‘Here are the other messages. Nothing urgent. Some one wants to donate his collection of fossil coprolites. I took his name.’’
‘‘That’s redundant,’’ said Diane.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Fossil coprolites. Coprolites are fossils,’’ said Diane, opening a letter from the president of the local Rotary Club. They wanted her to speak next month at their meeting.
