“The pillar of salt she turned into? It’s in the cave?”
Frank stopped and turned so that he could see her face. His eyes twinkled the way they did when he was about to hear the punch line of a joke. Diane smiled at him and pointed to her shoulders. He rolled his eyes and resumed kneading her muscles.
“Yes. It’s actually a rather large column formation that had the good or bad luck, depending on your perspective, to have a vague resemblance to a woman. The image has been enhanced by the creative use of a chisel and sandpaper. Whoever it was did quite a good job, actually-subtle, made good use of the natural form of the stone for her flowing gown.”
“And the cave owner wants the bones back to go with his statue.”
“Yes. Sort of keep the family together.”
“Who’s the other party?” asked Diane.
“A handful of Druids or Wiccans. Marguerite tells me there’s a difference, but I don’t know what it is. They claim the bones are of an ancestor. Of course, given that they found a descendent of nine-thousand-year-old Cheddar Man, that very well could be true.”
“Cheddar Man was found somewhere near you, wasn’t he?”
“Close. In Somerset, actually, in Cheddar. Somerset also has a cave with a statue of sorts, only this one is of a witch who was turned to stone by a monk. There are bones associated with it too-which are owned by a museum in Somerset. The Somerset cave owner is trying to get those bones back. Probably where the Moonhater Cave owner got the idea. Caves with stories are rather popular here.”
“So he thinks the Druids-or Wiccans-or this other cave owner might try to steal them?”
“He’s afraid they might. The Wiccans involved are some kind of outcast coven, or whatever, it seems. They threatened John with black magic-something that’s prohibited by the Wiccan home office, apparently. Anyway, John feels his bones would be safer if they were examined in the U.S., and I told him I’d help. So. .”
“Sure, I’ll help.”
“Great! John will be delighted. I thought you would, so I took the liberty of telling him to go ahead and send them. They are already on their way. John said he’ll call. He wants to talk with you before you actually do the analysis.”
“Does he know if the bones were actually found in the cave?”
“No.”
“I’ll need samples of soil from the cave.”
There was a pause for a moment. “A sample will be sent along to you shortly with the bones.”
“Why does it sound like there is a story there?”
“Because I collected the sample. Marguerite and I went on a tour of the Moonhater Cave. And I surreptitiously collected a sample from the floor. Marguerite said I was disgraceful. The owner has some strict rules about carrying things out of the cave, but she provided the distraction-quite shameful, really.”
Diane laughed out loud at the image of the very proper Gregory and his wife on a mission, stealing dirt from a cave. “How did Mr. Rose acquire the bones?”
“Bought them from a family who had them in a box in their basement for about a hundred years-that is, they were in the basement for a hundred years.”
“Was the story of the provenance written on the box?”
“No. It was handed down. So you see, the whole thing’s rather iffy. John is actually glad now that the bones have no provenance. It strengthens his case-not that he really has anything to worry about.”
“Gregory, it sounds interesting. I’ll look forward to examining them.”
“I think so. Thanks for helping out. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were engaged in. Oh, how is David?”
Gregory liked to keep track of his former employees. Especially the ones who worked for him at the time of the massacre that killed Diane’s daughter and many of their friends at the mission in South America.
“He’s doing fine. You know he’s doing crime scene work for me.”
“He’s okay with that?”
“Yes. We’ve put several criminals in jail, and David has found that satisfying.”
“That’s good. I think about all of you a lot. And you and your fellow, Frank, are fine?”
“Yes. We’re going on a vacation tomorrow for two whole weeks.” Diane put a hand over Frank’s as she talked about him.
“Good for you! He must be something special to be able to pull you away from work.”
“He is indeed.” Diane squeezed his hand. “Good to hear from you, Gregory. Take care.”
Diane hung up the phone and turned toward Frank. “That was Gregory.”
“I gathered. Your side of the conversation was interesting. Sounds like you have another body from a cave to look at? A witch?” Frank grinned at her.
“That’s what he said-a witch with a story.” Diane related Gregory’s side of the conversation to Frank’s chuckles.
“Pillar of salt. It sounds rather biblical. You know,” he said without losing his smile, “it seems to me that a lot of people die in caves.”
Diane kissed him rather than go where that conversation was leading.
The next two weeks passed by in a relaxing blur of fishing, hiking and cuddling up with Frank. Diane was surprised at how easy it had been to let go and just enjoy being on vacation. Frank seemed to have just as easily been able to let go of his job. That was a good sign, she’d thought several times. They enjoyed each other’s company. Only occasionally did she find her mind wandering to Caver Doe and the witch bones-she couldn’t deny she was intrigued. Unfortunately Diane had to cut her vacation short by one day. Andie, Diane’s office manager at the museum, had called and told her that Helen Egan, the grandmother of Diane’s friend and mentor, had died and that the funeral was scheduled for Sunday.
Diane arrived back at her office on Sunday morning rested and happy that the museum was still standing and the crime lab was not overflowing with unprocessed evidence. In fact, it looked as if they didn’t need her. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. She smiled and sifted through the stack of clippings Andie had cut from the papers while she was gone. She found a two-week-old front-page story about the mummified caver they had found, along with everything Diane had told the deputy. She noted with satisfaction that they didn’t have any pictures.
Yesterday’s paper lay on top of her cluttered walnut desk. The headline across the front page read:
Vanessa Van Ross was the most prominent member of the museum board, RiverTrail’s most generous contributor, and Diane’s mentor. Diane stared at the photograph of the young Helen Elizabeth, wondering if she had any idea she would go on to live a hundred years after it was taken.
Andie Layne, Diane’s administrative assistant, came bop-ping in with two cups of steaming hot tea, put one in front of Diane and sat down in the chair opposite her desk.
“Good to have you back. You and Frank get a lot of fishing in?”
“Sure did. He taught me how to fish for trout. A lot more active than sitting in a boat with a pole. We had a great time.”
“So you think you guys will ever get married?”
Diane took another drink of tea, hoping Andie didn’t see the grimace on her face. Life with Frank would be great, and he had certainly hinted that they should marry, but Diane was convinced that they got along so well because they saw each other so little. They were never in each other’s pockets, tripping over each other’s feet, or irritated by each other’s idiosyncracies.
“Things are going well the way they are,” muttered Diane.
Fortunately, Andie didn’t linger on the subject, but went dancing on to the next thing on her mind.
“Neva told me about the caving trip you guys had. Wow. Exciting.” She pointed to the newspaper clipping peeking out of the folder, sipped her tea and swung her legs back and forth. “That mummy you found-you think it was an accident or murder?” Her thick auburn curls shook as she talked in her animated way, and she looked
