of the small sofas. Both were reading paperbacks.
“Oh, hi,” said Paloma.
Diane greeted them, pulled up a chair, and sat down. “How is your mother?” she asked.
“Much better. She’s speaking more easily. We are waiting for the next visiting time,” Paloma said.
“No more one-word sentences to decipher,” said Mark.
“That’s good. Have you spoken with Jonas, by any chance?” asked Diane.
“Yes, he visited with Mother late yesterday. She thinks someone may be buried in her yard. Maybe the woman who lived there-she wasn’t real clear,” said Paloma. “I was afraid she may be, well, you know.”
“Frankly, we didn’t give it much credibility,” said Mark, “but Jonas seemed to agree with her.” He cocked an eyebrow at Diane. “Is it possible?”
“Possible, yes,” said Diane. She explained to them about the research project she would like to do in Marcella’s yard.
“Mother would love it,” said Paloma. “Look, why don’t you go in at the next visiting time?”
“I don’t want to take away from your time,” said Diane.
“That’s all right. She’ll enjoy your visit. Mark and I can go down for some breakfast,” she said.
Diane agreed and went in at the next scheduled visiting period. Marcella looked considerably better than she had the last time Diane saw her. She had more color in her face and her eyes looked brighter. She was sitting up, sipping broth through a straw. She smiled when Diane entered the room.
“I want to thank you for your kindness to Paloma and Mark,” she said. Her voice was weak, but Mark was right; her sentence structure was much better.
“I’m glad to be able to help,” said Diane. “I came to ask your permission to carry out an experiment in your yard.”
Marcella smiled. She clearly liked the idea of experiments.
“That sounds delightful,” she said. She took a sip of broth. “Jonas told me you found the sherds I was concerned about,” she said.
“We did. That is what spurred the desire for the experiment,” said Diane.
“Do you think someone is buried in my backyard? The note… I wondered if whoever wrote it was, well, murdered. I think there was some deranged artist living in the house and he may have done away with someone. What do you think?”
“I think I’d like to take a look in your yard. We are always looking for better ways to detect buried human remains. David has wanted for a long time to have a place to take soil samples to run a chemical analysis to see if he can pinpoint locations where remains have been buried. He wants to try other methods too-resistivity, seismic- and make comparisons. I wanted to ask your permission,” said Diane.
“Yes, I think that is an intriguing idea. We can perhaps solve my little mystery and get some scientific information to boot. A good plan,” she said.
“Tell me,” said Diane. “How old do you think the writing on the desk is?”
“The desk was under a lot of junk that hadn’t been moved in a very long time. I had an antiques dealer look at it. He thinks it is a handmade desk from the 1930s. If it helps, it had a buffalo nickel dated 1920 in one of the drawers. It was worth two dollars.” She grinned and took a sip from a cup of coffee on her tray. “I hadn’t finished looking into the pedigree of the house. I went to the historical society and spoke with a few old-timers who worked there. They weren’t much help remembering, but they gave me a computer printout of a picture of the front of the house from about fifty years ago. It hasn’t changed much. I was going to the courthouse next.”
“I have someone searching the courthouse records,” said Diane. “Tell me about the three paintings on the living room wall.”
“That was the most fun thing. I was knocking out a wall upstairs, and there they were. Very nice, I thought. They seemed like they fit the house. I hung them in the living room,” she said.
“Were they signed?” Diane asked.
“In a way. There is a picture of a bird in the lower-right corner of each one. A black-and-white bird. I thought the artist might have a bird name, like Finch, Crow, Sparrow-there are any number of surnames that are birds. That’s a thought,” said Marcella. “Perhaps there is something in the paintings that we can date.”
“The thieves took the paintings,” said Diane.
“Why would anyone steal those old paintings?”
“That’s one of the things we hope to find out. They also took your pottery that was in the living room hutch.”
“I don’t know what the paintings were worth, but they are going to be sorely disappointed in the pots. They aren’t real artifacts,” said Marcella.
Marcella pronounced each word with a short pause. Diane noticed her voice was fading quickly.
“What did you make of the subjects in the paintings?” asked Diane.
“One was a young woman, another was a young man-actually, they looked more like teenagers. The background of both was woods. Very wistful faces. The third was a woman, perhaps in her thirties, sitting in a chair.”
Marcella stopped talking and her eyes suddenly grew wide. Diane was alarmed that she might be feeling ill.
“Well, why didn’t I notice it before?” Marcella said. “She was sitting on a chair at a desk-the desk I found in the potter’s shed.”
Chapter 28
Marcella leaned back and put a hand to her head and took a deep breath.
“I’m afraid I’m tiring you out,” said Diane.
“It’s this damn headache that comes and goes that tires me out,” she said. “It’s good for me to think. I need to be able to think.”
“Your thinking is just fine. Thank you for allowing us to experiment in your yard.”
“My pleasure,” whispered Marcella. “Experimenting is good. I have always liked the University of Georgia motto-do you know what it is?”
“No, I confess I don’t.” Diane grinned. “I don’t even know the motto of Bartrum University.”
“Georgia’s is
Diane’s Latin was terrible, unless it had something to do with anatomy. She merely raised her eyebrows.
“To teach, to serve, and to inquire into the nature of things. I love inquiring into the nature of things.”
“That is a nice motto,” said Diane. She squeezed Marcella’s hand and started to leave.
“Bartrum’s,” whispered Marcella, “is
“I’ll remember that,” Diane said.
Paloma and Mark were gone when Diane came out of the ICU. Diane guessed they were in the cafeteria. She punched the elevator button and waited. The doors opened and Lynn Webber was standing in front of her, managing to look stylish in her bright white lab coat. Diane got on the elevator.
“Were you looking for me?” asked Lynn.
“No,” said Diane. “I have a friend in ICU.”
Lynn looked very uncomfortable and it was all Diane could do not to smile.
“You do? I’m so sorry. I hope they are doing well,” Lynn said.
“She is improving,” said Diane.
“I read an archaeologist was attacked in her home. Is that your friend?” she asked.
“Yes, it is. Marcella Payden,” Diane said.
Lynn was standing in front of the elevator buttons. She made no move to push them.
“I’m going to the lobby,” said Diane. She pointed to the elevator buttons in front of Lynn.
“Well, hell,” said Lynn. “Have you read the newspaper or not?”
