even if you brought the perpetrators to justice, it wouldn’t balance the scales, because you hadn’t prevented those victims from suffering; you hadn’t stopped the killing. David put his arms around her and hugged her. The others looked up, a little alarmed, as if she might be hurt.
“Are you all right?” said Neva.
“Sure,” said Diane. “I’m just taking a break.” She tried a weak smile.
She greeted Detective Hanks as David put a cold bottle of water in her hand.
“Have you been here very long?” she said.
“Not too long. I’ve been working with Sheriff Braden. Thanks for the introduction. He’s been easy to work with,” he said.
“That’s good. The county sheriffs don’t always welcome Rosewood detectives,” she said, grinning at him. “I assume my crew has been bringing you up to speed on what we’re doing?”
“I’ve been watching you on the laptop. I’m not sure it’s helped very much. Kind of like watching paint dry, if you know what I mean. No offense. Mike’s been telling me about…” He looked at Mike. “What was that word?”
“Inceptisol,” said Mike.
Mike grinned and winked at Diane after Hanks turned back around to her. He had probably been purposely pedantic-something Mike enjoyed doing to unsuspecting people.
“Yeah, which, as I understand it, is dirt-that, soil horizons, and nice rocks. Like I said, it’s like the Discovery Channel around you guys.” He took Diane’s arm.“I thought I’d fill you in on what Braden told me.”
Chapter 39
They sat on Marcella’s front porch. Diane took her helmet off and set it down by her feet. She hugged her brown nylon jacket around her against the cool breeze. Hanks gestured toward the helmet.
“Neva and Mike tell me that all of you explore caves together,” he said.
Diane nodded. “We do, as often as we can. I particularly enjoy mapping unexplored caves,” she said.
“Is that dangerous?” he asked, staring at her hard hat.
“It can be,” she said, “but we practice safety.”
Hanks nodded, looking back at Diane. “Mike talks a lot about rocks,” he said. “Tell me, do women really dig that?”
“They do, but I think it’s the whole package they like,” said Diane, smiling. “Mike is one of our more popular continuing education instructors.”
He shook his head and Diane waited for him to get around to what he wanted to talk about. A lot of Detective Hanks’ small talk revolved around trying to understand the people around him. It was as if he found Diane and her crew a complete mystery. Of course, nearly everyone she knew, including Frank, found her love of caving a mystery.
“Sheriff Braden is a stand-up guy,” Hanks said. “He was surprised about the overlap in our cases. Wasn’t sure what to make of it either. He spoke with Lassiter’s friends, but didn’t discover much. She lived alone and had no family. Never married, as far as they knew. She worked as a secretary all her life in a family-owned office supply company. She retired eleven years ago and has done volunteer work since. The woman lived a very quiet life. She was known as an expert knitter and taught a few classes at a local knitting shop. This is not the resume of a woman who would have enemies. It looks like a burglary-homicide.”
“What was taken?” asked Diane.
“Her purse and jewelry box for sure. Not valuable items. Braden thinks she may have been killed because she wouldn’t reveal the whereabouts of valuables they may have thought she had. I asked him about artwork. He said he didn’t know of anything missing. We went to her apartment together. There was nothing that we could see missing from the walls or from display cabinets. Her neighbors said she didn’t have anything like pottery in her house. She liked porcelain figurines of fancy-dressed ladies that she bought from TV shopping networks, but all of them seemed to be there and, frankly, I can’t see anyone stealing them. The boot print is all we have that connects these two crimes, and neither of us have any answers. The sheriff hasn’t found any witnesses in her neighborhood who might have seen anyone near her home.”
“What about the people at the Rosewood historical society?” asked Diane.
“Miss Lassiter did secretarial work for them three days a week. She would also come in just to visit on days she wasn’t working,” he said. “They knew who her friends and neighbors were and a little bit about all of them. She was a woman who offended no one and enjoyed her retirement.”
“Had Marcella spoken with her?” asked Diane.
“Yes. I talked with Dr. Payden before I came here. She asked the people at the historical society, Miss Lassiter included, about the owners of this house here in Pigeon Ridge. She particularly wanted to know whether there was an owner who was an artist. Dr. Payden had a list with her of previous owners that she had gotten from the courthouse records. She said Miss Lassiter had a vague recollection of the house, but couldn’t tell her anything.”
“Maybe the attack on Marcella and Miss Lassiter’s murder had nothing to do with what happened here years ago. Maybe someone who visited the historical society targeted both of them for some other reason. Perhaps their attackers thought they had money,” said Diane.
“Maybe. But as you pointed out, stealing pottery and old paintings wouldn’t seem to be a fast track to riches. Miss Lassiter’s friends said she didn’t have any valuable jewelry. They seem to be the most stupid thieves I’ve run across. It doesn’t look like they are getting anything of real value.”
“Did Neva or Marcella give you the list of previous owners of the house?” asked Diane.
“Neva did.” Hanks took out his notebook and flipped through the pages. “Original owner was Edith Farragut, then Maude Saxon, Kenneth Northcutt, Jonathan Ellison, and Marcella Payden. From the dates we estimate for the artist, Edith Farragut would have owned the house at that time. The only specifics I have about her are that she built the house at the turn of the last century and maintained ownership until 1959, when it was sold to Maude Saxon. I’ve got someone looking for a death certificate for Ms. Farragut, and census records to see who might have lived here with her. I think she would have been too old in the 1950s to be the Mad Potter. This would have been a younger person’s occupation. At any rate, she certainly would be dead now if she was an adult buying property at the turn of the century,” he said. “She’d be well over a hundred and… What?” he said, staring at Diane.
“How absentminded of me,” Diane said. “I have a friend who might have known the family. The paramedic said his grandmother referred to the woman who owned the house as being rich. Wealthy people in a small town like this would know one another,” said Diane.
“Who are you talking about?” asked Hanks.
“Do you know Vanessa Van Ross?” she said.
“The mayor’s mother?” he said. “You know her?”
“She’s the real power behind the museum,” said Diane.
“And here I was given to understand that you are the queen of the museum,” he said.
“Not at all. I’m just the viceroy,” she said, smiling. “What made me think of Vanessa was your mentioning age. You know Vanessa’s family is filled with centenarians and su percentenarians, don’t you?” she said.
“Actually, no I didn’t,” he said. “What’s a supercentenarian?”
“Someone more than a hundred and ten. Vanessa’s grandmother died not long ago at the age of a hundred and fourteen,” said Diane. “Her mother lives with her and is approaching a hundred. Vanessa is around the age of the paramedic’s grandmother. Between her and her mother, she might know something.”
“Is her mother, ah, clearheaded?” he asked.
“Sharp as a tack,” said Diane. “So was her grandmother up until the time of her death.”
Diane fished her phone out of her jacket pocket and selected Vanessa’s number. The call was answered by the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Hartefeld, this is Diane Fallon. May I speak with Vanessa?” she asked.
“Of course, Dr. Fallon. Anything to get her out of my hair this afternoon,” she said.
Diane heard Vanessa in the background. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harte, give me the phone. And you are going to help me with these photographs? Hello, Diane, dear. How are you?”
