Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) (18 page)

“What questions is he asking?”

“Where I grew up and went to school. Things like that. I guess my secret admirer wants to make sure he has the right person before he gets a little more personal.”

“Be careful,” I said. “There are a lot of scammers who take advantage of kindhearted people like you. Keep me informed and don’t go making any rendezvous with this cyber admirer.”

But Candy didn’t hear a word I said. I left her to her email and decided to take a walk to clear my pounding head. For a millisecond I considered asking Peter for the Feverfew, but I called Elizabeth’s chiropractor instead. He couldn’t fit me in until after Christmas.

I walked through the hall sorting all the information in my overloaded brain. Too many questions. Too many secrets. Too many mysteries around those who worked in our little Archaeology Department.

Cherilyn scurried from the student lounge. We locked eyes, then she hurried past me. Not even a hello? My concern for Danny intensified. The lockers in the student lounge caught my eye as I passed. I doubled back, reached into my bag, and found the paper with the numbers on it. 328. I was on the third floor. But why would a student’s locker combination be in my bag?

I was being paranoid. It probably belonged to Hattie or Matt. I started to walk away, but halted. Couldn’t Cherilyn have dropped it in by accident? She was in the studio where I left my Coach bag the day of Henderson’s murder. Maybe in all the confusion, she lost it. Curiosity nagged. If the combination opened Cherilyn’s locker, then I owed it to Danny to find out if she was hiding any more secrets.

Or blackmail photos.

Entering the room filled with chatty students, I avoided eye contact and walked to locker 328 as if I belonged, though it was obvious I didn’t. The air filled with the stench of burnt popcorn. I held my breath as I turned the lock around three times to the right … 32, and two times left … 24, and right again … 36. I hesitated, then pulled at the knob. It didn’t budge. I tried two more times, but it was useless. This was the wrong locker. Matt’s phone played some obnoxious rock tune. I answered.

“How did you get this number?” The helpless voice on the other end surprised me, and I rushed from the lounge toward the elevator. “Sure, I can be there in twenty minutes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

4:40 p.m.

MY HANDS GRIPPED THE steering wheel as I followed the curve down the mile-long driveway. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but the professionally manicured lawns and wooded areas of the secluded property begged for attention. A three-story mansion came into view. My mouth hung open. Was that a putting green in the distance? Breathtaking didn’t begin to describe the fortress sprawled on property as big as our subdivision. The place smelled of old money. Henderson couldn’t have gotten rich on a professor’s salary.

Jack had downplayed the enormity of Henderson’s home. I had never made it to the estate all the years we worked together, and now regretted it. Parking in the enormous circle drive, I half expected a valet to park Matt’s Jeep. By the time I climbed the twenty-two steps in heels and reached the oversized double doors, my legs wobbled like Jell-O. As intimidating as Henderson was in life, his home was twice as overwhelming. Why had Natasha summoned me here? Surely it wasn’t for tea and crumpets.

Bypassing the giant knocker, I reached for the doorbell. It chimed an unfamiliar melody. I noticed the security cameras as a male voice asked my name.

“Mari Duggins. I’m here to see Natasha.” The door buzzed open. Standing in the expansive hallway, I felt like Maria waiting to meet Captain von Trapp. Natasha sashayed down the grandiose staircase in black leather pants and a leopard-pattern silk shirt. Like the sleek animal print she wore, she looked graceful and dangerous. I squeezed her extended hand.

“Thank you so much for coming.” With a tissue, she dabbed her eyes. Striking hazel eyes with a sunburst of blue around the pupils any woman would covet. But I wasn’t envious of Natasha Whetherby. Not now. I knew all too well the sadness those eyes possessed.

“Let’s go into Daddy’s trophy room. We can talk in there.”

Our heels alternated echoes on the expansive marble hallway, my heart completing the rhythm like a hyperactive, snare drummer. I followed her elegant stride to the famous trophy room Jack described. The room where Henderson housed the ancient antiquities he’d collected over the decades.

She stopped at the end of the hall, punched in a code on the lock, and pushed it open. Dark and silent, the room was like a tomb, oppressive as well as impressive. Walking in the room, I soaked in the silence and waited for the unveiling. When Natasha flicked on the light, I was flooded with awe.

Feelings of unworthiness and privilege tiptoed through my mind as I beheld Henderson’s treasures, and for a moment caught a glimpse of heaven. Ornately carved bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. In various corners of the octagon-shaped room stood suits of armor, large ceramic jugs, spears, and stone statues more impressive than if they had been in a museum.

“Are these all authentic?” My hand traced what appeared to be a tribal mask from the Incas.

“Of course. Please don’t touch anything. These items are priceless.” Natasha snapped, then softened her tone. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? It’s just that
woman.
Daddy gave it to her. All of it. I could
kill
her.” The guttural utterance that escaped Natasha’s perfectly shaped mouth made me shiver.

I placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder, drinking in the exquisite Tang Dynasty horse behind her. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

“Daddy’s ex-wife. At least I thought she was his ex-wife. She claims they never divorced. The lawyer never filed the papers.”

“Do you mean Susan Kipling?”

“Don’t you mean Susan Henderson? That fortune-seeking piranha sunk her teeth into Daddy’s money. Now she has it all. All except the mansion and everything in it. Thank goodness Daddy had sense enough to leave it to me.” Tears streaked her rosy cheeks, but I couldn’t tell if they were because of her father’s death or her lost inheritance. “She even has his body.”

“What?”

“Apparently Daddy never changed his will before he died. She has power of attorney or whatever it is you need to take a body from the morgue. She’s taken his money and is having him cremated. I can’t even give him a proper burial.”

For a brief second, relief washed over me. No graveside funeral.

Natasha’s sobs perforated my insensitivity. “I guess I should be happy she’s giving me his remains for the memorial service.”

“I know it’s not much of a consolation, but at least you have this mansion to remember your father by. And this extraordinary collection.” Which was more than my father left me.

“I was supposed to get it all. I’m his family, not
her
. And now someone’s stealing my Daddy’s artifacts. I’d suspect Susan, but she hasn’t been to the house in months.”

But Jack had. I rubbed my temples. He’d only been in town for a couple of days. Didn’t have time for more than dinner with the kids, but he mentioned he visited Henderson to finalize plans for the excavation in the Valley of the Queens.

Natasha walked to the computer in the corner of the room. “Everything here is catalogued like it would be in a museum. There’s the history of each item including the date and place of purchase. I went through my father’s files this afternoon and several pieces are missing.”

Her hands shook as she printed the information on twelve different artifacts ranging from an Egyptian amulet to an ancient Roman dagger. All small enough to be smuggled out without being missed.

“Have you reported this to the police?”

“No!”

The tension in my shoulders loosened.

“They’ve already botched my father’s murder investigation. I can’t trust them with this information.” Her harsh eyes softened. “I hoped you could help me find out what happened to them.” More tears.

I ushered her to the simple horseshoe wooden chair, then halted, noticing the rich color and harmonious proportions, the craftsmanship of how the wood joined. I had never seen one in person, but this had to be dated between the year 1400 and 1600 from the Ming Dynasty. “Me?” I led her away from the chair. “How could I possibly help?”

“I don’t know. You’re smart. You’re an archaeologist. Isn’t that like a detective, using the clues left behind to discover the truth? That’s what Daddy always said.”

She had a point, though far stretching.

Natasha dabbed her eyes. “I don’t have anywhere else to turn. Plus Daddy liked you. He trusted you and Jack.”

“I could try.” If Jack’s missing artifact was connected to Henderson’s missing collection, I couldn’t afford police involvement. “When did you last see the missing pieces?”

“I can’t remember. I don’t come here often. Daddy always has the door locked.”

“Has any of the staff been in this room since your father’s passing?”

“No one has the code except me and Daddy. He changed it every week. He keeps the code in one of his safe deposit boxes at the bank.”

“Who had access to that box?”

“Me, until he married Susan, then I was taken off the list. I’m not sure who can access it now. He could have put me back on the list when he thought he divorced Susan.”

“I’m no detective, but maybe you should start by checking the safe deposit box to make sure the code is still there. Then talk with the staff and your father’s business acquaintances. It might not have been hard for someone to get the code if they entered the room with him. Make a list of anyone who might’ve held a grudge against your father or came to this home in the last month.” I glanced at the cameras in the room. “What security company do you use?”

“We have a private company with a monitoring station on the grounds.”

“Have you notified them about the theft?”

“No. I don’t want them going to the police.”

“Good. Do you think you can collect the footage from Monday to about a month ago?”

“Sure.”

“When you visit the bank it wouldn’t hurt to check his financial records to see if large sums of money are missing.” Where was all this coming from? Guess watching all those detective shows to pass the lonely nights at home was paying off.

“I guess I could do that this afternoon.”

“Natasha?”

She looked at me with doe eyes. For her sake, I hoped they were genuine.

“Is there anyone you can think of that would want to steal from your father or have him killed?”

She sniffled. “Daddy was rich and powerful. Of course he had enemies. You don’t get to where he was in life making friends.”

“See if you can compile a list of the most obvious.” Though I had no clue what I would do with such a list. “And call me when you have those security tapes.”

Natasha escorted me to the front door. “Mari, could you do me another favor?”

I sucked in a long, contemplative breath. So many immediate crises banged in my head, I thought I might implode. Exhaling, I considered Natasha. Despite her well-groomed exterior, I suspected her insides were falling apart, like mine. “Sure.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

5:14 p.m.

LOOSE GRAVEL FROM THE worn pavement kicked up under my tires as I followed Natasha’s directions down the deserted road. Shivers skidded over my spine. I sped up. Why, oh, why had I agreed to run her creepy errand?

A quarter past five o’clock and the sun began its descent through a dimming, but clear sky. Almost thirty minutes until sundown. All I had to do was get in and out. No way I’d be caught dead in Memorial Groves Cemetery after dark.

I made my way through death row, the sea of headstones heckling. My heart banged against my ribs, fighting to escape like a prisoner facing the death penalty. I tried to focus on the winding road, but the cold granite stones put me in a trance. Some grandiose, others simple, hardly noticeable. Each one representing a life. A death. Here today. Forgotten tomorrow. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Just like Henderson. Just like my mother. Someday, just like me.

I parked my car outside of the Columbarium, which housed cremated remains. The colossal neoclassic structure, with its symmetry and columns, begged for attention. Just like the lives within. Ascending the stairs, I held my breath, pausing with each exhale. I opened the door to an enormous room lined with niches. Row after row of square holes with name plaques. Some adorned with flowers and photos of the deceased. Some neglected. Name after name. Life after life. The room began to spin. I stumbled toward the marble bench and sucked in air. Time stood still like the lives before me. I couldn’t do this. Carry Henderson home in a jar? What was I thinking? I stood to leave.

“So you’re the lucky lady.”

“Excuse me?” I turned around and stared into the eyes of a young Charles Manson. I jumped backward and stumbled against the niches, knocking plastic flowers to the ground.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The twenty-something, crazy-haired hippie in dirty jeans grinned.

Okay, so he wasn’t actually Charles Manson. He just resembled the lunatic cult murderer. “I’m a little jumpy. I don’t like cemeteries.” I gathered the flowers and shoved them randomly in the niches.

“No one’s gonna bother you here. They’re all dead.” He let out a cackle that shot the heebie jeebies through me. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You’re here to pick up Henderson, right?”

I nodded.

“His daughter told me she was sending someone over. Though if I had known she’d be as pretty as you, I would have dressed up.” He ran his dirty fingers through his shaggy hair. “I’ve got him downstairs. You wanna come see? Old lady Sanchez just got out of the incinerator. Wanna watch me pick through her bones? Once I found a gold tooth. The family never asked for it so I melted it.” He opened his mouth and yanked out a canine gold tooth. “See, it’s removable. A little bling to impress the ladies.”

Right before you
eat
them?

“Where are my manners? I’m Kevin Kincaid.” He held out his dirty hand and waited, then rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Sorry, I know it’s a little creepy shaking hands with a guy who sees dead people. Get it.” He cocked his head to the side in a trance-like stare and held his hands out like a zombie. “I see dead people. Get it?
The Sixth Sense
?”