Dust to Dust Read Online Free PDF

this Detective Hanks,” said Whit, nodding in the direction the ambulance had taken him. “Do you know him?”
    “Not really. He was one of the hires during the previous Rosewood administration. He was cleared of any involvement in the misdeeds involving the mayor or the chief of police, but I think he feels he has to be overly competent in order not to be suspect. You know how it is in Rosewood these days. After the destruction left by the mayor and his gang, everyone is a little on edge.”
    Whit grinned happily, nodding his head in agreement about the state of anxiety in Rosewood. Like all those who lived outside the city limits of Rosewood itself, Whit was a little smug and self-righteous about the recent Rosewood corruption. After all, Rose County residents weren’t the ones who voted the mayor and his cronies into office. That was Rosewood City folks’ doing.
    He took his leave, wishing Diane luck as he got in his jeep and drove away. She wanted to yell after him that she hadn’t voted for the scoundrel either. He was no friend of hers, and she had the scars to prove it. Instead, she just waved.
    Diane proceeded toward the house. At the edge of the front yard there was a picket fence that might have been white at one point in its life but was now weathered to a dusty gray. In the middle of the fence was a trellised archway with no gate. There were remnants of dead vine intertwined in the wood slats, signs of recent attempts by Marcella at clearing the growth.
    Behind the fence, the front yard contained more cement ornaments—birdbaths, more broken statuary. From the fresh dirt stains on most of it, Diane guessed that Marcella had dug the pieces up from the yard. Must be interesting for an archaeologist to have things to dig up in her own yard.
    Diane climbed the steps to the newly refurbished front porch. The light was now on and the porch and surrounding area were well lit. She looked up at the bottom of the second-floor balcony. The wood looked new there too. Unfortunately for Officer Daughtry, Marcella’s renovations hadn’t yet gotten to the dilapidated back porch.
    The house had four tall windows across the front. Through one of them Diane could see Neva inside using electrostatic lifting film to collect a footprint off the floor. Diane donned the plastic head and foot coverings she’d retrieved from the van earlier and slipped on a pair of gloves. She started to enter the front doorway, stopped, and stepped back.
    Her eye was caught by glints of light reflecting from something embedded in the wood frame around the door. Sparkling from underneath flakes of peeling white paint were what looked to be the broken sherds of ceramic inserts inlaid in the wood frame. Diane tried to think what the inserts might have been before they were apparently vandalized, but there was nothing identifiable left. They had all been shattered. How odd , she thought.
    She moved to just inside the threshold and looked around at the room. There was an aroma of Mexican food in the house.
    “We’ve found some good boot prints,” said Neva. “Several sizes larger than what Dr. Payden would wear.” She nodded toward the door. “I think she took her shoes off in the house.”
    Diane looked down at a pair of leather sandals sitting on a wooden stool near the door. “Could be right,” she said.
    The floor was dark, wide-plank hardwood with a satin sheen—another of Marcella’s renovations. A few rugs were scattered around. They were mostly decorated in geometric patterns that looked Southwestern.
    The walls were a cream color and the furniture was mostly leather with chenille throws and pillows decorated similarly to the rugs. There was no television in the room and no place for one. Against one wall was a large, dark wood hutch that was open and empty.
    Under the window just to the left of Diane was an old wooden desk that had seen better days. There was a lamp on it and the middle drawer was half open.
    “Have you looked in