Scattered Graves Read Online Free PDF Page B

it.’ So, tell me about your day.’’
Diane told him about the progress on the exhibits, but not about the bones found in the farmer’s field. Sliced-up bones weren’t a conversation topic she wanted to have before she went to sleep. They talked for almost an hour. A good end to the day.
    The morning brought sunshine and sparkling frost on the ground. It was a great day to be outside and a great day to take the scenic route to work. It was a little longer, but it was her favorite route, especially in the morning when there was little traffic. The nar row road went through a short patch of woods that were beautiful even in winter when most of the trees were bare of leaves. The trees had shades of bark that ranged from dark brown to tan to almost white, interspersed with the greenery of spruce, cedar, and magnolia trees. And you never knew when a doe and her fawn might be grazing along the roadway or dash ing for the woods.
    As she drove, Diane listened to classical music on the radio. On the hour, the news came on, and she started to change stations but stopped when she heard that the first item of local news was about the bones. She frowned as the anchor described it as the woodchipper murder and told of the crushed bones of an unknown victim found by Rose County farmer Arlen Wilson and his grandson. Sheriff Canfield explained to a persistent reporter that the bones were only recently found and he didn’t yet know whom they belonged to but that a forensic anthropologist had the bones and it was hoped she would be able to shed light on the identity of the victim. Diane noticed that he was careful not to say victims . Rumors of more than one woodchipper murder would become a nightmare. The re porter asked if the forensic anthropologist was Diane Fallon of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History. Canfield said yes. Diane frowned again. The last thing she wanted was the reporter calling her.
    The interviewer asked the sheriff about possible DNA, and he went into a lengthy explanation of DNA and why they might not be able to find any in the bones. Diane had to smile, listening to the lecture she had given him just yesterday. He must be having fun.
    She was about halfway to the museum and in the deepest part of the wooded area when she saw blue flashes of light behind her and the intermittent siren that meant to pull over. She found a wide place on the side of the road, pulled her SUV onto the shoul der, and waited with her hands on the steering wheel. She looked in her rearview mirror at the approaching officer. She knew him. Not good. It was Harve Dela more, and he was grinning like he’d just caught his biggest fish ever.
    Last year Douglas Garnett, the chief of detectives for the city of Rosewood and Diane’s former boss when she was head of the crime scene unit, had put a repri mand in Delamore’s file for overly aggressive behavior with a suspect. Diane had given a sworn statement as a witness to the incident. Diane was not Delamore’s favorite person.
    He looked different than last time she’d seen him— a little leaner, and he’d shaved his head the way a lot of men do these days when they are going bald. Dela more was in a patrolman’s uniform. It was a summer uniform even though the temperature had been near freezing overnight. The term hot-blooded fit him, she thought as he approached. The uniform meant he had been demoted from his rank of detective for some reason. Probably some additional offense. Harve didn’t strike her as a man who learned very quickly.
    Damn, he’s probably going to be in a mood , she thought. Probably write me up for everything he can think of. Well, damn .
    Diane rolled down her window as he approached. She decided not to say anything until he spoke, asking for her driver’s license, probably her insurance papers, probably the deed to the museum. She really didn’t have time for this. She knew her brake lights were in working order; she hadn’t been speeding; there had been no