that. And also that underneath their clothes, those college professors all wear Underoos.”
Andie laughed.
“You’ll do fine,” said Diane. “They are all excited about the webcam project. If anyone gives you trouble, you can send them to me.”
“See there?” said Jonas. “That’ll put the fear of God into them.”
After Jonas and Andie left, Diane ushered her three visitors into her office. Kingsley helped Diane pull up enough chairs to her desk. Diane thought about taking them into her sitting room but decided she wanted her desk between herself and the women. Kingsley was on his own.
“I’m sorry, but I have to make a call first,” said Diane before anyone spoke. She walked behind her desk, sat down, and dialed David’s number. “We have permission for the research project,” she told him.
“Great. I thought we would. Marcella loves research. How is she?” he asked.
“She seems much better,” said Diane.
“Good. Jin loaned me Hector and Scott. So, okay, what’s the deal? Hector’s the older twin, right? And there is something about his shirt?” said David.
“The color is a longer wavelength than Scott’s,” said Diane.
“Yeah, that’s it. God, I hope this isn’t a mistake,” he said.
“They’ll do fine,” she said.
“They have improved the research design. We are going to collect samples using a smaller grid system—collect more samples—to determine the least number of samples needed for accurate results.”
“They enjoy research,” said Diane. “You shouldn’t have any problems.”
“Oh, and I’ve lined up some archaeology students to excavate, in case we find anything,” said David.
“Just remember, if you locate anything, you have to call the coroner before you take anything out of the ground,” said Diane.
“I’ve informed Whit, so he knows we might call,” said David.
“Then you are good to go,” said Diane. “Keep me informed.”
She hung up the phone. They were all staring at her, the three women and Kingsley. She supposed at this end it was a strange conversation.
“Now,” said Diane, “what can I do for you?”
“You can recant what you said to the newspaper,” said Marsha Carruthers. “You aren’t getting that trash out of jail. He killed my daughter.” She leaned forward and repeated her plea. “He killed my daughter.”
Diane guessed that Marsha’s other daughter hadn’t confided in her, or she would have mentioned it first thing. She hoped Samantha didn’t wait too long. Diane didn’t want the police to be the ones to tell the Carruthers it was their daughter who found Stacy’s body.
“You told me you were not interested in getting that monster out of jail,” said Kathy Nicholson. “But it’s obvious you lied.”
She pulled the newspaper article from her purse and tossed it on the table. It was the one Diane had already read.
“Neither I nor Dr. Kingsley had anything to do with the article in the paper,” said Diane. “And we are not trying to get Ryan Dance out of jail.”
“Then where did the newspaper get this information?” asked Wendy Walters.
“I’ve not talked with the reporter. I don’t know her,” said Diane.
“You told me you worked for . . . or are the director of”—Kathy pulled Diane’s card out of her purse and read from it—“the Aidan Kavanagh Forensic Anthropology Lab. But it turns out you’re a museum director.” She tossed the card on her desk with the article. “Why would you deceive us in this way?”
“How is it you’re qualified to say anything about how that woman died?” said Wendy. “People are going to believe what they read in the newspaper and there is going to be a call for the Dance boy’s release, and the police are going to be chasing a wild goose, because . . .” She threw up her hands. “This is just stupid. Are the two of you scam artists? Is messing with people’s lives how you get your kicks?”
“I am director of this museum. I’m also director of the Aidan Kavanagh Forensic Anthropology Lab, which is part of this museum. And I’m director of the Rosewood Crime Lab,” said Diane.
They stared at her for a moment. Wendy spoke first. “What does Rosewood have to do with any of this? It’s Gainesville’s jurisdiction.”
“I wasn’t representing Rosewood when I spoke with you or when I investigated the scene of Stacy Dance’s death,” said Diane.
“Then you were using your employer’s time and facilities for personal gain,” said Wendy.
“No, I was not,” said Diane. “First, my work was pro bono; second, I didn’t use Rosewood’s facilities or their time . . . even though I could have. You see, our crime lab does forensic analysis for