One Grave Less

Diggs.
    The fire alarm rang loud in her ears as the fire continued to burn. That and the sound of the water from the sprinklers on the fire, and the smoke, added to Diane’s increasing anxiety and an increasing disorientation. Her gaze searched the room for Rufus. She heard him groan at the far side of the room. She saw him rolling. His clothes were smoking.
    Dear God .
    She rushed over to him, taking short breaths through the wet paper towel.
    “I’m all right. I’m all right,” he said, coughing, trying to sit up.
    Diane assisted him to a sitting position.
    Patches on his hands and face were red. Half his beard was singed, as was his hair.
    “I’m all right,” he said again, struggling to rise to his feet with Diane’s help.
    “If you’re able, I need to get you out of here so you can direct the paramedics to the lab when they come,” said Diane.
    “I hope they’re friendlier than the last ones,” said Rufus, gritting his teeth and standing.
    She led him toward the exhibit entrance.
    “We got someone else hurt in the lab?” he asked between gasps for air as Diane urged him toward the door.
    “Yes.”
    “Then I need to see to them. I’m fine. Just a little singed around the edges. Strained my leg a little falling. Bad knees.”
    Diane could see he wasn’t going to be dissuaded, short of her ordering him out. Recognizing his need to help, she led the way as he limped into the lab.
    Simone was still lying amid the overturned boxes.
    “My bag was in the fire,” he said.
    “We have gloves here in the lab—and a first-aid kit. Not as good as yours . . . ,” said Diane.
    She hurriedly retrieved the gloves and kit from a cabinet and took them to Rufus. He was looking at Simone’s eyes when Diane returned.
    “Her pupils are slow to respond,” he said, speaking rapidly.
    “What was the other guard’s name?” she asked Rufus. “The one who came with you.”
    Rufus paused a moment. “He had to be in on this. He didn’t call the ambulance, did he? He called someone else. Of course,” he said, as if just realizing. “V. Jones. It was on his shirt.” Rufus pointed to the pocket of his own shirt.
    “That wasn’t Vic Jones,” said Diane. “Vic Jones is on vacation. I don’t understand why this guy wasn’t discovered in the security office.”
    “He met me on the way,” said Rufus. “Said he’d been called. I just assumed . . .”
    “I would have assumed too,” said Diane.
    But she should have realized something was amiss when she didn’t recognize him. It was her standing practice to meet every employee who was hired at the museum. She had reviewed all the applications, but she still hadn’t met with all of them. She had assumed that he was someone she had approved on paper, and Chanell, head of security, had hired him.
    Noise in the exhibit room brought their attention to the door. They glanced at each other, apprehension in their gazes.
    “Stay here with the woman,” she said, and made her way to the door.
    It opened almost in her face. It was the paramedics—and they were people she knew. She sighed with relief.
    “Over here.”
    She led them to Simone and Rufus, with instructions to check Rufus out also.
    On the heels of the paramedics were the firemen, checking out the exhibit room, spraying fire-suppressing foam in spots where the sprinklers had not put out the fire completely. Fortunately, there were no flammables in the room—other than the kerosene that had been poured on the floor—mostly stuff that wouldn’t burn. But there was still smoke and soot damage aplenty. Diane pushed that problem into the back of her mind.
    The fire chief instructed Diane to leave the area. Her own security staff had stationed themselves outside the door, keeping out any stray visitors who might wander from the various courses the museum offered in the evening.
    The fresher air was a relief. Diane sat down on the bench outside the exhibit room and looked at the pyramid facade. A wisp of smoke found its way out the door and was rising to the ceiling, making it look as if the Mayans were under attack.
    Douglas Garnett came over and sat down with Diane. He was the chief of detectives in Rosewood. Chief Garnett was a tall, lanky man in his mid-to-late forties. He had a full head of well-styled salt-and-pepper hair. This evening he was well dressed, as usual, in a brown herringbone suit and brown Italian shoes.
    The museum housed a crime lab headed by Diane. The lab was under the authority