Dead Secret by Beverly Connor Page B

up and the driver opened the door for Vanessa, Diane and Alexis. Alexis had bonded with Diane ever since she’d been given a private tour of the museum.
    “Can I spend the night at your house sometime?” she asked.
    “Alexis . . . ” said Vanessa.
    I would like that, thought Diane. “Sometime,” she said. “I’ll talk to your mother in a few weeks; how will that be?”
    Alexis was the farthest generation from Helen Egan—her great-great-great-granddaughter. Diane wondered if the little girl understood just what an amazing thing that was.
    Rose Street Cemetery wasn’t far from the church. Diane could already see the tops of the larger monuments. It was an old cemetery, fifty years older than Helen Egan. It seemed fitting. Helen Egan would be buried beside her husband, who had died half a century earlier than she.
    The limo driver drove them to the plot, now covered with a tent under which were rows of chairs for the family. Diane didn’t want to sit through another service. She told Vanessa she was going to stand with her people from the museum.
    “Of course, dear.” Vanessa looked around at the cars pulling onto the shoulder of the small roadway. “I can’t believe this many people came to the cemetery. What could they be thinking?” Vanessa cocked her lips into a half smile. “Come, Alexis. It won’t be long now.”
    Diane walked to where Andie and the others were standing.
    “Hey, Dr. F.,” said Korey. “Want a ride back with us? We brought the minivan.”
    “Probably so. Let me talk to Vanessa when the graveside service is over.” She stood between Andie and Korey as people gathered around and listened to the final words.
    The ceremony was very short, to Diane’s relief. When it was over, they all stood in a line of people waiting to express their condolences to the family.
    Vanessa was speaking to the mayor and a tall man with dark salt-and-pepper hair as Diane approached. The mayor frowned when he saw Diane, but quickly recovered. She guessed he had just remembered that she was now a friend and not a foe. She hadn’t really spoken with him since an argument resulting from his urging that the museum be moved. She didn’t really want to speak with him now, but there he was.
    “I hear a lot of good things about the . . . museum,” the mayor said.
    Diane knew he almost said “crime scene lab,” but realized at the last minute that this wasn’t the venue to talk about it.
    Diane nodded and muttered, “We do our best.”
    “Ah, you must be Diane Fallon.” It was the tall, distinguished-looking man beside the mayor. He looked like a politician too. “Vanessa has told me much about you.”
    “This is Steve Taggart,” said Vanessa. “His mother and father are old acquaintances of my parents.” She pointed to an elderly man with sparse white hair and a silver-headed cane, and a slim silver-haired woman with him. They were talking to Vanessa’s mother and a friend of Diane’s.
    “We think Steve’s going to be one of Georgia’s next senators in Washington,” added the mayor.
    Steve Taggart extended his hand, and Diane shook it. “I’m thinking about running. Talking to my family about it. One doesn’t run alone; unfortunately, it’s a family affair.”
    “Indeed,” agreed the mayor.
    Diane smiled and nodded, wondering if they would notice if she turned and ran. Unfortunately, her way was blocked by a throng of people closing in on the family. Vanessa, apparently with the same idea, wandered away to speak to a young couple, leaving Diane with the mayor and the Taggarts.
    “My father’s been wanting to meet you,” he said. “He’s wild about your new Egyptian exhibit.” Steve Taggart stepped a few feet over to a small group of people and escorted an elderly gentleman to Diane. “Dad, this is the director of the museum. My dad’s Emmett Taggart. . . .”
    “Of course,” said Diane. “Mr. Taggart is one of the museum’s supporters . . . among many other things, I