Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) by Gina Conroy Page A

rattled, then Matt shouted obscenities at Ben for dropping the phone. I bit my lip, pushing down the rising emotion, and lecture 22, 75, 101 on brotherly love, cursing, and controlling his anger.
    “Yeah?”
    “Matt, I want to thank you for getting Ben and bringing him to my office. I know it must’ve been tough deciding what to do, but that shows a lot of maturity.” When he didn’t respond I continued. “I want to let you know I’m proud of you for making the right choice.”
    “So I’m not in trouble? Does that mean you’ll let me drive my Jeep home?”
    “Don’t push it. Speaking of not having a car to drive, whose car did you use to get Ben and Luke?”
    “Some archaeology dude’s. Not sure his name, but he said he’s coming to dinner tonight. What’s up with that?”
    “Fletcher Murdock is an old friend. We’re going to catch up on what’s happening in Egypt.” Surely Fletcher had no intentions of catching up on anything else with the kids at home. I didn’t have the energy to play his cat and mouse games.
    “Ben, quit it,” Matt yelled. My eardrums vibrated from the volume. “Oh, no, I gotta go. Get off that bookshelf, right now!”
    Ben screamed, then a crash. I jolted in my seat. “Matt, what’s wrong?”
    “Your little bird fell out of the nest.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    4:31 p.m.
    Lyndon University Department of Archaeology
    DURING THE EXCRUCIATING TWENTY minute drive to the university, my maternal paranoia conjured up disastrous scenarios.
    Ben perched on the top of my bookshelf crashing head first to the ground.
    The shelf smashing against the third story window, glass shattering, and Ben falling to his death.
    Ben clinging to the bookshelf and being crushed by its weight when it fell on top of him.
    I dialed Matt seven times. All the calls went to voicemail. Maybe if I’d texted, I would have gotten an answer.
    The closer I got to the university the more morbid my imagination. When I finally opened the door to my office, my hands were shaking like I had Parkinson’s. I gasped. Matt sat in my chair, texting, oblivious to the bookshelf creating a half teepee across my desk covered with a mess of books.
    “Where are Ben and Luke?” I glared with hands on my hips.
    “How should I know?” Matt rolled his eyes and swiveled his chair toward the window.
    “Is he okay?
    “Unfortunately, yes.”
    The simmering inside my head reached a boiling point. “I’ll take that.” I snatched the phone.
    “Hey, I was texting.”
    “And now you’re through. Don’t even ask for it back.” I turned it off and slipped it in my bag.
    “At least let me tell her I’ll text her later.”
    “No way. I’m taking away your phone until this suspension business is over.”
    Matt’s nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge, but instead he crossed his arms and huffed. I had to give him credit for his self-control, though his eyes and pursed lips betrayed his plotting of my untimely demise.
    “I’m going to look for Ben and Luke. Start your homework.” I found Ben playing in his dad’s office with Luke. After assuring myself he was fine, I returned to my office to assess the damage to my shelf and desk. Thankfully, it was minimal.
    If the shelf had come crashing down when Ben was climbing it, instead of sitting on the top, I might have been heading to the emergency room. And Matt might feel a twinge of remorse.
    I gripped the side of the shelf, straining to push it up. “How about some assistance?”
    “I didn’t make the mess. Get Ben and Luke to do it.” He grabbed his textbook and turned the chair toward the window behind my desk.
    I clenched my teeth. Raising Matt had been increasingly more difficult the last couple of years. He’d made the teenage transition smoothly, and for a while Jack and I thought we’d bypassed the typical teenage rebellion. Then Jack left and Matt reverted to the withdrawn child he’d been when he first came to live with us. When he was six, all it took was some