Read Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) for Free Online Page A

the tiny patch of dark brown on the top of her right iris.
    Even if I wanted to help, there wasn’t much time before I had to leave for my nail appointment. “Sure.”
    “Oh, you’re such a peach. Thank you so much. I’m busier than a one-legged man in a butt kicking competition.” She plopped down in her seat, blew her nose, and shuffled the clutter on her desk. “I don’t know which end is up.”
    “I better get to it.” With an internal sigh, I left Candy at her desk flipping through a photo album, dabbing her eyes.
    Approaching Jack’s empty office, I felt a sudden longing. Why did my arms ache for a man who chose a career over me and the kids? I studied my naked ring finger. The tan line was no longer visible. Why would it be? It’d been two years since he kissed us goodbye, stepped onto a plane for Egypt, and left a letter on my pillow telling me he wasn’t returning. The coward. That’s when I decided to pursue my own forgotten dreams and started planning a way out of Lyndon University.
    I traced the photo outside his door. Me and Jack in front of the Great Pyramid where we renewed our vows on our fifth anniversary. I would have preferred the beaches of Hawaii to the sands of the desert, but as long as I didn’t have to dig up anything, I was happy to be by his side. Right there, I promised I’d follow him anywhere, and I meant it. The weight of our shattered marriage rested on me like the pyramid behind us. Why hadn’t I taken that picture down?
    Continuing through the corridor, I paused at each photo lining the wall—the university’s archaeologists, old and current—caught in snippets of time. Some in the field. Me in the classroom. My eyes stopped at the large photo at the end of the hall. Henderson, approximately ten years younger, stood regally on the threshold of an Egyptian excavation. On either side, Jack and Peter grinned. They all wore dusty khakis and fedoras. Young and naïve, the two friends dreamed of the ultimate discovery in Egypt and making a name for themselves as archaeologists. Henderson was not only their mentor and friend, he was their Pharaoh.
    Now he was dead, and Jack didn’t know Henderson had fallen off his throne. Maybe I should tell him. Maybe then he’d come home and see what he left behind.
    Light shone through the picture window when I entered the corner office, but it wasn’t enough to chase off the darkness. The aftermath screamed Hurricane Lopez. At least he had the sense to leave the artifacts and statues intact.
    I stumbled on a heap of books in my five-inch heels. Pain seared. Heat bubbled as I forced down the expletives. Lopez wasn’t even here, and he was still messing with my life. But I refused to let him control my emotions one minute longer. I knelt by the door and stacked the books sprawled across the floor. Minutes later the churning in my stomach subsided.
    I pushed myself to my feet and surveyed the rest of the ruins. Four wooden file cabinets with drawers opened haphazardly lined the wall to the right of Henderson’s mahogany desk. Papers covered the surface. I shook my head. Henderson kept his desk organized. Hundreds of books covered the bookshelves behind his chair.
    A familiar burden pressed me down. Why couldn’t this wait until after the funeral? I walked to the scenic wall mural opposite the desk. If only I could run up those lush rolling hills and feel the ocean spray on my face. I grabbed a club from the golf bag propped in the corner, taking my stance on the synthetic putting green in front of the mural.
    “You’re holding that wrong.”
    I jumped and turned. Fletcher ogled me, his eyes perusing me like I was dessert on a buffet. I tugged at my knee-length skirt. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone with a club in her hand.”
    “That’s called a putter. It’s for a lefty. Let me help you.” His cocky grin matched his attitude as he swaggered my way. Standing behind me, he wrapped his arms around mine and grabbed my hands.