Case of the Fleet-Footed Mummy Page 5

  “What about the pendant?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Are you referring to the one that was stolen?”

  “Yes. It is very famous and is completely irreplaceable. We must get it back!”

  “Talk to me about that pendant,” Vance told the curator. “What’s so valuable about it?”

  Dr. Tarik’s voice lowered to a whisper. Vance and I crowded close so we could hear him.

  “As I mentioned earlier, mummies are wrapped in multiple layers of linen fortified with resin after every two layers of bandages. It is not uncommon to find objects on the mummy at different layers.”

  “How many” I asked.

  Dr. Tarik shrugged, “It varies. Beads, pendants, scarabs, weapons…”

  “No,” I interrupted. “What I meant was, how many different layers do the mummies have?”

  “Oh. My apologies. As many as 20 alternating layers of bandages have been counted. The innermost layers of a mummy typically contain the deceased’s possessions. The Nekhbet Pendant had been discovered around the king’s neck in the innermost wrappings. Most likely it means Tutankhamun had worn it on his person when he had been alive. Do you understand the significance of this? Its loss to the academic world is incalculable. It must be returned. Detective, you must prevail!”

  “What does this missing pendant look like?” Vance asked.

  I nodded. It was a good question. I was curious, too.

  Overhearing the detective’s question, one of the other curators approached, holding an open book. Dr. Tarik’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw it.

  “Excellent, Ammar. Thank you. Gentlemen, here is a picture of Nekhbet’s Pendant.”

  I whistled with admiration. While not a fan of the Egyptian style of jewelry in general, I had to admit that it was an exquisite piece of work. I was looking at a picture of a vulture with its wings partially extended and the tips folded down. The top of the pendant, a surprisingly realistic depiction of an avian head, was turned to the left. There was also some type of red gem clutched in either of its talons. Sherlock stretched his neck up and whined. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he wanted a look, too.

  Surprisingly, Dr. Tarik dropped to one knee and lowered the book down to Sherlock’s level. The inquisitive corgi sniffed once and then returned to sniffing the ground. The curator held the book out to Watson, but she didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

  “For a vulture, it’s a pretty looking thing,” I decided.

  Vance nodded with agreement.

  “This pendant is a representation of the vulture goddess, Nekhbet,” Dr. Tarik patiently explained. “It is solid gold and encrusted with blue glass. You’ll no doubt note how realistic the head appears. Its eyes are of obsidian and the beak is lapis lazuli. The red you see here is more colored glass.”

  “Are those rubies in its talons?” I asked, tapping the bird’s feet.

  “Carnelian,” Dr. Tarik answered.

  “How big is it?” Vance asked.

  “From wing tip to wing tip it’s about 5 inches across and nearly 3 inches high.”

  “So it’s a good-sized sucker,” Vance observed thoughtfully.

  “Your impressive use of American colloquialism continues to astound me,” Dr. Tarik groaned.

  “Small wonder, seeing how we’re in the United States of America, buddy,” Vance muttered crossly. “Listen, doc, why in the hell did you have a priceless valuable like that pendant in an exhibit like this? Weren’t you worried about something like this happening?”

  “Of course,” Dr. Tarik said, nodding. “As a matter of fact, it was on its way to a new facility. We thought transporting this in such a manner would have been enough to dissuade anyone from trying to steal it. You have to understand, no one knew of its history. No one knew it was authentic.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, growing angry. “Do you mean to say that none of these things in here are authentic? What are you trying to do, pull one over on us?”

  “Egyptian Exhibitions has never once claimed that any of the artifacts in its possession were authentic. We utilize highly accurate reproductions in our exhibit. Our organization’s sole purpose is to educate and entertain the general public.”

  I looked over at Vance to see what his reaction to that revelation was. For the record, he looked as shocked as I felt. After a few moments his frown disappeared.

  “That’s why you had the pendant. It should have been the perfect way to transport the piece from one museum to another without fear of its true nature becoming known.”

  “What better hiding place could there be than placing it in the open?” Dr. Tarik agreed.

  “How many people had access back here?” Vance wanted to know. “How many people knew its true nature besides you?”

  “Only myself,” Dr. Tarik confirmed. “I never told anyone, not even my assistant, Ammar. The fewer people who knew the truth, the better.”

  “How long had those curtains been closed?” Vance asked, looking over at the thick red curtains on either side of the stage. “I need to know how long these things back here had been left alone.”

  “We finished setting up the displays late yesterday,” Dr. Tarik answered, eliciting a groan from Vance. “But, the artifacts in these cases had only been there for a few hours at most before the grand opening.”

  I cleared my throat.

  “I hate to point out the obvious, but does it, or does it not, look like the mummy took the pendant?”

  “Far be it for me to dispute your American cinema,” Dr. Tarik dryly began, “but mummies do not come to life and they most certainly do not steal pendants.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying it did, okay? Everyone is thinking it; I’m just stating it.”

  “I’m not thinking it,” Vance disagreed.

  “Nor am I,” added Dr. Tarik.

  I sighed and pointed at the scrap of linen Vance still held.

  “Then explain that,” I demanded.

  “It had to have been planted there,” Vance told me. “Someone wants us to think that the mummy did it. What do you have against mummies, anyway?”

  “Nothing,” I answered, albeit a tad too hasty.

  Vance eyed me speculatively.

  “Afraid the mummy is gonna getcha?”

  “Ha ha.”

  Sherlock suddenly tugged at his leash. He was looking at the back left corner of the stage. The inner workings of the platform were outlined in black fabric. Less noticeable to the audience, I presume. However, I thought I could make out a door against the wall. I let Sherlock lead the way, with Watson following closely behind him. I heard movement coming from behind me. A quick look back confirmed Vance and Dr. Tarik were shadowing me.

  “What do you want to look at, Sherlock?” I quietly asked the corgi. “Do you smell something back here?”

  Sherlock dropped his nose to the ground, sniffed a few times, then headed straight towards the door. I glanced back at Vance.

  “Do I open it?”

  Vance grinned, “Sure, unless you’re afraid something is going to jump out at you from the shadows.”

  “Jerk. Bite me.”

  I heard Vance laugh. Opening the door revealed a darkened hallway stretching 20 feet to the left and about that same distance to the right. There were three doors on the right hand side of the hall if I chose left, and there was one door each on the right and the left if I chose to go right.

  Sherlock tugged on the leash. He wanted to go left. Left it is. I was led to the last door on the right, which was a large double door. I looked through the windows to see what was on the other side. Nothing, unfortunately. The lights were off. Sherlock turned to look up at me. I, in turn, looked over at Vance, who indicated I should open it. It was locked.

  “Can’t open this one,” I reported. “It’s locked.”

  Vance pulled out a huge ring of keys. I had seen that exact same key ring before. It had belonged to the principal.

  “Don let me borrow these,” he explained as he fished through the key
s to find one that worked. After a few minutes of fruitless searching he found the correct key.

  Once the door was open, and the lights were turned on, we could see that we were standing in another corridor. There were doors everywhere. I saw two on the left and at least four, no, better make that five on the right. The hall extended straight ahead for about ten feet then angled to the left and proceeded another dozen or so feet.

  There were doors along this part of the hallway, too, but Sherlock ignored them. He led me straight to the end of the hall and then plopped his butt down on the linoleum. Watson, unsure what we were doing in this strange environment, kept looking up at me as it to verify I hadn’t lost my marbles. I ruffled her fur and turned to watch Vance and the curator approach. The detective was already fumbling for his keys.

  “Why are we here, again?” Dr. Tarik asked. “What is the significance of this door?”

  “Not a clue,” I admitted.

  “Is it locked?” Vance asked as he pulled the fat ring of keys from his tuxedo pocket.

  “Probably. Let me check. I… hmm. No, it’s unlocked. Check it out.”

  I pushed open the door and then fumbled inside for a light switch. Properly illuminated, I could see that we were in some type of utility/storage room. The floor sloped inward, toward a recessed grate set into the ground in the middle of the room. The problem was, however, the grate had been pulled from the ground. It – and a few broken tiles – was lying several feet away, as if it had been carelessly discarded after it had been yanked from the floor.

  I stared at the dark opening as my mind spun into overdrive.

  “Umm…”

  “It’s just a coincidence,” Vance assured me. “Keep it together, princess.”

  “That’s it. Sherlock, attack! Bite him in the ankles! Watson… do your thing.”

  “Do what thing?” Vance wanted to know.

  “It’s better if I don’t tell you,” I cryptically told him.

  “Americans are odd,” Dr. Tarik decided.

  Vance knelt down by the opening in the floor and peered inside. As he was straightening back up he slid his hands along a length of one side of the hole. The detective froze as he ran his hand over the same section, and then a third time. He squatted back down for a closer inspection. A hand disappeared into one of his jacket pockets and reappeared, holding my multi-tool. He carefully picked a couple of fibers from the ground and held them up. He wordlessly held them out to the curator, who leaned forward to take a closer look.

  “They are the same fibers as what we found at the destroyed display case,” Dr. Tarik confirmed. “What does this mean?”

  I sighed. I know what you’re thinking. I must be one gullible dumbass for even thinking the mummy could be responsible for this. However, there were scraps of ancient linen back on the platform and now several more had been discovered here. On top of which, there was an opening large enough to pass a human, not to mention a shriveled up mummy. I knew full well that mummies couldn’t come back to life, but then again, what else would fit the facts? What was that quote from Sherlock Holmes?

  When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

  I glanced down at Sherlock. He was already watching me. Did he know what I was thinking? I looked over at Watson. She was busy watching Vance. Of course, the detective always seemed to be slipping the dogs some type of biscuit whenever he saw them so I couldn’t blame her.

  We were stooped over the hole in the floor, each lost in silent contemplation, when there was a bang, followed almost immediately by a loud voice. Naturally it had appeared from behind us.

  “Whatcha doing back here?”

  “JESUS H. CHRIST!” Vance bellowed, jerking back so violently he tripped over the fallen grate and fell to the ground.

  “اللعنة المقدسة!” Dr. Tarik cursed in his native language, clapping a hand over his heart. He quickly slapped his other hand over his mouth. “A thousand apologies. I should not have said that.”

  As for me, I had sucked in a breath and had been ready to shout out an expletive worthy of the situation when I caught sight of the dogs. Both had turned around and were panting contentedly at the intruder. Neither was surprised. In fact, both were happy to see the gate crasher.

  It was Tori.

  “Hon-ey!” Vance whined as he painfully rose to his feet. “What the hell! Why’d you do that?”

  “You three sure are jumpy,” Tori observed.

  She had since changed from her evening gown into a baggy sweatshirt and jeans. I also noticed the soles of her shoes were thick and cushioned, thus enabling her to move about without being detected. Tori squatted down to throw an arm around each of the dogs.

  “How are my two favorite corgis in the whole wide world?”

  Both stumpy tails threatened to wag right off their respective canine derrieres.

  “What are you doing here, Tori?” Vance wanted to know, coming up to give his wife a hug. “It’s not safe for you here.”

  “I wanted to help out,” Tori explained. “I couldn’t just sit at home, doing nothing.”

  “What about the kids?” Vance asked.

  Tori shrugged, “Oh, you know, I just pulled some random stranger in a hockey mask off the street and asked him to put away the machete for the night. My kids needed watching, so I told him to make himself useful.”

  Alarmed, Dr. Tarik looked at me. I smiled and shook my head, indicating it was an inside joke between the two of them. The curator shook his head in bewilderment and let the matter drop.

  “I assume you got Rachel to watch them?”

  Rachel was their neighbor and good friend. I should know. Jillian introduced us last month when the Samuelson’s hosted a neighborhood block party. Jillian and I, along with Sherlock and Watson, had been invited.

  “Obviously. Now, what are you doing back here?”

  Vance pointed at Sherlock.

  “We’re all following…”

  Vance trailed off as Sherlock suddenly looked back down the hall – the way we had all come in – and softly woofed. Alarmed, I looked at Vance. Tori hurried to his side.

  “Who else is in here?” I asked.

  “No one,” Vance assured me. “There are two officers stationed outside but that’s it. Tori, did you see anyone else on your way in here?”

  Tori shook her head no. Together, we all looked down at Sherlock.

  “What is it, boy?” I asked the tri-colored corgi, dropping my voice to a whisper.

  Sherlock woofed again. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Watson, who up until this point hadn’t given any indication that she had noticed anything unusual, started growling.

  I stared at Watson with shock written all over my features. I have never heard that quiet, timid little corgi growl at anything. Something was up. Something had spooked them.

  Sherlock barked once and lunged forward. The little snot caught me just as I was transferring the leashes from one hand to the other. Caught off guard, Sherlock’s leash was yanked out of my hand. Without a moment to lose, Sherlock bolted for the door. Watson tried the same trick but by that time I already had a tight grip on her leash. She looked back at me, gave a high pitched yip, and pulled on her leash. The meaning came through loud and clear. She wanted to go after her pack mate.

  I quickly handed her leash to Tori while Vance and I took off after Sherlock. We made it to the end of the hall just in time to see one of the double doors swing shut. Confused, I looked over at Vance. Besides Sherlock, who had just gone out the door? There’s no way Sherlock could have opened that door by himself. Who was he chasing?

  Memories of all the monster movies I had ever seen flooded back to me. Never once, in any one of them, did the story end well when someone went chasing after the monster. Deep down I knew that there was no way in hell an actual mummy could be responsible for this. Well, let’s just say I was 99% sure. However, it was that teeny tiny 1% that concerned me. My overactive i
magination was in overdrive at the moment and it wouldn’t shut the hell up. What if it was the mummy? What if it grabbed Sherlock? What if it tried coming after me?

  Vance and I burst through the door, both doors slamming open in opposite directions at the same time.

  “Which way?” Vance asked. He turned to look right while I looked left.

  “That way,” I said, pointing left. I could hear the tell-tale click of doggie toe nails on a hard floor.

  Vance sprinted past me.

  “Hurry! Sherlock is after someone!”

  “You noticed the doors, too?” I asked, trying not to wheeze. For crying out loud I wasn’t that much out of shape, was I?

  “Yes. Move your ass, Zack! There’s someone in here besides us! We need to find out who!”

  We angled left and saw a long straight corridor in front of us. Movement from our left attracted our attention. Another door was swinging shut. Sherlock started barking. He was inside that room. Vance and I barged through the door. It was some type of music room. I saw music stands, shelves of sheet music, and a professional looking percussion set on the far wall. Chairs had been set out in a semi-circle, facing the doors we had just come through.

  Vance hit the first row of chairs and went down with a loud crash. I was about ready to help him up when Sherlock barked nearby. We were in one of those rooms that, even if you turned out the overhead lights, one or two fixtures remained lit. For safety’s sake, I presume. They were each doing their best to illuminate the cavernous room but it was only enough to allow me to see the general shape of the room.

  Sherlock barked again. My head jerked up just as something was hurled through a window in the far corner of the room. A form suddenly rushed by me and flung themselves through the opening. I was able to see tattered strips of ancient linen flapping through the air before they disappeared from sight. I rushed over to the window to peer anxiously out into the night. Whatever it was had vanished.

  I heard a distinctive canine snort nearby. I also heard a groan coming from behind me. I gave Vance a hand in standing up while I looked back at the corner window. I found the closest light switch and flicked on the lights. There was Sherlock, slowly sniffing his way around the circumference of the room. He paused only long enough to give me a smug look.