Mummy Dearest: The XOXO Files, Book 1 Read online

  “Why?”

  He looked uncomfortable. It was fleeting, but I knew I didn’t imagine it. “Because she’s interesting.”

  “She’s four thousand years old. She’s not Princess Diana. She’s a mummy.”

  “So’s Princess Diana by now.”

  That time I didn’t bother to hide my distaste, although I was vaguely surprised to hear my tongue cluck in the exact same sound Noah made when he disapproved of something. “You’re doing a segment on the princess’s mummy because of that idiotic story about a curse.”

  His hazel eyes kindled with the light of the true fanatic. “What if it’s not just a story?”

  “Oh come on.”

  “It’s true.”

  “What’s true?”

  Fraser said with every appearance of sincerity, “It might not be just a story. We’ve got a number of eyewitness accounts.”

  “Of what?” I curled my lip. “What do these supposed eyewitnesses say?”

  “They say that every October thirty-first, the princess rises from her grave.”

  Chapter Two

  A peculiar chill rippled down my spine. I said flatly, “She doesn’t have a grave. She’s in a display case.”

  “Metaphorically speaking.”

  I recalled that misshapen, desiccated remnant of humanity—those hollow eye sockets staring up at me. “Ridiculous. This is exactly why I’m not appearing on your segment.”

  His face closed. He straightened. “Fine. I tried to work with you.”

  I was equally terse. “Appreciated.”

  He stepped away. I put the car in gear and drove slowly, sedately past Fraser Fortune and out of the parking lot.

  All the hot tubs and continental breakfasts in the world would not persuade Noah to stay in a less than four-star hotel—ideally nothing built later than 1960. I certainly didn’t object to excellent service and cool vintage décor, but left to myself, I could happily make do with clean sheets and free wi-fi. A nearby coffee shop was good too, and the Best Western in Walsh offered all three at a very reasonable price.

  I checked in, unpacked, and was thinking about heading over to the coffee shop for lunch when I noticed I had a voice mail from Noah on my cell phone.

  My mood lifted. I was happy—relieved—he’d called. Happy he wasn’t still annoyed with me and that he’d cared enough to make the first move. I sat on the edge of the bed and rang him right back.

  “Drew.” At the sound of his voice Noah was right there in front of me: tall and handsome, his hair prematurely gray, his eyes a piercing green. Not cold and clearly disappointed in me as he’d been before I left that morning, but his normal kind and affectionate self.

  “I’m so glad you called, Noah. I miss you already.”

  His voice softened further. “How was your flight?”

  I filled him in, and he cleared his throat. “Excellent. Drew, I wanted to…well, to tell you I was sorry that we argued before you left. I know I wasn’t quite fair about this trip to Wyoming.”

  I tried, but I couldn’t help my sense of injustice from coloring my tone. Even knowing that he hadn’t meant to sound so scathing…it had still hurt. “You really weren’t. I’d just got a lecture about how I needed to hurry up and get something else published, but then you’re mad when I have to take time to do the research.”

  “I know. That was poor timing on my part.” Noah couldn’t help adding, “It’s just that you knew this was the weekend of Mother’s garden party, and you know how much it means to her.”

  “I’ll be back in time. I promise.”

  Noah sighed. “I know. I do. But things have a way of happening to you, Drew. Your flights are cancelled. Your car breaks down. There’s always some excu—”

  He caught himself. I gave him credit for that, but he’d managed to flick me on the raw again. It made it difficult to keep my own voice even and unemotional. “You said it was imperative that I get something else published this year. Your word. Imperative. You said Lionel and a couple of other instructors suggested that the only reason I was being considered for tenure was our relationship. That my teaching record didn’t count.”

  Noah said patiently, “I didn’t say it didn’t count. I said that there are considerations beyond students voting you Most Popular Instructor three years running. I mean, that’s all very nice, but frankly it’s not winning you points with your peers.”

  Apparently not with Noah either. That was unfair, though. As my department chair, of course our relationship put Noah in a difficult position, which was why I’d taken seriously his order to get something new published as soon as possible.

  “I understand.” I heard the shortness of my tone and knew Noah was going to think I was sulking. I tried for a lighter tone. “It’s because I don’t want anyone accusing you of nepotism that I’m sitting here in the middle of nowhere with only FOX News for laughs.”

  “I know. Please don’t sulk. I’m proud that you’re moving on this, and it wasn’t fair to give you a hard time for picking this weekend, as long as you’re back on Sunday.”

  “I’ll be there.” I wouldn’t miss those fucking finger sandwiches and the pink champagne for the world.

  He said teasingly, “All right. No cloudbursts or forced landings. I’m holding you to that promise.”

  It was a little harder the second time. “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll see you then. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Noah clicked off. I clicked off too and stared down at the dim screen.

  Okay. Well. That was…that. No. No, it was great that Noah had called. Why did I feel let down? It was great that he had cared enough about my feelings—which I’d clearly failed to disguise—to ring me up and reassure me.

  For a few dispirited moments I sat on the edge of the bed staring out the sliding glass door at the autumn sunlight glittering off the swimming pool in the empty courtyard.

  It occurred to me that I hadn’t told Noah about the problem I’d run into at the museum. That was actually a good thing because the bottom line was, somehow, I had to get in there and examine the mummy of the princess myself. It was paramount. Hell, it was imperative.

  I could probably… What? Fake it? Make stuff up?

  The fact that the idea even crossed my mind sent a ripple of unease down my spine. But what was I going to do?

  Maybe the museum gift shop had some postcards I could use in place of my own photographs? Maybe Dr. Solvani had some old photographs which he could email me later on. Not that my brief correspondence with Dr. Solvani had reassured me as to his meticulous record keeping.

  Photos wouldn’t change the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to inspect the mummy, hadn’t had time to do more than verify that the mummy did exist.

  Or I could swallow my pride and go back to the museum and tell Fraser Fortune that I’d had time to reconsider his generous offer.

  I swore and looked at the time on my phone. It had been just about thirty minutes since I’d left Fraser in possession of the mummy. They probably weren’t shooting or filming or whatever they called it yet.

  Anyway, I wouldn’t have to necessarily grovel. But even if I did, it would be worth it because going home and admitting to Noah that I had made this trip without being absolutely sure of all the details was going to earn me another lecture. And I wasn’t sure I could take one quite this soon.

  I grabbed my keys and set off for the museum once more.

  It was less than a five-minute drive. As I pulled into the small parking area, I noticed that the small community theater on the other side of the lot had its windows boarded up and a sign on the door listing the realtor to contact. It was the same story in a lot of the town’s shops and stores. The recession had hit Walsh pretty hard. Tourism couldn’t factor much into the local economy when the closest thing to a tourist attraction was the rundown Lasse Dime Museum.

  There was no sign of anyone as I parked next to the station wagon and walked up the steps to the muse
um. As I stepped inside, though, I could hear sounds of activity and the buzz of voices.

  I went past the gift-shop window where Babe was busily arranging a stack of black tee shirts which read My parents went to Lasse Dime Museum and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. The script was in red letters designed to look like dripping blood.

  She spotted me and her face lit up. “Dr. Lawson! Did you change your mind?”

  “I guess I did,” I admitted. “If Fortune will let me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will. Such a sweet man.” She came out into the narrow hallway. “This will be so good for the museum. Your article and then being featured on The Mysterious…”

  I tried not to wince. “I guess you don’t get a lot of visitors this time of year.”

  “We don’t get a lot of visitors any time of year.” She smiled, but looked slightly guilty at the admission.

  “I saw a lot of closed shops on my way over.”

  “It’s the same everywhere, I guess. Times are tough. But we’ve been here a long time now. I guess we can weather this too.”

  “How old is the museum?”

  “It was built in 1904.”

  “Wow.”

  She nodded with grim pride. “Yep. And the princess has been here almost since the beginning.”

  We reached the main exhibition room. Bright light poured out the doorway like a nuclear blast, bleaching the floorboards and dark wood panels, highlighting the dust and occasional cobwebs.

  Jean-clad figures hustled around. Male and female, they all looked pretty much the same. Skinny bodies in bell-bottom jeans and shirttails, shoulder-length hair parted down the middle.

  I glimpsed my blonde friend from the parking lot. She waved to me in greeting. “Hey there!”

  I lifted a hand in hello. A dark-haired girl with a spattering of freckles across her nose approached me. “Can I help you?”

  “I was looking for Fraser Fortune.”

  She looked doubtful, but went to get him. I followed her path through the crowded, over-bright room. Fraser balanced on a ladder fastening what looked like a giant roll of tinfoil. He listened to her and then glanced over at the doorway where I stood.

  His expression changed though I couldn’t read it. He jumped down from the ladder with surprising agility and made his way through the light stands and reflectors, giving orders as he went.

  He planted himself in front of me, arms folded. Even though I was arguably taller, he was definitely broader and more solidly built. “Yes?” He was all business, which made what I had to say all the harder.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve rethought your offer, and if it’s still open, I’d like to accept.”

  “I see.” He stood there for a moment, studying me, thinking it over. I wondered if maybe I was going to have to do some groveling after all. But then he shrugged. “Okay. It was a good idea an hour ago; it’s still a good idea. Let’s go for it.”

  The relief was huge. “Thank you,” I got out.

  He gave a quick, surprisingly mischievous grin. “I bet that hurt.”

  My own smile twisted up. “A little.”

  He gave my shoulder a friendly punch. “It takes a big man to be able to accept he’s wrong.”

  As I didn’t exactly think I had been in the wrong, I opened my mouth, but he was already off and running. “Okay. Let’s get you ready for your close up, Mr. DeMille.” He yelled for makeup.

  “Makeup?” I asked unhappily. “Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes. Relax.” Fraser studied my jeans and striped shirt. His brows drew together although he was dressed similarly, except instead of stripes he’d opted for black and white checks that I’d have thought would make any camera nauseous. “Do you have anything more professional looking you could change into?”

  “No. I wasn’t dressing for a job interview.”

  He pointed at me. “Hey. Good thought. I think we’ll call this segment…Interview with a Mummy.”

  “Not Curse of the Mummy?” I was being sarcastic.

  “I think it’s too obvious,” he said kindly, evidently not wishing to hurt my feelings.

  He wandered away, and the blonde skinny girl from earlier appeared.

  “Hi, I’m Karen. I’m going to do your makeup.”

  “Hi, I’m Drew.”

  She was studying me with unnerving intensity. “Oh, you’re a cutie. Do you have to wear your glasses, Drew?”

  “Er…no.” I slid them off and tucked them in my pocket.

  “Good. You have pretty eyes. Are they green or blue?”

  “Sort of green blue.”

  “Nice dark eyelashes. I don’t think we’ll have to touch them up.”

  “Touch them up?” I repeated uneasily.

  She chuckled. “You’d be surprised at the difference a little mascara makes.”

  “No I wouldn’t.”

  She laughed outright. “Don’t worry. I won’t tamper with your inner macho man.”

  Fraser wandered back, watching critically as Karen began dusting loose powder over my face with a brush that looked a lot like the ones we use in the field for cleaning fossils.

  “His skin is as clear as a little kid’s,” Karen observed. “And he blushes.”

  To my abject gratitude, Fraser didn’t take the all-too-easy shot and embarrass me further. “Okay, Dr. Lawson. Describe what you plan to do with the mummy and we’ll work out how to shoot it.”

  I hadn’t really thought this far ahead, but clearly they were on a shoestring budget and wasting time was not an option.

  “It’s not going to be anything very in-depth. I’m not a forensic archeologist, and I don’t have the equipment here even if I were. Nor has Merneith been preserved under anything close to proper conditions. Dr. Solvani gave me permission to examine the mummy and the sarcophagus, but not to remove her from the case.”

  “Because she’d fall apart?”

  “Well, yes. That, for sure. She’s falling apart as it is.”

  “Now we’ll just apply a little bronzer,” Karen murmured.

  “Do we—?”

  “Yes,” they said in unison, and I subsided.

  “Go on,” Fraser ordered me.

  “Basically, I’m going to measure her, superficially examine her wrappings and the emblems and inscriptions on the sarcophagus, and take a bunch of snapshots and notes.”

  Fraser rubbed his bearded chin. “Okay. Can you make it visual?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Don’t look so nervous. We’ll roll the cameras and follow you, just make sure you narrate everything you do. And don’t block the camera with your body. You see what I mean?”

  “I think so.”

  “It’s not complicated. Mostly we’ll be filming the mummy itself. We’ll only use a fraction of the frames we shoot, anyway.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Because we don’t know what will work and what won’t till we’ve got it all. We don’t have time to script this. We’ll have to fix it all in post.” He said to Karen, “He’s very shiny.”

  “I know.” She reached for the big brush and dusted my nose once more. “You’re scaring him.”

  “Nothing to be scared of.” Fraser delivered another of those light, bracing punches to my arm. “This is going to be great. We’ll get you examining the mummy and then afterwards I’ll interview you.”

  “What are you going to ask?” I closed my eyes as Karen held up a weird bent tool that looked like it would be good for extracting an eyeball.

  “Relax, Dr. Hackenbacker. I won’t question you about anything that will embarrass you at your faculty tea party. It’ll just be some general questions about what first interested you in the princess, maybe some stuff about Egypt in the Sixth Dynasty.”

  I was surprised he knew Merneith was Sixth Dynasty, but maybe that wasn’t fair. Fraser’s show might be stupid, but he was far from it. I scrutinized him with new interest. He was stocky but not fat. Not a hard body, but not soft either. A lived-
in body. I hadn’t taken him seriously earlier, but seeing him in his own milieu, definitely in charge and clearly capable, gave me a different perspective. He had an air of authority. Despite the joking around, his crew respected him.

  He was saying, “Frankly, we don’t really have a lot for this segment, so you coming along when you did is serendipity.”

  “So happy to oblige.”

  He tilted his head to one side and contemplated me. “No offense, but you’re wound about as tight as anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “None taken. I come from a long line of Slinkys.”

  He laughed. Reluctantly, I laughed too.

  I finished with makeup and stood to the side watching as The Mysterious team finished setting up their set.

  “Quick and dirty,” Karen informed me.

  “Who?”

  She laughed. “Us. The crew. The shoot. We’re squeezing this one in. The show, I mean. Fraser got a letter from the museum curator, and he was so excited he drummed up financing for one more show this season. He’s a genius.”

  “I bet.”

  She nodded. “He’s got a real instinct for this kind of thing. A special sense.”

  Oh brother. “Like a sixth sense?”

  “That’s probably it, yeah.”

  “Okay, Dr. Lawson,” Fraser suddenly yelled from across the room. “Show time.”

  My stomach began to gurgle in alarm. Or maybe it was the fact I hadn’t eaten all day. Which was probably a good thing, come to think of it. I picked my way through the stands and lines and oddball exhibits. The mummy case was bathed in surprisingly hot, blinding light.

  “We can still see you with your eyes closed,” Fraser remarked.

  “You should do comedy,” I told him, opening my eyes a fraction against the irradiation.

  “I do, depending on which critic you ask. Here. Look at the birdie.”

  I risked a look. Fraser was grinning at me. He pointed.

  “That thing over your head is a boom microphone. Phil is our audio guy. Say hi to Doctor Lawson, Phil.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I returned in a voice I didn’t recognize.

  Fraser said, “We’re not going to try to mic you because I can foresee the problems already. So don’t worry about that. Just talk. Describe what you’re doing in a normal, clear voice like you’re giving a lecture in your classroom. Phil will take care of the rest.”