Mummy Dearest: The XOXO Files, Book 1 Read online

  “I got it,” Phil agreed.

  Fraser said, “We’re only using two cameras for this. Okay? Here’s the main camera. It’s stationary. Then Arturo, to your left, is using a handheld. He’s going to be moving around. Just ignore him. Don’t talk to the camera, but don’t freak out if you happen to look directly at it or something. It’s not a big deal.”

  I nodded. My mouth was so dry I wasn’t sure I could unstick my tongue to make words. So this was what stage fright felt like. Like your first day at school. Attending or teaching.

  I must have looked as petrified as I felt because Fraser’s tone changed. He said kindly, “Just do what you would normally do, only talk to yourself as you’re doing it.”

  I nodded.

  “Try and forget we’re here.”

  I nodded again.

  “You already got the part, Drew, so relax.”

  I threw him a deadly look and everyone, including Fraser, laughed. “That’s the spirit. Okay, ready? Jeannie has the clapperboard, so don’t jump…”

  I did jump, but after that it all seemed to run pretty smoothly. In fact, my fifteen minutes of fame turned out to be a lot easier than I thought.

  After all, I did know how to talk, and there was nothing I liked to talk about more than history and Egypt and archeology.

  “Her approximate measurements are…height through nose…eight times width of shoulders…so twenty times length…sixty-two inches. I’ve never actually seen a mummy taller than about five and a half feet. Generally when a body is excavated, the archeologist will record all the important details. The condition, the measurements, the other items found in the grave or tomb. But things were less systematic back when Merneith was discovered. In fact, archeology was sometimes not much more than a free-for-all treasure hunt. So, unfortunately, we don’t have anything but legend as far as her mummy’s provenance.”

  I moved around the display case, aware of Fraser a few feet across from me and of Arturo hovering to my left with his camera which seemed to be unnervingly directed at my profile. I tried to think only of the fragile wrappings in the large glass case. Merneith’s teeth were actually in remarkably good shape, all things considered. Her hair, not so much.

  “Now days everything gets x-rayed, which means we don’t have to damage the mummy to study it. Back in the nineteenth century, mummies were literally torn to pieces in order to examine them. In fact, unwrapping a mummy was often turned into a social event, and pieces were sometimes given as souvenirs. There were lots of weird theories. Some people believed the mummies had magical powers or that crushed mummy powder could be used in medicine. Mummies have been used for making paint and paper and for railway fuel, though some scholars argue over whether that last is true or whether we got that from Mark Twain exaggerating in The Innocents Abroad.”

  I turned my attention to the sarcophagus, which was in suspiciously beautiful shape. It seemed likely to me that some restoration had probably taken place. I knelt for a better look.

  “Cut!”

  I looked up over the edge of the case, surprised.

  “Where’d you go?” Fraser asked.

  I gestured. “I was just…”

  He shook his head, but he was laughing. “You can get on your hands and knees and crawl around the case to your heart’s content later, okay? For now, stay topside so we can follow you.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  He seemed inordinately amused as we resumed shooting.

  I bent over the case again. There was an inscription in ink-black hieratic. Hieratic was a cursive style of writing, predating the more elaborate and better-known hieroglyphics or the hieroglyphic script which it closely resembled. In movies it’s almost always hieroglyphics used as they’re more visually striking. That’s because the symbols in hieratic were simplified for speed and clarity. By the Sixth Dynasty, hieratic was used almost exclusively in religious texts such as the Book of the Dead.

  It happened to be my area of expertise. I silently began to read.

  For who shall defile the temples of the ancient gods, a cruel and violent death shall be his fate, and never shall his soul find rest unto eternity. Such is the curse of Amon-Ra, king of all the gods.

  “Can you tell us what you’re looking at, Dr. Lawson?” prompted Fraser.

  I raised my head and blinked. He was invisible behind the blazing, hot lights.

  “What?”

  “That inscription seems to have caught your attention. Can you translate it?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  I stared at the inscription again.

  Before the Twelfth Dynasty, hieratic, like hieroglyphic script, could be written in columns or horizontal lines. After the Twelfth Dynasty, it was exclusively horizontal. What did not change—ever—was that whether written in columns or horizontally, hieratic was always read right-to-left.

  The text in front of me was written left-to-right as is English. Right there, that indicated to me the sarcophagus was a phony. But in case I had any doubt, the inscription itself sealed it.

  I happened to recognize it. It was a quote from the 1940 film, The Mummy’s Hand.

  Chapter Three

  When I finished my examination, the production crew started lugging lights and equipment again. Fraser wanted to conduct our interview in front of a more visually exciting background, so I moved to the side and let them get to work while I considered what to do about the bogus mummy case.

  Should I speak up or not? My instinct was to keep quiet—and around a film crew that was probably a good instinct. The best thing would be to talk to Noah about it. But they had me on film authenticating the thing. Or as good as.

  Babe dragged out a large wooden chair, legs scraping hideously as she hauled it through the exhibit room, banging against tables and shelves.

  Fraser, busily arranging a bizarre arrangement of geodes and giant conch shells, started to shift a small offering table with canopic jars.

  “Don’t touch that!” Babe said sharply.

  Fraser hastily put the table down. The jars wobbled ominously. “Sorry.” He sounded as guilty as a little kid.

  “No, no. It’s just…the artifacts that are part of the princess’s exhibit are better left alone.”

  Yep, there really was one born every minute. She had him hooked, and I couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t deliberate. Given what he did for a living, I’d’ve expected Fraser to be a total cynic, but I was beginning to think he was just a great big kid.

  “But those can’t be the real thing,” I said. “They were still using stoppers fashioned like human heads in the Sixth Dynasty.”

  Babe gave me a funny look. “Well, that’s true. But it’s also true that it’s better not to disturb any part of the princess’s exhibit if we can help it.”

  “Why?” Fraser demanded. “Are there stories?” He caught me rolling my eyes and his face darkened. “You think you have all the answers, don’t you. Well, don’t look so superior because there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.”

  I snorted.

  Babe said, “There are stories from before my time. I’m sure that’s all they are, but…”

  “Go on.” Need I say that was Fraser?

  “According to Oriel Banning, my predecessor, if any of the items in the princess’s exhibit were moved to different places within the museum, they always returned to their original positions by the next morning.”

  “That’s it?” Fraser’s disappointment made me bite my lip. Yep, just a big kid.

  “Er, no… There are also stories of strange noises and weird lights at night, and they always come from the princess exhibit.”

  “What kind of strange noises?”

  “A sound like wind scouring sand or maybe more like sand hitting glass.”

  I was expecting a howling jackal at the least, so I thought the scouring winds and sand against glass was a pretty good touch. I could see Fraser thought so too.

  Babe added, “And sometimes there i
s sand…just a little, mind you…around her display case in the morning. I’ve seen it myself. Of course it could be anything. Someone could have tracked it in earlier.” But she clearly didn’t believe that.

  Fraser’s eyes were nearly shining as Babe excused herself. “Oh, don’t say it,” he growled as he caught my expression. He finished moving the chair to his exact liking. “Just shut up and sit.”

  “It’s not going to be much of an interview.”

  He gave me what he probably thought was an ironic look. “Sit.”

  I sat.

  They positioned lights and reflectors, and Karen reappeared with her trusty brush and powder. I closed my eyes and tried not to wrinkle my nose. The powder made me sneeze.

  “Oopsie.” She redusted.

  Fraser took his place behind the camera. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him loud and clear from behind the lights.

  Karen retreated. The dark-haired girl, Jeannie, snapped the clapperboard in front of me again.

  Fraser’s disembodied voice inquired, “Dr. Lawson, were you able to decipher the inscription on the mummy’s sarcophagus?”

  I didn’t bother trying to hide my irritation. “I told you I didn’t.”

  “The cameras are rolling,” Fraser reminded me sweetly. Like I could have forgotten.

  I glared into the white light. “No.”

  “You’re not holding out on me, are you, Doc?” Fraser was openly teasing. I understood that he was going to cut and paste—or whatever the film-editing equivalent was—but I didn’t see how he had time or money for fooling around like this. All I could do was figure he was trying to push me into some indiscretion that might look good on camera.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “How did you get interested in Princess Merneith?”

  “I’m not sure you really want to hear this.”

  The crew started to laugh, although I have no idea what was so funny about that.

  Fraser said gravely, “Why don’t you tell me, and if it turns out to be something I don’t want to hear, I’ll edit it out.”

  I sighed. “Well, I’ve always been troubled by how little information we have about homosexuality in ancient Egypt. We don’t have legal texts, and explicitly sexual motifs in art and literature are limited. Coded images and metaphors confuse the modern scholar working within the parameters of both modern and ancient taboos. We do have some small evidence suggesting same-sex acts took place between partners of comparable age and social status. Princess Merneith’s story is one of those. What we know for certain is that she fell in love with a priestess who served as a temple singer in the temple of Ra. Princess Merneith was pledged to marry in a political alliance to the vizier Userkare. We know that Merneith refused to marry the vizier and that her younger sister was married in her place. Those are pretty much the only documented facts that we have. The temple priestess died shortly after. Her name was Ahmose and her mummy is in the University of Chicago’s Oriental Institute museum. Merneith’s name disappears from all the sacred and royal texts, but we don’t know what her fate was. In fact, until her mummy was discovered in the 1900s, we weren’t sure she existed at all.”

  Probably way more than anyone wanted to know. Fraser asked as politely as any real interviewer, “What did your examination of the mummy tell you?”

  This was awkward. I wasn’t about to go on the record verifying anything now that I knew the sarcophagus itself was a fake. “The mummy itself looks authentic. But I’m an Egyptologist not a scientist. To verify her age and lineage, we’d need to conduct experiments, test for DNA. We’d have to use CAT scans, x-rays—”

  “And that could get us in real trouble with the princess.”

  So much for promises.

  I grimaced. “I doubt it. It might get us in trouble with Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities—or Dr. Solvani.”

  Fraser’s voice drifted out from the white sun of the oversized lamp he stood next to. “You’ve heard the legend. You know the curse Princess Merneith placed upon all those who disturb her rest, and yet your quest for the truth drove you to examine the mummified remains of the once-beautiful priestess of Isis. Tell me honestly. Are you afraid, Doctor Lawson?”

  “Not of Princess Merneith.”

  “You don’t believe in the curse of the hom-dai?”

  I squinted, trying to see him behind the light. “What? No. There’s no such thing.”

  “Ah. You’re a man of science and you don’t believe in curses.”

  “No. Well, yes. Naturally, but I mean there’s no such thing as a hom-dai. That’s totally made up for the movies.”

  “Now hold on a minute.” Fraser sounded like someone trying hard to bring the voice of reason to a truly crazy debate. The only problem was, he was the voice of crazy. “You’ve heard the mysterious stories told by the caretaker of the museum. You’re still unconvinced?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  Fraser sighed. “Cut.” The camera stopped. “You’re really not going to play ball, are you?”

  “I like a good game of ping-pong.”

  “I bet you’re the reigning champ.” His laugh was short, but he didn’t sound particularly put out as he said, “Okay, thanks, Doc. I think we can take it from here.”

  “So that’s it? I can go?”

  “People don’t usually sound that delighted at being kicked off the set.”

  That gave me pause. “Am I being kicked off the set?”

  “Nah. Of course not. You’ve been a good sport. Is there anything else you need to see?”

  I stood. “No. That’s pretty much everything I needed.”

  More than I needed, frankly. Now I had to decide what direction I should take in my article. Debunking legends was always popular, and I had the evidence of the phony sarcophagus, but I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of debunking the legend of the lesbian princess. Not that I wanted to twist historical fact to suit my own theories—and wishful thinking—but there was enough academic scoffing at the notion of homosexuality in ancient Egypt without adding my voice to the choir.

  Fraser walked me to the porch. “Just so you know, you were great in there. I knew it the minute I saw you. You’re a natural.”

  I’d been lost in my own thoughts, but that brought me out of my abstraction. “The minute you saw me? I thought you thought I was an arrogant ass.”

  He gave me another of those mischievous, absurdly engaging grins. “Well, yeah. But you’re okay really. You’ve just been hanging with the wrong crowd.” He winked. “Too many garden parties.”

  I snorted.

  “Of course, you could have made a little more effort to play up the legend, but that’s okay. I know you’re worried about your image.”

  Funny. I’d never thought of myself as a guy who worried about his image. “Thanks again for letting me examine the mummy. I appreciate it.”

  “I should be thanking you. That shot when you were looking at that inscription? Your expression was great. You looked gobsmacked. What did it say, by the way? ’Cause I know you were able to read it.”

  I hesitated. Even though the sarcophagus was fake, the mummy itself might be the real thing. But if the mummy was also a fake, Babe Jenson’s high hopes for the museum were going down in flames, and I couldn’t do that to someone without knowing for sure. Plus, it would probably spoil Fraser’s show if I told him what I suspected. Better to keep my suspicions to myself for the time being.

  I said, “I have to check a couple of things. At first glance it looked like some kind of warning to tomb robbers.”

  His eyes lit up.

  “But it’s too soon to know for sure. I wouldn’t want to speculate.”

  He nodded, clearly not in agreement. Offered his hand. “Up to you.” He waited hopefully, but when I said nothing he conceded defeat. “Okay. Take care, Doc. Stay out of trouble.”

  “Always.”

  I started across the parking lot, stopping short at his “Hey!”

  I looked back, shading my
eyes.

  He called, “Karen is right. You are a cutie.”

  Back at the hotel I tried calling Noah again. I wanted to talk to him about the discovery I’d made about the princess, but also…I simply wanted to talk to him. I couldn’t help feeling that our earlier conversation could have gone better. It wasn’t something I could put my finger on. Lately we seemed to have trouble communicating. Or maybe that was just me feeling that way.

  I’d felt oddly adrift ever since I’d left L.A., and I wanted to hear his voice and reassure myself that everything was okay. Although I suppose our earlier phone call should have taken care of that. It’s not like I was usually so insecure.

  Anyway, I already knew that Noah would think revealing the truth about the fake sarcophagus would be a good angle for my article. And he’d be right. But I was hoping to talk to Dr. Solvani about the artifact’s provenance before I made any decisions.

  So I rang the house. There was no answer.

  That was unusual. Noah should have been home by now. I glanced at the radio clock on the dresser next to the bed. Three thirty on a Friday. Yes, Noah should have been home well before now.

  Listening to the phone ringing, I could picture it shrilling through our empty house. It made me feel lonelier than ever. I disconnected.

  For a time I worked at the desk near the sliding glass doors. I downloaded the photos I’d taken to my laptop. Not bad. Pretty good, in fact. I looked over my notes from the afternoon. I had enough there to piece together a nice little article. Nothing that would set the academic world on fire, but then it didn’t need to be.

  Gradually, raucous sounds of merriment from the pool outside my room infiltrated my consciousness. I could hear the pound of bare feet, the creak and spring of a diving board, the explosion of a human body in cannonball form hitting deep water—followed by a tidal wave slop onto cement. Swimming? In October? In Wyoming?

  I went to the glass door and peered out. Fraser Fortune’s entire film crew seemed to be splashing and kicking the pool into a miniature whirlpool. I guess their presence wasn’t that much of a coincidence. There were only two hotels in Lasse and one of them looked like a home for old hookers.