by Kris Tualla
“I was confused, honestly.” Stevie spooned a bite of her chicken salad. “I didn’t see the first two, so…”
“Hmm.” Hollis blew on her chicken.
Stevie perked up. “We should double date!”
For a panicked moment, Hollis thought Stevie had figured out about Sveyn. “What? With who?”
“The next guy on your MatchPoint profile, of course.” Stevie looked at her funny. “Why? Do you have someone else in mind?”
“No, of course not.”
Sveyn snickered at her from across the table. She started to kick his shin before she remembered, saving Stevie from a sizeable bruise. “But won’t it be awkward with George? I mean, he did kiss me.”
“He told me. Said it was like kissing his sister.”
Oh, come on; throw me a bone, here.
At least say second cousin.
Once removed.
“I don’t know, Stevie…” Hollis took a bite of her still-hot chicken, sucking air over it but burning her tongue anyway.
“Will you at least go look at your profile after lunch and see if you have any messages?” Stevie implored.
Hollis didn’t answer; she was busy applying iced Diet Coke to her burnt tongue.
“Please?” Stevie leaned forward. “I’ll come with you. Maybe your Prince Charming is waiting.”
Hollis refused to look at Sveyn. The sad knowledge that the man who was quickly becoming her beloved prince was at the table didn’t foreshadow anything good.
“All right,” she grumbled.
Stevie’s face brightened. “Really?”
Don’t look at him. “Yes. Just this once, though. If no one new has messaged me, then the idea will be tabled and you won’t ask again. Deal?”
“Deal!” Stevie held out a hand. “Shake on it.”
That was too easy. Hollis hesitated. “Have you been on my page?”
“Me?” Stevie squeaked.
“You have!” Hollis should’ve known. “That’s it. The deal’s off.” She stuck a cooler bite of orange peel deliciousness in her mouth.
“No—no—no!” Stevie slipped into panic mode. “Just this once. I promise. You need to meet this guy.”
“Stevie, please. Let it go,” Hollis begged.
“Before you slam this door and lock it, will you at least read the message?” she bargained. “Look at his picture?”
Hollis heaved a sigh. “Fine. Then we’ll never mention it again.”
Sveyn growled softly.
“I mean, you’re right,” she said to Stevie, but really to Sveyn. “If I’m to have any kind of life while I’m living in Phoenix, I need to meet people.”
“Men,” Stevie corrected. “You can decide after you see him and read what he wrote to you.” Stevie wagged a hand at Hollis’s lunch. “Finish up. We’ve got men to shop for.”
*****
“What are you doing in the ladies’ room?” Hollis whispered. She stepped into a stall and clanked the metal latch closed. “Stay out there.”
“I will. But I want you to explain yourself.”
“What is there to explain? You heard everything.” Hollis forced herself to pee, pre-flushing to disguise some of the sound.
“We spoke about courting only a brace of days ago,” he grumbled.
His jealousy felt good, she had to admit. “We can still develop our relationship, but that’s a secret. I’d be locked up in the crazy hospital if anyone found out.”
Hollis flushed again, this time for real. When she left the stall, Sveyn was leaning against the only sink in the employee restroom. “Excuse me. I need to wash my hands.”
He straightened and stepped a little to the side. “What you mean to say is that you are going out with another man to prove that you are sane?”
“Yes. And to satisfy Stevie’s guilt over scooping George up so quickly. Then she’ll leave me alone.” She moved to the motion-activated paper towel dispenser.
“And that is the only reason?”
Hollis faced the tall Viking. “Yes.”
He leaned down so his eyes were level with hers. “I want you for myself, Hollis.”
Her heartbeat stuttered. Hearing those words, and staring into those amazing oceanic eyes, made her feel cherished for the first time in her adult life. Her body reacted, begging for his touch.
She crumpled the paper towels and stuffed them angrily into the waste can. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Seventeen
Thursday
September 24
One week had passed since the evil Mystery Item was posted on the Arizona History and Cultural Museum site, and so far no one had guessed its identity. While that soothed Sveyn’s nerves, Miranda was afraid no one was logging on to see what was displayed.
“We have to drive more traffic,” she fretted. “Benton is counting on a big splash when the wing opens in eight weeks.”
“Is he willing to pay for advertising?” Hollis zipped her duffle bag closed. “Arizona Central would be a good place to start.”
Miranda scribbled on a notepad. “That’s a good suggestion. I’ll ask him.”
Stevie walked into the office. “I’m ready.”
Hollis chuckled. “Now that air-conditioning has been installed in the back porch you’re willing to go back?”
She smoothed her hair. “If I ever hope to find a man, my feminine allure must be preserved in all circumstances.”
Hollis lifted a brow. “I thought you and George were making progress.”
“And if he decides to show up and surprise me, I don’t want to look like a wet rat that’s been dragged through the dust.” Stevie gave her a significant look. “Remember that tomorrow night.”
“As if I could forget.” Hollis hefted the bag. “Shall we?”
Sveyn sat in the back of the van, alone, and watched the familiar scenery passing by. He had gotten over his snit about her going on the double date with Stevie and George, and even sat beside her while she evaluated her choices on MatchPoint.
Her top three ‘points’ had been a community college history professor, a fireman, and an accountant with his own firm.
She tapped the professor’s photo on her laptop’s screen. “This guy and I would obviously have a lot in common. But…”
“But?” Sveyn asked.
“But I’m afraid talking to him would be too much like talking about work.” She paused a moment to rethink that, but then deleted the match anyway.
“What about him?” Sveyn pointed at the fireman.
Hollis sighed. “He definitely fits the stereotype.”
Sveyn frowned. “What is a stereotype?”
“Common traits for a particular group of people, which are then assumed to be true about everyone in that group.”
Sveyn gave a little nod, still frowning. “What is the fireman stereotype?”
Hollis flashed a crooked grin. “Handsome. Muscular. Strong. And as hot as the fires they fight. There are countless calendars to prove it, too.”
She deleted the match.
Both confusion and relief flitted through Sveyn’s expression. “Why did you do that?”
“Because if things actually worked out with him,” she said softly. “I would fear for his life every day that he was on duty.”
Sveyn gave her an empathetic look. “I understand. It was the same for wives of vikingers”
“So it’s the accountant, then.” Hollis clicked on the man’s profile and invited him to the double date.
He had replied yes in less than half an hour.
She pulled the van up to the security gate protecting the Kensington treasures. “I want to try and make a quick pass through the boxes on the porch to find out what we are dealing with back there. Since the small bedroom is essentially done, why don’t you guys tackle the bigger one?”
“Sounds good, boss.” Tom hopped out to unlock the gate.
“He’s happy because that’s where the Viking stuff is,” one of the other interns said.
; “Claims he descended from Erik the Red,” the other added.
Hollis caught Sveyn’s eye in the rearview mirror. “I wonder if there is any way to know for sure.”
His mouth twisted and he shook his head. “There are no written records.”
“Well, it’s a great pick-up line,” the first intern observed. “And if he can’t prove that it’s true, then none of the ladies can prove that it’s false, either.”
*****
The back porch looked like a minor earthquake had hit. The workmen installing the wall-mounted air-conditioner had moved boxes out of their way, disturbing whatever sense of order was precariously in place.
“Well this is just spectacular,” Hollis groused.
“Nothing to be done about it,” Stevie stated. “Where do you want to start?”
Hollis picked her way to the farthest end of the room where the new appliance was quietly pumping out a substantial chill. “I want to see if anything is broken.”
Sveyn took the hint and began to stick his head into the boxes. “All of the items are well packed,” he reported. “I cannot discern any recent damages.”
Hollis blew a sigh of relief.
“Is it?” Stevie called after her.
“No, it doesn’t look like—holy crap!” Holli’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. “Crappity crap crappers!”
“What?” Stevie scrambled after her.
When her assistant reached her side, Hollis pointed at a coffin-shaped wooden box. “What does that look like?”
Stevie’s eyes rounded. “Is there a dead body in there?”
Hollis shot Sveyn the silent request and he moved toward the elongated box. She didn’t answer until he shook his head, no.
“I doubt it, Stevie,” she offered. “But it could be…”
She left the sentence dangling until Sveyn spoke.
“Egyptian artifacts.”
Hollis gasped. “Egyptian artifacts?”
Stevie looked up at her. “Couldn’t be. That’s illegal.”
“It wasn’t illegal in the nineteenth century. And a ton of that stuff ended up for sale in Britain.” Hollis moved one box, then another, working her way toward the casket. She glanced at Sveyn. “I hope there’s no mummy in there.”
“There might be… There is an infant sarcophagus.” His gaze cut back to the box. “But I refuse to stick my head into it.”
“Oh God, no. Don’t.” Hollis shuddered.
Stevie followed her, nearly tramping on her bootied heels. “Don’t what?”
Did it again. When would she learn? “Uh, don’t be a mummy.”
Stevie grabbed Hollis’s elbow. “I’m with you. Even if all this will be shipped to Egypt, I still hate to think of a mummy being in this house all this time.”
“If people think that Nordic thing has a curse, imagine what fate befalls the robbers of the—sons of god?” Hollis straightened and stared at Sveyn. “Really?”
“In what other way do you believe the pyramids were built?” He shrugged. “The Pharaohs did call themselves sun gods, remember.”
He is right.
“Huh.” Hollis bent over and tried to open the coffin-ish box. “It’s sealed shut.”
“Good.” Stevie turned around and retraced their path. “Let’s leave it that way and make the necessary calls when we get back.”
“There is a curse, you know.” Sveyn stared into her eyes. “All the gods made them to protect their handiworks from human destruction.”
Hollis wagged her head. “This is all too weird.”
“Search for it on the computer. You will find it.” He pointed at the coffin. “You should leave that here until the Egyptians claim it.”
“We’ll probably have to ship it to them.”
Stevie spoke the words along with Sveyn.
“No, make them come and get it.”
*****
“We have to open it and find out for certain.” Miranda was adamant. “What if the consulate sends someone to claim it, and it turns out to contain nothing more than worthless souvenirs?”
Hollis heaved a resigned sigh. “Ezra does have an awful lot of unimportant things in those boxes.”
“If you don’t want to open it, we can wait until Tony comes back from Tucson,” Miranda offered. Because of Hollis’s presence, the Tempe museum’s permanent collections manager had spent the last few months at the museum’s sister location in Tucson. “He’ll be back in less than two weeks.”
“I would prefer that.” Hollis gave her boss a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
One curse at a time was enough.
Even if I don’t believe in them.
Stevie followed Hollis to her office. “What are you wearing tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” I haven’t wanted to. Hollis sat behind her desk and regarded her assistant cautiously. “Do you have any ideas?”
Asking Stevie if she had any ideas was like letting a litter of puppies loose in a field of butterflies. Cute, but chaotic.
First, she insisted they grab dinner at Fashion Square, before shopping for the perfect outfit for their evening of hitting golf balls from an open bay in a three-story building while enjoying craft beers and gourmet pub food.
“This.” Stevie held up a tailored pair of Bermuda shorts. “It will be perfect with that sleeveless Hawaiian print top.”
As she did with every suggestion, Hollis looked at Sveyn for his reaction. In the car on the way to the mall, she made it very clear that—rather than undermine her efforts—if he liked how she looked in anything particular, he should say so. Then she would buy it and dress that way on her dates with him.
The logic of that hit home, and Sveyn gave her his honest opinion on every outfit.
“Buy both,” he suggested when she couldn’t decide in the end. “You look beautiful in both.”
Hollis allowed a shy smile of pleasure, her cheeks warming. “I suppose I’ll get both.”
Stevie bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. “And you’ll be all set for your second date!”
Hollis looked at a grinning Sveyn, and winked.
Friday
September 25
Timothy was a very nice looking man; not at all the accountant-ish sort that Hollis expected. Sure, she saw his face on MatchPoint, but his body…
“Do you work out?” The leanly sculpted bulges of his five-foot-ten-inch frame made the question unnecessary, but his unexpected athleticism caught her off guard.
He smiled. “I’m in training. I hope to compete in the Iron Man Triathlon in Hawaii next year.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Timothy opened the door of George’s car, and Hollis slid into the back seat. “Thank you.”
Sveyn offered to stay out of the car this evening and simply ride his tether—an offer which Hollis was very grateful for. George’s Audi sedan was well appointed, but it wasn’t very large. Having an invisible Sveyn squeezed between her and Timothy would guarantee an awkward getting-acquainted conversation.
“I expect you’ll put us mortals to shame tonight, Tim,” George said as he started the car.
Stevie twisted around to face him, eyes twinkling. “You must have a very powerful swing.”
His smile stiffened. “Timothy. And I’ve never golfed before.”
“I did a par three course in college for a physical education credit,” Hollis offered. “I liked hitting the ball, but I hated walking the course.”
“Everyone uses carts now,” George observed. “Especially in Arizona where it’s so hot.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?” Timothy countered. “Golf used to be good exercise. Three-hour-long walks, carrying a heavy bag of clubs.”
“This isn’t real golf tonight, so the point is moot Counselor,” Stevie teased and gave George’s shoulder a little shove. “Tonight is about fun, new friendships, and good food.”
“I understand they serve beer from local microbre
weries.” Hollis turned to Timothy. “Are you a light beer or dark beer kind of guy?”
“Neither. Beer is loaded with carbs.” He smacked his belly. “Gotta stay lean if I expect to complete the Iron Man course.”
“Right.” Hollis avoided glaring at Stevie—barely. “I hope you don't mind if I sample a few.”
“Not at all.” Timothy leaned closer. “And I’ll make sure you get home safely.”
Hollis forced a laugh. “I said a few samples. Not a few pints.”
He leaned back and flashed a lopsided grin. “Can’t be too careful.”
“Stevie and Hollis work together.”
Timothy shifted his attention to George. “What?”
“Stevie and Hollis are working on a large bequest of museum acquisitions.” George cleared his throat. “Quite a few interesting finds.”
“Yeah, your profile said you are a collections manager, whatever that is.” Rather than ask Hollis to explain, Timothy addressed Stevie. “What are you?”
“I’m a registrar.” Her smile was becoming strained. “I catalog the items that the museum has been given, and Hollis decides what pieces will be put on display.”
He looked at Hollis again. “So, you work with a bunch of old stuff. Anything interesting?”
“Yes, actually.” Hollis took a deep breath and decided to give Timothy the benefit of the doubt. “It’s fascinating to hold an item, and know that it belonged to someone who lived hundreds of years ago.”
“DNA?”
Hollis tilted her head, confused by the question. “What?”
“Is there DNA on the stuff?” Timothy shifted in his seat. “Could we clone George Washington? Or Abraham Lincoln?”
Hollis’s jaw fell slack.
“Even if we did,” Stevie interjected. “They would not be the same person.”
“Huh.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Too bad.”
Hollis pressed forward, but her hopes for a pleasant night were dimming with the setting sun. “Have you been to our museum, Timothy?”
He shook his head. “I’m not interested in old stuff.”
She had to ask. “Then why did you ‘point’ to me on the site?”
