The Pharaoh's Eye

by Cate Dean

  Memories assaulted Maggie as she headed over to the table—the same one she had sat at the first time she had tea here with Aunt Irene. It had been called The Tea Spot then, but when Lilliana bought the place, she kept the furniture, only updating the interior every few years.

  With a sigh, Maggie sat in the chair next to the window. “I miss you, Aunt Irene. I wish you could see Kit—he’s perfect, and I can’t imagine my life without him.”

  “Welcome home, Maggie.” Lilliana waited for her to stand, then pulled her into a tight hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have made some extra scones for you to take back with you. Where’s Martin, and Kit?”

  “Martin stayed in York, for work. Kit is with Spencer at the museum.”

  Lilli laughed. “Where else would he be? He takes after both of you, with his abnormal love of anything old.”

  Smiling, Maggie sat, letting the comment pass. Her friends accepted her odd passions, but they still didn’t understand them. “Do you have any blueberry scones left? Enid will be here any second, demanding one with her tea.”

  “She comes over every afternoon, now, to have tea and a scone. I’ve one put aside for her, but I am afraid I don’t have any left. Can I get you something else?”

  “One of your giant cherry cookies would work for me.”

  “All right.” She smiled. “I will get your tea and sweets out to you in a few minutes. Please let Enid know I am already on the order, so she doesn’t shout at me from the table.”

  “I will.”

  Maggie leaned back and let the quiet seep in. She had little at home, between Kit and Martin. Add in Martin’s students, and the house in York always seemed to have people in it.

  She wasn’t complaining, but she did miss having her own place to go to every day, a business she could build, be proud of. Sometimes, she felt guilty for thinking only of herself; she had Kit, after all, and helping him become the person he was meant to be was a full-time job on its own.

  Enid bustled in, pulling Maggie back to the present. Before she could say hi to Enid, Spencer walked in, Kit rushing to keep up with his long stride. The look on Spencer’s face told her he wasn’t here for a nice cup of tea.

  “Spencer—what is it?” She kept her voice low, hoping he would do the same.

  “Outside. Now.” He grabbed her hand before she could refuse and hauled her out of the bakery.

  They almost ran into a tall man, huddled in a dark blue coat. He stood over another man Maggie didn’t recognize, both of them waving their hands as they talked. The tall man glared over at Maggie, his lip curling, then he turned back to the shorter man, shoving him as he pointed down the high street.

  She shrugged off the man’s ugly glare, and turned to her friend. “Spencer—let go of me and start talking.”

  He did, pacing in the middle of the pedestrian street. Kit watched him, his blue eyes sober. “The Pharaoh’s Eye is missing.”

  “What?” Her mind flew back to their first summer together, finding the emerald necklace that had been missing for decades. A necklace with a curse attached to it. “Why do you have it?”

  “The owner loaned it to the museum, as part of an exhibit about local ghost stories.” A faint smile crossed his face, fading quickly. “You know me and my love of ghosts. When Kit and I went to check on the exhibit, the display case had been smashed. The only thing missing is the necklace.”

  “I can’t believe you—never mind.” She waved her hand. “Won’t insurance cover the loss?”

  “I’m afraid it may not. I had a meeting scheduled with our insurance agent, to go over what I discovered was an old, outdated policy.” He flinched. “For tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Spence.” She took his hand. “You know I’ll help, if you need to cover—”

  “No, Maggie.” He freed his hand and stepped back. “I’ve never asked you for money. I refuse to start now.”

  “It would be temporary.”

  “I didn’t come asking for money. I came to ask for your help, to figure out who might have taken—”

  “No.” She tucked stray curls behind her ear when the wind tugged at them. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I gave up solving mysteries when Kit was born. I couldn’t—” She moved forward, her voice quiet, so Kit couldn’t eavesdrop. “I won’t put him in danger.”

  “Just look at the scene, Maggie. That’s all I’m asking. Ian has already gone over it, but you were always good at seeing what other people missed. I won’t involve you or Kit beyond that.”

  “What if I want to help?” Kit’s voice spun her. He stood right behind her, obviously able to hear every word. “I’m good at solving puzzles, Mum.”

  “Not this time, sweetheart.” She had faced down a thief with a gun at age ten, because of that cursed necklace. She would not let her own son walk the same path. “We’re going home.”

  She took Kit’s hand, ignoring his protests, and hauled him up the high street. She couldn’t do this—she couldn’t step back into the excitement, the danger.

  Not even for Spencer.

  Four

  It took all Kit’s strength to get his angry mum to stop marching them out of the village.

  Desperate, he grabbed her wrist with both hands and dug his heels into the cobbled street.

  She stopped, both eyebrows raised when she looked at him. “Kit—what are you—”

  “I’m not leaving, Mum.”

  “You are leaving. No argument.”

  He managed to yank his hand free; he had gotten stronger over the past few months, helping Dad and his students at whatever dig they were part of, when he could get out from under his homework. “Spencer needs our help. Would he leave us?”

  Mum sighed, and pushed red curls off her cheek. The wind from the Channel had picked up, tossing the hair that had come out of her ponytail around her face. Kit hadn’t inherited the vivid color, but he did get the unruly waves that no amount of hair product could keep in place.

  “No, he wouldn’t.” She cursed under her breath, and Kit pretended not to hear. “We will look at the scene, but that’s it, understood? You are not going to play detective, or follow any leads.” She placed her hands on her hips and gave Kit her “I mean what I say” look.

  “I understand, Mum.” He meant it. But he wouldn’t promise, unless she forced him—

  “Promise me, Christopher.”

  Damn. No getting around a promise. He never broke a promise with his parents.

  “I promise.”

  “Okay. We go back, see if there’s anything we can do to lead Spencer in the right direction, then we are done. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  He waited to grin until she turned back toward the museum.

  ***

  They found Spencer on the fifth floor, next to the unfinished exhibit. The screens had been moved, revealing the damaged display case. Spencer stood next to it, staring at the broom in his hand.

  “Oh, Spence,” Mum said. Her heart skipped when Spencer lowered the broom, ready to sweep away the evidence. “Wait!” She grabbed Kit’s hand and ran across the room.

  Spencer’s head snapped up, and a relieved smile crossed his face. “Maggie, Kit. Thanks so much for coming to take a look.”

  “That’s all we’re doing, Spencer Knight.” Mum tilted her chin, meeting his eyes. “I won’t allow Kit to be involved in anything—”

  “Dangerous. I get it, Mags. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He sounded—insulted. “Or to Kit.”

  “Sorry, Spence. I’m just—”

  “The overprotective mum?” He smiled, and took her hand. “I’ll never blame you for wanting to stand in front of Kit. Though he might resent it when he gets older. And taller.” He winked at Kit over Mum’s head, and she snorted.

  “When he’s old enough to make his own decisions, I might let him out of my sight.”

  “Mum.” Heat flushed his cheeks, embarrassing him more.

  Spencer leaned the broom against the side of the display case
and moved to Kit. “Don’t worry, sport.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll hold her while you run when the time comes.”

  Kit bit back a laugh, trying to look innocent when Mum glared at Spencer, then at him. She had obviously heard.

  “Spencer,” she said. “Show me what happened.”

  He nodded, led the way to the display case. Mum carefully made her way around the mess left by the thief, and the markers from DI Ian Reynolds. Kit followed her, taking a closer look. The first thing he noticed was the glove, sitting next to the front leg of the case. A black leather glove, with a B stitched in white on the cuff.

  Mum saw it at the same time, and crouched to examine it. “Spence,” she glanced up at him. “what did Ian say about the glove?”

  “Glove? There wasn’t...” Spencer’s voice faded, and he joined Mum, frowning as he studied the glove. “That wasn’t here before.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Besides, Ian would have taken it as evidence if it had been.”

  Mum stood. “Do you have something we can put it in? I’ll take it to Ian when we finish here.”

  “Right.”

  While they were occupied, Kit moved around the case, stopping when he spotted what looked like a footprint in the broken glass, just under the display case. No—not a footprint. He ducked under the case to get a better look.

  The shards of glass had been shifted, but whoever stepped in it had been light, with a tiny foot—

  “Thank you for the compliment, young man.”

  Kit jerked up at the voice—and smacked his head against the bottom of the case.

  “Ouch—damn—damn—”

  “Kit?” Mum grabbed his arm, helping out from under the case. “Are you okay?”

  “I thought—did you hear...” He didn’t finish his question as a familiar, icy breath of air brushed the back of his neck, because he knew Mum or Spencer wouldn’t have heard the woman who stood behind them.

  She wore an evening gown, water dripping from the ragged hem. Her long hair hung around her shoulders, also soaking wet. Kit could see the gash on her forehead, near her hairline. The gash that must have killed her.

  Her eyes widened, and she floated forward, through the display case. “Can you see me?”

  Kit swallowed. He’d never told Mum or Dad about his occasional encounters with ghosts. Since he could remember, he had always been able to see them. His first had been Anthea, the ghost that haunted the Victorian Mum and Dad owned here in Holmestead.

  After an accident at one of Dad’s digs, when he was ten, he’d been able to hear them, as well. That made for some awkward moments—especially when the ghost refused to shut up until Kit acknowledged them.

  “Kit?” He looked at Mum, and could tell by her expression that she had said his name more than once. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I thought I saw a footprint under the case, but the glass had just shifted.” He ignored the ghost’s frantically waving hand. “I’m going to the loo.”

  “Let me take a look at your head first.” Mum parted his thick hair, and he flinched when she probed the tender spot on his head where he collided with the case. “There’s a small bump, but you didn’t break the skin. Headache?”

  “No. Just hurts a bit. I’m fine, Mum, really.”

  “Okay. I’m going to look around a little more. Come back here when you’re done. No wandering off to check out the rest of the museum.”

  Kit sighed, “Yes, Mum.”

  Spencer patted his shoulder. “We can check out the other new exhibits when we’re done here. All right?”

  “All right. Thanks.” He escaped, trying not to run straight to the toilets just outside the main entrance. Once he was inside, the door locked, he turned to face the ghost who had followed him. “Who are you?”

  ***

  “I’m worried about him.” Maggie paced the width of the room, close enough to the entrance to see when Kit left the bathroom, but not too close to look like she was hovering. She wasn’t hovering. “He looked—shaken.”

  “I saw it too, Mags.” Spencer stepped in her path, forcing her to stop or go around him. With a sigh, she stopped, and leaned against his shoulder. “He’s a smart kid. If there’s something he saw that he can’t figure out on his own, he will tell you.”

  “I hope so. I’ve always had the feeling that he’s hiding something from me. There was that accident on the Yorkshire dig, when he fell into the pit—” She cut herself off and closed her eyes.

  Kit had been unconscious for days after he fell, and not long after he regained consciousness, Maggie caught him talking to—the empty corner of his hospital room. She was afraid she already knew why, but she didn’t want to admit it to herself. Kit hadn’t said a word, not even when she caught him staring at an empty space, or cutting off a conversation when she or Martin walked in.

  Since Martin had once been able to see ghosts, she figured Kit would confide in him. That hadn’t happened, and she was afraid Kit might keep the secret to himself for good.

  He came out of the bathroom, looking paler than he had when he went in.

  “Kit—” She grabbed his shoulders, feeling him shake under her fingers. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “Mum—I—” He took an unsteady breath, and finally met her eyes. “I can see ghosts.”

  “I know, my beautiful boy.” She kept her voice gentle, her grip on his shoulders firm, so he would know she supported him, no matter what.

  “I can—” he swallowed, staring down at the floor. “I can hear them, too.”

  “Oh, Kit.” What she’d been afraid of was true. “Why didn’t you say so before now?”

  “It was no big deal. Ghosts talk to me at the digs, mostly to tell me I’m doing something wrong.” A hint of his smile crossed his face, fading quickly. “There’s a woman right behind you, who says she owns the Pharaoh’s Eye, and she saw who took it.”

  Five

  “Absolutely not.” Mum argued with Spencer in the corner of the room, but their voice kept rising, enough for Kit to hear. “We know where the necklace might be, and we’re taking that information to Ian.”

  “The bloody bastard could be gone by the time we tell Ian, and he gathers his men to head over.”

  “I’m not putting Kit in—”

  “He has already left,” the ghost said. She appeared next to Kit, but he’d felt her there already, like a cold breath on his neck. She had only told him her name, Josephine Cameron, and that the necklace belonged to her. “He means to destroy my beautiful necklace, split the emeralds up and sell them. If he manages to do so before the curse catches up to him.”

  “Curse?” Kit kept his voice low, turning to her. “What curse?”

  She smiled at him, a smile that had cold fingers sliding down his spine. “No man will possess the Pharaoh’s Eye, without it costing him all that he is. My husband did not believe in the curse, and it took his life.”

  “Who has it? Did you recognize him?”

  “I never saw the coward’s face, but even if I had, I may not have recognized him. I have been dead far too long, young Kit. Even the last of my youngest contemporaries are long gone.” Josephine drifted closer, and he hunched his shoulders, wishing he hadn’t left his heavy wool coat in the cloakroom downstairs. “I can tell you this: he seems to believe the necklace is his, by right of birth. Only a Cameron woman can truly inherit the Pharaoh’s Eye. If you wait long enough, the curse will take care of him.”

  Horror shot through him.

  “We can’t—” Kit cut himself off when both Mum and Spencer turned to stare at him.

  “Can’t what, Kit?” Mum looked concerned, frown lines appearing between her eyes. They only showed up when Dad overtaxed himself. Now Kit had become a burden. He never should have told her— “Kit.”

  “Uh—we can’t let him get away?”

  “We can, if it means keeping you safe. The police will catch him when he tries to sell the necklace.” Mum headed over to him, rubbing
her arms. “It got cold in here. The sun must be...” Her voice faded, and Kit knew she understood why it was cold in this part of the room. “Is the ghost—here?”

  Kit swallowed and nodded. “Josephine said he’s planning to break up the necklace, so he can sell the emeralds separately.”

  Mum stilled, her eyes wide. “How did you know it was an emerald necklace?”

  “She described it to me.”

  Spencer joined them, his face serious. “What’s her full name, sport?” He tried to make his voice light, but Kit saw the concern—and the fear—in his eyes.

  “Josephine Cameron.”

  Mum gasped, gripping Spencer’s hand. “He really sees her, Spence.”

  “Of course, I do.” Kit was offended that Mum thought he’d lie about seeing a bloody ghost. “How do you know who she is, Mum?”

  “I—we—”

  “The summer your mum and I met,” Spencer said, squeezing Mum’s hand, “we found the necklace in a graveyard. It’s a local legend, Mrs. Cameron haunting where her house used to stand. We—helped catch the thief who tried to steal it.”

  Kit’s mouth dropped open as he stared at his mum. “Weren’t you ten when you met Spencer?”

  “I—that has nothing to do with this.” She pulled out of Spencer’s grip and crossed her arms. “We tell Ian where the thief is, and that’s the end of it.”

  “He isn’t there any longer.” Kit glanced at Josephine, who nodded.

  “Tell them he has left Holmestead and is at a place called Blakeney Manor.”

  “What?” That was Mum’s family estate, now a tourist attraction. Part of it had been turned into a bed and breakfast last year.

  “Kit—what’s wrong?” Mum looked scared. She didn’t get scared.

  “She said—the thief is at Blakeney Manor.”

  ***

  Maggie wanted to call Mr. Barnes, the proprietor of the newly opened bed and breakfast, warn him that one of his guests could be a thief. Spencer talked her out of it as they sped toward the manor.