James and I stood in the middle of the room, waiting.
Suddenly, the ghostly shapes of the mummy's jaw and eye sockets surrounded us. I spotted a bright tooth near our feet and brain tissue to our right. I gasped as I realized I was looking through the orbits of the child at the wall. Slowly, I rotated the skull vertically, until James and I were standing on the growth suture.
"Wow," said James.
"Incredible!" I said.
"Watch this," said Joe. He pushed some more buttons on his control panel, and the mummy's skull vanished. Now we were standing at the top of a flight of stairs, inside a medieval cathedral. Masonry arches soared above us, and a stained glass window appeared on one wall.
Joe gave us a couple of minutes to appreciate the view, and then changed the illusion once more. This time, we were underwater, surrounded by swimming fish. I put out my hand to touch a bright orange one. There was nothing there.
The fish disappeared and the lights came up.
"You're an archaeologist, right?" Joe said to me.
"Yes."
"We're trying to get a tape called 'Virtual Pompeii.' It's like the cathedral, only it has Latin inscriptions changing to English as you approach them, and it finishes with Mount Vesuvius blowing up."
"I'd like to see-be in-that one!" I laughed.
We left shortly, bearing the mummy data on a CD. During the drive home, we talked about what we'd seen, and whether the museum could ever display something such as "Virtual Pompeii."
After a near miss with an over-eager SUV, I decided that the Route 93 was every bit as bad as the Schuylkill ("Sure-Kill") Expressway in Philadelphia. When we stopped where I had left my car, I heaved a sigh of relief-we were still intact. James got out to give me a proper goodbye.
"The next week is going to be rough," he said, enfolding me. "I'm on call three out of four days."
I slid my arms through his. "I wouldn't be free anyway," I sighed. "This is the week before Carl's Pueblo pottery opening, and it's going to be grim. He's not ready, which means overtime for all of us."
James tipped my chin up for a kiss. "Sounds almost as bad as medical internship," he teased. "Long hours and rotten pay."
"Ha!" I retorted. "You docs don't know the meaning of low pay!"
"Guess not." He rubbed his beard over the top of my head and then released me reluctantly. "I'll call you."
"You'd better," I said, and waved with the CD in hand as he climbed back into his Saturn.
CHAPTER 19
GRAVE GOODS
A week later, Susie and I had lunch together.
The sunshine felt so warm we decided to sit outside at La Crêperie. The restaurant was in Harvard Square, around the corner from the Coop. Cambridge had changed so much. Most of the diners and esoteric little bookstores I had haunted in college had been replaced with gleaming chrome and glass storefronts and trendy microbreweries.
Susie was wearing a green silk jacket and a chunky white necklace that I coveted. I felt a bit dowdy by comparison in my ordinary black cotton pants and cream turtleneck. Susie was always a sharp dresser, and I hadn't really upgraded my image since graduate school.
Maybe I should get a makeover and reserve a vacation at a spa.
Fat chance. I could barely make ends meet on my museum salary and still pay for everything Emma needed. "Shoes for the baby" were only part of the package; then there was the little knapsack, school supplies, ballet outfits, and piano lessons. I shivered as I thought about what might happen if I lost this job.
I slung my purse under my chair and motioned to the waiter. I planned to use my time to pump Susie for information.
We had already exhausted the subjects of Marion and McEwan's latest visit on the way to the restaurant. Now we were determined to talk about something else, but I wanted to avoid discussing Ellen or James. Susie didn't know how to keep her mouth shut, and besides, she wasn't that good a listener.
Susie leaned across the table eagerly. I crossed my fingers under the table, wondering what new gossip I was about to hear. "I found out something about Ginny," she began in a hushed voice.
I just smiled. I knew I didn't have to urge Susie on; nothing would stop her now.
"Can you imagine? She was married for five years-to a trial lawyer." Susie sat back triumphantly.
I was startled. "Why doesn't she ever talk about it? Did something awful happen?"
"Her husband's dead," said Susie, opening her menu. "Victor didn't know any of the details. But if she had a lawyer for a husband, why was she working in a museum? She could have just stayed home."
And been bored silly, I thought. Well, Ginny and I had something in common after all. "And now she's got a mother in a nursing home, and an artistic brother who can't keep a job."
"Yeah. Some people just have it tough all over." Susie sounded a little smug.
The waiter took our order, and Susie returned to her favorite subject. "Victor took me to lunch last week. At that new Mexican restaurant in Porter Square, you know? And we had margueritas, in the middle of the day!" She giggled and preened. Then she said, "Of course, that was to make up for the fight we had."
"I thought he was still involved with his ex-wife." I kept my expression interested even though I thought Susie's posturing was absurd. Susie was not only built like a Barbie doll; she was acting like Victor was Ken-naturally, nothing was more important than Barbie and Ken. I wished Ellen were here, so we could trade cynical glances. Ellen had such a great sense of humor about women who were looking single-mindedly for a meal ticket.
"Oh, Brenda's out of the picture. I mean, for good. He gave her a big settlement and now she has no reason to hound him. Victor's such a softy, you know? He'd really blossom with the Right Woman."
Susie looked earnestly at me to make sure I had grasped her meaning.
"I'm sure you're right. Susie, I wanted to ask you-do you have any idea why Carl has been such a jerk lately? He's been so moody, I never know what to expect from him."
"That Carl. Well, I guess he hasn't gotten over the fact that I refused a third date with him..."
"I didn't know you'd had a second one! No wonder he's such a grump!"
"He just can't let go. I didn't lead him on, you know. It was just a friendly couple of dates, not the beginning of a Great Romance."
I asked, "Does Victor know?"
"Not yet," said Susie. "I'm waiting for the right moment to spring it on him." She smoothed her curls complacently.
Bad move, I thought. Out loud, I asked, "So, what was it like? I mean, your second date with Carl?"
"Oh, he mostly talked about himself. How he's going to be a world-famous Southwestern archaeologist in a few years. And his family was very much on his mind. Sarah, his oldest sister, is causing a big uproar at home because she wants to marry an Episcopalian..."
"The family won't let her marry outside her faith?"
"No, that's not the problem. Carl's family isn't Orthodox or anywhere near it. I think it's his mother who wants the big, fancy Jewish wedding so she can invite all her friends."
I felt a pang of sympathy for Carl, having to deal with all that in addition to job uncertainty and woman trouble.
"So, you're his attempt to get over being dumped by Shelley?" I teased.
Susie tossed her head. "Not at all. Carl's always had an eye for me," she said, with a self-satisfied smile. "But if he had any sense, he'd know that Victor is a much bigger catch."
I privately thought that Carl, with his dark hair and handsome face, considered himself the height of eligibility. He probably thought Victor was too old to be serious competition.
Our food arrived. Susie dug into to her chicken and avocado crepes. I raised my fork and then stopped as I remembered what I'd wanted to ask her.
"Wasn't Carl pissed at Marion about something? Something to do with his exhibit?" I asked.
"He muttered something about her inability to locate an artifact he wanted. And he thought she was too fussy, too rule-conscious."
Of course. Carl hated rules. "But he didn't really have anything against her?"
"Oh no, I don't think so. Marion was a bit of a drip, but that's not a crime. And she always got on well with the men in the museum." Susie's tone was acid.
She should talk! Susie was jealous of Victor's kind treatment of Marion; Victor had an unexpected soft spot for shy women like Marion. Well, that was Susie's problem; I wasn't going to encourage any more catty comments about Marion.
But Susie's mood had altered abruptly. Usually nothing could divert her from food, but this time she actually stopped eating. "I really don't like this speculating and searching for motives. Pretty soon we'll all suspect each other."
We looked at each other.
I said, "It's already happened. Our work atmosphere stinks."
"You know, Carl isn't the only who's been behaving strangely," said Susie.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I overheard a conversation on the phone..." Susie scooted her chair in closer and lowered her voice a notch. "Victor was talking with some dealer in New York. At least I think it was a dealer..." She hesitated.
I waited.
Susie scooped up some of her side of coleslaw. With her mouth full, she said, "Lisa, this can't go any further, promise?"
"Sure," I said, "I won't talk."
"He said something like, 'this will be really big, Steve. You've got to pull this off for me.' And when I brought the mail in just before he put the phone down, he looked really annoyed at me! He's never like that, he tells me everything!" Susie's baby blue eyes glistened alarmingly.
"Surely he wasn't mad at you. He just doesn't like interruptions-from anyone."
"Maybe you're right. But I wish I knew what it was all about. Don't you?"
I agreed, suddenly remembering the man who had watched my apartment and followed me in the Toyota.
We finished our lunch, resisting dessert crepes with virtue (Susie) and regret (me) and headed for the subway. As we descended to the platform, I suddenly had a fantasy about riding to the end of the line instead of going back to work. Sort of like that old song:
"She never returned, oh she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned! She may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston, she's the one...who never returned!"
? ? ? ?
I returned to the museum, my mind full of the conversation with Susie. What was Victor up to? Why was he so secretive and so reluctant to communicate with his staff? Like my old boss Valerie, he liked things compartmentalized and dealt with people strictly according to rank. If Victor were working on some sort of deal, he'd probably keep it to himself until it was a fait accompli and then he'd announce it in a staff meeting. If he actually married Susie (and good luck to him!), he'd probably be that sort of husband, too. Unless, of course, Susie could retrain him. Ha.
If Victor was working on a really important deal, surely that could be a motive for murder if Marion had found out about it? Hold onto that thought, I told myself, until I had time to consider it properly. Now I had to do some more research on my mummy.
I had been working hard on the finer points of the database. I now knew how to search by different categories, and was feeling much more comfortable with File Maker Pro. I sat down at the computer, and opened the database with my password. The dealer's name, plus any information the museum had on the Roman mummy's original provenance, should be in the system.
I typed in the number, 1924.02.0014, and hit the button for "Acquisition Information." The entry said: "Purchased in Rome, June 1924." Not very helpful. Leaning back in my swivel chair, I wondered if the details had been entered under another database tab. I tried various other categories, but turned up nothing. There was no help for it. I'd have to consult the original ledgers stored in Ginny's office. I grabbed my notebook and walked down the main stairs to the third floor.
Luckily, Ginny was out so there was no need to fear another dicey encounter. I found the 1920s ledger, a huge, leather-bound book with handwritten entries, and carried it to an empty student desk. I turned the yellowed pages over, fascinated at the variety of objects acquired at ridiculously low prices: a Greek vase for eighty dollars, two Chinese wedding kimonos for seventy-five dollars, and a collection of European weapons for two hundred and fifty.
When I got to the second lot of 1924, the records-written in a spidery hand in brown ink-were again incomplete. The date, June 1924, was correct, but the only information was "purchased in Rome." I got up and looked over at Ginny's computer, which was unoccupied. I knew Ginny hated other people to use her station, but Ginny wasn't here. Had I checked all the registration categories?
I moved over to Ginny's computer, and reached for the "on" switch. Then I noticed the little green light on the sleeping monitor, and hit "return." The database appeared on the screen. This time, I entered "Egyptian mummies" in the search box, and found a complete list. There was my Roman mummy- 1924.02.0014, along with 14a, listed as a "face portrait." Why was it listed separately, if it was part of the mummy's wrappings? I noticed that number 15, right below, was another face portrait. I searched for details, but found no notation of an attached mummy. I couldn't remember any loose portraits in the collection. Where was this one? Shelf 13A-I wrote that down. I'd look for it the next time I was in the storeroom.
Next I looked up 1924.02.0008-10, the migrating mummy beads. The location showed drawer 28, in storage. But that couldn't be right. Marion had said these beads were supposed to be in drawer five. We certainly had a long way to go to straighten out this database.
What about the cartonnage? I reached into my left pocket and pulled out the folder paper with the cartonnage number, 1987.01.0003. I entered the number and the record appeared on the screen. Under "donors," I found "J. Fran-coviglia." With a little more searching, I found the background entry for Julio Francoviglia, a New York dealer who had apparently sold a great variety of Greek, Roman, and Egyptian antiquities to the museum over the past decade. Vases, statues, terracottas,...and mummy beads. Well, that was all very interesting, but it didn't tell me if the cartonnage was a fake.
I closed the database. Idly, I scanned Ginny's hard drive, and noticed quite a few locked files. I was about to try unlocking one, but I heard someone coming. I minimized the file list, thinking that it was silly of me to feel guilty. I hadn't actually snooped in any of the locked files (yet) and was just using the computer to access the database that was open to all the staff.
Betsy came bouncing in. She snapped her gum and raised her tweezered eyebrows. "Hey, Lisa! Ginny won't like you working there. No one else is supposed to use her computer."
"Oh?" I tried to sound both severe and unconcerned. "We all use each other's computers, as needed."
"No skin off my back. Your secret is safe with me." Betsy headed for her own desk on the other side of the room. Her little corner was partitioned off from Ginny's area by a row of stacked boxes. Presumably, the boxes were full of artifacts not scheduled for either exhibit, all packed up and ready to move to remote storage until the new building was ready to receive them.
Left to my own devices, I continued to scan Ginny's hard drive. Did Ginny have a special reason for locked files? Or was it just a desire to protect her work in an environment where staff played musical computers almost daily? Idly, I tried to unlock a file called "transfer," but I couldn't come up with her password. Well, that wasn't so strange. I certainly locked some of my files, especially exhibit ideas I wasn't ready to share yet, and grant proposals. Carl liked to use my station when his computer was down, and I knew how adept he was at borrowing other peoples' ideas.
I glanced at my watch. It was late, almost six. I stretched, fighting weariness, and turned off Ginny's computer.
? ? ? ?
Back in my office, I packed my briefcase quickly and walked over to close the blinds. Outside it was dark and dreary, with a light sleety rain falling.
It was my turn to lock the museum and set the security system, a job I hadn't done sinc
e Marion's death. True, there was a policeman posted outside the building who did regular rounds, but he was somewhere else right now.
It was easiest to begin in the hallway at the front of the museum and exit by the back door. I flicked off lights in the Americas and Egyptian galleries, and crossed through the Classical gallery to get to the European gallery.
I set the alarm, grabbed my briefcase and purse, and made for the exit at a smart pace. I had only thirty seconds to get out and lock the door before the alarm would trip.
I hit the last switch behind the triptych and opened the heavy back door.
Thump.
The noise came from behind me. My briefcase slipped out of my hand and landed with a thud by the door. The door swung shut, leaving me still inside the museum.
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