I returned my focus to the pieces in front of me. The first shard of pottery had a label that read 'handle from a wine vessel 3500 BCE'. My research had led me to the newly used BCE or before common era. I was standing inches from ancient history. Thousands of years ago, an Egyptian artist had worked the same clay into a drinking vessel.
Whatever Dave was working on this week, it wasn't nearly as cool as my assignment.
Chapter 9
Both Jackson and I had managed to carve out an hour for a dinner date before he needed to get back to the precinct and I needed to get to my museum event. I'd put on my favorite blue dress, a simple, sleeveless, silky confection that I saved for special occasions. Edward had made a point of mentioning how nice it was to have me dress like a woman for once. He still couldn't get over the fact that modern women wore slacks. I couldn't blame him. I still couldn't get over the fact that Victorian women allowed themselves to be imprisoned in corsets and crinoline.
Jackson and I arrived at our favorite Italian restaurant at the same time. Ribbons of fragrant garlic swirled around my head as I stepped out of the car. Jackson's whistle shot across the parking lot.
"It's the blue dress," he cooed appreciatively.
I held out my arms and twirled around once to give the flouncy skirt a lift. "Do I look all right? This museum event is a semi-formal affair according to the invite."
His smile faded. "And here I thought you dressed up for me."
I put my hands on my hips. "Oh really? Well, you're still wearing your work clothes, the impeccable t-shirt and jeans. (Not that I had any complaints about the way he looked in a t-shirt and jeans.) Why didn't you dress up for me?"
"All right, you've made your point. Maybe next week we can plan a dress up night for both of us. Just don't expect anything too fancy. My wardrobe is pretty limited."
I grabbed his hand. "I'm glad you like the dress. It's one of my summer favorites."
The scent of garlic intensified as we entered the restaurant. "Oh man, does that smell make me hungry." Jackson patted his stomach. "Only had time for one burger at lunch."
I chuckled. "Just the one? You poor thing. But I agree, that garlic is making me dream of a big plate of spaghetti. However, I think I'm going to have to get something that's a little easier and neater to eat. I don't want to show up to the unveiling with marinara stains on my dress."
We got to our favorite table in the back and sat down. I immediately grabbed the large linen napkin out from under the silverware and tucked it into the décolletage on my dress. Jackson shook his head. "Way to take the sexiness out of the blue dress. Now you look like my Uncle Grant at the Thanksgiving table. Only he also puts a napkin on his lap for extra protection."
"Good idea." I reached across and grabbed his napkin for my lap. He watched with a cynical brow. "What? You're wearing your work clothes. You can splash marinara all over the place. Just don't let it fly across the table." I glanced down at my linen napkin dress protector. "I feel protected now, like I'm sitting under one of those lead blankets at the dentist's office."
I leaned carefully forward so as not to lose my napkin shield. "How was your work day? I'll bet it wasn't as interesting as mine."
Jackson's amber eyes looked dark gold in the restaurant's dim lights. "Why? Did someone die?"
I sat up straighter. "Why would you ask that?"
He raised a repeat cynical brow as he opened his menu.
"Right, I suppose I do stumble onto dead people a lot when I'm out on assignment. But, you'll be happy to hear—no dead people. Unless you count the mummy they had in cold storage."
"Ah ha, you were at the museum today. I guess that would be fun for a work assignment. I, myself, always had an affinity for the dinosaurs."
I pointed at him. "I always had you pegged as a dinosaur enthusiast."
"Sure am." His faint smile told me he had conjured up a childhood memory. Something about museums did that. "I used to spend hours building plastic models of T-rex and triceratops. They were my two favorites."
"That must have been so cute, little Brady Jackson hunched over a table, brows in full concentration mode as he glued on T-rex's tiny arms." The server delivered a basket of crisp breadsticks to the table. We both reached for one. I laughed. "It seems we're both hungry. So, did I get the image right?"
Jax reached up and rubbed the stubble on his chin. It was extra heavy this evening, and I had to admit, it looked scruffy and darn appealing. "Considering I was six feet tall in eighth grade, I don't think I could ever have been considered little."
"In eighth grade? You must have towered over the other boys. I wonder if you got your height from the Beckett end of the family. There is no way to tell how tall Edward was, but something tells me he easily topped six feet. Speaking of your venerable ancestor—"
Jackson coughed on a breadstick crumb and reached for his water. "Sorry, it was just the pairing of the word venerable with my ancestor."
"All right, so venerable might not have been a word he earned in his short life but back to my point. It seems the infamous orange incident has not been forgotten."
"Can I take your order?" The server paused to take in my napkin suit of armor. Jackson ordered the lasagna, and I opted for the tamer fettuccine. That way, if sauce did splatter my dress, it wouldn't leave as noticeable of a stain. The server, a petite older woman with pearl drop earrings, smiled at my protective gear. She seemed to understand. "Can I get you both a few more napkins?"
"Please," Jackson said briskly. He waited for the server to walk away. "What's happening with the oranges? Dave still asking about it?"
"Is he ever. He ran into Raine and started asking her if she'd seen or noticed anything strange at the inn."
"Of all the people for him to ask that question." Jackson grabbed another breadstick. I could have warned him that he wouldn't have any room for his lasagna, but that would be comical. The man could eat his weight in food at each meal and sometimes did. He never gained an ounce. (It was beyond aggravating.) "What happened? Did Raine fill him in on all the weirdness?"
"I don't know if she filled him in, but there wasn't exactly a denial either. He's been bugging Lana for information too. Now, on that front, he's been receiving a hard pass. I don't trust him. All I need is rumor to get out that the inn is haunted, and my whole business model will be turned upside down."
Jackson finally paused the breadstick feast and relaxed back. "Not so sure if it will be a total disaster. You know how people like to stay in haunted places. It adds a little fun fear into their stay."
I sighed enough to dislodge my chest napkin. "Not you too." I tucked it back in. "Everyone keeps telling me it might be good for publicity, but I don't want ghost hunters showing up with their electronic gadgets and night goggles. I just want a cozy, memorable inn."
"It's your inn, Bluebird. You should run it exactly the way you want. But have you given any more thought to the pink elephant in the room or, in your case, the transparent, arrogant Englishman in the room? You can't keep him confined in one space with the whole walking through walls thing and all. This is really going to narrow his already narrow world."
I smiled at him. (And not just because he looked particularly handsome in the romantic restaurant lighting.) "You really do care about Edward."
Jackson laughed. "Me? No, of course not. He's annoying and always there. No matter where we go in the house, there he is hovering, waiting to shoot out some sarcastic comment. No, I don't care about him. I'm just worried about your business."
"I think you do care. This isn't the first time you've brought up how the bed and breakfast is going to affect Edward." I spoke again before he could argue. "Just for the record, I think it's sweet. And since we're on the subject, Edward's continued presence at the inn is always on my mind. It complicates everything about my bed and breakfast. That was starkly proven by the orange incident. I told Edward, first and foremost, he was going to have to stop juggling fruit. The rest, I'm going to have to figure out. He
worries that we won't be able to chat once there are a lot of guests in the house."
"Otherwise, instead of getting the reputation of a haunted inn, the rumors and reviews will center around the crazy innkeeper who talks to herself."
The server dropped off the extra napkins. Jackson lifted one and looked pointedly at me. "Do you mind if I use one?"
"Yes, feel free. I think I'm pretty well covered."
"Enough about Edward. What are you going to see unveiled tonight?" He dropped the napkin on his lap.
"It's called the Lotus Chalice. It's here on loan from Cairo. It's one of the many treasures retrieved from King Tut's tomb. I've seen photos and now I'm going to see the real thing. I'm excited about this assignment. Beats the Women's Auxiliary Yard Sale, that's for sure."
"Sounds amazing. I'm surprised Crockett didn't snatch the assignment away from you."
"Yes, me too." We paused our conversation for the server to set down the plates of food. "He has some surprise story he's working on," I continued. "He hasn't even told Prudence about it."
Jackson picked up his fork but looked up from his plate. "You don't think he's writing about the flying oranges."
I laughed. "He would make a fool of himself if he was writing about that." I said it airily but then it struck me. What if Jackson was right? Just how far would Dave be willing to risk his journalistic credentials to write a story about ghosts at the inn. Without any proof, he would come off like a joke. He wouldn't dare. Would he?
Chapter 10
As thrilled as I'd been about my dress choice, I felt woefully underdressed for the event. Only, it wasn't because women were wearing designer gowns and glittering diamonds. Instead, they'd opted for all things Egyptian. The Egyptian Antiquities Hall was filled with shiny gold collars and belts, sleek fitting dresses, silver snakes wrapped around upper arms and the occasional shiny gold headdress. I felt entirely out of place in my flouncy summer frock.
John Hartman had gone more the Howard Carter route with a 1920s three-piece suit, bow tie and fedora. He politely took a moment out of his hectic evening to wave hello. I waved back and then set off for the main hall. Just as expected, a large, black piece of cloth had been draped over the display case, hiding the treasure beneath. Guests mingled with gold plastic champagne glasses in their hands. Egyptian themed music drummed through the vast room. Professor Fisher had a group of half a dozen guests circled around, all of them listening raptly to his speech. I imagined it was an exciting tale about one of his adventures in the Sahara Desert.
"Becky." John Hartman had entered the main hall. A woman holding a tray of champagne responded.
"Yes, John?"
"Have you seen Sarah? I can't find her anywhere."
"Haven't seen her." The woman spun around with her tray and offered drinks to some of the guests. John pulled his phone out as he left the room.
It seemed most of the guests traveled somewhat in the same social circle, a circle that was far outside my own humble social life. I was the new kid at lunch with no one to talk to. Fortunately, unlike the barren, uninspiring lunch quad, the museum had plenty to keep me occupied while we waited for the big reveal. I perused the extensive collection, spending a good chunk of time visiting with the resident mummy. According to the information label, the remains were of an unknown dignitary or high ranking official but not a pharaoh or king.
"Everyone, everyone, can I have your attention." Dr. Fisher's baritone voice echoed off the marble walls. "We're about to unveil the chalice. If everyone would please make your way to the display case."
John Hartman came in from the hallway. He glanced at his phone before putting it back into his pocket. The crease in his brows assured me he was still looking for Sarah. She was nowhere in sight and about to miss the big event.
Samuel Fisher stood with ramrod straight posture next to the cloth draped display. He pulled the gold pocket watch out from his vest and glanced at it. It was odd and at the same time wonderful to see someone using an old-fashioned watch to check the time. "Gather around, everyone. The moment we've all been waiting for." Fisher looked like a child waiting for his parents to come downstairs to open Christmas gifts. His eyes glittered with excitement behind black-rimmed glasses.
Egyptian embellishments, collars, belts and jewelry, glistened under the bright ceiling lights as everyone sidled and elbowed their way to the best viewing spot.
"I'd like to thank everyone here for their support of the Egyptian Antiquities Department at the museum, as well as the university. Your contributions have made this wonderful event possible. In addition, the entire Egyptology team at the museum is thankful to Museum of Cairo for letting us, for lack of more academic words, gawk and ogle their amazing Lotus Chalice."
Light laughter murmured around the circle, then the air of anticipation returned. All eyes were on the cloth draped display.
"Now, without further delay—" Dr. Fisher lifted the black cloth and drew it back. "I present to you the Lotus Chalice, a marvelous relic from the King Tutankhamen Collection."
Wonder laden gasps filled the air, and the crowd pressed in for a closer look. Mutterings of admiration and delight made their way through the crowd. I, myself, was somewhat underwhelmed. I blamed it on my general lack of expertise and my hours of research where I'd viewed dozens of museum quality photos of the artifact.
As adoration reverberated around the circle of guests, I couldn't help but notice that someone else looked disappointed. Professor Fisher adjusted his glasses and scrunched his nose as he leaned down for a closer look. His brow was bunched more in concern than in wonder.
"My lord, John!" Fisher exclaimed. "Open this case at once," he commanded.
The crowd quieted and turned toward the stunned, confused museum curator standing at the far edge of the group. He had, after all, held the piece in his hands. He didn't need to be close in for the viewing.
"What's this about, Samuel?" John asked as he pushed his way through the guests.
"Open this case at once." Dr. Fisher put his hand to his chest and looked pained, almost breathless. "I must get a closer look at the chalice."
John made his way to the display. "I don't understand."
"I need you to open this box." Fisher then turned an accusatory scowl at John. "Or do you have something to do with this farce? You were in charge of the chalice."
John was flummoxed and red faced. All eyes were on him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Samuel. The chalice has been stored safely in the lab. I carried it to the display case just three hours ago."
"You mean you carried in a chalice, but this is not the chalice. The monstrosity inside this case is a fake."
This time loud, shocked gasps made their way around the circle.
John's face went white. "That's not possible. No one has had access to the Lotus Chalice since its arrival. Samuel, you and I examined it at that time. It was authentic."
"Indeed it was. Open this case and let's look closer. You'll soon see what I've already concluded. This chalice is a forgery."
The gasps in the crowd had turned to loud, concerned mutterings. "We'll be responsible. Cairo will never trust us again," someone said, and I had a feeling the person was right.
John finally collected himself. I glanced around the crowd but did not see Sarah. It was odd to think she'd missed the unveiling. Now she was missing something altogether more stunning. If the professor was right, and the way he spoke led me to no other conclusion, then someone had stolen the real Lotus Chalice. Whoever pulled off the heist had gone to great trouble too. This was no whim or impulsive theft. This took time and planning. How could it have been anything but an inside job? Someone had to know the timeline and details of the event as well as where the chalice had been stored while waiting for its big moment. Coincidentally, someone with all those qualifications had missed tonight's event. My investigative mind went straight to Sarah Essex.
While my mind puzzled out the crime, a security guard had arrived. The fifty some
thing man, heavy set and wearing a dark gray suit, was on his radio as he entered the room. John and Professor Fisher ushered him forward.
"Roscoe," John said and then quickly amended it to Mr. Banner, "please bring your key." John turned to Fisher. "You see, there are two keys needed to open the case. I have one and Banner has the second." The crowd held a collective breath as both keys turned in the locks.
Dr. Fisher wasted no time. He reached into the case the second it opened and withdrew the chalice. It certainly looked like all the photos I'd seen but then I was not an expert.
Both men took out their glasses and examined the piece closely. The look of horror on their faces said it all.
Professor Fisher put his hand on the ledge of the display case to steady himself. "I'm going to need to sit down."
Chapter 11
What started as an elegant, highbrow event at the museum had quickly devolved into pure chaos. It was obvious that none of the museum personnel had planned for such a shocking criminal act. Doors were locked, and the guests had been ordered to stay within the main hall. In the meantime, Roscoe Banner, the head of security, took three guards with him to immediately search every corner of the museum. It was a massive task, and by my calculations, would take more than an hour.
I found a quiet corner away from the frenetic energy of the shocked guests and texted Jackson. "Trouble at the museum. The chalice seems to have gone missing." There was no immediate response, signaling he was busy on another case. I put away my phone and watched the unfolding scene as if I was watching it on television. Dr. Fisher had gained the color back in his face, but he stayed seated on the chair someone brought him. He nursed a glass of water as several of the guests looked after him.
Death at the Museum Page 5
