"Fine. I can see your crown moldings take precedence over our relationship." He wiped his mouth. "And before you get too cocky about your investigative endeavors, I've already spoken to Flora Myers. After you mentioned that she had once dated John Hartman and she was jealous of Sarah, I decided to pay her a visit. She has an alibi for the night of the murder and a good one too. She was giving a lecture to a group of people at the library."
My disappointed sigh brought my shoulders with it. "Darn."
"You thought Flora was lying about watching Sarah?"
"Oh no, not at all. She seemed genuine in her response. I just hate it when I think I've uncovered something new and important, and you've already beaten me to the punch. You never mentioned that you spoke to Flora."
"Sorry about that, Bluebird."
Edward scoffed loudly.
"What's got your knickers in a twist this time, Gramps?" Jackson asked.
Edward ignored being referred to as 'gramps'. A rarity for him but then he was on a different topic. "What kind of term of endearment is Bluebird? In my day, we called women darling or dearest or pet."
Jackson laughed so loudly, Newman and Redford actually lifted their heads from their morning naps. He blinked his big amber eyes at me. "Would you prefer I call you dearest or pet?"
"Please, no. Edward, don't give him any ideas." I finished my half of the burrito and realized I'd been right in my prediction that half would be plenty. "If you two would like to carry on your series of ridiculous conversations, I'm heading in to finish getting ready for work. Some of us have a murder to solve."
Jackson cleared his throat as I walked away. "Uh, I think that task falls to me, the detective."
I stopped in the doorway and peered around the door jam. "Sure, whatever you say, dearest."
Chapter 32
Myrna surprised me with a cheese Danish, which I sadly had to wrap up for later. I was still too full from the breakfast burrito. "Where is everyone?" I asked. "How long do we have to enjoy the newsroom to ourselves?"
"Parker is out meeting with advertisers and getting their approval on placement and copy. He used to have people come here to do that, but now he uses any excuse he can to get out of the newsroom." Myrna's mouth puckered, and she fidgeted with some papers on her desk. "Not sure whether to feel relieved or insulted. After all, it's mostly me sitting in the office. You're always out on some exciting adventure, and Dave saunters in whenever he feels like it. When Prudence is here, she's in her office." She picked up a stack of papers and smacked the edges hard on her desk to straighten them. "I guess I'm the one he's avoiding. And I even brought him a cheese Danish this morning." She rolled her eyes. "Said he had a stuffy nose and couldn't really enjoy it so he too wrapped it up for later."
Myrna was rarely in a sullen mood, but this morning she was definitely in the middle of a pity party. "Mryna? What's going on? You know Parker is avoiding the office because of Prudence. It has nothing to do with you. You're the highlight of this place." That final compliment helped bring a smile back to her cherry red lips.
"I'm just feeling sorry for myself. The dance teacher handed out positions for the next dance recital." She lit up for a second. "We're doing a medley of songs and dances from West Side Story. I thought I'd get the part of Maria, but I'm one of the extra dancers."
I walked over to give her a hug. "Your dance teacher is a nincompoop." I chuckled. "I haven't used that word in a long time, and now I'm asking myself why not? It's a good one. And I mean it. But you'll shine even if you aren't the star. No one dances like you, Myrna." I headed over to my desk to turn on my computer.
"Thanks, Sunni. You're so sweet. I'm glad you came in this morning. I needed my ray of sunshine. If you're wondering where your journalistic counterpart is, he told Prudence he was staying at home to finish up his story."
I looked up from my monitor. "The Sarah Essex murder? Can't imagine he has much to write about. Jackson is still working on it."
"Yes," Myrna said with a huff. "I heard him complaining to Prudence that the police were going too slow with the case and that he might not have the story until next issue. But he's fine with that because he's still working on his mystery story. I don't even think Prudence knows what it is yet."
"Guess we'll find out soon enough." I focused back on my monitor. I'd decided to dig a little deeper into the missing amulet story. Even if it was kept out of public knowledge, I was certain I could find something about it missing. After all, it had to be missing from somewhere.
A few tries with keywords took me right to it, an official announcement about an amulet borrowed from a private collection that had gone missing. It was basically to inform art dealers to be on the lookout for the missing amulet. A photo accompanied the announcement. The amulet had a thick, ropey gold chain with a shiny black and gold scarab. In ancient times, an amulet was said to bring positive powers to the wearer. It was a good luck charm of sorts, according to the information provided in the article.
The photo had been taken by a professional, probably when the artifact was on display in a museum. It was a crystal clear image. The more I looked at it, the more the chain looked familiar. It wasn't a regular, linked chain. It was thick like a rope, and the gold was brassy and yellow.
A few notions came to mind. I grabbed a screenshot of the amulet and sent it to Jackson with a text. "This is a photo of the missing amulet. Could this be the chain used to strangle Sarah Essex?"
"Not sure," he texted back. "I'll send it over to the coroner's office. They'll be able to tell me one way or the other."
"Thanks." I puttered around for a few more minutes checking out some of the more prominent articles on the discovery of Tut's tomb. There were always accompanying articles about the infamous mummy's curse. There were more than a dozen articles about Professor Samuel Fisher and his amazing collection. A few of the articles showed the professor standing with some of his relics, a set of canopic jars and carved statues of various Egyptian gods.
"What ya reading about?" Myrna asked as she stapled some paperwork. I felt bad that she rarely had anyone to talk to during the day.
"I'm researching good ole King Tut and the discovery of his tomb. Poor guy spent all that money and time creating the perfect scenario to arrive in the afterlife in style and on November 29, 1922 Howard Carter blew up his whole plan."
Myrna laughed. "I've never thought about it like that. Maybe that's why they say there's a mummy's curse surrounding the discovery."
"It does make sense. I must say, with everything that's happened at the museum this past week, I'm beginning to believe in that curse too." As I checked out a page, an advertisement for Parcels R Us popped up. It reminded me I'd never heard any more about the mysterious Box 185. I picked up my phone and texted Jackson.
"Did you find out anything more about Box 185?"
"The manager can't figure out where the card came from. No one signed it and the box never existed, as far as she knew. So mystery unsolved," he texted back.
"Strange. Someone is sure good at covering their tracks. Let me know what you hear from the coroner."
"Yep. Oh, and next time you see me dump an entire container of salsa on my burrito—stop me. I've been feeling it all morning. I used to be able to drink the stuff like water."
I laughed as I texted back. "That's called old age, buddy. But it's all right, you're still attractive to me, even in your grizzled, old years."
"There's no grizzle yet, but it might be just around the corner. Got to go. Stay out of trouble."
"Can't promise that but I'll give it my best shot." I put the phone in my purse. "Myrna, I'm going out, and trust me, it's not quite the glamorous adventure you imagine it to be out there. But, if I see something exciting and newsworthy, I'll take a picture and send it to you."
Myrna laughed. "I'll be waiting."
"In the meantime, enjoy a people free newsroom." I headed out the door and to my jeep. My intuition was whirling with all kinds of notions and the loudest, clear
est one was telling me to go back to Parcels R Us.
Chapter 33
The few parking spaces designated specifically for Parcels R Us were filled. I pulled into the general parking area and took out my phone. I scrolled to the photo I'd need in my quest for information.
A man had at least six large packages he was mailing off to Florida, if my eavesdropping ears were correct. Everett, the clerk who'd helped Jackson and me when we visited earlier in the week, was carefully applying packing tape to the man's boxes.
"I'll be right with you," Everett called. I glanced around. Everett, once again, seemed to be alone in the store. I'd hoped to see the manager, but Everett would do in a pinch. I strolled over to the racks of greeting cards and amused myself with some of the witty sentiments while I waited for Everett to finish with his customer.
As I perused the cards, a text came through from Jackson. "I'm heading into a meeting, but the coroner said Sarah was strangled by a thinner chain than the one in the photo."
"Darn, there went that theory. Thanks for letting me know."
"How can I help you?" Everett asked as he came around the rack of cards. "Oh, hello." He seemed to recognize me. "You were here the other day with the detective. Can I help you with something?" he chuckled. "Hopefully, it's not a non-existent box."
"No, not that." I pulled out my phone. "I am curious, however, if you've ever seen this man in your store." I showed him the screenshot I'd saved of Professor Fisher.
Everett squinted at the photo, then his eyes widened. "Yes, that's Anna's uncle. I can call her. She should be finished with her break."
"Anna works here? I didn't know that. Yes, that would be great. Thanks."
Everett lumbered off to call his coworker out of the break room, and I stood in the middle of the card aisle trying to keep my cool. Had I just uncovered the Box 185 mystery? Was it possible that Dr. Fisher had the chalice all this time? If so, then he'd put on quite the performance the night of the unveiling. Never would I have suspected that he was the culprit. After all, he was the one to point out that the chalice was a fake. But then, wouldn't that be a brilliant way to make himself look innocent? I was sure even Jackson hadn't considered Professor Fisher as a suspect.
Seconds after he'd disappeared into the back, Anna stepped out with her sparkling green eyes and spray of freckles and, more importantly, the gold necklace. The charm was still hidden beneath her t-shirt, but even from the distance I stood, the chain was easy to see. It was the same thick, ropy chain attached to the missing amulet.
Anna blinked her big eyes and put on a tentative smile. "Hello, Everett said you were asking about my uncle?"
"Yes, hello. My name is Sunni," I said merrily. "We met at your uncle's office."
Recognition washed away the uncertain grin. "Yes, I remember. You're the reporter. Everett mentioned you wanted to see me?"
"Actually, it's such a coincidence that you work here. I came in to look for a thank you card. Your uncle took time out of his busy schedule to talk to me. I just wanted to get him a card to let him know how much I appreciated it." There was only a dash of guilt with this particular lie. I would feel worse if it turned out I lied about getting a thank you card, and Professor Fisher was totally innocent. In that case, I would just go ahead and send him a thank you card. It would be the polite thing to do after this charade. "I was hoping you could help me pick out the card."
A wide smile crossed her face. "Of course. It would be cool if there was something with an Egyptian theme. But I don't think there's anything like that in the card rack."
I followed her half skip to the thank you cards. "Now, let me see," she said tapping her chin. "He does like zebras." She pulled out a card with a zebra that had the words 'thank you' spelled out in its stripes.
I took the card and gave it a thorough perusal. "Hmm, possibly. What else do you think he might like?" I glanced at her, then stopped to stare at the gold chain. "What a beautiful chain. It's so thick and shiny. What's on the end of it, if you don't mind me asking? Is it as stunning as the chain?"
Anna reached up and fingered the chain. Most of her nails were chewed to nubs, but she'd taken the time to paint them with purple polish. "Gee, thanks. I don't usually show it to people. My uncle lent it to me for good luck. I've got a few tests at school, and I figured I needed all the help I could get."
"So it's a good luck charm?" I glanced around conspiratorially. "I would love to see it. There's no one else around. Could I give it a quick glimpse?"
Anna looked around too. We were very much alone. Everett was behind the counter listing off package prices to a customer on the phone. "I guess it wouldn't hurt. I do hate to hide it. It's super cool." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I've only shown it to my boyfriend and my best friend." Her purple fingertips reached for the chain, and she pulled the necklace out from under her t-shirt. The black and gold scarab at the end was shiny and ancient and marvelous.
I was so giddy, I dropped the card I was holding. I caught it before it fell to the floor.
Anna laughed lightly. "Yes, the necklace has that kind of power. Sometimes I feel like ancient Egyptian gods are watching over me because I'm wearing it."
"How interesting. Is it very old?" I reached for it but stopped short of touching it. "May I?" I asked.
"Sure, but just a little. My uncle said the grease from fingers is not good for it. It's thousands of years old."
My fingers touched it lightly. It was hard and cold. The thought of ancient hands sculpting it caused a shiver to pulse through me. "It's amazing. You're lucky to have an uncle like Dr. Fisher."
"I sure am. He's promised to take me to Egypt next time he goes there on a dig."
"Lucky you. And you know what? I think I'll go with the zebra card." I could barely keep my feet still. I wanted to break out into a dance. I followed Anna to the counter. "Does your uncle come in here often?"
"Uncle Sammy?" she asked. "Not really. He was in here recently to—" She stopped and bit her lip. "Uh, to send a package." She rang me up and handed me the card. "I'm sure he'll like this. Thanks for stopping in."
"Thanks and good luck with your tests."
I sent a quick text to Jackson knowing full well he was going to be too busy to answer. "Is it possible a thinner chain, like the one on Professor Fisher's pocket watch, might be the murder weapon? He stole the amulet." I ended it there, hoping he'd read it soon. In the meantime, I was going back to the university.
Chapter 34
Once again, it seemed I'd reached the hallway near Dr. Fisher's office just as students were leaving classrooms. I sidled between the chatty, backpack laden crowd and reached the professor's door. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say or ask the man. I had the thank you card as an ice breaker, and that card purchase could lead, smoothly, to me mentioning his niece and Parcels R Us. From there, it was only my wits and my courage that would direct which way the conversation might lead.
Beneath the office hours schedule was a sticky note with the words 'be right back' scrawled in black ink. I knocked to make sure he hadn't forgotten to remove the sticky note upon his return. There was no answer. The door was unlocked. I opened it and peered inside. No sign of the professor. "Hello? Professor Fisher?" I called just in case he was in a closet or stooped behind the desk.
It was an entirely different feeling walking into his office this time. My first visit was a planned interview with Professor Samuel Fisher, renowned ancient Egypt expert. It was a friendly, cheery visit to his artifact filled office. I'd left with an invitation to the chalice unveiling. It had been the first assignment I was truly excited about in a long while. How much things had changed in the course of a week. This time, the mummified cat, the canopic jars, the other ancient artifacts had a more macabre feel. Now that I was standing in the office of a possible killer, the entire atmosphere, still cluttered with book stacks, felt darker.
Just like the museum lab, Professor Fisher had a wall safe in his office. It made sense for someone who
was often in charge of priceless antiquities. The question was—what did the safe contain right now? I walked over and gave the handle a turn, just in case he'd left it unlocked. If it was empty, it would make sense. No need to lock an empty safe. The metal handle did not budge. It was locked good and tight. I stared at the dial, somehow wishing it could speak to me or give me some kind of insight to the combination.
I pulled out my phone and typed Professor Samuel Fisher into the search bar. According to the Wikipedia article that popped up, Professor Fisher was born on May 6th 1964. I walked to the door and looked out into the hallway. Aside from two students having a chat in front of the vending machines, it was empty. I hurried back to the safe. It was crazy to think he'd use something as simple as his birthdate, but, then again, most people used pass codes that were easy to remember. I spun the dial to five, then back around to six, then sixty-four. I pushed on the handle. No luck. Other combinations of the same numbers proved fruitless as well.
I gave up the quest and walked along the collection of pictures displayed on the side wall. Most of them were photos of a younger Professor Fisher standing at dig sites or in front of pyramids. One piece at the end of the row was a framed photo of Howard Carter and several other men, all wearing suits and hats and holding walking sticks. They stood in front of an opening that I could only assume led to King Tut's tomb. The men were standing so proudly in front of their discovery. I could only imagine what celebrities they were in that time period. That thought brought me to one more set of numbers. Howard Carter opened the tomb on November 29, 1922.
My gaze shot back to the safe, sitting there so secure and silent. What was it hiding? Were there treasures within, just like inside Tut's tomb? Once again I peered into the hallway. There was no sign of Dr. Fisher. The note mentioned he'd be back soon, which meant I had limited time to test my newest theory. I scurried over to the safe and turned the dial to eleven, around once and over to twenty-nine, then back to twenty-two. A click signaled that something had fallen into place. I pushed on the handle and it moved. A further push and the heavy safe door opened.
Death at the Museum Page 15
