Mummy Dearest - lanyon Josh (книги без сокращений .txt) 📗

It occurred to me that I hadn’t told Noah about the problem I’d run into at the museum. That was actually a good thing because the bottom line was, somehow, I had to get in there and examine the mummy of the princess myself. It was paramount. Hell, it was imperative.

I could probably… What? Fake it? Make stuff up?

The fact that the idea even crossed my mind sent a ripple of unease down my spine. But what was I going to do?

Maybe the museum gift shop had some postcards I could use in place of my own photographs? Maybe Dr. Solvani had some old photographs which he could email me later on. Not that my brief correspondence with Dr. Solvani had reassured me as to his meticulous record keeping.

Photos wouldn’t change the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to inspect the mummy, hadn’t had time to do more than verify that the mummy did exist.

Or I could swallow my pride and go back to the museum and tell Fraser Fortune that I’d had time to reconsider his generous offer.

I swore and looked at the time on my phone. It had been just about thirty minutes since I’d left Fraser in possession of the mummy. They probably weren’t shooting or filming or whatever they called it yet.

Anyway, I wouldn’t have to necessarily grovel. But even if I did, it would be worth it because going home and admitting to Noah that I had made this trip without being absolutely sure of all the details was going to earn me another lecture. And I wasn’t sure I could take one quite this soon.

I grabbed my keys and set off for the museum once more.

It was less than a five-minute drive. As I pulled into the small parking area, I noticed that the small community theater on the other side of the lot had its windows boarded up and a sign on the door listing the realtor to contact. It was the same story in a lot of the town’s shops and stores. The recession had hit Walsh pretty hard. Tourism couldn’t factor much into the local economy when the closest thing to a tourist attraction was the rundown Lasse Dime Museum.

There was no sign of anyone as I parked next to the station wagon and walked up the steps to the museum. As I stepped inside, though, I could hear sounds of activity and the buzz of voices.

I went past the gift-shop window where Babe was busily arranging a stack of black tee shirts which read My parents went to Lasse Dime Museum and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. The script was in red letters designed to look like dripping blood.

She spotted me and her face lit up. “Dr. Lawson! Did you change your mind?”

“I guess I did,” I admitted. “If Fortune will let me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will. Such a sweet man.” She came out into the narrow hallway. “This will be so good for the museum. Your article and then being featured on The Mysterious…”

I tried not to wince. “I guess you don’t get a lot of visitors this time of year.”

“We don’t get a lot of visitors any time of year.” She smiled, but looked slightly guilty at the admission.

“I saw a lot of closed shops on my way over.”

“It’s the same everywhere, I guess. Times are tough. But we’ve been here a long time now. I guess we can weather this too.”

“How old is the museum?”

“It was built in 1904.”

“Wow.”

She nodded with grim pride. “Yep. And the princess has been here almost since the beginning.”

We reached the main exhibition room. Bright light poured out the doorway like a nuclear blast, bleaching the floorboards and dark wood panels, highlighting the dust and occasional cobwebs.

Jean-clad figures hustled around. Male and female, they all looked pretty much the same. Skinny bodies in bell-bottom jeans and shirttails, shoulder-length hair parted down the middle.

I glimpsed my blonde friend from the parking lot. She waved to me in greeting. “Hey there!”

I lifted a hand in hello. A dark-haired girl with a spattering of freckles across her nose approached me. “Can I help you?”

“I was looking for Fraser Fortune.”

She looked doubtful, but went to get him. I followed her path through the crowded, over-bright room. Fraser balanced on a ladder fastening what looked like a giant roll of tinfoil. He listened to her and then glanced over at the doorway where I stood.

His expression changed though I couldn’t read it. He jumped down from the ladder with surprising agility and made his way through the light stands and reflectors, giving orders as he went.

He planted himself in front of me, arms folded. Even though I was arguably taller, he was definitely broader and more solidly built. “Yes?” He was all business, which made what I had to say all the harder.

I cleared my throat. “I’ve rethought your offer, and if it’s still open, I’d like to accept.”

“I see.” He stood there for a moment, studying me, thinking it over. I wondered if maybe I was going to have to do some groveling after all. But then he shrugged. “Okay. It was a good idea an hour ago; it’s still a good idea. Let’s go for it.”

The relief was huge. “Thank you,” I got out.

He gave a quick, surprisingly mischievous grin. “I bet that hurt.”

My own smile twisted up. “A little.”

He gave my shoulder a friendly punch. “It takes a big man to be able to accept he’s wrong.”

As I didn’t exactly think I had been in the wrong, I opened my mouth, but he was already off and running. “Okay. Let’s get you ready for your close up, Mr. DeMille.” He yelled for makeup.

“Makeup?” I asked unhappily. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes. Relax.” Fraser studied my jeans and striped shirt. His brows drew together although he was dressed similarly, except instead of stripes he’d opted for black and white checks that I’d have thought would make any camera nauseous. “Do you have anything more professional looking you could change into?”

“No. I wasn’t dressing for a job interview.”

He pointed at me. “Hey. Good thought. I think we’ll call this segment…Interview with a Mummy.”

“Not Curse of the Mummy?” I was being sarcastic.

“I think it’s too obvious,” he said kindly, evidently not wishing to hurt my feelings.

He wandered away, and the blonde skinny girl from earlier appeared.

“Hi, I’m Karen. I’m going to do your makeup.”

“Hi, I’m Drew.”

She was studying me with unnerving intensity. “Oh, you’re a cutie. Do you have to wear your glasses, Drew?”

“Er…no.” I slid them off and tucked them in my pocket.

“Good. You have pretty eyes. Are they green or blue?”

“Sort of green blue.”

“Nice dark eyelashes. I don’t think we’ll have to touch them up.”

“Touch them up?” I repeated uneasily.

She chuckled. “You’d be surprised at the difference a little mascara makes.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

She laughed outright. “Don’t worry. I won’t tamper with your inner macho man.”

Fraser wandered back, watching critically as Karen began dusting loose powder over my face with a brush that looked a lot like the ones we use in the field for cleaning fossils.

“His skin is as clear as a little kid’s,” Karen observed. “And he blushes.”

To my abject gratitude, Fraser didn’t take the all-too-easy shot and embarrass me further. “Okay, Dr. Lawson. Describe what you plan to do with the mummy and we’ll work out how to shoot it.”

I hadn’t really thought this far ahead, but clearly they were on a shoestring budget and wasting time was not an option.

“It’s not going to be anything very in-depth. I’m not a forensic archeologist, and I don’t have the equipment here even if I were. Nor has Merneith been preserved under anything close to proper conditions. Dr. Solvani gave me permission to examine the mummy and the sarcophagus, but not to remove her from the case.”

“Because she’d fall apart?”

“Well, yes. That, for sure. She’s falling apart as it is.”