Clara sidled close and nudged me with her shoulder.
“Oh, honey, now don’t you fret. I may have something left that would interest you.”
The store owner finally released my arm and moved off through her racks of books, still chatting amicably away. It was right about then, when we passed by the far southwestern corner of the shop, that I discovered the source of the door chime. There was a vintage round, black, wrought iron bird cage sitting in the corner. The front door was open and sitting on a padded perch attached to the front of the cage was an African gray parrot. Clara noticed me staring at the bird and chuckled.
“Where are my manners? Zack, this is Ruby. Ruby, this is Zack, momma’s newest friend.”
“Give us a kiss, Precious,” Ruby crooned, bobbing her head up and down as parrots were wont to do. “Give us a kiss!”
I had to smile.
“So this is your security system. I have to hand it to you. She sounded just like a bell.”
“My security system consists of one camera, aimed at the door.” Clara pointed at a small monitor sitting on a shelf just below the counter top. “Ruby can see it from her perch and has picked up the habit of chiming like a bell whenever she sees someone come in. The funny thing is, I never trained her to do it.”
A cell phone rang loudly nearby. Both Clara and I reached for our respective cells at the same time. It wasn’t mine. I looked over at Clara in time to see her glare at the bird.
“Ruby, I told you to stop doing that. It stopped being funny several weeks ago.”
“Give us a kiss, give us a kiss.”
I chuckled, “I take it Ruby is great at mimicking sounds she hears, huh?”
“This latest one is a real pain,” Clara admitted with a sigh. “Ruby has unfortunately learned that it’s great fun to make a certain noise and watch me scramble like a mad woman for my cell. I’ve threatened to withhold snacks. I’ve tried to bribe her with her favorite treats. Nothing works. I can only hope this is just a rebellious phase.”
“How old is she?” I asked, looking at the small gray parrot.
“25.”
“Really? How long do parrots live?”
“Ruby will be around long after I’m gone,” Clara said. “Healthy greys can live up to 80 years on a balanced diet.”
“Wow. It’s crazy to think she could live for another 55 years!”
“I’ve raised her from a chick,” Clara told me. “I give her only the best organic, balanced food. She sees Dr. Watt several times a year to get her talons and her beak trimmed. She’s a healthy little thing. I just worry about what’ll happen to her once I’m gone.”
Was I being set up? The hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight up.
“I’m sure you have a long ways to go before that happens,” I tried to assure her.
“Let’s hope so,” Clara agreed, giving me a strained smile. “Now, then. It just so happens that I have one copy left of Egyptian Mummies and Their Curses for Idiots book.”
“You can’t be serious,” I stammered. “There’s a book about Egyptian curses in that series? And you had more than one copy?”
“I had six,” Clara confessed.
“That’s…” I trailed off as the implication set in.
“Presumptuous?” Clara offered? “Look, Zack, I know how it looks. I can only assure you that I had nothing to do with what happened last night. What I can tell you is that I had people waiting on my door before I even got here this morning. They were waiting to buy books about Egypt and mummies in particular. I’m selling you the copy I had reserved for myself.”
“Oh. Hey, I can’t take your book. You take it.”
“I’ll have a dozen more in a few days,” Clara confided. She shook her head, causing her full head of hair to dip dangerously low. I was still waiting for her hair to come tumbling off. “You take this one. I can wait.”
“Why were there so many people waiting to buy books about Egypt?” I asked, perplexed, as I handed my credit card to Clara. “There weren’t that many people at the exhibit last night, was there?”
Clara paused just before swiping my card through the credit card machine. The look on her face was not something I was expecting. Her eyebrows shot up and her eyes opened wide.
“You mean you don’t know about last night?”
“I was there last night,” I huffed, growing defensive. “I know full well what happened during the presentation.”
“I’m not talking about what happened at the school,” Clara said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “but rather what happened on D Street. This would have been after the event broke up last night.”
“What about D Street?” I wanted to know, curious. “Did something happen?”
“Someone saw the mummy!” Clara excitedly told me, keeping her voice low. “It was shuffling along D Street and disappeared into the nearby trees before the police could arrive.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. No. It simply couldn’t be. Mummies do not rise from the dead. They simply cannot be reanimated. I was joking earlier. I swear! I seriously had to stop watching so many movies.
“That’s impossible,” I assured Clara, adopting the strongest, most confident voice I could muster. “Mummies can’t come back to life.”
“This one did!” Clara assured me. “Five different people saw it! It happened just after midnight.”
Even though I’m sure my heart was pounding, a nagging thought occurred which caused me to frown. There had been witnesses? At that time of night?
“What were that many people doing awake in the middle of the night?” I skeptically asked.
Clara’s brow furrowed. I could tell she hadn’t been expecting that question. She looked at me and chuckled.
“That’s a mighty fine question, Zack. I don’t have an answer for you. I can only relay what I’ve heard. Everyone is spooked. Everyone wants to know what we’re dealing with. As a result, people are buying up whatever they can find about mummies.”
Clara placed my newly purchased book into a white paper bag with handles and slid it across the counter to me.
“There you are. If you find anything interesting in there you be sure to let me know!”
“You got it. Nice meeting you, Clara.”
“And you, sweetie. Don’t be a stranger next time. Come back soon!”
I exited the store and hurried to my Jeep. I had the distinct feeling that if I didn’t get my ass out of there, and out of there quickly, then Clara was going to somehow get me back inside her store.
Before you get the wrong impression, I should tell you that no, I’m not afraid of little old ladies. However, with that being said, I need to tell you that I am not a fan of people who don’t respect your personal space. We can still carry on a conversation and not have to be less than six inches apart from one another, thank you very much.
As I merged onto Oregon and turned onto Main Street, I thought back to what Clara had said. There had been mummy sightings. Wouldn’t that suggest… no. Nope. We’re not going there. It’s not possible. Period. I needed to do something to get my mind off of things.
I made a decision about what I wanted to do and started heading back home, intent on dropping the dogs off at the house for a few hours. I hit the “Hands Free” icon on my stereo and was rewarded with a synthetic female voice asking what I wanted to do.
“Call Vance.”
“How can I be of service today?” my stereo asked again, using its flat, featureless monotone.
“Call Vance,” I crossly repeated.
“What type of dance would you like me to research online?”
“Vance, you moron. Call Vance. Now.”
“Searching.”
“Searching?” I repeated. “Come on, you idiotic hunk of junk. I only have one Vance in my phonebook. He’s not hard to find.”
“I found one dance studio less than three miles from your present location,” my smart phone informed me. “Would you like directions?”
“Yo, Zack. What’s up?”
“Hey, Vance. Are you still interested in catching a movie today? I need to do something to take my mind off of things.”
“Would that have anything to do with the events of last night?”
“Don’t start with me,” I crossly muttered. “Yes or no.”
“Sorry, buddy. I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“Oh, come on,” I complained. “Rambo: Old Blood looks pretty good! They say Sylvester Stallone promised to do all his own stunts this time!”
“There’s no way, pal. When you have that much money you don’t take a chance of getting hurt. Listen. Forget about that for now. Are you bored? Need something to do? Get yourself over to Fanny’s Farms. And bring the dogs.”
“What? What the hell for?”
“You’re not gonna like it if I tell you.”
“Just tell me it has nothing to do with last night.”
“Sorry, pal. There’s been a mummy sighting. It was witnessed by nearly a dozen people.”
“Yeah, I know. Clara at the bookstore told me all about it. I guess it happened sometime after midnight. I thought it was off of D Street and not some farm.”
“It was off of some farm. And you’re right. That happened last night. I already know all about it. The one I’m referring to happened less than an hour ago, Zack.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Come on, pal. Pull it together. You know someone is pranking us. There’s no way this is legit. Look. Think of it as therapy, okay?”
“I knew I should have never told you about my preference to avoid anything having to do with mummies.”
“You didn’t. I guessed, remember? You just confirmed my suspicions. Right now, in fact.”
I groaned again.
“It’ll do you good. Will you do it?”
“You actually want me out at a crime scene?”
“If you bring the dogs, yes.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Well…”
“Thanks a lot, pal. Fine. You win.”
“Great! I’ll see you there!”
“I swear, man, if I so much as see a…”
The phone beeped and the call was over. I sighed. Swell. There was another sighting? In broad daylight? What the hell was going on around here, anyway? Was Vance right? Was this just some elaborate hoax? Or was I right and the mummy had…
I shuddered, even before I could finish the thought. Vance was right. I needed to deal with this irrational fear of mine. There was no way in hell that a mummy had come back to life. Nope. No, sir. Nuh-uh.
Maybe if I say it enough times then I’ll actually start to believe it.
Fanny’s Farms was probably the second largest farm to participate in Cider Fest. They, like Greenwood Gardens, had to resort to parking visiting cars wherever there was room. In this case, since Fanny’s Farms was more wooded than the last farm I had been to, I had to park my Jeep directly between two trees. I barely had enough room to open the doors.
I could smell fresh pine, which wasn’t surprising since there were pine trees everywhere. There was also a layer of pine needles coating the ground, with an occasional pine cone thrown in here and there. I set their royal majesties down on the ground, clipped leashes onto both of them, and headed in the same direction that everyone else seemed to be heading.
Looks like the big draw of this farm, according to the numerous signs I was passing, was a huge 40-acre corn maze. According to the sign I just passed, the quickest reported time in which the maze had been solved had been just under an hour. Management recommended, according to the sign, that you purchase a whistle before you enter. The corn stalks were easily over 8 feet tall and grew incredibly thick. It was quite easy to become lost and grow frustrated. Therefore, three blasts on the whistle would alert the staff and you’d be “rescued”. Much to the amusement of your friends, I’m sure.
Sherlock led me straight to the entrance of the maze, where Vance was waiting for me. Two other police officers were there, preventing people from entering the maze.
“Hey, Zack. Glad you could make it.”
“Yeah, right,” I snorted. I looked down at the dogs, who were both presently staring at Vance. “You’re just happy to see them.”
Vance squatted, reached into a jacket pocket, and produced two dog biscuits. Two corgi butts immediately plunked down on the ground. He held out both biscuits to the dogs, who took them so gently I was convinced they’d be able to hold a soap bubble in their jaws without breaking it.
“You little snots,” I said, looking disdainfully down at the dogs. “You damn-near bite my fingers off whenever I give you treats. Why are you giving him the preferential treatment?”
“Maybe they like me better?” Vance casually suggested as he stood back up.
“Bite me.”
“Case closed, pal.”
“Mm-hmm. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Why are we here? And why are we at the maze?”
Vance turned and disappeared through the entrance of the Maze, visible only as an opening cut into a huge 8 foot tall wall of corn.
“Come on,” Vance called. “Follow me. There’s something you need to see.”
“You want me to go in there?”
Vance shot me a look over his shoulder as he pushed by several swaying stalks of corn.
“Is that a problem? Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic, too.”
“Kiss my ass, pal. I’m referring to that sign back there that says it takes close to an hour to solve this thing. Sounds to me like it’s easy to get lost in there. Do you know where we need to go?”
Vance’s only response was to hold up a folded piece of paper. I could tell something was printed on it but I couldn’t make it out. He held it out behind him, forcing me to increase my pace if I wanted to see what was on it.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Cheat sheet.”
“To what? The maze? Seriously?”
“You didn’t think I’d come in here without knowing how to get out, right?”
I took the paper and glanced down at it. What I saw had me groaning out loud. I was looking at an overview of what the maze must look like from a bird’s eye view. These people definitely had way too much time on their hand.
I was looking at a map of the continental United States of America. However, someone had cleverly turned the USA map into a maze. It looked as though the entrance to the maze was located in the southern tip of Texas while the finish line was the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. As mazes go, it didn’t look too complex. However, I’m pretty sure most mazes weren’t created on a 40-acre field of corn. It was gonna take time to make it through that sucker. My feet ached at the prospect.
“Are you shitting me?” I groaned.
“Fanny’s Farms is serious about their corn mazes,” Vance explained, leading me deeper into the corn. “I think they’ve won awards for it.”
“Really? They give out awards for mazes?”
“It’s just to get into the spirit of things. Damn, Zack. Why so negative? Don’t people in the big city celebrate the holidays?”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “This small town atmosphere still takes some getting used to. So where are we going?”
“I was told we need to head to Michigan.”
I looked down at the maze’s overlay and tapped an area in the northeast.
“That’d be over here somewhere. Are you sure we can find it?”
Vance took back the map.
“Of course we can. We can do this.”
“We need to get to Michigan? Couldn’t we just drive over there and save our
selves the trouble of navigating through that?”
“Drive over where?” Vance asked, looking back at me. “Do you see any roads around here? This whole area is nothing but corn. The Martinsons’ have nearly 200 acres of it. That doesn’t even include the other crops they grow.”
“Oh.”
“Are you done complaining? Now follow me.”
“Lead the way pal. Just don’t get us lost.”
“Please,” Vance scoffed. “I’m a detective. There’s no way.”
Fifteen minutes of endless wandering finally convinced Vance to concede defeat. He had gotten us lost. I noticed he was wearing a whistle and I also noticed he had eyed it more than once. As soon as he stopped to stare at the map for the tenth time since arriving in this Hee Haw Hell, I quickly approached and tapped the cheap plastic toy dangling around his neck.
“Maybe we should…”
Vance slapped my hand away.
“Hell no. I’d never live it down. Neither would you.”
“Everyone knows I have a lousy sense of direction,” I explained. “It’s expected of me in here. It’s nice to see it happen to someone besides me.”
Vance looked down at Sherlock.
“What do you say, buddy? Care to help me out?”
Sherlock, thus far content to simply explore the corn field with us, lifted his head and sniffed. Watson continued to stare at Vance, hoping he’d offer her another biscuit. Sherlock tugged at his leash and led us back the way we had come. I looked over at Vance, who shrugged and held out a hand, indicating we should lead the way.
For ten minutes Sherlock wove his way through the stalks of corn, not once bothering to see if we were all following. I took off my jacket and slung it over my shoulder. The temperature inside the corn field was sweltering. It had to be at least twenty degrees warmer than the outside air, making the ambient temp somewhere around the mid-80s. I could feel beads of sweat trickling down my back.
I glanced down at the dogs and noted their thick coats. This couldn’t be pleasant for them. I certainly wouldn’t want to be traipsing around a corn field wearing a fur coat. But, as I watched Sherlock sniffing along the row of corn, I could see that he didn’t appear to be distressed in the slightest. Nor did Watson. On the contrary, both corgis appeared to be having the times of their lives.
Case of the Fleet-Footed Mummy Page 7