Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery)

by Gina Conroy

  I shook the thoughts from my mind. Who was I to judge? Cherilyn was probably a victim. Who knew what power Henderson had over her? Even my own mother couldn’t walk away from her abuser. Focus, Mari.

  A couple more clicks and I found her attendance records. It confirmed Cherilyn enrolled and attended two weeks of classes the second semester of her sophomore year. Last year. But didn’t she tell Danny she never returned after Christmas break?

  As much as I wanted Danny to be happy and find love, I didn’t want it to be with someone like Cherilyn. Why had I encouraged Danny to pursue the relationship? Regret pooled within my conscience. Maybe I wasn’t as good at reading people as I had thought.

  If I’d been wrong about Cherilyn, who else had I misjudged?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tuesday, 1:28 p.m.

  Lyndon University

  THE SECOND HAND ON the clock ticked in slow motion as I waited for the bell to ring, signaling the end of my final afternoon class. I started gathering the test papers before the last student turned in his exam. Someone could have used a neon-colored cheat sheet, and I wouldn’t have noticed. My busy mind was racing with last night’s discoveries.

  The shrill buzz of the bell snapped me to attention. My only straight A student scurried from his seat. I gathered his paper along with the stack of others, my stomach grumbling as I stuffed them in my red leather tote.

  “Have a wonderful Christmas break.” But my students didn’t hear my well wishes as they packed up and chatted with friends. First one out the door, I hustled toward the elevator before some student accosted me about his exam. Waiting at the elevator, I grabbed the box of Cuba Venchi assorted Italian chocolates from my oversized bag. The doors whooshed open. I entered, my nose to the box, inhaling.

  Though I couldn’t smell the chocolate ecstasy through the cardboard and plastic packaging, my stomach gave me a swift kick, sensing I was holding out. If I wasn’t so desperate to use the chocolate as leverage, I would’ve ripped into it. But instead, I pressed the basement button and peeled the price sticker off the 5.8 ounce birthday gift Jack sent from Italy. How thoughtful. Break my heart, then get me fat so no one else will ever love me. The elevator doors opened and in a moment of silence, I gave the chocolates their due reverence.

  As I entered the Archaeology lab, the secretary’s eyes lit up. Rolls of flab hung over her desk dwarfed by her massive frame. I could’ve fooled my ego into thinking she was happy to see me, but only one thing could satisfy her longing.

  I handed Mrs. Danbury the box of chocolates. “I’m sorry I missed you yesterday, but I wanted to say thank you for leaving the office open for me.”

  “Oh, it was no trouble at all.” Her gaze never left the candy. “I’m sorry I had to skedaddle. I had a belly dancing class at 6:30 and didn’t want to be late.”

  I cringed at the visual and turned my focus on the lab sign-in book on her desk.

  “Are you needing time in the lab again, Mrs. Duggins?”

  “Yes, if that’s okay. I know I’m not scheduled, but it won’t take long.”

  Her eyes shifted from me to the lab door and back as she tapped her fingertips together. She leaned toward me and cupped one hand near her mouth. “Now’s not a good time,” she whispered, then glanced at the door again. “The FBI’s in there right now. Don’t know what it’s all about. You know they don’t call the FBI in for any old thing.”

  My palms began to sweat, and I willed them not to rip the chocolate from the secretary’s hands. I would have to settle for deep breathing to ease my anxiety. “Would you mind asking them when they’ll be finished? I only need to get in there for a couple of minutes.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” She pushed up from her desk and wiped the crumbs from her belly. When the last of her disappeared into the room, I grabbed the sign-in book, threw it on the glass, and pressed the copy button. The machine whined to life. I whipped my head toward the lab. How would I explain my need for the sign-in sheet if the FBI caught me copying it? I waited for the copier to spit out my page, shifting my weight as I willed my heart rate to settle before it ratted me out.

  With copies in my bag and the sign-in book in place, I dried my palms on my grey slacks. Seconds later, the secretary toddled in. “Sorry, Mrs. Duggins. They’re not allowing anyone inside.”

  “Do you know what it’s all about?”

  “Haven’t got a clue, but the FBI lady says she wants to have a word with you. Why don’t you sit? They might be a while.”

  Fifteen minutes later, after watching the secretary devour half a box of chocolate without offering me any, I felt my decorum slipping. I grabbed the half-eaten protein bar from my bag and nibbled on the chocolate coating. How could Danny eat these nasty things? Sure, the first bite was pleasant enough, but after several bites of the cardboard filling, I needed a bottle of water to choke it down. Which I had inconveniently left in my office.

  Behind her desk, Mrs. Danbury licked her lips and reached for another piece of my chocolate. Twenty-five dollars’ worth of Italian dolce gone in one sitting. If I didn’t need to get on Mrs. Gloop’s good side for further questioning after the FBI cleared the area, I might’ve wrestled her for the last piece of chocolate. Respect for creation, life, and relationships, Mari. I bit off a huge chunk of the bar and rolled it around in my mouth.

  A dark, statuesque goddess emerged from the lab. Her sheer black linen pant with a skirt overlay flowed as she glided through the hall, looking more like a runway model than an FBI agent. A modest beige shirt hung loose on her figure. Even a Eunuch didn’t stand a chance with this beauty.

  In contrast, a dumpy redhead followed with an exaggerated swagger. Definitely FBI. I noticed her butchy haircut, then studied her face just to make sure she was female.

  I hid my clashing red tote behind my burgundy blouse, elongating my upper body as the women approached. At least my grey chunky-heeled pumps matched my slacks.

  The smaller FBI agent bypassed the stylish one and extended her hand. “Mrs. Duggins, I’m Agent Malone.” Her New York brusque derailed me. Being in Texas, I expected a cowboy drawl. “This is Asenath Bomani with Egypt’s Department of Retrieving Stolen Artifacts. We’re working in tandem with Egypt to get to the bottom of this case. Whatever she asks for, give it to her.” Before I could say a word, she hustled away toward the lab.

  Ms. Bomani offered her slender hand with a warm smile. “I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to speak with me.” Her Egyptian accent sang in my ears. With hair slicked back in a stylish, but revealing, headscarf, her classic Egyptian features rivaled Nefertiti’s. I squeezed her hand. Soft, manicured.

  “As Agent Malone explained, I am Asenath Bomani from Egypt’s Department of Retrieving Stolen Artifacts. I understand your husband—”

  “My ex-husband.”

  “I am sorry, your ex-husband, Jack Duggins, was involved in a recent excavation at the Valley of the Queens?”

  Was? I folded my arms across my chest. “As are several other archaeologists, not to mention Egyptian nationals.”

  “I am not accusing your husband”

  “Ex.”

  “Your ex-husband of anything, Mrs. Duggins. We are trying to locate his whereabouts for questioning.”

  “I thought the DRSA’s job was to search the websites of international auction halls to identify stolen pieces and recover them. I didn’t know they sent representatives to investigate.”

  “The DRSA’s objective has not changed. Our goal is to return Egypt’s treasures to their home. We are currently monitoring major auctions for stolen Egyptian artifacts, including the heart scarab your ex-husband handled in Luxor. You understand what a significant discovery this is. Everyone who had contact with the artifact is being questioned, so if you would tell me where Mr. Duggins is—”

  “As far as I know he’s in Egypt. We don’t communicate much anymore. I’m sure you understand.”

  “There has been no sign of him since he left for the hotel Monday night
at 5:00. That would have been 10:00 a.m. your time. When was the last time you heard from him?”

  I sucked in a breath. “He called yesterday, around noon.”

  “Two hours after he left the site? I thought you said you do not talk to him much anymore?”

  “I did. We don’t. He called, but I couldn’t understand what he said. Then I found a voicemail he left on my phone around 11:30 a.m. I’d missed it earlier, but it doesn’t matter. It was all garbled.”

  “That would have been 6:30 p.m. in Luxor. Do you still have the message?”

  I nodded.

  “I will need your phone to verify this information.”

  I hesitated. What if Ms. Bomani misconstrued the phone message and used it against Jack? What if Jack tried to call when she had my phone? “Don’t you need a search warrant?”

  “I could request the FBI issue a warrant, but they have more important matters to attend to. It would make things easier for everyone if you relinquish the phone willingly.”

  “I’m expecting an important business call.” From KTXL.

  “Mrs. Duggins, Jack Duggins is missing. You said you have not spoken to him in over twenty four hours.”

  “I didn’t speak to him, just got a call—”

  Ms. Bomani tapped her sensible black shoe. “Are you not concerned about him? Do you not want us to locate him?”

  “Sure, but that’s not your job. Your job is to find the heart scarab.”

  “That is what I am trying to do. I am not the enemy, Mrs. Duggins.”

  “Neither is Jack. He’s a scientist, not a thief. He cares more for the history of your country than anything else.” Including his own family. “It’s absurd to think he forged a priceless artifact. Especially this one. How would he benefit?”

  “The price it would fetch would be astronomical.”

  “But the notoriety for its discovery would be priceless.”

  “Like I said, we are not accusing him of anything. I simply need to talk with him. The scarab may not be a forgery. If that is the case, there is no need for you to worry. We will transport the artifact to a more secure lab and close this one until the agents collect the evidence.” She turned to the secretary who looked like she had devoured the canary. A chocolate-covered canary. “I need the log of everyone who entered the lab since the scarab has been here and any surveillance video.”

  Mrs. Gloop swigged from her water bottle, and with sign-in book in hand, shuffled to the Egyptian bombshell. “I’m sorry this is all there is. We’re not that high tech here yet. I’m afraid sometimes people don’t sign in.”

  Ms. Bomani mumbled something in what sounded like Arabic. “If you house Egyptian treasures, there should be more security precautions.” Ms. Bomani’s dark cheeks turned crimson, but her tone remained smooth as she received the log. “Thank you, I will return this when we are finished.” She turned to me. “Now the phone.”

  I hesitated.

  “Must I tell the FBI you will not cooperate with the investigation?”

  I slapped my iPhone in her hand. “I’m sure this is all a big mistake. You’ll see Professor Kipling was wrong about the forgery, and Henderson’s original lab report was correct.”

  “I was not aware of this other report. If you are withholding information about an antiquities theft you risk a minimum of ten years in prison and a stiff monetary fine—”

  “I’m very aware of Egyptian Law.” I shifted my weight to my left leg. “And I support the harsh penalties for those aiding the theft of Egyptian antiquities.”

  “Then I am sure you will share whatever you know.”

  “Absolutely.” The lady knew how to play hardball. “Yesterday morning, as acting head of the department, I received a lab report addressed to Professor Henderson.”

  “You said this report is different from Professor Kipling’s? Where can I find it?”

  “All the information is in the computer files. You can access it yourself inside the lab.”

  “Where can I reach Professor Henderson?”

  “You can’t.”

  Ms. Bomani’s dark eyes muddied.

  “He died yesterday. Doesn’t the FBI know about the murder?”

  “Not that I am aware of.” She offered her card. “If your ex-husband contacts you we will need to talk with him.”

  “You have my phone.”

  “If he calls the house or you are able to reach him, please let us know.”

  I snatched the card. “I don’t have a home phone.” She didn’t have to know I’d be transferring my calls to Matt’s phone until she returned mine.

  “All I want is Egypt’s treasures returned to their rightful owner. I am not here to judge your ex-husband. That is the FBI’s job.” Her eyes drilled into mine. “But when the guilty is found, he will receive justice.”

  Justice? I didn’t believe in justice. Not for my past, present, or future. Even though Jack was innocent, the FBI could decide he was guilty. He could spend the rest of his life in an Egyptian prison leaving my children fatherless and me without financial support.

  “We will return your phone in the next day or so.”

  Equipped with phone tap, I’m sure.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Duggins.” Ms. Bomani offered her hand. I shook it, hard.

  She turned toward the lab.

  “Ms. Bomani?”

  Her black skirt overlay flared as she turned around.

  “You will let me know if Jack calls?” My boldness surprised me.

  Underneath her charming smile, I noticed her tight jaw, her eyes challenging. “You will be the second one to know, Mrs. Duggins.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  2:30 p.m.

  CLIMBING THE STAIRS TO the Archaeology offices, I pushed past students and clutched half a hot dog slathered with mustard and ketchup. The other half gurgled in my stomach. If I didn’t already know I was a stress eater, today’s late lunch proved it. A jumbo hot dog, chips, and a Snickers bar. Not to mention a large Diet Dr Pepper. At least I had enough self-control to pass on the chili.

  I took a bite. Ms. Egyptian congeniality would pay for making me blow my diet. She thought she had me fooled with her charm and poise. Poised to pounce was a better picture of the tigress. A strong woodsy scent with a hint of cinnamon assaulted me as I rounded the corner. Before I could stop, I collided and bounced off a cushy chest, my hot dog smashing onto a dark suit jacket. I gasped as it splattered to the floor, then glanced up and lost my appetite.

  “Detective Lopez?” I tried to wipe the mustard and ketchup off his white shirt, but only smeared it into a bright orange circle. “I’m sorry.” To my surprise, I was, a little.

  “Now I’ll have an excuse to go home and shower.” He forced a coffee-stained grin.

  Thank goodness my sudden lightheadedness resulted from his overdosing of musk and not my long-ago misplaced attraction to the man. One less issue I’d need to discuss with my therapist.

  He grabbed the hot dog off the floor and followed me. “How are you holding up?”

  “Why the concern? Suddenly grow a conscience?”

  “Mari, you may not believe this, but I’ve thought a lot about you over the years.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

  “I never thought things would end the way they did.” He pronounced his words with a Spanish accent thicker than the night before. “Part of me feels responsible for what happened to your mother. I’m not saying at the time I would have done things differently, but maybe a more seasoned cop would have anticipated the outcome. Maybe seen something I didn’t.”

  I turned, his dark eyes, softening. “Detective Lopez, are you finally taking responsibility for your actions?”

  He straightened. “I guess I am. Are you finally going to forgive me?”

  I turned and trudged up the stairs, Lopez following. “Have you got a lead on C.S.?”

  “The letters haven’t returned from the lab.”

  The lab. I had forgotten to call Au
stin to check on the C-14 testing.

  “It’s taking a while to cross reference all the students and faculty with the initials C.S. over the last twenty years.”

  “You really think that’s necessary?”

  “We want to be thorough and check things out from when Henderson first started at the university, in the small chance there’s a link between Henderson’s death and the letters.”

  “The autopsy’s in? You have proof it was murder?”

  Lopez held the Archaeology office door open. “Not exactly, but I’m treating it as one.”

  “What do you mean? Do you or do you not know how to do your job?”

  Lopez grimaced. I knew he didn’t deserve that uppercut to the ego, but my Sicilian temper didn’t care.

  He eyed Candy at her desk. “Is there someplace else we can talk?”

  Candy looked up, her face twisted with concern. I caught her gaze and shrugged, then led him to my office.

  Lopez settled in the chair in front of my desk. “They finished the autopsy, but I can’t divulge the details. It might jeopardize the case.”

  “What case? You said there’s no evidence of murder?”

  “Still—”

  “You owe me, Lopez.” I waited for him to respond. “If you want this little relationship to continue, you’re going to have to give me something.”

  Lopez blew out his frustration. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” I grinned, watching a ten-year burden devour what resolve his sleep deprivation left behind. “Was Henderson murdered or not?”

  He rubbed his beard stubble. “I normally don’t share details. I’m sticking my rear in front of the firing squad if this gets out.”