by Angie Fox
“No name on the jar that I can see. That’s not unusual.” He fixed his gaze on me. “Who was this?” he asked, as if we were back in class.
And just like then, my brain scrambled a bit for the answer. “Duamutef. Jackal-headed god of the east,” I said quickly, glad my old friend didn’t appear any worse for wear.
So far so good. Maybe Robert’s warning had made me paranoid. Or maybe the dark presence was merely biding its time.
“Good,” the professor said, pleased at my ability to recall my studies. He turned back to the artifact. “This appears to be genuine. See the ancient carving marks?”
He was enjoying this.
I had to admit it was neat. I lobbed a grin at Lee, who seemed quite confused. “Those are the gods on canopic jars,” I said to him.
“Now who else do we have over there?” Professor Grassino asked me.
“Qebehsenuef,” with the head of the falcon. “Hapi,” with the head of the baboon. “Where’s Imseti?” I asked. There were always four jars, with the same four gods.
“I’m looking,” the professor said, moving stacks of papers and books.
“I’ll help,” Lee said. He reached for the books on the high shelves, stacking them neatly on the floor, leaving no volume unturned.
“I don’t see it in there,” I told him, checking inside a box of maps.
“Whether or not these are from the tomb of the lost queen, this is a hugely significant historical find. I can guarantee you every museum in the country will want it.”
“I don’t know if I could sell it,” Lee said, shooting me an apologetic glance. “This is my heritage.”
“Good. With private collectors, you have no control over how the artifacts are kept,” the professor said, handing another stack of books to Lee. “It’s much better to sign contracts for the collection to go on tour. If it’s complete, and if we can prove it is most likely from the lost queen’s tomb, I’m talking high five-figure exhibition fees.”
“I could hire people to restore the house and the gardens,” Lee said on an exhale, as if we’d already completed the collection.
“I’ll put you in contact with the right people.” He clapped Lee on the back. “You’ll be set.”
So would I. At least, I’d certainly prove myself as a ghost hunter. And perhaps bring my finances into the black.
We just needed a bit more time to investigate.
Through the large window behind the desk, I saw Ovis raise his camera and take a picture.
“Stop it,” I called while trying to block the large bay window. I had as much of a chance of stopping Ovis as I had at getting Frankie to fix me a steak dinner and tuck me in tonight. “Hide the jars,” I said as Ovis aimed his camera straight at them.
Too late.
Ovis lowered the camera with a grin.
“We’re sunk.” The last thing we wanted was a front-page splash about treasure that people could steal…or the status of my first in-progress job as a ghost hunter.
“Not necessarily,” the professor said, waving at Ovis. “You might need that reporter. He’s excited about Jack’s find and this house.” He turned to Lee. “We do need to keep the details quiet while we search for the last jar and while I personally approach some key individuals, but generating public excitement is never a bad thing. I’ll bet he could convince his editor to run a lot of stories if we succeed in this quest of ours. You just have to control the message.”
“You met Ovis, right?” Lee asked.
I understood what he meant. “Ovis is more tenacious than a tick on a hound dog, and there’s no way to control him once he gets an idea in his head.”
The professor grinned and fiddled with the lid on a bottle of MacKinlay’s scotch whiskey on the cocktail cart. “This is nice.” He jiggled the cork and sniffed.
The bottle had been opened, which made sense. “Jack’s ghost was drinking that.”
“He has good taste. Even before it was hundred-and-twenty-year-old scotch,” Lee said as the professor paused for Ovis to take a photo.
I trusted the professor. I did. But I also worried that he didn’t understand how being in a haunted house—someone else’s house—complicated things.
He winked at me, misunderstanding my hesitation. “Believe me. I’ve dealt with reporters before. Half of professorship is politics.” He grinned at us. “I’ll show you what to do.”
“I’m in,” Lee said. Of course he was—he needed money to save the property. But he hadn’t seen what I had or heard Robert’s warning.
The professor nodded. “The first thing we need to do with that reporter is buy more time. We want to prove we have the queen and be able to give the location of her tomb before we announce.”
“I think I know a way to stall him,” Lee said. He motioned to Ovis, who was still taking pictures of us from outside, and pointed toward the front door. “I’ll need your help, Verity,” he said, heading toward the front of the house.
“If you open that door, Ovis is coming in,” I warned as we zigzagged past two couches and a Victrola in the parlor.
“The professor has a point. Media coverage could help, but we’ll do it on my terms,” he said. “A lot like what you did with your ghost story.”
“I hate to tell you, but that didn’t exactly work out.”
But it seemed Lee was more of a doer than a thinker. He opened the door and, true to my prediction, Ovis nearly fell inside.
“You can enter,” Lee said, too late. “Off the record, we’re investigating ghosts and we located some interesting Egyptian artifacts.”
“I knew it!” Ovis said, straightening, looking past us as if we had it all lined up, ready for him to document. “And you can’t just say ‘off the record,’ I have to agree to it,” he added, snapping a picture of the staircase, whistling at the size of the foyer.
“You can photograph anything you see in here,” Lee said. “You print a spread of the house no one has seen in a generation. You can even write about Verity ghost hunting here, if she agrees.”
Ovis looked to me. “I don’t see where I have a choice,” I said. Whoever had gifted the peach pie had probably told half the county by now.
“But no artifacts,” Lee said. “Yet. When we know what we have, you get the exclusive. Otherwise, a newspaper article could spell trouble for our whole investigation.”
“Agreed,” Ovis said, shaking Lee’s hand, dropping it almost immediately to take a shot of the grand staircase. “This place is fantastic.” He moved past us to photograph the fireplace in the parlor before catching sight of the room full of antique board games. “You need to get an alarm system in here. And a guard.” He edged in for a close-up shot of the pique board. “You ever think about selling some of this stuff?”
Lee frowned. “I’d have to empty the house in order to preserve it. Then where would we be?” Exhibiting the artifacts was a better idea if we could make it work.
“Vera’s great-grandmother used to play here as a kid. Before…damn,” he muttered to himself, taking a shot of a half-burned cigar still in an ashtray on the mantel.
“You really think you can control the story?” I murmured to Lee.
“For now,” he said, watching Ovis move toward the study. He was making quick work of documenting every detail of the foyer, probably afraid we’d change our minds and toss him out. “I know we didn’t anticipate involving Ovis.”
“It’s okay,” I told him. It was my fault anyway.
For having a private conversation in my kitchen of all places.
“Don’t take any more pictures of the jars,” Lee said, heading to intercept the reporter as he entered the study.
Ovis let out a cry. “Somebody call 911!”
We rushed into the room to find the reporter behind the desk, crouched over the prone body of Dale Grassino lying facedown on the floor. Ovis rolled him over, and the professor lay with his jaw slack, his gaze glassy and unresponsive.
Worse, I saw shards of white and silver light gli
ttering above him. They were soul traces, which told me beyond a doubt that we’d lost him.
Chapter 11
We called the paramedics and Ovis drove as we followed the ambulance to the ER. On the way, I dialed the professor’s sister, who had been an emergency contact when I used to house-sit for him. She said she’d head over.
I’d neglected to even ask her exactly where she lived or how long she’d take to get here. No matter. I’d stay until she arrived.
There had been no way to tell her on the phone that her brother had already passed. It seemed wrong when I couldn’t tell her how I’d come to know, that Frankie’s power had allowed me to see proof.
From the moment we arrived at the ER, Lee couldn’t sit still. He and Ovis went to grab a coffee in the cafeteria and maybe walk a bit outside.
I took a seat in the waiting room and, for a few minutes at least, had the place to myself.
The wide, rectangular room was done in beige and gray, with pink and gray cloth chairs of an indeterminate age. I ran a finger over the paintbrush-swipe pattern on my seat cushion and wondered if this had ever been in style outside of hospitals and doctors’ offices.
I should have listened to Robert’s warning. I should have pointed to the smoking spot on the floor and told the professor and Lee that we had to get out of there.
I folded my hands in my lap. The paramedics had suspected a heart attack, but I didn’t buy it. This was a man who ran half-marathons for fun and excavated stone tombs in hot countries every summer. Not that he couldn’t be struck down by health issues like anyone else, but why today? And why in the study of Rock Fall manor, where Jack Treadwell had also had his heart attack?
No. I’d brought Dale Grassino to Rock Fall. I’d witnessed the strength of Robert’s warning. I’d seen the dark presence right behind that desk, and I’d let the professor investigate the journals anyway.
“It’s my fault,” I whispered. Saying it out loud made me feel worse, but that was the point. I had to face the truth and somehow take responsibility for my actions.
I detected motion to my left and saw a nurse glide straight through the wall beside a rack of magazines. Dang it. It had quite slipped my mind that I still had Frankie’s power.
The sturdy woman wore a crisp white dress and an angular nurse’s cap. Her silver hair curled in a practiced wave that suggested she was more at home in the 1940s.
She gave me a small smile and I fought the urge to sigh. As pleasant as she seemed, I wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t want to see any ghosts right now, not even the professor’s, and he would be in a transition stage for months if not years.
And as much as I wanted to see the professor again, to apologize, how horrible it would be to see him in spirit form when he died helping me. Assuming he even came back, which most ghosts didn’t. I tried to think of something else.
The ghostly nurse hovered into my line of vision again. I did my best to look straight through her, like I didn’t see anything. Maybe she’d leave me alone.
It wasn’t like I could go anywhere. I’d told the professor’s sister I’d be here.
Instead of taking the hint, the ghost eased into the seat next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her white-stockinged knee, her hands folded patiently in her lap, the deep lines in her face.
She caught me watching her. “You can see me.”
“Yes,” I said. But if I could take it all back, I would.
Her expression softened. “Sometimes just sitting with someone helps.” She leaned back and relaxed in the chair, as if she needed the support. “Whatever happened…you can’t blame yourself.”
She had no idea. “I brought my friend to a dangerous place.” A cursed place. And then he went and handled those relics—just like Jack. Of course he did. He was a hands-on professor in class and direct in every one of his excavations. I should have known that would cause trouble.
I would have if I hadn’t been so eager to make sense of the goings-on in that house to prove that I could make it as a ghost hunter.
“We all make mistakes,” she said, as if we had something in common. And now I’d done the one thing I’d attempted to avoid—I’d let her engage with me. I’d blazed forward without thinking. Again. She acted like us sitting here, having our little talk, was the most natural thing in the world. “Do you think your friend would blame you?” she asked, as if she really wanted to know.
The answer was simple, of course. “He’s not that way.” He’d never want me to feel bad. “He’d just say it was an accident.” One with terrible consequences.
Her expression softened. “If he wouldn’t blame you, do you think he’d want you to hurt yourself like this?”
I scooted forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees. She had a point.
“Thanks,” I said. I glanced over at her, so serene in her chair. And, hey, at least there was one new ghost willing to talk to me.
“Did you work here?” I asked.
The corner of her mouth quirked. “Eighty-three years next month.”
“You realize you’re…” I wasn’t sure if she was as sensitive as Frankie about the word dead.
“I understand I don’t live and breathe in the medical sense. It’s okay.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I can still do a lot of good.”
“You have,” I told her. “Thank you.”
She nodded and then she simply sat with me so I wouldn’t be alone as the minutes ticked by. I’m not sure how long we sat that way before Ellis walked into the room, with an expression that made me fear the worst.
He wore his tan and black deputy sheriff’s uniform and rested a hand on his gun belt as he moved to sit next to me.
“Not there,” I said, blocking the nurse’s seat.
He didn’t question. Instead, he drew me to my feet and folded me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Verity.”
“He’s gone,” I said.
Ellis pulled away to look at me. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “Do you want to see him?”
“No.” That moment in the study had been enough.
“His sister is in there with him. She arrived a few minutes ago.”
She must have gone straight back.
A man cleared his throat nearby. Detective Duranja stood near the entrance to the waiting room, clearly uncomfortable. “I told Lee I’d give him a ride home,” he said to Ellis and to me. “We’re done with his statement,” Duranja added. “Is there anything else?”
“I’ll take care of Verity’s statement,” Ellis said quickly, dismissing the other officer.
“Statement?” I reclaimed the chair I’d used before.
Ellis crouched in front of me. “911 dispatch called us in,” he said, “since the circumstances were unusual.”
“Sure.” Old house. Dead archaeologist. Definitely unusual—but perhaps not for Rock Fall.
“We questioned Lee outside. He gave us the basics on why Professor Grassino was there and what you saw. Ovis gave the same account.”
“All right. I’ll give you mine.” I ran through the incident at the house, and Ellis nodded, not surprised by any of it.
He glanced back to make sure we were truly alone. “Now what else happened?” he asked pointedly. He meant on the spiritual side.
That was the million-dollar question.
“I can’t say for sure.” I told him about the discovery in the music room and about the canopic jars and how my professor couldn’t keep his hands off them.
“We found one near the body,” Ellis said. “We think he’d been handling it.”
“Don’t touch it,” I warned him.
“Don’t worry. The jar is evidence. Nobody’s directly in contact with it.” At my sigh of relief, he shifted his stance. “Maybe Professor Grassino’s death had nothing to do with the house,” he said unconvincingly.
I shot him a look.
He glanced away. “You gotta admit a curse sounds crazy.”
It did. “Bu
t you know better.” He’d experienced all kinds of crazy with me.
He turned back to me. “Okay. The question is what do we do about it?”
I stood, knees a bit shaky. It was my job to figure that out. “I’m going back into the house.” It was the best way I could think of to find out what really happened. I owed Professor Grassino that. “I’ll talk to the ghosts.” I’d find a way to make real contact. “There are still rooms on the first floor I haven’t searched, not to mention the basement.”
“Most of those houses near the rock cliffs don’t have basements,” Ellis said.
“Good.” I really didn’t want to go down in one.
In any case, I’d find the missing canopic jar. If it was still on the property. I’d just have to be careful. If the professor hadn’t died of natural causes, then something in the house was much more dangerous than we’d ever realized.
Ellis rose and took my arm to steady me. “I’m going in with you.”
“It’s not safe,” I said, not sure I wanted to involve anyone else I cared about.
“At least it’s not a haunted speakeasy full of dead gangsters,” he said, referring to another one of our adventures. “Talk about not feeling welcome.”
“Just because they shot at us?” I asked, letting him walk me out. “It was better than the time we got buried alive.”
“You always know how to make a guy feel brave,” he quipped, shaking me out of my funk. “I’ll get us in there tomorrow after the investigation team is finished. In the meantime, let’s get you home.” We passed the ghost nurse from the waiting room on the way out. She kept company with an older man, still living, who sat in a wheelchair near the registration desk. I gave her a small wave, and she smiled. “Ovis had a friend of his bring your car up,” Ellis continued, “but I told him you might not want to drive.”
“Ovis did that?” I asked as we headed through the sliding glass doors to the circle drive. Sure enough, the land yacht stood waiting in the front row of the parking lot next to the ER.