Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 04 - Miami Mummies

by Barbara Silkstone

  I shudder-sighed.

  “Be back in a month… give or take. Look for the twinkle in my eyes and the password. Got the key?”

  “Of course.” I pulled it from inside my collar.

  He smiled, flopped forward, and transmigrated.

  I swallowed hard and struggled to keep the tears under control.

  My phone rang. If it was that damn Tippy… It was Roger.

  “He’s dead!” I wailed.

  “Oh my God! Who’s dead?”

  I sniffled. “Not dead… transmigrating.”

  “Huh?? Where are you? Are you in trouble?”

  “I’m sitting up a dead friend.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Once again I was dashing to the gate to catch the two-twenty flight to Miami. I pulled my hair back in a Scrunchie and donned my dark glasses just in case bubba-guard had recovered from his self-tasering.

  The flight was uneventful or maybe it wasn’t, but I slept through it.

  I called Roger when we landed. His voice was as soothing as satin sheets, black satin sheets. I was in that kind of mood.

  “I’m at your place,” he said. “I’ll wait by the pool.”

  I tucked my phone in the side pocket of my courier’s bag. Something pressed against my back. I was being ambushed again. Same M.O. as last time. Did I have Attack Me written on my forehead?

  “If that’s a gun use it. I’m not in the mood. If it’s your dick, you’re way off target.”

  I stepped back, grinding my heel into his arch. My flats didn’t have much of an effect. I threw my right elbow into his gut. The force sending me wobbling forward. I turned in time to see that same familiar profile. He sprinted away possibly late for his Assault 101 class. Something scratched the back of my neck. I reached under my hair and pulled out a note.

  This is your last warning. Stay away from the Henman project.

  I stuffed the note in my bag. Maybe somebody would check it for fingerprints. I stomped off to the Avis desk. Kit’s cousin Jeffery gave me Goldie’s parking space number and I headed to my car, mumbling. Being accosted by such an incompetent mugger was insulting. Goldie beeped cheerfully then started without exploding when I used the remote starter. I checked her out carefully, inside and out. No muggers, fuggers, or thieves or hanging wires, mysterious boxes or bowling ball bombs. Next real estate commission I would use the money to buy me a camouflage-painted Hummer with Army Ranger plates and an inflatable dude with five-o’clock shadow to ride shotgun.

  Roger’s arms were waiting for me so I raced home, except that traffic held my speed to the pace of the James Taylor song I was belting out. “Whenever I see your smiling face…”

  I screeched to a stop in front of my garage not even bothering to pull inside. Roger was at the pool. I couldn’t wait to hold him and feel his body next to mine. No black satin sheets but I’d manage somehow. I strode toward the pool deck. My love stood on the far side gazing at the ocean. He either sensed my presence or heard my panting and turned.

  He ran toward me, his brown wingtips clopping on the coquina stone surface. We collided at full speed in a frantic flurry of kisses both butterfly light and painfully passionate. He banged my lower lip with a badly aimed incoming smooch and knocked his Indiana Jones fedora off his head.

  I released my hold on him to gaze at his joyous face. “No more adventures without me,” I said, but even as those words left my lips I realized I might be wrong. Could I manage a twenty-four/seven relationship?

  We each had our careers. Admittedly his was a hell of a lot more exciting than selling mini-mansions to the nouveau-riche. But right now, after four weeks of separation, it was heavenly to hold him. I felt as if I’d come home. Actually, I had.

  “Let’s go inside.” Lordy I missed the guy in more ways than just the bedroom but that was a good place to start.

  He brushed the hair from my cheeks. “What happened to your nose? You’re always damaging yourself. Remember you’re being careful for two, now.”

  I grabbed his hand and we ran to my condo, my mind scrambling for the let-down words. There was no Wendy-Roger baby in the works.

  “That’s one of my favorite things about you, your unlimited patience,” he said as I yanked at the buttons on his shirt. We were naked before my front door closed.

  I snapped the deadbolt and we fell to the floor. There are certain advantages to being a clean-freak, one is instant sex anywhere in the house. My foyer floor was clean enough to eat off or do other unmentionable things.

  Roger and I rolled in waves of lust, need, and just plain hug-deprivation. We fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He nibbled my neck. I peppered his face with a zillion little kisses. He banged his knee on the foyer stair and let go with an ouch.

  In what seemed both an instant and an eternity combined we were spent, temporarily. We lay side by side on the cool Spanish tile floor.

  I stared at his cute kisser, tracing his newest worry lines. The pursuit of a super villain was taking its toll on his baby face.

  His voice was husky from sex as he kissed my neck sending a shower of sparks down to my toes. “I’ll never leave you again.”

  “Let’s adjourn to the bedroom.” I grabbed his shirt and flung it over my shoulder. “Follow me. Reunion sex beats make-up sex, I’ll show you.”

  And I did for another hour or so. Then we conked out for the night. I dreamt of Hic wandering toward a white light in his Kleenex-box shoes.

  The glare of the morning sun sneaking over the rim of the Atlantic burned my eyes. Darn, I forgot to close the blinds. Hunger overrode horny as the thought of buttery scrambled eggs and crispy toast took over my recently wicked body.

  Roger was asleep on his stomach. A good way to get wrinkles in his face and a great way to display his rock-hard butt. I tiptoed my fingers up his spine ending at his right earlobe. I tickled and he batted. He grabbed my digits, held my struggling wrist, and pinned me to the bed. He was ready to go again but I had to get something off my chest and it wasn’t him.

  “There’s champagne in the fridge. Let’s celebrate your return.”

  I sat and he joined me. “Should you be drinking?”

  My choice of words was painful as I picked them like porcupine quills. “Sweetie… we’re…”

  His eyes got small, bracing for disappointment. He held my hand and watched my eyes knowing whatever it was would register there first.

  “I’m not… we’re not…”

  The look on his face was a kid finding out about Santa.

  “No?” he shook his head.

  “No. I was mistaken.”

  Now he held both my hands massaging the palms. “We could try?”

  I thought we just did. Drawing the sheets around me I let the tears of disappointment dribble down my cheeks. Disappointment over disappointing Roger.

  “Wendy, it’s okay. It wasn’t meant to be.” He gave me one sweet long kiss then holding me by the shoulders he pushed me away. “Let’s check out those sitting mummies.” Men are great at compartmentalizing. Roger was already on to the next problem while I was gathering my emotions like squiggly ramen noodles.

  I snorted in a runny nose and nodded. “’Okay. Give me a few minutes to get ready. The mummies were moved to the San Sebastian forensic lab. The traffic out to Florida City will drop off in an hour. No rush.”

  “Now that really is suspicious. Why weren’t those mummies put under protective custody with the archaeological society? Somebody’s playing hide the mummy with us.”

  Roger was right. Whoever ordered the removal of those mummies wasn’t making it easy for Roger to investigate. San Sebastian was a lab used by defense attorneys scratching for last minute evidence and a bit of joke in the legal community.

  “I’ll put on the Keurig while you shower,” he said, perhaps sensing I needed to be alone. Or maybe he needed his private time to adjust to the no baby.

  I let the water run over my non-pregnant body wishing I felt more maternal. Being in Big Brothers
Big Sisters satisfied my need to nurture but also gave me the luxury of dropping my little sister, Treanna, back with her grandmother at the end of the day. My life had a certain delicious chaos to it and perhaps I was too selfish to give it up.

  Swathed in my light blue terry robe, I slipped into the kitchen. Roger handed me a cup of rich dark coffee with chicory and a touch of half and half. Just the way I like it. I perched on a stool and he leaned over the counter, our eyes locked on each other searching for the next step in our relationship.

  “What’s with the key around your neck?”

  I forgot about Hic’s key. I tucked it under my robe dodging a response. “Tell me about your Mexico thing. I thought you were trailing some super thief in Peru.”

  The world famous archaeologist and A+ lover cradled his mug, rolling it between his hands. A sigh escaped his lips. He placed the coffee on the counter, and pushed back standing erect, all five-feet-ten of him slender but solid muscle, dressed in a tan safari shirt with more pockets than a pool table, tan cargo pants, and his ever-present brown wingtips.

  “I was in Peru, and close to catching the world’s most notorious mummy thief. Two mummies had been mummy-napped from a Peruvian museum.”

  I could see he was choosing his words carefully. “Now don’t get all worrisome but you should know, someone put a rare viper in my bedroom.”

  “Tell me that’s a new communication device.”

  He smiled. “Snake. Not indigenous to Peru.”

  “Was it the mummy thief?”

  “That’s his style. A bullet is never exotic enough.”

  “Thank heavens you got your bod out of there,” I pinched his butt.

  “Interpol received an anonymous tip the Red Queen of Palenque mummy had moved to the top of the list of black-market targeted antiquities. I caught the first flight to Mexico City and then bussed to Palenque in southern Mexico. Hot, dusty, poverty-stricken. The kids standing by road begging…” He caught my eyes and looked away.

  “If you find any red on my clothes it’s not lipstick.” He cut me a weak smile. “The Palenque mummy is covered in a red powder which makes her an enigma worth further study but first we had to protect her from the mummy menace.”

  “I thought the thief was in Peru?”

  Roger paced the kitchen, a worried expression on his face. “This guy slips in and out of countries smuggling black market mummies. A trail of dead archaeologists is the only proof we have that he exists.”

  “Do you think you can catch him?”

  He shrugged. “I feel as if he’s within my grasp, but the more he eludes me the more everyone thinks he’s just a legend. The greatest trick that devil ever pulled was convincing the world he doesn’t exist. He’s become a myth, a spook story. Poof!” He snapped his fingers. “He disappears!”

  Leaning on the counter he faced me eye-to-eye. “If he shows up again it will be to get rid of me. The only thing that scares me is Kyzer Saucy.”

  And that scared me because I’d never known anything to scare Roger.

  Chapter Sixteen

  We arrived at the San Sebastian forensic lab, which was on the edge of the Everglades miles past Florida City, at ten-twenty. An eight-foot chain-link fence topped with wicked razor wire protected a group of one-story industrial buildings. A middle-aged tubbo in a pseudo-cop uniform sat in a camo-green guard booth. He peered at us over a copy of Guns and Ammo. He checked Roger’s ID and directed us to a bunker with an Authorized Personnel Only sign.

  Roger’s jaw tightened as he opened the unlocked door. He cursed under his breath. “Some security.”

  The cinderblock building had a corrugated metal roof and steel doors. A mild hurricane would chew it up and spit it out. A paper sign taped to the wall above a vacant reception desk bore the image of an arrow pointing to the left. We trotted down a corridor carpeted in indoor-outdoor flooring that probably held more forensic samples than the safekeeping rooms.

  We walked up on a skinny Pee Wee Herman look-alike. I didn’t know lab coats were available in plaid. He was engrossed in a video on an iPad. Roger cleared his throat. The tech jumped a foot in the air. His horn-rimmed glasses fell to his chin and he flipped the iPad face down.

  He almost poked his eye out trying to get his glasses back onto his nose with super-shaky hands. “Can… can… I… I… help you?”

  Roger flashed his International Archaeological Society ID card. “I’m Dr. Roger Jolley, here to examine the mummies. And this is my associate Ms. Darlin.”

  “Of course, Dr. Jolley. My name is Igor. Let me check the list of authorized personnel.”

  A lab assistant named Igor? Really?

  Igor lifted a clipboard from a hook on the wall. He examined the top page then pressed the clamp and about twenty sheets slipped out and scattered on the floor.

  Roger pointed with the toe of his brown wingtip. “There’s my name.”

  Igor pushed his glasses higher on his nose and peered at the mess on the floor. “Are you sure?”

  Roger crossed his arms. “Of course I’m sure. Now take us to the mummies.”

  Igor bent over and squinted at the nearest page. He shrugged and motioned to follow him.

  He led us down a corridor. We passed a large observation window cut into the wall of a dark room. He pointed at the glass. “The mummies are in here. The door is around the corner.” He turned down a smaller corridor, stopped in front of the first door, and pulled a fifty-pound key ring off his belt. He unlocked the door and flipped on blindingly bright lights.

  Roger gave Igor a hard stare. He gulped and said, “I’ll leave you to your examination. I have to check on some cultures in the lab next door. Just don’t tamper with the glass cases.”

  Roger gave him an even harder look. Igor’s glasses slid down to the end of his nose. “Let me know when you’re finished so I can lock up.” He backed out, closing the door behind him.

  The room smelled like antiseptic, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and bad news. I shivered. Goose bumps covered my body.

  My guy strode to a large autopsy table in the center of the room. “I’ll be damned, they are sitting mummies!”

  Each was contained in a separate temperature-controlled glass case. The bodies were in cross-legged squats, their heads drooped on their chests. They could have been two little kids wrapped in tattered blankets huddled around a campfire except that they were thousands of years old.

  Roger paced slowly around the glass cases. His eyes never left the mummies when he whispered, “These are the missing Incan child mummies. They were stolen from the museum in Peru last month. I was investigating their theft less than a week ago.”

  I stepped aside feeling a weird mixture of fear and sadness. Incans had a tradition of mountaintop child sacrifices. Were these children drugged and left to die on frozen summits? What agony did they suffer before they died? Were they accepting of their fate or did they struggle calling for their mothers?

  The thud of a compressor kicking in made me jump out of my shoes. Heavy-duty air conditioners and dehumidifiers labored to fight the Florida heat and humidity.

  Roger leaned closer to the mummies. “There’s no gauge on these cases.” He put the back of his hand against the glass. “Damn. It’s not cold enough for these children.”

  I sensed his tender heart torn by what should have been purely scientific observation, but the setting had become a requiem for his younger brother kidnapped so many years ago. “I must call Delaquez and tell him his Incan children are in Florida.”

  He turned to face me. “That downtown site was salted with these mummies.”

  “Salted mummies?”

  “They were planted there. Sitting mummies are indigenous to the Incans or the Mayans, not the Florida Tequesta tribe. No way were these mummies originally buried in Miami. I don’t even have to take soil samples from their wrappings to confirm it. I can tell they are the stolen Peruvian mummies. Why anyone would stick these valuable specimens into a dig in Florida is the real question.”


  “Are they fake mummies?”

  “They aren’t forgeries. Not like the Hackensack mummy.”

  Hic’s password! I heard a gulp. It was mine. “What made you say that?” I studied his face for a sign. No response. He was lost in thought. I made a mental note to Google Hackensack.

  Roger circled the cases, stopping on the opposite side of the table and shaking his head, “This must be the work of—”

  A loud crack followed by the sound of glass crashing to the floor. A second crack. I looked toward Roger. There were two bullet holes in the wall above his head. We dropped to the floor and met under the autopsy table.

  A third shot ricocheted off the concrete floor near Roger’s ear.

  We were the proverbial sitting ducks. I snatched Roger’s Indiana Jones fedora from his head, Frisbeed it toward the hole in the window, and croaked, “Roll.”

  The unseen shooter flinched and fired. The bullet flipped the hat in the air while we dove and rolled against the wall under the window. The shooter would have to stick the gun through the hole in the window and aim downward to have a chance to hit us.

  The door flew open and Igor did a Kramer entrance sliding in and saying, “What was that noise? Did you break a case?”

  When he came to a complete stop, his horn-rims flew off his face. The shooter’s next blast sent them to eyeglass heaven. Igor’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed knees first, ending up flat on his back.

  I worked my feet under me into a squatting position. I was directly under the shattered part of the window. If the shooter stuck the gun through the hole, I could spring up and grab it and with luck hold it ’til Roger could help.

  The shooter must have decided it was a failed mission because I heard feet pounding down the corridor.

  I duck-walked to Roger. “Are you okay?”

  He smiled at me and patted my knee. “Thanks, sweetheart. That was quick thinking.” He got to his feet, brushing himself off, picked up his hat, and showed me the bullet hole in the crown, saying, “But a little hard on the wardrobe,” before jamming it on his head.