Death at the Museum

by London Lovett

  Dr. Fisher's brown eyes stared out from behind round, black rimmed glasses. He had a gracious smile and fine lines on most of his face. It was obvious from his leathery skin that he'd spent a great deal of time in the desert sun.

  "You must be Sunni Taylor from the Junction Times." A gold pocket watch was tucked in his vest pocket. It dangled from a sparkly chain, which was attached to the button on his vest. He pulled it out and glanced at it. "Right on time. I have a free hour before my next class." He was about to motion me toward a chair, then laughed. "I'm sorry, I've been doing some reorganizing."

  "That's all right." I pulled out my small recorder. "I prefer to stand so I can look at all these marvelous artifacts. I read that you have an extensive collection."

  I'd started with the right ice breaker. He beamed with pride at the mention of his collection. "I see you've done your research. Yes, I have a vast collection of treasures. I lend them, on occasion, to museums, but, I confess, they are mostly for my own pleasure. My hobby takes up most of my spare time." He walked over to the canopic jar. A jackal's head was carved from stone on the lid. Part of the jackal's ear was chipped off, but the rest of the artifact was intact. "This is a canopic jar from the Old Kingdom, also known as the Age of Pyramids." He smoothed his fingers along the column of faded hieroglyphics on the base of the jar. "Duamutef, the jackal-headed god, stored the stomach, an organ needed for the afterlife. Most of the jars are empty, including this vessel. Most of the items on my shelves are the less valuable pieces of my collection. I keep a few here in the office for my students." Surprisingly, he lifted the jar off the shelf and handed it to me. "You can touch it. You're not in a museum, after all."

  I rubbed my fingers along the cold stone. "It's amazing to think I'm touching the same surface as the ancient artist who carved this piece."

  "This particular jar is made from limestone, but they made them out of pottery, alabaster, even wood."

  I stepped toward the shelf with the mummified cat. It was tall with a perfectly formed cat's head on top. The layers of linen were frayed on the edges. Big, black eyes were lively as if they'd just been painted on.

  "That's Sylvester," Dr. Fisher mused. "The students have named him after the cartoon cat. Not sure why but the name stuck. I'm sure you'd like to hear about the Lotus Chalice, the object I'll be unveiling tomorrow evening at the museum." He hurried back to his desk, not a simple task given the amount of clutter in the office. "You must attend the event. All the museum's biggest contributors will be there along with the VIPs of the Egyptology and Antiquities worlds." He pushed his chair back and stooped over to keep the stack of books piled on the seat from toppling. "I've got to get these books in order. I haven't been able to sit down at my desk for a week," he noted as he rummaged through the top desk drawer. "Here they are." He pulled out a white envelope, opened the flap and plucked out a beautifully printed ticket. It was cobalt blue and gold to go with the King Tut theme. "You'll need this to get in." He held it out but pulled it back. "Mind you, these are hard to come by, so please don't sell it on Ebay." He added a jovial laugh to make sure I knew he was joking.

  "You won't have to worry about that." I rubbed my fingers over the embossed hieroglyphics running around the border of the ticket. "I'm looking very forward to the event. Someone went through a lot of time and expense to make these invitations," I noted.

  "It's not often that our small town museum gets a chance to display something as unique and noteworthy as the Lotus Chalice. Cairo rarely lends it out, but with some convincing from me"—he tried to hold back a proud smile—"they decided to release it for a month."

  "We're lucky to have such an esteemed Egyptologist in our town. We could start the interview with details about the chalice."

  "Great idea. Howard Carter—" he paused and raised a gray specked brow at me. "You do know who Howard Carter is, don't you?"

  "Of course. We studied him in sixth grade," I said proudly and then realized how childish I sounded. Somehow being back in a professor's office had taken years of maturity and experience away. I felt my cheeks warm. "That sounded silly. Yes, I've seen numerous documentaries and read articles about the man who discovered King Tut's tomb."

  "Carter called the Lotus Chalice the Wishing Cup. It is an exquisitely carved alabaster lotus shaped vessel." He leaned against the front of his desk and subsequently pushed over a pile of papers. "Oh dear, this office is too chaotic. Do you mind if we take this interview outside to one of the picnic tables? Then I can tell you all about the chalice and my exploits in the world of ancient treasures."

  "Sounds great. I'm looking forward to hearing all about them."

  Chapter 5

  My afternoon at the college campus was more fruitful than some of my days as an actual student. It seemed Dr. Fisher could have gone on forever about Egypt, and I could have listened for that long, only he had a class to teach. I envied his students and told him as much as we parted. At least the assignment wasn't over.

  I pulled the elaborate ticket out of my purse while I waited at a table for Raine to join me for lunch.

  She walked up behind me. "Ooh, fancy ticket. Looks Egyptian." Raine circled around and sat down across from me with her glass of tea.

  "Yes, I'm invited to an exclusive event at the museum. King Tut's Lotus Chalice is going to be on display for a month. My current assignment is to cover the artifact. Dr. Samuel Fisher, an Egyptologist at the university, invited me to the unveiling. Only important people will be there," I said haughtily.

  "So, how'd you get a ticket?" Raine asked wryly. She picked up a packet of sugar and poured it into her tea. "Just beware of the mummy's curse when you're hobnobbing with the important people."

  I shook my head. "I was about to say—you don't actually believe in the mummy's curse but then I reminded myself that it was you sitting across from me."

  Raine shrugged. Her bangles clinkered on her wrist as she stirred in the sugar. "Just saying—a long string of unexplained events followed the opening of Tut's tomb. Lord Cavernon, the rich guy who financed the excavation, died mysteriously just a few months after the tomb was opened."

  "It wasn't all that mysterious. He tore open a mosquito bite while shaving and died of blood poisoning. People died of things easily back then."

  Raine shifted on her bottom and pushed back her bracelets letting me know she came armed with plenty more anecdotes to support the curse. "What about the mummy's hand gift that the guy who discovered the tomb—"

  "Howard Carter," I added in.

  Raine waved off the detail as unimportant. "Yes, whatever. He gave a mummified hand to a friend, and months later, the friend's house burned down." She sat back smugly as if she'd just proven the curse with irrefutable evidence.

  My order number was called. "Ah ha, saved, ironically enough, by the Boris Karloff I ordered." My assignment had put me in the in the mood for the delicious wrap, named after the actor whose iconic roles included The Mummy.

  "Grab my Charlie Chaplin while you're up there," Raine called as I approached the pick-up counter.

  Raine was adding yet another packet of sugar to her tea as I returned to the table with the food. "Guess who I ran into today?" she asked as I placed the food on the table.

  "Hmm, not sure. Who?"

  "Your future brother-in-law, Dave Crockett." She paused her sugar stirring and looked up. "Do you think they'll get married? I mean, it's been a few months. That's a long time for your sister to commit. Usually, by now, she would have had the guy erased from her phone and social media accounts."

  "I think talking about marriage might be a little premature." Her question made me think though. I wasn't exactly sure how I would feel about having Dave as my brother-in-law. I adored Nick, Emily's husband, but Dave was nowhere near as wonderful as Nick.

  Raine picked at her beet salad. "We had the strangest conversation." She reached for the salt and pepper.

  "Who? You and Dave?"

  "Yes. He started asking me about my talents, my ab
ility to speak to the spirit world." She stated it plainly, as if her talent for speaking to ghosts was a given. Only, one particular inhabitant of the spirit world never once felt the need to communicate with her. Still, as a friend, I never argued the point. Who was I to disagree with her?

  "That's odd. Was he interested in a séance? Is there someone he's trying to connect with? A dead relative?" Raine took her séances seriously. Many clients hired her to reach out to a lost loved one.

  Raine paused her fork midway to her mouth. "Actually, he seemed mostly interested in your ghost." She quickly corrected herself. "I mean, the supposed haunting at the Cider Ridge Inn." She'd added in the word supposed to appease her lunch mate, always assuming that I was a skeptic. However, I was in no mind to quibble about my skepticism (of which none actually existed). I was instantly focused on the conversation.

  "Why is Dave asking about the Cider Ridge Inn?" I knew this had to do with the flying oranges. It seemed he hadn't erased the incident from his mind as I'd hoped.

  "Beats me," Raine said with a shrug, then proceeded to eat a beet.

  I waited for her to swallow. "What specifically did he ask?" I spoke casually, but my interest was far more intense. Dave was a journalist. I knew, too well, that he'd do anything to get at the truth.

  Raine's eyes lifted to the side in thought. "Hmm, let me see." She nodded. "That's right. He asked if I'd ever experienced anything strange at the inn. He thought with my superior sixth sense"—she paused and looked pointedly at me from behind her round glasses—"His words not mine." Apparently, Dave had been pouring on the journalist's charm and softening his target with compliments. "He wondered if my sixth sense had ever picked up on a ghostly presence at the inn." She waved her hand at my plate. "You haven't touched your Boris Karloff."

  "Yes, I'll eat but I'm finding this conversation far too intriguing and entertaining." I should have left off with intriguing. Entertaining triggered a scowl.

  "There you go again making light of my talents. I won't speak another word about it."

  "No, please, I didn't mean that you were entertaining. I meant that Dave's interest in the Cider Ridge Inn was entertaining. I never would have thought of him as the type."

  Raine put down her fork with a clang, sat back and crossed her arms. It was always like this whenever we traipsed into a conversation about the paranormal. It was a subject I preferred to avoid given my paradoxical existence where I had to pretend to be a skeptic all while drinking my morning coffee with a nineteenth century ghost.

  "What type are you speaking of?" she asked sharply. "You mean us crazies who believe that spirits walk amongst us?"

  I took a deep breath. I'd really ruffled her feathers. I needed to smooth them back down. "Raine, you know I'm a hundred percent behind you no matter what. I'm just curious why Dave is asking about the inn. He has already swooped in and taken my position as lead reporter. I just don't care for him snooping around in my future business." Everything I'd said was true, and reminding her that Dave had brought about my demotion turned her scowl to an empathetic smile.

  "If we're being honest, he sort of irks me too." It wasn't exactly what I was trying to convey, but it seemed I'd won her back over to my side. "I'm not sure what Lana sees in him."

  I hadn't intended for the conversation to become an analysis of my sister's love life. I was still focused on Dave's questions about the inn. I realized I was taking a risk by broaching the subject again, but I needed to know which direction Raine and Dave's conversation had gone.

  I picked up my wrap. It was bursting with veggies and cheese and sprouts. "I'm curious, what exactly did you tell Dave?" I asked it as if the question was just an afterthought.

  Raine had recommitted to her beet salad. She was using her fork to saw through a roasted golden beet. "I told him that even though the owner of the inn had never noticed anything out of the ordinary that I certainly felt a presence in the house."

  I had hoped she'd given Dave a more nuanced response. She spotted the disappointment in my expression.

  She sighed. "I told him the truth. You know I've experienced weird sensations in your house. Whenever I'm sitting in your kitchen, I'm almost certain there is someone looking over my shoulder." She was right, of course, but then there had been numerous times when Edward went out of his way to tease her by blowing on her hair or brushing his hand over hers and she hadn't felt a thing. It made me wonder how many of these unexplained sensations came from her mind and not the actual ghost.

  "That's fine," I said quietly. "I just hope he's not on some quest to expose the inn as a haunted house. I am trying to start a charming, cozy bed and breakfast, and ghosts don't really go along with the rest of the motif."

  "Well, you know my opinion on that," she said plainly.

  "I'm not going to run a haunted inn, Raine. We're going to have fluffy quilts, pumpkin spice scones on doilies and tea in the garden. No chains rattling and mournful howls in the middle of the night." (Edward would scoff at my stereotyping of the spirit world.) Apparently, so would Raine.

  She clucked her tongue in disappointment. "How can you be such a great journalist and be so narrow-minded when it comes to incorporeal beings? They have feelings and sensibilities too, you know?" Raine was half joking. If she only knew just how sensitive they actually were. Edward had more mood swings than a hormonal teenager.

  "You're right," I said. "I have to open my mind about the spirit world. Anyhow, enough talk about Dave and ghosts and haunted inns. I've got to finish my lunch and get back to my computer. I need to do a little more research on Egypt and the chalice and possibly even the mummy's curse."

  Raine's eyes lit up. "Ah ha, so I've intrigued that closed, skeptical mind of yours with my talk of curses."

  "I'll admit, it sounds interesting. If nothing else, it will be a fun little addition to my article on the museum exhibit."

  Chapter 6

  Prudence assumed I was still on location at the university or museum. I used that as my chance to conduct some research from the comfort of my home. My new desk situation near the door, along with Parker's loud phone conversations and his occasional cough and nose blowing events, made the news office the least desirable place to get work done.

  Ursula and Henry were in the city looking for a particular base molding for the upstairs bedrooms, so other than Edward and the dogs, I had the place to myself. Although, two active dogs and an equally active ghost hardly meant quiet solitude. It was still better than sitting in the same space with Parker Seymour and his editor's bark and nasal issues.

  I made myself a hot tea and sat down at the kitchen table with my laptop. Newman and Redford were outside on the front stoop soaking up the mid-afternoon sun, and Edward had yet to appear.

  I typed in Lotus Chalice and dozens of current and relevant articles popped up. It was a beautiful vessel with curved lines and lotus petals carved neatly into the center bowl. Two lotus buds jutted off the sides, and each bud was topped with a tiny alabaster carving of Heh, the god of eternity, according to the caption. Hieroglyphics dotted a carved tablet in the center of the chalice declaring Tutankhamen as ‘lord of the thrones of the two lands, upper and lower Egypt and lord of the sky'. More titles and blessings for the young king were carved around the rim of the cup.

  "Your thin metal box holds much interest today," Edward noted as he appeared across from me. We hadn't spoken since our unexpected heart to heart chat the night before. Judging by his tone and expression, he had snapped himself out of the melancholy mood and was more his usual self again.

  "I'm researching ancient Egypt." I looked up at him. "I assume you've heard of Egypt?"

  One dark brow arched into annoyance. "Just how ignorant do you think I am?"

  "I don't think you're the slightest bit ignorant—" I shrugged. "Well, perhaps slightly when it comes to the twenty-first century, but I was just thinking your world was narrow back in the early nineteenth century. There were no planes or trains. Your knowledge of the world was limited
by the lack of transportation and thin metal boxes." I waved my hand at the computer.

  "Have you traveled across the ocean from one continent to another by sea?" he asked with a touch of condescension.

  "Well, no, not by sea, but I've traveled on a plane to Europe. I was young so I hardly remember it. On a whim, and trust me whims were few and far between in my childhood home, my parents took us to Italy. Again, I vaguely remember it, but I do remember that I hated the food on the plane and was so hungry by the time we landed that I was crying and fussy the entire taxi ride to the hotel." I chuckled. "Amazing, the moments of time that stick in our memories. I know we visited the Coliseum and Venice. I sort of remember a ride in a gondola, but the only thing that is clear in my mind was the hunger tantrum I threw on the way to the hotel."

  "I assure you whatever they served you on that giant metal bird was far more palatable than the hard tack and stale cider we consumed while crossing the ocean. Good lord, the odors that surrounded me on that journey." His nose scrunched, but it wasn't exactly a solid scrunch, more of a wavy lined crinkle. "My family refused to pay for my own cabin. I was forced to endure steerage with the bulk of the passengers. My father thought it would teach me a lessson."

  "Did it?"

  He looked plainly at me with his bold blue eyes. "I died in a duel following a scandal where I had an affair with my cousin's wife."