Death at the Museum

by London Lovett

  I leaned down to look inside and braced myself to be disappointed with my findings. I was not. I reached inside and pulled away a soft piece of cloth that had been draped over a tall item. I recognized the silhouette of the chalice before the cloth even fell away.

  It took me a moment to catch my breath. Not only was I sure who stole the chalice and killed Sarah Essex, but I was now mere inches away from a thousands of years old chalice. It was as beautiful and breathtaking as I imagined, even tucked as it was inside the dark chamber of the safe.

  I needed to collect myself and plan next steps. The best thing I could think of was to take a picture of the chalice. I pulled out my phone and glanced at it. The image would be dark, but I didn't dare touch the chalice. A vision of me tripping and dropping the priceless artifact flashed through my mind. Wouldn't Howard Carter be disappointed to know that a clumsy, nosy journalist brought a shattering end to one of his uncovered treasures?

  I took several photos, trying my hardest not to shade the chamber with my body but it wasn't easy. The light in the office wasn't working with me. I moved to the side, my back to the office door, and curled my arm around the open, heavy door to the safe. It was the best angle yet. I snapped a few pictures and was about to text them to Jackson when I felt someone breathing over my shoulder.

  "Find anything interesting?" Professor Fisher's voice was no longer soft, melodic and baritone. It was tight, sinister and harsh.

  In a series of lightning fast moves, I pushed the safe door out of my path and jumped away from the professor as I spun around to face him. It seemed I still had some of my athletic prowess from high school. I had time to celebrate my nimbleness later. At the moment, a killer with a mouth pulled tight over a concrete jaw, was drilling holes into me with his furious gaze.

  Professor Fisher pulled that laser focus away briefly to look at the safe while I glanced anxiously around looking for my escape route. Those darn piles of books. It seemed I would have to plow right through them or conjure up my high school hurdle jumping skills. Unfortunately, those required a running start, and there was no runway in his compact, crowded office.

  I swallowed to relieve the dry fear in my throat and straightened my posture. "You're too late. I've already sent photos of the stolen chalice to Detective Jackson." If only I had, but Fisher had interrupted my plan. Fortunately, he didn't know that, and my words caused the red color of rage to fade to gray.

  "You're lying." He stared hard at me. "I can see in your eyes you're lying. It's a skill I picked up as a professor."

  "You're not a professor, you're a thief, a killer and you're going to jail."

  A grin that I could only describe as murderous crossed his face. Without pulling his horrid stare from me, he took a few steps backward and shut the door. The familiar sound of a door locking followed. He pushed back the panels of his coat and took out the pocket watch. It dangled from its thin, long chain.

  "That's what you used to kill Sarah, isn't it?"

  "Yes, and it seems it will come in handy once again."

  Chapter 35

  There were loud rumblings outside the door. Voices and determined footsteps stomped the tile flooring. I could barely hear the rush of students flowing past the locked door over the pulse pounding in my head. Nothing about the man in front of me said academia anymore. He was a fierce, determined killer who needed to get rid of yet another witness to his crimes.

  My first instinct was to yell. With any luck, one of the students would hear me over the din in the hallway.

  I backed up and nearly tripped over a stack of books. I pushed my foot back and kicked the tower. It tumbled into disarray. "Help!" I yelled loudly enough to vibrate the mummified cat on the shelf.

  There was no response, no tentative knock, no 'is anyone in there' at the door. The rush of students in the hallway was too loud. My impulse to yell only made Fisher angrier. His face reddened, and he lunged for me before I could yell again. This time I was ready for the pile of books behind me. I jumped sideways over them and put Fisher's messy, book laden desk between us. We did the mirror image dance for a moment. I leaned one way and he followed my movement. I dashed back to the other side and he followed, the shiny pocket watch chain dangling menacingly from his hand.

  It was time to try and reason with the madman on the other side of the desk. "You should stop while you're ahead, Professor Fisher." It seemed entirely inappropriate to be using his title. As far as I was concerned, he'd lost his professorship when he strangled Sarah Essex. But in this situation, it seemed best to treat him as if he was someone deserving of respect. "You're not going to get away with your crimes, but adding one more murder is only going to make things worse."

  A dry, sharp laugh cracked from his throat. "They can't convict me without a witness. You shouldn't have gone snooping around in here. That safe was locked. How did you get it open?"

  This time I laughed, dryly. "It was easy. Only took me two tries. The date that Howard Carter opened Tut's tomb. Do you think Carter would be proud of one of his archeological peers stealing the very treasures he uncovered? How many other pieces in your collection are stolen?"

  A sneer crossed his face. How different he looked now that I knew who he really was. He certainly had all of us fooled the night of the unveiling. "It was the perfect cover, wasn't it?" I asked. "The unveiling? The big, dramatic reaction when you discovered the real chalice had been stolen. The artist putting his mark on the forgery wasn't a mistake, was it? You wanted it to be easy to spot that it was a fake. I mean, even an expert like you would need to take a second look before realizing you were looking at a counterfeit artifact. But the moon and star were so obvious—"

  I'd softened his stance with the conversation. For a second, it seemed, he'd forgotten that he was ready to kill me. He smirked. "I knew that idiot, Hartman, would never notice it was a fake. Even with the artist's mark right there on the base. I counted on his ignorance, and he did not let me down. I even tested him by sending a few students to view the chalice. He never even suspected that the chalice he pulled out of the lab safe was a fake."

  "Yes, your whole plan was clever but one question," I paused. "How did you get the real chalice out of the safe? Only two people knew the combination, Sarah and John. Were you watching the security footage, spying over John's shoulder while he opened the safe?"

  "I'd originally planned that, but Hartman made it easy for me." Fisher pushed around a few of the fallen books with his toes. "The real chalice never made it into the safe. Hartman let me know when it had arrived. We opened the crate together. I had my professor's bag with me." He motioned toward a large brown bag that looked almost like an old-fashioned doctor's bag on a table in the corner. "Hartman never questioned me about it because I generally carry it around. Besides, he's too incurious to even notice such things."

  "So you had the forgery inside the case," I said. "But how did you switch them with Hartman standing right there?"

  "Huh, I was almost impressed with you," he laughed insultingly.

  "You created a diversion," I said briskly. I didn't like to 'almost' impress someone, even if he was a cold-blooded killer. I snapped my fingers. "A call. You had your niece call and say it was an emergency and that she needed to talk to the museum curator right away."

  "That's right but of course I had to disconnect the phone in the lab first. John picked it up and realized it was dead, so he rushed out to take the emergency call."

  The sounds in the hallway were dying out. My chance to escape was shrinking. I needed to keep him occupied. Surely, someone would come to his door soon. "I suppose your payment to your niece was she got to borrow a priceless, good luck amulet, yet another stolen object from your collection."

  His face blanched. "Anna has no part in any of this," he said sternly. "She had no idea why I needed the mailbox or why I had her make the call. She is innocent."

  While he was absorbed in pleading a case of innocence for his niece, I reached behind me and felt for an object, any
object. Something cold, carved stone or marble, brushed against my knuckles. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you made her an unwitting accomplice."

  "She's not an accomplice." Red fury was coming back to his complexion.

  "But why kill Sarah? Unless—" I started.

  "That's right. The little worm was in the back corner of the lab. I had no idea she was there. She peered out as I switched the two chalices. I threatened her, told her she would never work in Egyptian artifacts again. I told her I'd use all my power and connections to destroy her career. It was enough of a threat . . . for awhile. Then the little snake turned on me."

  "No, she gave you an out. I saw the note. She gave you a chance to switch them back. Instead you killed her." I wrapped my hand around the solid stone statue. It was one of his many artifacts, and for now, it was my possible escape.

  I whipped it out from behind me, certain I was holding one of his priceless treasures. Instead, I was holding what seemed to be a cheap copy of the Egyptian god Osiris. I could tell it was a cheap copy by the made in China stamp on the edge of the base. I'd intended on holding the artifact hostage, threatening to throw it against the wall if he so much as took a step toward me. My plan to shatter it was shattered.

  Fisher seemed to sense what I had planned. He laughed, coldly. "Go ahead and break it. My niece gave me that five years ago. I believe she bought it with money she pulled out of her piggy bank." He punctuated his statement with another harsh laugh.

  I sneered back at him. "Wow, that says a lot about you. You put more value in these ancient mummified cats and pieces of pottery than an object your niece used her few coins to buy you. Was she wearing a big smile as she handed it to you? I'll bet she was so excited to give you something she was sure you would love."

  An evil grin turned to a frown. "I think this conversation has gone on long enough."

  My phone rang, startling both of us out of the tense standoff. I moved to reach for it. He jumped over the pile of books, and once again lunged for me. I screamed and pushed his chair between us. A familiar voice came through the crack on the door.

  "Sunni? Sunni, are you in there?"

  "Jackson!" I cried. "The door's locked!"

  Fisher's eyes were glazed and dark. He was no longer thinking straight. It was as if he was cursed. His gaze was unfocused, and his voice had grown frightening and deep. "I'll kill you." Visions of Boris Karloff's mummy flashed through my mind as Fisher lumbered toward me, arms outstretched, the gold chain dangling between his thumbs.

  I backed up and landed hard against one of his bookshelves. A stone object rolled off, hit my shoulder and broke on the floor. This time it was an authentic piece, but Fisher didn't seem to notice or care. He had only one thing on his mind. The pounding on the door didn't snap him out of it. He was truly in a madman's trance.

  I had no room to budge as the murderous man approached me. I reached up and grabbed the chain, but he held it tightly. The thin chain links cut into my palms as I pushed against it, keeping it as far from my throat as possible. But Fisher was strong. It was as if his crazed trance had turned him into some kind of monster.

  "Jackson!" I cried out as I was losing my battle. Thin trickles of blood streamed from my palms as the chain sliced into my skin.

  I tried to move my feet to get better leverage against him, but my right foot got caught under the shelves. As I struggled to free it, the chain inched closer. My palms stung from being sliced open.

  Before I could release another scream, the door exploded, shards of wood flying in every direction. The door jamb was hanging in pieces. Jackson pushed them out of the way as he burst into the office. Fisher was yanked from his murderous focus. He stepped back in fear from the rage filled detective. His arms dropped and the chain slipped from his fingers, pooling gold and glittery on the floor.

  Two officers pushed in behind Jackson. They went right to Fisher for an arrest as Jackson pulled me into his arms. I sobbed a few times but managed to be in just enough shock from the last few minutes to stand quietly in his arms and be comforted by how secure I felt.

  I had balled my fists to keep the blood from smearing all over everything, but the trickles had seeped past my curled fingers. "Sunni," Jackson said still breathless. He gently took hold of my wrist, and I uncurled my fingers.

  "It's from the chain." I tilted my head toward the chain on the floor. "How did you know to come here? Had you figured out who killed Sarah?" My voice was weak as if I'd been screaming at a rock concert for hours.

  Jackson shook his head and looked thoroughly disappointed with himself. "No, Bluebird, you beat me to it with this one." He kissed my forehead. "You're one heck of a detective."

  "Was it my text that clued you in?" I asked.

  He put his arm around my shoulder and walked me out of the room as the officers read Fisher his rights. The hallway was starting to fill with curious onlookers, students as well as other professors. Everyone looked stunned.

  "Yes, I saw the text about the pocket watch and amulet, and I asked myself, would Sunni be daring enough to go over to the university and confront Samuel Fisher? I didn't even need to answer. I drove straight over and called for back-up." He shook his head and squeezed me in his strong arms. "What am I going to do with you, Sunni Taylor?"

  I pressed my face against his chest to get lost in the familiar scent of his soap. His heart was still pounding. "This will do for now, Detective Jackson."

  Chapter 36

  Jackson wanted to take me to the clinic to have my hands looked at, but I felt silly even considering it. The cuts weren't nearly as bad as they looked once the blood was washed away. A little first aid and some large bandages and I was good as new. Only I wasn't exactly sure how I would wash my face or hair or anything that required water, for that matter.

  Unfortunately, once he'd taken care of me, and it was a wonderful few hours of being pampered and worried over, he had to return to the station to process his killer. He was more than a little impressed when I told him how I figured out the combination on the safe, where the real chalice was sitting waiting to be returned to its rightful place in the museum.

  After that, I slept amazingly well, considering the harrowing experience I'd gone through. But my head was feeling as if it had been filled with lead. Thank goodness it was Saturday, and there were no carpenters pounding nails in an upstairs room. The house was quiet, which was just what I needed to clear my head and straighten out the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  Feeling more than a little exhausted, I reheated the leftover coffee rather than start a fresh pot. The dogs finally pulled themselves from the bedroom and trotted out the dog door, hardly glancing my direction. Early morning was always the best time for squirrel watching.

  I sat with my cup of coffee. I stopped to smooth down the edge of the large bandage Jackson had so lovingly applied to my cut.

  "What has happened to your hands?" Edward's concerned tone came from somewhere in the kitchen. A second later he appeared in front of me with a scowling look of worry that reminded me a great deal of Jackson's.

  "It's nothing, really. Had a little run in with a pocket watch chain."

  His dark brows furrowed. "You're supposed to hang them from your waistcoat, not tie them around your hands."

  "Thanks, I know that now." He watched as I carefully picked up my coffee and took a sip. I scrunched my nose. "I guess this is why I don't usually reheat the leftover coffee."

  He was still staring at me with those intensely blue eyes. "You're lying. You didn't get those cuts from a pocket watch chain."

  "I promise you I did. But I might be leaving out some of the crucial details of the story."

  "That's what I thought." His image swept across the kitchen and back. It was, I had learned, the ghostly form of pacing, only much faster, and if I was being honest, more awesome. He stopped in front of me with a brooding brow. "Where is Brady? He's supposed to be protecting you out there. Once again, he has failed." His expression twi
sted with anger, frustration. "If I had been with you—" He swept to and fro across the kitchen again.

  I stood up. "Edward, stop you're making me dizzy. And Brady was there. He broke down a locked door to get to me. They're only slight cuts."

  His shoulders had stood out like two sharp blades. Now they relaxed, rounded. "Brady did that? He broke down a door?"

  "Yes, he did."

  His expression tensed again. "Why the devil were you behind a locked door with—with—with—exactly who were you with?"

  "A professor but a rather crazy one." I twirled my finger near my temple. "I think he thought he was Boris Karloff or some reincarnated King Tut."

  "You're speaking nonsense again. Did this Karloff person hit you in the head?"

  "No and it wasn't actually Karloff. He's been dead for some time."

  The front door opened and shut loudly. I had to turn off my side of the conversation, but it seemed Edward would continue on the topic for some time.

  I recognized Lana's purposeful footsteps in the hallway. "Well, that's it. He's toast," she proclaimed as she marched into the kitchen. She made a beeline for the coffee pot, grabbed a cup and poured it before I had a chance to warn her it was day old coffee. She took a sip and scrunched her nose. Her original tirade had ended as she now took off on a new topic. "I seriously need to show you how to make a good cup of coffee."

  "It's yesterday's," I said. "Who's toast?"

  She put down the stale coffee. "Dave. It's over. I told him I couldn't date someone who would betray my sister."

  I reached up and rubbed my forehead. A twinkling of a headache had begun. She noticed my bandages.

  "What on earth happened to your hands?" she giggled. "You really need to be more careful with your kitchen knives."