TWO

 

 

 

 

Jillian’s surprised expression mirrored my own. Her shocked eyes met mine. She looked at me, back at the stage, and then back at me.

“How did you know that would happen?”

“I didn’t,” I insisted. “I was just joking!”

“Nobody touch anything!” Vance thundered, silencing the entire room. The detective rushed to the stage and clambered up the steps. “Nobody moves!”

Dr. Tarik looked up at Vance with an ashen look.

“Who – who are you?”

“Detective Vance Samuelson, PVPD.”

Two more men hurried to the stage and joined the small group of people. One was older, portly, and balding. He looked winded from his brief sprint up the stairs. The other was much younger – around my age – and looked more uncomfortable in his tux than I did in mine. The three of them huddled together, just like a football team would do when trying to decide on a play. For several minutes they all huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Suddenly Vance straightened, looked over at me, and then back at the older fellow. A few fingers were pointed my way.

“What’s going on?” Jillian asked in a low voice.

“I wish I knew. I don’t know why the hell they’re pointing at me. I had nothing to do with this.”

After a few more minutes the group broke apart. The older gentleman joined the others at the remains of the display case. The younger man headed to the open sarcophagus and inspected the insides. Vance again looked my way. His eyes briefly met mine before he looked over at Tori. He mouthed something, to which I saw her nod, and then looked back at me. What was he up to?

“Zack?” Vance’s voice rang out. “Could you come up here and give me a hand?”

Heads swiveled until all eyes were locked on me. Caught like a deer in headlights, I blinked stupidly at my friend. Jillian nudged my shoulder.

“Vance needs your help. You’d better go on up there.”

I threaded my way through the crowds of curious onlookers and made my way up the stairs. Dr. Tarik and his companions had returned to the smashed display case and were staring wordlessly at the broken glass. I approached Vance and gave him a questioning look.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Get with Don and Rick and help secure the school. No one gets in or out.”

“Who’s Don and who’s Rick?” I asked, looking back at the sea of unfamiliar faces.

The two men that had joined Vance on the stage suddenly appeared by his side. The older man approached first.

“Don Reezen,” he announced, holding out a hand. “I’m principal of the school.”

“Richard Werther,” the other man added, also extending a hand. “I’m the vice principal here at PVHS.”

I shook both of their hands. I glanced back at Vance but he was already deep in conversation with Dr. Tarik. I pointed at the doors.

“I’m not sure what I can do but I’m more than happy to help. Come on. We need to make sure no one leaves. If something was stolen, then we need to make certain it doesn’t leave the premises. If it does, then who knows what type of curse will befall us.”

Principal Reezen nodded and ignored my failed attempt to lighten the mood, “Agreed. Rick, grab every teacher you see. Post someone at every entrance into the school. I’ll stand watch by the main entrance. We’ll need someone at both the east and west school entrances. There are four doors leading into this auditorium. I want someone posted at each door. Oh, don’t forget the loading bays in maintenance.”

Richard nodded and hurried off.

“What should I do, Don?” I asked the principal. “You guys obviously know this school better than I do. I’m not even sure why Vance wanted my help.”

“Come with me,” Don curtly answered, pulling my arm to guide me toward the school’s main entrance. “You were asked to help because of me, I’m sure. I’ve known Vance for years. His father and I are good friends. We speak all the time.”

That drew me up short. We arrived at the main entrance where the principal began closing the six main doors that had been propped open. I hurried over to the closest door, kicked the wedge of rubber that had been jammed under it to keep it from swinging shut, and moved to the next.

“Okay, that still doesn’t explain why I’m here. You and I don’t really know each other, right?”

Principal Reezen nodded, “Correct. However, I am a fan of your dogs. More specifically, Sherlock.”

“My dogs?” I repeated, confused. “What about them? What do they have to do with anything?”

“Vance told me all about your case a few months ago,” Don told me as he closed the last door. He retrieved a key ring from one of his pockets that would make a janitor proud and began locking the doors. “I heard all about how your little dog kept locating clues where no one else could find any. He essentially kept you out of jail, did he not?”

I stared at the principal in shock. That’s why he wanted me here? He wanted to see if Sherlock could shed any light on the missing mummy and the pendant? How was that going to look when all of a sudden a guy with a couple of corgis shows up and lets them sniff around the area? I could see the headlines now:

 

Dogs Send Local PD to Doghouse!

 

“Are you sure that’s a wise idea?” I asked. “The local PD and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms. If Sherlock can find clues where they cannot, do you have any idea how that’s going to make them look?”

“The police can run their own investigation,” Don informed me, dropping his voice down low.

A couple in their mid-fifties had appeared. They were headed toward the door. I moved to intercept.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “but we all have to stay put until we’re given the green light by the cops.”

“By what cops?” the man asked, puzzled.

I was standing nearly six feet away from the guy and I could instantly smell what these two had been doing. A strong pungent, earthy aroma was emanating from these two. I instantly thought of skunk, but not as nauseous. I glanced over at the principal. I could see that his nostrils were flared. He smelled it, too.

“Been enjoying yourselves?” Principal Reezen asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Whatever do you mean?” the woman asked, trying to act confused.

“You two are a disgrace,” Don muttered. “It’s bad enough that you smoke marijuana, but to do so here? In a school? You know better than that.”

Both heads fell.

“Go back and wait with the others,” Principal Reezen ordered. “And I’d suggest you start praying that I don’t press any charges.”

“We’re not students here,” the man snapped. “And I have a legal prescription for it, so there.”

“You both do?” I asked, looking over at the woman, who refused to look me in the eye.

“Be that as it may,” Principal Reezen snapped, “marijuana is, by definition, a controlled substance. Under no circumstances whatsoever will controlled substances be permitted on school grounds. Now get with the others or I will have the police notified. What will it be?”

The couple hastily retreated, disappearing down the hall toward the auditorium.

“I really think we ought to let the police conduct their own investigation,” I suggested as Principal Reezen locked the last door. “I don’t want to get in their way.”

“You won’t be,” Vance’s voice broke in, startling me. I turned to watch the detective approach. “I’ve already spoken with the chief. Jerry and Rob – they would be our crime scene techs – are still in Portland at a conference. They’ve already been notified but won’t be here until tomorrow morning. So if you and Sherlock are gonna do your magic, it’ll have to be tonight.”

“Our magic?” I repeated. “Vance, for all we know, that was a one-time thing. There’s no guarantee Sherlock can find anything.”

“Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt, shall we?” Vance suggested.

“What about Medford?” I protested. “Can’t they send someone over to start processing this mess? I can’t imagine the chief is okay with leaving this scene as it is, with a chance of it being tampered with.”

“He’s not. He’s posting men here for the night to make sure no one bothers it. Besides, we’ve already tried. Medford has their people in Portland, too.”

“Medford is much larger than PV,” I persisted. “They must have techs to spare, don’t they?”

“They have a large enough staff to leave one person behind,” Vance confirmed. “However, he’s tied up with an attempted bank robbery. They wouldn’t be able to send him out until tomorrow, which is when our own guys will make it back. So for now, we have to wait.”

“I also don’t want to get you into any trouble,” I added. “Wouldn’t there be hell to pay if it became known that you allowed me and a couple of dogs inside an active crime scene?”

“It’s easy,” Vance explained. “Look, but don’t touch. If you find anything, or should I say, if Sherlock finds anything then I’ll pass it off as a discovery I made.”

“And take the credit for something you didn’t discover?” I asked, frowning as I said it.

“Would you like me to add Sherlock or Watson’s name to the final report?” Vance asked, throwing in a healthy dose of sarcasm. “Look, Zack. I’m asking for your help. I know what this is going to do to Tori. She helped to push these people to set up shop in PV. I don’t want any fingers to start pointing in her direction. She’s already stressed enough. So, will you do me this favor? I’d like to see if there’s anything Sherlock notices before the crime scene boys arrive tomorrow. Will you help me?”

“What about all the witnesses?” I asked, perplexed. “They’re going to know you allowed a dog to come in here and check things out.”

“Let’s do this. Tori will take you and Jillian home. Come back here in about an hour, okay? I’ve called in two other cop friends of mine who will help me search the guests and lock everything down for the night. Then we’ll let Sherlock do his thing.”

I looked over the principal and raised an eyebrow.

“I must admit I am insanely curious to see if your dog finds anything,” Don confessed.

“We’re talking about a dog here, fellas,” I reminded everyone. “A dog.”

“A very smart dog,” Vance added, drawing a nod from the principal. “Go. There’s Tori and Jillian. Be back here in an hour.”

 

 

Almost an hour later I pulled my Jeep up to the high school. I saw a couple of cop cars parked outside. Several strips of yellow crime scene tape were stretched across each of the school’s six entry doors. I unloaded the dogs and hesitantly approached the police officer who had been watching me ever since I parked.

“You must be Zack,” the officer said. “I’m Eric Knudsen.” He squatted down to pet Sherlock and Watson, who were both gazing up at the strange man with rapt fascination. “Which one is Sherlock?”

“Him,” I said, pointing at the tri-color corgi. “He’s the one with black on him. Watson is the red and white.”

“Hello, Sherlock.” The cop held out a hand. Sherlock rewarded the kind gesture with a lick. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I hope you’re able to find something, buddy. Watson? Your other dog is named Watson? That’s clever.”

I smiled, “Thanks. I’m surprised. I would have thought you’d want the cops to take credit for the case, not a pair of dogs.”

Eric looked left, then right. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Between you and me? Both of the crime scene techs are pains in the asses. Just because they’re CSTs they think they’re better than everyone else. I personally would love to see them knocked down a peg or two.”

“Whatever happened to team spirit?” I asked.

“It went right out the window when Jerry insinuated I belong directing traffic. Pompous prick.”

That was all the convincing I needed.

“Sherlock? Let’s go do your thing. Come on, Watson.”

Eric lifted the strip of crime scene tape and allowed me to duck under to enter the school. The hallways were illuminated, as though I expected to hear a bell toll at any minute. Doors would bang open, kids would begin screaming, and then there’d be nothing but chaos running rampant through the halls until the bell sounded again, signaling the beginning of the next class.

Ah. To be back in high school. I wouldn’t wish that hell on my worst enemy. It was hard enough to be a kid, and even more so nowadays. There was pressure to maintain your grades, pressure to not fall in with the wrong crowds, pressure to spend time with your family, and, for the older kids, pressure to find a job so that they could earn some spending money. All I had to worry about when I was that age was to keep my grades up. Even then I never worried about it too much. I had always received good grades. They probably could have been better had I studied more. Then again, I was a teenager. I already thought I knew everything.

At the moment, though, the hallways were empty. My footfalls echoed noisily as I retraced my steps from earlier in the evening back to the auditorium. The hall I was following was lined with a double row of small lockers. I hesitated only long enough to inspect the size. I swear the lockers I used back in my school in Arizona were twice the size of these. I doubted these would hold more than three or four books each.

Sherlock tugged on his leash. He sniffed loudly and lifted his nose into the air. Watson turned to give him a questioning look. Moments later she, too, had her nose in the air and was pulling on her leash. Did the dogs smell something? Had Sherlock already zeroed in on some type of clue? Both corgis were pulling on their leashes, threatening to drag me along whether I wanted to accompany them or not.

I led the corgis into the auditorium. Vance and a second man I didn’t recognize were there, chatting with a very harassed Dr. Tarik. The three of them turned to watch us approach.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Dr. Tarik sputtered. “I was expecting to see an officer with a genuine police dog. But this? Did you borrow those two from her Royal Majesty the Queen? What business have they in a crime scene?”

“I’ll vouch for both the guy and the dogs,” Vance gently told him. “You’re upset, I get that. Let us do our job, okay?”

We were waved over.

“Zack, this is Dr. Asiz Tarik, head curator at Egyptian Exhibitions. Dr. Tarik, this is a friend of mine, Zack Anderson. Down there are Sherlock and Watson.”

“I am still not amused,” Dr. Tarik said, rather gruffly.

I shook the doctor’s hand. His skin was weathered and calloused. The grip was firm and unfaltering. This was a man who spent a lot of time outdoors.

“Nice to meet you,” I offered.

“What are your qualifications?” Dr. Tarik immediately asked.

“I’m a writer,” I answered.

Dr. Tarik threw his hands up in the air.

“Isn’t it just like you Americans? Let me venture a guess. You have watched too many of your American police television shows and you now think you are an expert on the matter. No offense to you, Mr. Anderson, but I want a professional here.”

Vance scowled, “As you wish, Dr. Tarik. You may leave now.”

The curator puffed out his chest and several veins appeared on his forehead.

“Excuse me? I will do no such thing. I can see now that it was a mistake to come to this little town. We were assured we would have adequate security to protect our collection. Where is that teacher? The one who campaigned to bring Egyptian Exhibitions here? I’ll wager she knows something about what has happened.”

“Whoa,” Vance snapped. “Cool your jets, buddy. If you’re insinuating that Tori Samuelson is somehow responsible for this mess, then you are dead wrong.”

The curator’s angry face swung over to the Vance’s.

“Do not take that tone with me, detective,” Dr. Tarik said, throwing as much venom as he could into his voice. “I am a distinguished archaeologist and am at the top of my profession. What about you?”

“Why you pompous ass!” Vance snarled, taking a few menacing steps toward the curator.

Sherlock started barking. Watson added her two cents for every fourth or fifth bark of Sherlock’s. I decided an intervention was in order before Vance ended up doing something that would get him kicked off the force. Or someone’s ankle was bitten. I inserted myself between the two glaring men and held up my hands in surrender.

“Gentlemen, please. Vance, get a grip. Relax. We have bigger fish to fry. Dr. Tarik? Take it easy. We’re trying to help you. I know it doesn’t look like it but Sherlock has a unique ability in locating clues. Let us look around. I would even encourage you to come with us. That way you’ll see that we won’t touch anything we’re not supposed to.”

The simple request of being allowed to accompany us took much of the wind out of his sails. The doctor’s angry red face softened and he finally nodded. He looked down at the dogs and actually smiled.

“Very well. You may look, just don’t touch.”

I nodded and offered a smile in return, “No problem. Sherlock? Watson? Let’s go look around, shall we?”

I led the dogs to the open sarcophagus first. Sherlock lowered his nose to the ground and sniffed along the base of the casket, moving left. Watson mirrored his actions, only she moved to the right. As you may have expected, both corgis came to an abrupt halt when my arms couldn’t extend away from my sides any farther than they already were. Both arms were yanked in opposite directions.

“Ouch, guys. Really? Is that how we’re going to play this? Pick a direction. Left, right, I don’t care, only pick the same direction.”

Sherlock turned to look at Watson. Almost immediately Watson changed course and followed Sherlock. Together they circled the entire casket. Sherlock then moved to the broken case.

“Careful, boy,” I cautioned, drawing up the slack in his leash. I didn’t want him treading over broken glass. “You’re not getting any closer than that.”

Sherlock sniffed once and then turned to look at the squat black wooden display stand. He stretched his neck up and over the large pieces of broken glass and nudged the base with his nose. He turned to look at me and then looked pointedly back at the base.

Vance, who had been watching intently, gingerly approached the broken display case and squatted down low. I stepped away from the case and pulled the two dogs close. Vance stared at the display stand then back and Sherlock.

“Alright, what about it?”

“You talk to the dogs, too?” Dr. Tarik skeptically asked.

“Awwooooooo!” Sherlock howled.

It was low and quiet, and surprisingly enough, wasn’t directed at the detective. I looked over at the curator, as did Vance. Dr. Tarik, to his credit, was smiling as he looked down at Sherlock. He extended a hand, which Sherlock sniffed, then licked.

“Was your dog howling at me?” the curator asked, still watching Sherlock. “I see why the queen is so infatuated with the breed. I will admit they are adorable.”

Watson approached, sat, and lifted a paw.

“Very well. You are not to be overlooked, kind sir.”

Watson blinked her eyes as she returned the stare.

“Watson is a ‘she’,” I told Dr. Tarik.

“You named her ‘Watson’?” the curator asked, baffled. “That is a name for a male, not a female.”

Vance gave me a triumphant look, “Hah!”

“Shut up, dude,” I said. Both corgis turned to look at me. Sherlock’s expression was more piteous while Watson had nothing but loving adoration in her eyes. “We’ll get into that later. Right now we need to find out why he’s looking at the wooden base there.”

Vance straightened and slowly walked around the wooden stand. On the flip side of the case, the part that was hidden from the audience’s view, Vance stopped. He squatted, peered closely at something, and then absently patted his pockets. He was still wearing his tuxedo. He clearly didn’t have whatever gear he usually carried with him.

“What do you need?” I asked. “What do you see?”

“There’s a tiny strip of something here,” Vance reported, pointing at the base of the stand. “The stand has a small split in the wood. It looks like something has snagged in it. I wanted a pair of tweezers so I could pull it out.”

I patted my belt. I had my handy-dandy multi tool – complete with a pair of needle-nose pliers – tucked away in its pouch on my belt. I pulled it out and unfolded the tool, almost like I was whipping out a butterfly knife. The pliers appeared. I presented it handle first to the detective.

“Here. Use this. I was able to change back into my normal clothes. I always carry this thing around on my belt. Will it work?”

Vance took the tool and studied it.

“Well, it isn’t tweezers, but it’ll do. Let’s see what we have here.”

He gingerly pulled the tiny scrap of material from the split in the wood and held it up for a closer inspection. I watched Dr. Tarik squat down next to the detective. His eyes opened wide.

“Where did you get that?” the curator demanded.

Vance pointed out the tiny imperfection in the wood base.

“Right there. Why? Do you know what this is?”

Dr. Tarik nodded. He immediately looked over at the open sarcophagus. I groaned and felt the blood drain from my face. Was he thinking what I think he was thinking?

“This is a scrap of linen from Meriptah. Look. The linen has been coated with resin. This came from a mummy.”

Vance gave the curator a neutral look and cleared his throat.

“Are you trying to tell me that the mummy woke up, ambled over here, broke the display case open, and stole some necklace?”

“Pendant,” Dr. Tarik corrected. “I know how this looks and how it sounds. For the record, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all. However, no one knew about the pendant.”

“What about the pendant?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Are you referring to the one that was stolen?”

“Yes. It is very famous and is completely irreplaceable. We must get it back!”

“Talk to me about that pendant,” Vance told the curator. “What’s so valuable about it?”

Dr. Tarik’s voice lowered to a whisper. Vance and I crowded close so we could hear him.

“As I mentioned earlier, mummies are wrapped in multiple layers of linen fortified with resin after every two layers of bandages. It is not uncommon to find objects on the mummy at different layers.”

“How many” I asked.

Dr. Tarik shrugged, “It varies. Beads, pendants, scarabs, weapons…”

“No,” I interrupted. “What I meant was, how many different layers do the mummies have?”

“Oh. My apologies. As many as 20 alternating layers of bandages have been counted. The innermost layers of a mummy typically contain the deceased’s possessions. The Nekhbet Pendant had been discovered around the king’s neck in the innermost wrappings. Most likely it means Tutankhamun had worn it on his person when he had been alive. Do you understand the significance of this? Its loss to the academic world is incalculable. It must be returned. Detective, you must prevail!”

“What does this missing pendant look like?” Vance asked.

I nodded. It was a good question. I was curious, too.

Overhearing the detective’s question, one of the other curators approached, holding an open book. Dr. Tarik’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw it.

“Excellent, Ammar. Thank you. Gentlemen, here is a picture of Nekhbet’s Pendant.”

 

 

I whistled with admiration. While not a fan of the Egyptian style of jewelry in general, I had to admit that it was an exquisite piece of work. I was looking at a picture of a vulture with its wings partially extended and the tips folded down. The top of the pendant, a surprisingly realistic depiction of an avian head, was turned to the left. There was also some type of red gem clutched in either of its talons. Sherlock stretched his neck up and whined. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he wanted a look, too.

Surprisingly, Dr. Tarik dropped to one knee and lowered the book down to Sherlock’s level. The inquisitive corgi sniffed once and then returned to sniffing the ground. The curator held the book out to Watson, but she didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

“For a vulture, it’s a pretty looking thing,” I decided.

Vance nodded with agreement.

“This pendant is a representation of the vulture goddess, Nekhbet,” Dr. Tarik patiently explained. “It is solid gold and encrusted with blue glass. You’ll no doubt note how realistic the head appears. Its eyes are of obsidian and the beak is lapis lazuli. The red you see here is more colored glass.”

“Are those rubies in its talons?” I asked, tapping the bird’s feet.

“Carnelian,” Dr. Tarik answered.

“How big is it?” Vance asked.

“From wing tip to wing tip it’s about 5 inches across and nearly 3 inches high.”

“So it’s a good-sized sucker,” Vance observed thoughtfully.

“Your impressive use of American colloquialism continues to astound me,” Dr. Tarik groaned.

“Small wonder, seeing how we’re in the United States of America, buddy,” Vance muttered crossly. “Listen, doc, why in the hell did you have a priceless valuable like that pendant in an exhibit like this? Weren’t you worried about something like this happening?”

“Of course,” Dr. Tarik said, nodding. “As a matter of fact, it was on its way to a new facility. We thought transporting this in such a manner would have been enough to dissuade anyone from trying to steal it. You have to understand, no one knew of its history. No one knew it was authentic.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, growing angry. “Do you mean to say that none of these things in here are authentic? What are you trying to do, pull one over on us?”

“Egyptian Exhibitions has never once claimed that any of the artifacts in its possession were authentic. We utilize highly accurate reproductions in our exhibit. Our organization’s sole purpose is to educate and entertain the general public.”

I looked over at Vance to see what his reaction to that revelation was. For the record, he looked as shocked as I felt. After a few moments his frown disappeared.

“That’s why you had the pendant. It should have been the perfect way to transport the piece from one museum to another without fear of its true nature becoming known.”

“What better hiding place could there be than placing it in the open?” Dr. Tarik agreed.

“How many people had access back here?” Vance wanted to know. “How many people knew its true nature besides you?”

“Only myself,” Dr. Tarik confirmed. “I never told anyone, not even my assistant, Ammar. The fewer people who knew the truth, the better.”

“How long had those curtains been closed?” Vance asked, looking over at the thick red curtains on either side of the stage. “I need to know how long these things back here had been left alone.”

“We finished setting up the displays late yesterday,” Dr. Tarik answered, eliciting a groan from Vance. “But, the artifacts in these cases had only been there for a few hours at most before the grand opening.”

I cleared my throat.

“I hate to point out the obvious, but does it, or does it not, look like the mummy took the pendant?”

“Far be it for me to dispute your American cinema,” Dr. Tarik dryly began, “but mummies do not come to life and they most certainly do not steal pendants.”

“Hey, I’m not saying it did, okay? Everyone is thinking it; I’m just stating it.”

“I’m not thinking it,” Vance disagreed.

“Nor am I,” added Dr. Tarik.

I sighed and pointed at the scrap of linen Vance still held.

“Then explain that,” I demanded.

“It had to have been planted there,” Vance told me. “Someone wants us to think that the mummy did it. What do you have against mummies, anyway?”

“Nothing,” I answered, albeit a tad too hasty.

Vance eyed me speculatively.

“Afraid the mummy is gonna getcha?”

“Ha ha.”

Sherlock suddenly tugged at his leash. He was looking at the back left corner of the stage. The inner workings of the platform were outlined in black fabric. Less noticeable to the audience, I presume. However, I thought I could make out a door against the wall. I let Sherlock lead the way, with Watson following closely behind him. I heard movement coming from behind me. A quick look back confirmed Vance and Dr. Tarik were shadowing me.

“What do you want to look at, Sherlock?” I quietly asked the corgi. “Do you smell something back here?”

Sherlock dropped his nose to the ground, sniffed a few times, then headed straight towards the door. I glanced back at Vance.

“Do I open it?”

Vance grinned, “Sure, unless you’re afraid something is going to jump out at you from the shadows.”

“Jerk. Bite me.”

I heard Vance laugh. Opening the door revealed a darkened hallway stretching 20 feet to the left and about that same distance to the right. There were three doors on the right hand side of the hall if I chose left, and there was one door each on the right and the left if I chose to go right.

Sherlock tugged on the leash. He wanted to go left. Left it is. I was led to the last door on the right, which was a large double door. I looked through the windows to see what was on the other side. Nothing, unfortunately. The lights were off. Sherlock turned to look up at me. I, in turn, looked over at Vance, who indicated I should open it. It was locked.

“Can’t open this one,” I reported. “It’s locked.”

Vance pulled out a huge ring of keys. I had seen that exact same key ring before. It had belonged to the principal.

“Don let me borrow these,” he explained as he fished through the keys to find one that worked. After a few minutes of fruitless searching he found the correct key.

Once the door was open, and the lights were turned on, we could see that we were standing in another corridor. There were doors everywhere. I saw two on the left and at least four, no, better make that five on the right. The hall extended straight ahead for about ten feet then angled to the left and proceeded another dozen or so feet.

There were doors along this part of the hallway, too, but Sherlock ignored them. He led me straight to the end of the hall and then plopped his butt down on the linoleum. Watson, unsure what we were doing in this strange environment, kept looking up at me as it to verify I hadn’t lost my marbles. I ruffled her fur and turned to watch Vance and the curator approach. The detective was already fumbling for his keys.

“Why are we here, again?” Dr. Tarik asked. “What is the significance of this door?”

“Not a clue,” I admitted.

“Is it locked?” Vance asked as he pulled the fat ring of keys from his tuxedo pocket.

“Probably. Let me check. I… hmm. No, it’s unlocked. Check it out.”

I pushed open the door and then fumbled inside for a light switch. Properly illuminated, I could see that we were in some type of utility/storage room. The floor sloped inward, toward a recessed grate set into the ground in the middle of the room. The problem was, however, the grate had been pulled from the ground. It – and a few broken tiles – was lying several feet away, as if it had been carelessly discarded after it had been yanked from the floor.

I stared at the dark opening as my mind spun into overdrive.

“Umm…”

“It’s just a coincidence,” Vance assured me. “Keep it together, princess.”

“That’s it. Sherlock, attack! Bite him in the ankles! Watson… do your thing.”

“Do what thing?” Vance wanted to know.

“It’s better if I don’t tell you,” I cryptically told him.

“Americans are odd,” Dr. Tarik decided.

Vance knelt down by the opening in the floor and peered inside. As he was straightening back up he slid his hands along a length of one side of the hole. The detective froze as he ran his hand over the same section, and then a third time. He squatted back down for a closer inspection. A hand disappeared into one of his jacket pockets and reappeared, holding my multi-tool. He carefully picked a couple of fibers from the ground and held them up. He wordlessly held them out to the curator, who leaned forward to take a closer look.

“They are the same fibers as what we found at the destroyed display case,” Dr. Tarik confirmed. “What does this mean?”

I sighed. I know what you’re thinking. I must be one gullible dumbass for even thinking the mummy could be responsible for this. However, there were scraps of ancient linen back on the platform and now several more had been discovered here. On top of which, there was an opening large enough to pass a human, not to mention a shriveled up mummy. I knew full well that mummies couldn’t come back to life, but then again, what else would fit the facts? What was that quote from Sherlock Holmes?

 

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

 

I glanced down at Sherlock. He was already watching me. Did he know what I was thinking? I looked over at Watson. She was busy watching Vance. Of course, the detective always seemed to be slipping the dogs some type of biscuit whenever he saw them so I couldn’t blame her.

We were stooped over the hole in the floor, each lost in silent contemplation, when there was a bang, followed almost immediately by a loud voice. Naturally it had appeared from behind us.

“Whatcha doing back here?”

“JESUS H. CHRIST!” Vance bellowed, jerking back so violently he tripped over the fallen grate and fell to the ground.

“اللعنة المقدسة!” Dr. Tarik cursed in his native language, clapping a hand over his heart. He quickly slapped his other hand over his mouth. “A thousand apologies. I should not have said that.”

As for me, I had sucked in a breath and had been ready to shout out an expletive worthy of the situation when I caught sight of the dogs. Both had turned around and were panting contentedly at the intruder. Neither was surprised. In fact, both were happy to see the gate crasher.

It was Tori.

“Hon-ey!” Vance whined as he painfully rose to his feet. “What the hell! Why’d you do that?”

“You three sure are jumpy,” Tori observed.

She had since changed from her evening gown into a baggy sweatshirt and jeans. I also noticed the soles of her shoes were thick and cushioned, thus enabling her to move about without being detected. Tori squatted down to throw an arm around each of the dogs.

“How are my two favorite corgis in the whole wide world?”

Both stumpy tails threatened to wag right off their respective canine derrieres.

“What are you doing here, Tori?” Vance wanted to know, coming up to give his wife a hug. “It’s not safe for you here.”

“I wanted to help out,” Tori explained. “I couldn’t just sit at home, doing nothing.”

“What about the kids?” Vance asked.

Tori shrugged, “Oh, you know, I just pulled some random stranger in a hockey mask off the street and asked him to put away the machete for the night. My kids needed watching, so I told him to make himself useful.”

Alarmed, Dr. Tarik looked at me. I smiled and shook my head, indicating it was an inside joke between the two of them. The curator shook his head in bewilderment and let the matter drop.

“I assume you got Rachel to watch them?”

Rachel was their neighbor and good friend. I should know. Jillian introduced us last month when the Samuelson’s hosted a neighborhood block party. Jillian and I, along with Sherlock and Watson, had been invited.

“Obviously. Now, what are you doing back here?”

Vance pointed at Sherlock.

“We’re all following…”

Vance trailed off as Sherlock suddenly looked back down the hall – the way we had all come in – and softly woofed. Alarmed, I looked at Vance. Tori hurried to his side.

“Who else is in here?” I asked.

“No one,” Vance assured me. “There are two officers stationed outside but that’s it. Tori, did you see anyone else on your way in here?”

Tori shook her head no. Together, we all looked down at Sherlock.

“What is it, boy?” I asked the tri-colored corgi, dropping my voice to a whisper.

Sherlock woofed again. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Watson, who up until this point hadn’t given any indication that she had noticed anything unusual, started growling.

I stared at Watson with shock written all over my features. I have never heard that quiet, timid little corgi growl at anything. Something was up. Something had spooked them.

Sherlock barked once and lunged forward. The little snot caught me just as I was transferring the leashes from one hand to the other. Caught off guard, Sherlock’s leash was yanked out of my hand. Without a moment to lose, Sherlock bolted for the door. Watson tried the same trick but by that time I already had a tight grip on her leash. She looked back at me, gave a high pitched yip, and pulled on her leash. The meaning came through loud and clear. She wanted to go after her pack mate.

I quickly handed her leash to Tori while Vance and I took off after Sherlock. We made it to the end of the hall just in time to see one of the double doors swing shut. Confused, I looked over at Vance. Besides Sherlock, who had just gone out the door? There’s no way Sherlock could have opened that door by himself. Who was he chasing?

Memories of all the monster movies I had ever seen flooded back to me. Never once, in any one of them, did the story end well when someone went chasing after the monster. Deep down I knew that there was no way in hell an actual mummy could be responsible for this. Well, let’s just say I was 99% sure. However, it was that teeny tiny 1% that concerned me. My overactive imagination was in overdrive at the moment and it wouldn’t shut the hell up. What if it was the mummy? What if it grabbed Sherlock? What if it tried coming after me?

Vance and I burst through the door, both doors slamming open in opposite directions at the same time.

“Which way?” Vance asked. He turned to look right while I looked left.

“That way,” I said, pointing left. I could hear the tell-tale click of doggie toe nails on a hard floor.

Vance sprinted past me.

“Hurry! Sherlock is after someone!”

“You noticed the doors, too?” I asked, trying not to wheeze. For crying out loud I wasn’t that much out of shape, was I?

“Yes. Move your ass, Zack! There’s someone in here besides us! We need to find out who!”

We angled left and saw a long straight corridor in front of us. Movement from our left attracted our attention. Another door was swinging shut. Sherlock started barking. He was inside that room. Vance and I barged through the door. It was some type of music room. I saw music stands, shelves of sheet music, and a professional looking percussion set on the far wall. Chairs had been set out in a semi-circle, facing the doors we had just come through.

Vance hit the first row of chairs and went down with a loud crash. I was about ready to help him up when Sherlock barked nearby. We were in one of those rooms that, even if you turned out the overhead lights, one or two fixtures remained lit. For safety’s sake, I presume. They were each doing their best to illuminate the cavernous room but it was only enough to allow me to see the general shape of the room.

Sherlock barked again. My head jerked up just as something was hurled through a window in the far corner of the room. A form suddenly rushed by me and flung themselves through the opening. I was able to see tattered strips of ancient linen flapping through the air before they disappeared from sight. I rushed over to the window to peer anxiously out into the night. Whatever it was had vanished.

I heard a distinctive canine snort nearby. I also heard a groan coming from behind me. I gave Vance a hand in standing up while I looked back at the corner window. I found the closest light switch and flicked on the lights. There was Sherlock, slowly sniffing his way around the circumference of the room. He paused only long enough to give me a smug look.

“Are you okay?” I asked my friend.

“Smashed both knees on the way down,” Vance groaned. “That hurt. A lot. What happened?”

“Uh…”

“Oh, come on, pal. You can’t possibly say what I think you’re gonna say.”