and crime scene techs were crowding through the museum, heading to the Amenmose section—and to the staff office and prep chambers beyond.
“Too bad we couldn’t continue the celebration,” Joe said, hands locked behind his back, a look of disappointment on his face. “What a waste of great food and wine.”
“Joe! What’s the matter with you?” Belinda chastised.
“Come on! Vivian Richter’s a drama queen,” Joe said.
“She might die,” Roger said very softly.
“You mark my words. She will not die,” Joe insisted.
“They’re saying it’s poison,” Roger pointed out. “Some kind of poison on the wrappings.”
“She’s going to be very, very sick,” Jensen said. “Those wrappings decaying and falling all around her... Who the hell knows where they came from—or what might be on them?”
“Or if something was put on them,” Roger said. “That’s how she would have been poisoned.”
They were all silent for a minute.
“And then dead—like Henry Tomlinson,” Belinda said.
Again, they were silent.
“Great. But at least now, maybe someone besides me will start fighting to figure out what happened to Henry,” Harley said quietly.
She’d actually discovered that night that someone was on her side. The agent with the great voice. Craig’s friend. Micah Fox.
“Okay, okay,” Belinda said. “I didn’t push it a lot at the time. I mean, it didn’t make any difference, did it? The cause of death—two medical examiners said—was the fact that bacteria made him crazy and he killed himself.”
The reaction to her comment was yet another bout of silence.
“What were we going to do?” Belinda wailed. “We had no power. Insurgents were bearing down on the camp, and everyone wanted us out! So, what could we do? Henry was dead,” Belinda said.
“And back then, none of us believed he killed himself,” Jensen said at last.
“But we all let it go.” Roger sounded sorrowful as he spoke. “Except Harley, and we all kind of shut her down,” he added apologetically. “But, seriously, what were we going to do? There were some whacked-out insurrectionists coming our way. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to admit I didn’t want to die. I really didn’t care if anyone was collecting evidence properly—all I wanted was out of there! And in the end, I guess we bought into the official—” he made air quotes with his fingers “—version. It was just easier and—”
“Ms. Frasier!”
Harley was being summoned. She saw that it was the plainclothes detective who had apparently been assigned to the case. He was lean and hard-looking; his partner was broader and had almost a baby face and a great smile. They were McGrady and Rydell, Rydell being the guy with the smile.
She wasn’t going anywhere alone. She was never sure how Craig could home in on her problems so quickly, and tonight he was with Micah Fox, the agent who had called her before—and approached her at the beginning of the evening. What if she had talked to him when he’d wanted to?
Could tonight’s disaster have been avoided?
Did it have anything to do with what had happened before?
She was led into one of the museum offices that had been taken over by the police. She felt, rather than saw, her cousin Craig and the enigmatic Micah Fox come in.
They didn’t sit; they took up stances behind her.
McGrady took the seat behind the desk and asked her sternly, “Ms. Frasier, what exactly is your association with the museum, the expedition—and the injured woman?”
“I was on the expedition. I don’t really have an association with Vivian. It’s not like we have coffee or hang around together and do girls’ night,” Harley said. “Vivian is married to Ned Richter, the CEO of Alchemy. Alchemy financed the expedition. Alchemy is the largest sponsor for this exhibition. We were all pretty close in the Sahara—not that we had much choice.”
“So you did know her well!”
“I didn’t say I knew her well. We were...colleagues.”
“But you like mummies, right? All things ancient Egyptian?” McGrady asked.
“Yes, of course. I find the culture fascinating.”
“And it would be a great prank to attack someone and lace her up in poisoned linen. Like a mummy?”
“What?” Harley exploded.
McGrady leaned forward, wagging a pencil at her. “You were the one who discovered Henry Tomlinson—dead. Correct?”
Harley had never thought of herself as particularly strong, but his words, coming out like an accusation, were too much.
She heard a guttural exclamation from behind her. Craig or Micah Fox, she wasn’t sure which.
But it didn’t matter. She could—and would—fend for herself. She leaned forward, too.
“Yes. I found Henry. A beloved friend and mentor. I found him, and I raised an outcry you wouldn’t believe. And no one in a position of power or authority gave a damn. First, it was oh, the insurgents were coming! Saving our lives was more important—and yes, of course, that was true—than learning the truth about the death of a good man. I could buy that! It’s an obvious decision. But then, no decent autopsy, and his niece, bereft, had him cremated. And now you’re asking me about Henry—and about Vivian Richter. You have nerve. I was here tonight in honor of Henry. I didn’t see the exhibit before tonight. I haven’t been associated with Alchemy since we returned. I suggest you speak with the people who were involved there and worked on the exhibit.”
McGrady actually sat back.
Everyone in the room was silent.
Then Harley thought she heard a softly spoken “Bravo.”
McGrady cleared his throat. “Sorry, Ms. Frasier, but you do realize that Vivian Richter is dangerously close to... Well, we might have a murder on our hands.”
“You do have a murder on your hands. Dr. Henry Tomlinson was murdered. Now we have to pray that Vivian comes out of this, but still, you’ve got a killer here. Do you have anything more to ask me?” Harley demanded. They did need to hope and pray for Vivian, but by now, surely they had to recognize the truth of what had happened to Henry!
“Did you see Vivian this evening?”
“No.”
“But you arrived early, didn’t you?”
“Only by a few minutes. I walked out to the temple area.”
“Which is off-limits until after the exhibit officially opens tomorrow.”
