to look away from Harley and objectively observe the other people in the room.
He was standing back, watching, when he became aware that a friend had arrived.
“I have to admit I was definitely expecting you to be here,” Craig Frasier told him.
Micah smiled without glancing over. “And I guess I’m not surprised that you’re here,” he said.
“I can’t let you get into too much trouble,” Craig murmured.
“I’m just here to honor an old friend,” Micah said.
“Like hell.” Craig smiled grimly, studying the crowd milling in the foyer. “But I don’t know what you think you can discover at this late date.”
Micah turned to face Craig at last, a rueful half smile on his face. “Right. Well, it would help if someone suddenly had a guilt attack and admitted going crazy—from the bacteria in the wrappings, of course—and murdering Henry.”
“Not going to happen.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to harass your cousin,” Micah said.
“I’m not worried. I think you two can actually do each other some good it you get a chance to really talk. Maybe you can figure something out, late as it might be. There was so much done so quickly and so politically. State Department, international bull. A cover-up. Yeah, it’ll be good for the two of you to talk.”
“You say that as if you doubt the official line, too,” Micah said quietly.
“Because I do. I believe it was a cover-up.”
“Not by the government,” Micah said.
“By?”
Micah looked at him and said, “By Alchemy.”
Craig didn’t get a chance to respond.
Arlo Hampton took the microphone on a small portable dais set in the center of the foyer. He cleared his throat, then said, “Ladies and gentlemen, friends of the museum, friends of science and exploration, and friends of the City of New York!”
It took a moment for everyone to stop talking and start listening. Someone tapped a champagne flute with a fork or spoon. Then the room fell silent.
“We welcome you to our amazing new exhibit, brought to us through the genius of the man—the brilliant, kind, ever-giving man—whose name will now grace our museum walls, Dr. Henry Tomlinson. Those who knew Henry loved him. He was a scholar, but he was also a very human man who loved his family and friends. No one knew Egyptology the way Henry did...”
A sudden gasp from the crowd silenced him. Everyone turned.
Someone had come up from the basement steps, and was now staggering through the crowd.
Someone grotesquely dressed up in a mummy’s linen bindings, staggering out as if acting in a very bad mummy movie.
A performance for the evening?
No.
Because Arlo grunted an angry “Excuse me!” and exited the dais, walking toward the “mummy” now careening toward him.
“What the hell?” Micah and Craig were close enough to hear Arlo’s words. “Richter, is that you? You idiot! Is that you?”
It wasn’t Richter; Micah knew that right away. Richter was far too big a man to be the slight, lean person now dressed up.
Or at least Ned Richter was!
Micah burst forward, phone out and in his hand. As he neared the mummy, he was already dialing 9-1-1.
“Get those bindings off her! Get them off her fast!” he commanded.
The mummy collapsed.
Micah barely managed to catch the wrapped body sagging to the floor.
As quickly as he could, he began to remove the wrappings.
He heard the sound of a siren.
Then Vivian Richter looked up at him, shuddered and closed her eyes.
The wrappings, Micah knew, had been doused in some kind of poison.
Chaos reigned.
Harley was stunned and horrified that Vivian Richter was so badly hurt—so close to death.
She was wrapped tightly. The outer wrappings were decayed and falling apart; they’d come from a historic mummy. The inner wrappings were contemporary linen, the kind the museum used in its demonstrations, made to look like the real deal.
Vivian was gasping and crying, completely incoherent. One woman in the room was a doctor—a podiatrist, but hey, she’d been to medical school. She was kneeling by Vivian, calling the shots, talking on the phone to the med techs who were on their way.
Special Agent Fox had already taken control of the room. No one was to leave; they were all in a lockdown.
She was incredibly glad that Craig was there. And, of course, he was with his girlfriend or fiancée—Harley wasn’t sure what Craig and Kieran called each other, but she was sure they were together for life. Kieran was standing near Harley, ready to comfort her, as the slightly older and very protective almost cousin-in-law. Harley appreciated that, even though she didn’t really need it. She worked with criminals all the time, as well as people who weren’t so bad but still wound up in the criminal justice system. She was calm and stoic; Micah and Craig were questioning people, grouping them, speaking to them, both digging for answers and assuring them all that they were safe.
“She’s going to die! She’s going to die!” Simone Bixby, Henry Tomlinson’s niece, cried out. Harley saw that Micah Fox hurried over to her, placed a comforting arm around her shoulders and led her to a chair.
By then, of course, museum security had arrived. So had the police—New York City and state police.
People were talking everywhere. Micah and Craig had herded everyone into groups, depending on their relationship to the museum. Some were employees of the museum; some were special guests. The people who’d been on the expedition were in a corner. Harley was with Belinda Gray, Joe Rosello, Roger Eastman and Jensen Morrow, as well as the Alchemy Egyptologist, Arlo Hampton.
Ned Richter was crouched on the floor, at his wife’s side.
All of this seemed to go on for a long time, yet it was a matter of minutes before more sirens screamed in the night and the EMTs were rushing in. Ned Richter was allowed to go with his wife; Arlo Hampton and others more closely associated with the exhibit were now gathered together in a new group. Guests who’d only recently made it through the doors were questioned and cleared.
Anyone
