The Mummy (7 page)

Then she moved to the mummy of Nefra, staring at it for a few moments. She stared at the dark eyes and perfect face on the lid of the coffin. Stared at the empty coffin belonging to Urbena. Somehow she needed to take all this in again even though every piece in the exhibit was etched into her mind and memory.

She took a deep breath, patted the button still in her pocket as she had done every hour all day long. She had better report to Dr. Walters, show it to him, give it to him. He'd know what to do next, to tell the police, talk to each volunteer, or keep the information to himself. She'd rely on him to do what was right and best.

She was having a hard time leaving Nefra's coffin. She felt the strange magnetic pull, the same warmth she often did while standing beside Nefra. The same tug, the pull to meet his mind, even though it had been stilled so many years in the past. Somehow she felt a connection that was as real as today, as real as if the boy-king were standing beside her, about to take her in his arms. She had never before felt this depth of emotion. Her intense feelings moved her to tears.

Admit it, Lana, you are in love with Nefra, a tiny voice inside her said.

She was. She had to admit it. She was in love with the idea of this man, the image — the spirit — of him that seemed so present when she stood beside him. And, romantic that she was, she was in love with the Romeo and Juliet story of Nefra's and Urbena's love and tragic ending.

She knew this young man.

She stood staring at the mummy for the longest time.

“Daydreaming again, Lana?” A voice pulled her back to the present. The strong smell of his aftershave told her who it was. “Perhaps you have a fantasy about the young and handsome king?”

Antef's eyes teased her. She felt a blush heating up her cheeks, since his perception of what she was doing was so much on target. She laughed to cover her embarrassment.

“Antef — ” She meant to ask him if anything else had been discovered today. If any more information had been released about the necklace or the thief.

Before she could speak, she noticed that Antef wore the volunteer vest today. She knew he had one but he didn't always wear it, favoring the flowing white robes. But today he was dressed more American style. Jeans, red turtleneck that complimented his dark complexion, and the vest over the shirt. The vest was a bit rumpled as hers had been before she ironed it.

But the detail that had made her blood run cold was that the middle button from the vest was missing.

Chapter 9

“Antef.” She took a deep breath. “Antef, you've lost a button off your vest. Did you know that?”

“Oh, so I have.” Antef fingered the spot where the button should have been. “I never should have left my vest in the employees' room. It disappeared, and now look at it. Wrinkled and missing a button. Perhaps I can press it, and they will have extra buttons in the office?”

“Perhaps.” Lana didn't know whether to believe Antef or not. Her intuition said not, but her common sense said, why would Antef want to steal from the exhibit when he seemed so sincere about people enjoying it, about being a part of it himself? And what could he do with the necklace? He'd have to sell or pawn it in Denver, since he'd never get it back into Egypt in his luggage or on his person.

Memories work in strange ways. As soon as Lana connected the button to Antef's vest, she remembered the other detail of the theft she had been trying to dredge up last night for the police. A smell. When she was struggling with the thief, she'd smelled Antef's aftershave. Surely that smell and the button screamed out that he was the thief. But was it enough to accuse him and make it stick? He's already said his vest was stolen. A lot of people probably wear Brut aftershave. Josh's brother for one. A lot of museum volunteers? The obvious evidence certainly pointed to Antef.

“I — I'm not working today. Dr. Walters wanted to talk to me. I guess I'd better go see what he has to say. Who do you think took the necklace, Antef?” She asked outright, just to see what Antef would say.

“The theft is a puzzle.” Antef looked away from Lana. “I do not know what to think.”

“That collar is worth a lot more than money. It's one of your national treasures. Irreplaceable. I hope we can find it for you.”

Lana left Antef staring at the space on his vest where the button should be. She found it hard to tell what he was feeling or if he realized she thought he had stolen the necklace.

Dr. Walters was on the phone when Lana got to his office. He waved her to a chair. “Yes, yes, please do. We'll help all we can. We must retrieve this piece. You understand that, don't you?” Walters listened, then said yes again and hung up.

His long, thin face was even longer. Dark circles under his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept much, if at all, since last night's theft.

“I'm so sorry, Dr. Walters. I feel awful to have had this happen while I was working.”

“No one ever suspected you, Lana. I hope you know that.” He made a pyramid with the fingers from both hands and stared at it as if there were secrets in the formation.

“Dr. Walters, why do you think Blair accused me so quickly?” Lana was really asking to know more about Blair Vaughn. This was a good place to start.

Dr. Walters ran his hand through his hair, as if to give him time to think about what to say. “Miss Vaughn is rather excitable, Lana. Sometimes I believe she thinks all the artifacts in Egypt are her personal responsibility. She's very dedicated to her work.”

“But intense.” Lana smiled.

“Yes, you could say that.” Dr. Walters smiled back. “Although her grandfather had worked in Egypt, her father practically forbade her to go into archaeology. But if you know Blair, you know telling her
not
to do something makes her want to do it even more. And she's quite a feminist. I have nothing against women in any workplace, but Blair quite often uses being female to take umbrage.”

“She did tell me I'd have to work twice as hard as a man to get a good job.”

Walters nodded. “I'd say twice as hard as other archaeology students. There are more people, male and female, wanting jobs than there is work. Interesting work.”

They sat quietly for a few moments. Lana reached in her pocket. “Dr. Walters, I didn't realize it last night, but I pulled a button off the thief's jacket — vest. I think I put it in my pocket when I was trying to stop my arm from bleeding.”

“Is your arm okay?” His attention was on Lana again. He reached out and took the button, stared at it.

“Oh, yes, it was only a small wound from a glass shard. That button is from one of the volunteers' vests. See, it matches mine.” She showed him her vest in case he'd forgotten the design.

“One of our own,” Dr. Walters said softly. His face got longer and sadder. “I trusted all our volunteers.”

“The thief may not be a volunteer, though. I — don't know what to think of this, but Antef is missing a button from his vest. I saw him just now and asked him about it. He said his vest disappeared yesterday. He'd left it in the employees' room.”

Dr. Walters turned the button over and over and over in his fingers. “Don't tell anyone about this, Lana, until I ask some questions myself. Sometimes the police are so heavy-handed. Antef is a guest in our country, and this could be a delicate situation.”

Lana wondered whether or not to share the aftershave clue, and all the other things that had happened to her, with Dr. Walters, since he seemed to be taking it on himself to investigate. Would he say she couldn't keep working? She couldn't bear that. She'd wait.

“Well, this is my day off and I have homework. I'd better get home.” She stood, and when Walters didn't say anything, she turned and left him with his thoughts and the problem.

Slowly she walked home, covering the same ground as last night, but the rain had wiped out any footprints that she or someone else might have made on the path.

At home, she wasn't able to give full attention to her paper, but she did finish writing it. Maybe it would be all right. Seti watched her work for a short time, then he curled up and went back to sleep. Seeing him so comfortable made her even more exhausted. She suspected that the stress of the night before was catching up with her.

By ten o'clock she was in bed. She fell asleep immediately and in a short time she was dreaming.

Inside the pyramid is dark and cool. A musty smell surrounds me. Not only is the air stale, but there is so little. I have to suck in long deep breaths to keep from feeling dizzy and disoriented
.

Carefully I descend the long stairway, bending farther and farther over as the passageway narrows down. I wad my long skirt into one hand to keep from tripping over it. The other hand, pressed against the rough, cold wall to help me balance, carries a small candle. My sandals slap each step as I walk slower and slower. Coming out into a small room, I stare ahead. The candle flame is not much help. My eyes adjust to the dim interior. Deep inside the structure, I reach for the huge double doors, tugging them open. There, in another small room, rests the sarcophagus of Nefra
.

I stare at the tomb, overcome by a deep sadness. An ache fills my heart. I kneel and lean
my head on the coffin. No tears come. There are none left
.

A small shuffling sound comes from behind me. I sit up straight and turn to see what the noise is. Rough hands grab me. A sack is thrown over my head. I struggle until I pass out
.

When I come to, I am lying in a cold, dark space. Reaching out, I touch a rough wooden ceiling just inches above my face and my body. I push my hands to both sides. Again there is almost no space. I try to sit up. There is no room
.

I am closed in
—
into a small, contained space. A
—
coffin. I am inside a wooden box. Then I hear the clods of dirt hit the lid. Pebbles bounce and rattle down the sides
.

Someone is filling the space above me. I am buried, buried alive! Almost immediately the air grows stale and close. I choke, try to call out, to scream
.

Darkness presses upon me. What little air is left becomes heavy and presses down upon my chest. Down and down and down until I can no longer inhale, exhale. Down and down and down, suffocating darkness
. …
Heavy
. …
Heavy
. …
Darkness
.

Lana clawed her way back to consciousness, to now, to her room, her bed. Seti had curled on her chest, almost under her chin. He was heavy, so heavy. She pushed him aside, sat halfway up, and took long, deep breaths of the sweet, life-giving air around her.

A dream. Only a dream. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs, to come back to this time.

Someone — someone had buried her alive. She shuddered at the idea, the experience her dream had provided, the terror of being confined underground, in that small space, and knowing, knowing she was going to die there.

Who was the girl in the dream? No one had called her name, but if she was mourning over the boy-king Nefra …

Did the princess Urbena really commit suicide? Or was she murdered? Buried alive? She died there, and her body wasn't even properly prepared? Perhaps the reason Urbena's mummy hadn't been found was that there was no mummy. Her body had disintegrated and turned to dust.

Lana's imagination took over from where her dream had left off. There was no way to
know
any of what she was thinking. No answers now for the questions.

She snapped on the lamp beside her bed. Seti closed his eyes, then opened them to tiny slits, watching her.

“Don't sleep on me like that, Seti,” she scolded. “You probably helped cause my dream. I couldn't breathe because of you.”

He stared at her through golden eyes, his black pupils narrow because of the sudden light.

She reached over and snapped off the light, curled up on her side, and tried to go back to sleep. It took a long time, even with the warmth and comfort of Seti in a soft comma, curled against her stomach.

Unlike some dreams that are gone by morning, some that you want to remember and can't, Lana's dream, the experience, the emotion, stayed with her all day. She wondered what it meant — if anything. Maybe it was just a strange scenario her imagination had conjured up to devil her while she slept.

At lunch, standing at the edge of the cafeteria, tray in hand, she spotted Darrah sitting alone at a nearby table. Darrah might not welcome her company, but Lana would try.

“Hello, Darrah, mind if I sit here?” Lana sat before Darrah could answer. Darrah only nodded and stared at her. Then she went back to eating the spaghetti before her, trying to keep it on her fork and get it to her mouth.

“Some of your food is strange.” Darrah almost smiled and Lana felt better. She was glad she'd taken the chance to sit with the girl. “But I like your pizza.”

“Are you feeling more at home? I know everything must have seemed strange at first.”

Lana studied the Egyptian girl. She had a dark, exotic beauty that was accented by the deep reds and blues she seemed to prefer. Her hair was jet-black, short and curly, almost frizzy. She loved jewelry, obviously, since one ear was pierced three times, the other twice. Long, dangling silver earrings mixed with small beads of jasper and carnelian, hung from the main pierced place. Tiny silver rings circled the other holes. Around her neck Darrah wore beads of carnelian mixed with beads of silver, surely expensive, as well as a small rectangle with her name on it.

Lana reached out and took the necklace in her hand. “This is your name in hieroglyphics? I understand it's lucky to wear your name.”

“Yes.” Darrah drew back slightly. Lana had intruded too far into her personal space. Lana dropped the charm but didn't apologize.

She pulled out a charm from a chain around her own neck. “I wear an ankh, the key of life. My boyfriend bought it for me last Christmas.”