The Unspoken

Page 39

“Mr. Manning,” Will told him, “we are concerned for your safety. I’m getting some of our fellow agents out here with good lights and we’ll go through the maze. But I don’t think you should be alone tonight. I’d like you to stay at the hotel with us.”
To Kat’s astonishment, Manning didn’t blink an eye. “You’re sure you can get me a room? I can be on the same floor with you agents?”
“I’m sure we can arrange it.” Will pulled out his phone and turned aside. Kat could hear him speaking with Logan, but she gave her attention to Dirk.
“Mr. Manning, I need you to think hard. If any of your associates have behaved strangely in the last while, if any of them have seemed either uninterested or too interested in what’s going on, we need to know.”
Manning groaned. “I’m numb right now. I can’t seem to think of anything.”
“Don’t worry. Maybe after you’ve had some sleep…”
“You really saw him—Austin. You really saw him?”
She nodded.
“So there is something more!” he whispered.
Will walked over to them. “We’ll have other Krewe members here in a few minutes. Kat, you want to stay with Mr. Manning until then? I’ll get started in the maze.”
“You won’t know where you’re going,” Manning protested. “If there’s anything out there…”
“If there’s anything out there that would hurt me, it’s human—and I have a gun,” Will assured him.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Dirk said when Will had gone.
“We’ll find out,” Kat told him. They would; she just prayed it would be before anyone else died.
“Sherry Bertelli must have imagined she saw a mummy,” Dirk mused. “I think—”
“You know,” Kat broke in, “maybe Andy Simonton’s idea wasn’t so bad. I’m going to get you a drink. What’s your preference?”
“Scotch,” Dirk said. “A good shot of Scotch!”
She went to the kitchen and fixed him a drink. When she returned to the parlor with it, she sat across from where he perched on the sofa.
“I do miss Austin. So much,” he said. “We used to run this place, plan events, bring in speakers, write out invitations….”
“Speakers? Do you have other people involved—other than the list of forty members you gave us?” Kat asked him.
“Well, we have what we call ‘associates’—when they allow us to call them that,” Dirk replied. “Scholars, people in the field…people we find interesting. Adding names like that helps when you have events or you’re fundraising,” he told her. “We hold events to raise money for children’s charities. We’re quite a humanitarian organization.”
“I know. But could you get me a list of those associates? Before we leave tonight?”
He nodded. She rose, certain that she’d heard a car door.
She had. Opening the front door, she saw that Logan and her Krewe had arrived.
“We need to search a maze?” Logan asked. They’d come prepared; everyone carried a high-beam flashlight.
She quickly explained much of what had happened. “I’ll show you out,” she said, looking at Logan and indicating Dirk, who still sat on the sofa.
Kelsey walked past her. “I’ll stay with Mr. Manning,” she said. Entering the parlor, she greeted Dirk, reminding him that they’d met under sad circumstances. Kelsey was charming, as always, and Dirk seemed fine.
“Come on, I’ll take you out to the maze. Will’s already there.”
In the yard, she shouted so Will would hear her and know that the others had come. “I’m almost at the end to the right. So far, nothing!” he called back.
“We should be sticking together,” Logan said. “Tyler, you’re with me. Kat, hang with Sean.”
She followed the two men. It was hard going in the dark, and a little eerie, since at practically every turn there was a statue of a god or goddess in the form of whatever creature was usually linked with him or her.
She almost walked past a life-size marble Bastet. But something about it caught her eye and she walked back.
There was a pale smear at the base of the tail. She trained her flashlight on it.
“What is it?” Sean asked, circling back to her.
She dug in her pocket for an evidence bag and removed what she’d seen.
“What the hell?” Sean muttered.
“More of the gauze—or real mummy linen. Like the stuff we found on the wall at the hotel—and at Austin Miller’s house.”
* * *
There was nothing else in the maze. There was no real proof that the gauze was disintegrating fabric from thousands of years ago, but since the other pieces had proven to be just that, Will had little doubt that they’d found more of the same.
The night grew long. Because Chicago Homicide was now involved, Logan felt that they needed to at least report the evening’s strange events to Sergeant Jenson and the detective who’d been at the Preservation Center. Both officers arrived at the Egyptian Sand Diggers’ mansion and added notations to their records. Will meant to keep control of the piece of mummy evidence, and he was glad the officers were appreciative of being in the know—despite not being in control.
Jenson told Will, “I’m not sure what we’d investigate even if you handed it over to us. A woman who thinks she saw a mummy in the middle of a whacked-out memorial? Or a shred of mummy fabric at a clubhouse for Egyptian scholars?”
Jane called in a report to Logan from the hospital. Abel Leary, the guard who’d been shot, was still unconscious. He had fallen into a coma. Doctors were encouraged that his vital signs seemed stable, but he wasn’t yet capable of providing them with any information.
The crime scene techs had retrieved gunshot residue from Abel Leary’s hands, but that fact was being withheld from the public for the time being, as were the results of Dr. Amanda Channel’s toxicology report.
When they returned to the hotel, the Krewe members were exhausted. There was no meeting. Will and Kat had taken Dirk to his home to collect an overnight bag, and a room was found for him on the same floor as the agents. Then everyone retired for the night.
Kat seemed small and fragile, and when she headed for the shower, Will thought she might want to be alone. He drew out his notes, thinking that if he studied them for a while, it might lead to a better night’s sleep. He was surprised when Kat appeared outside the bathroom, clad only in a towel. “Too tired to join me?” she asked.
He looked at her and smiled. “Maybe one day. When we’ve weathered a few more very long days and nights together,” he answered. “But not yet.”
There was something about being together in the heat and steam of the shower that erased exhaustion. Maybe it was the wonder of life itself, the excitement of the sensations and feelings that could arise between two people.
Maybe it was finding a woman who was stunning and complex and beautiful beyond measure. A woman who’d found him, too. Making love in the shower seemed so natural, and when they were finally out and dry and in bed, sleep came quickly and easily. He woke up hours later, and she was cradled in his arms. He held her, just watching her. Watching her breathe and the rhythmic motion of her heartbeat. He felt her warmth, and he lay there for long moments savoring the feel of waking with her beside him, suddenly and perhaps ridiculously certain that this was the way he’d like to wake every morning of his life.
Then the alarm rang, and it was time to start the day.
* * *
They didn’t go down to the hotel dining room that morning; Logan had ordered food for the suite.
He stood by his boards, going through points he’d written down. “Saxitoxin—that’s the poison that killed Amanda Channel. But she should have suffered before she died. She should have shown some signs of trauma. In short, she shouldn’t have been able to crawl into a sarcophagus, curl up with her favorite mummy and die. And, once again, we’re left with a dilemma. This is a poison she might have acquired herself from eating shellfish. But, according to Jon Hunt, Amanda knew she was allergic to shellfish, so why would she have eaten it? There were trace elements of lobster in her stomach contents so, somehow, the woman ate lobster. East-coast ocean seafood.” He paused. “Of course, it could have been concealed in a stew or a soup…”
“Someone must have tricked her into eating it,” Will said.
“Yes. It takes effect quickly, so I believe beyond the shadow of a doubt that someone was in the Preservation Center with her.”
“Amanda probably wanted to get back into the center, even after it closed for the day,” Kat said. “She was obsessed with that mummy. I don’t think it would be difficult for anyone to guess she’d go back.”
Will glanced up; he’d been reading the invitation lists of “associates” Dirk Manning had given them before they’d left the Sand Diggers’ mansion the night before.
“The Preservation Center doctors are on this list. All three of them—Brady, Amanda and Jon Hunt,” he told the others. “The heads of both salvage companies—Stewart Landry and Andy Simonton—are on it, as well.” He looked at Kat. “There’s also a name I wasn’t expecting.”
“Who?” Logan asked him.
“Dr. Alex McFarland.”
“I’m lost. Who is McFarland?” Kelsey asked.
“Dr. Alex McFarland is the medical examiner Kat and I met when we went to the morgue to view Brady Laurie’s remains,” Will answered.
“McFarland?” Kat repeated. “He did know all about the ship, the lakes and a lot about the Chicago Ancient History Preservation Center.”
“He wasn’t at the ceremony last night,” Will said.
“All right,” Kat began. “So suppose Sherry Bertelli did see someone in a mummy suit last night, someone carrying around one of those swatches of real mummy cloth. McFarland wasn’t there, so he could’ve slipped in before us, ready to ‘haunt’ someone in the maze once everything broke.”