Bound For Eternity Read online

  "Which organs did they usually take out?" asked James.

  "Ah-intestines, liver, lungs, and stomach. I made up a mnemonic to remember that: ills."

  "You wouldn't believe some of the things we made up in medical school to remember muscles and nerves."

  "I sure would-I used to be married to a doctor."

  "Your mummy sounds like the mummy they CT-scanned at Illinois. Are you going to do CT scans?"

  "Yes. It's being set up at Mass. General for late next week. Want to come when we do it?"

  "Sure! Give me some advance notice, though. I can't always get away."

  He slapped the next film up on the light box, just as another doctor wandered in.

  "Hey, Barber! Is this your ancient patient?"

  "Yeah. Boston's oldest resident." The visiting doctor chuckled.

  I said, "When we did the X-ray, we couldn't tell the sex. What do you think?"

  James pointed to the groin area, which was partially hidden by the mummy's hands. "That looks like a penis to me-it's a boy!"

  "Nah," said his colleague. "It's the kid's thumb!" We all laughed.

  I said, "When I asked my obstetrician if she was sure that I was going to have a girl, she said she had a fifty-percent chance of being right."

  "That's about the odds here." James agreed with a smile. "We really can't say with a child this young. Maybe the CT scan will clarify things."

  The other doctor departed, and James and I discussed the findings for another ten minutes. Then James looked at his watch.

  "Darn! I have to pick up Sam. Can I drop you somewhere?" His voice sounded hopeful.

  "Thanks, but I have my car, and I have to fetch Emma. Is that a picture of Sam?" I pointed to his bulletin board.

  "Yes. Six years old and full of it." James grabbed his dark green windbreaker off the back of his chair.

  We parted in the hospital garage. As I unlocked the door of my Rabbit, I turned in time to see James climbing into his mud-spattered Toyota. I already knew what the inside was like: a mess. He wasn't the sort of guy to spend all Saturday polishing the exterior; he had better things to do with his limited spare time-like being a single dad who just happened to use the same after-school daycare I did.

  He was awfully attractive. I wanted to see him again. To discuss the murder with him, to dump all my worries and fears into his sympathetic ear and maybe lean against his teddy bear chest...

  But that was Ellen's privilege, not mine.

  CHAPTER 10

  "FEAR AND TREMBLE, YOU VIOLENT ONES WHO ARE IN THE STORM CLOUDS OF THE SKY..." (SPELL 254)

  "Stop shoving, Darrell! Now, I want everyone to line up over there." The young elementary school teacher looked frazzled, and it was only nine o'clock in the morning. The noisy children milled around me, jostling each other, thrilled to be out of school. They were lucky-this was the first group allowed in the museum since the murder.

  I was glad to have tour duty, my favorite part of museum work. Providing I could make my sleep-deprived brain function, I could think about something besides Marion, the police investigation, and the man lurking outside my apartment again last night.

  Nine or ten was a great age for a museum trip. Once you got their attention, the kids were full of questions. By the time they reached high school, students preferred to stare insolently at the tour guide rather than say anything.

  "Okay, let's begin. My name is Lisa Donahue, and I have a few things to tell you before we go into the European gallery." I reminded them not to touch anything, including the glass on the cases, and asked that the gum-chewers dispose of their gum in the trash can near the entrance. This was important because otherwise later we'd find little wads of pink goop stuck to the sides of statues.

  I led them to the armor display first.

  "Cool!"

  "Let me see!"

  "Hey, that one's got pointed shoes!"

  I let them look for a few minutes, and then led them in a discussion about how armor changed over time, depending on the weapons being used. "Just imagine how hot a full suit of armor was in the summer," I added. "And it was heavy. Like wearing a trash can on your back all day." They giggled.

  "Okay, let's go see the mummies in the Egyptian gallery."

  "Mummies!"

  "Cool!"

  There was a surge toward the door. I marveled again how mummies appealed to everyone. What was it that made them so magical?

  I took them over to a New Kingdom mummy, one of the most elaborate in our small collection. "Now, who knows why the Egyptians mummified their dead?" I asked.

  "So they could live forever!" said a girl with pigtails and a perky expression.

  One small boy with an endearing cowlick had a question. "Is that a real person in there?"

  Even as I said yes, I realized that the boy had answered my question. A mummy was appealing because it was human; there was a real person inside the wrappings. It wasn't just a pot or a painting or a sword made by a person, it was the person himself-a tangible part of life in the past.

  I fielded their questions about the animal mummies in the adjoining case, and how each one was a manifestation of an Egyptian god-the hawk for Horus, the ibis for Thoth, and of course, the cat for Bastet (my favorite). I was sure that my own cat, Oreo, knew he'd been worshipped as a god in ancient Egypt. That would explain his smug attitude.

  "Didn't they take the brain out through the nose?" asked another little boy.

  I smiled at the little ghoul. This age group just loved the gory details of mummification. "Yes, because they thought the brain wasn't important. They threw it away."

  "Yuck," said a tall girl with curly red hair.

  One of the kids had strayed into the Classical gallery. "Hey, look at all the nudies!" Immediately there was a wave of kids pushing to see the naked statues. I muscled my way through the throng and stood by the largest male nude, the

  "Fear and tremble, you violent ones who are in the storm clouds of the sky..." (Spell 254) 56

  Doryphorus. Several of the girls covered their eyes. "This statue is the Greek idea of what a god looked like..." I began. "And if you're a god, you don't need clothing."

  I told them about the Greek gymnasion, the place that was both gym and social center for young men, and how the Greeks believed a physically fit body was something to revere and emulate. "After exercise, they didn't take baths the way we do," I explained, showing them a small oil flask and a scraper called a strigil. They oiled their bodies and then scraped off the oil and sweat with this instrument."

  Two of the girls giggled and nudged each other.

  I smiled. "And finally, they went and stood under a stream of water." I showed them a picture of athletes bathing under a lion-headed spout on a red-figured vase. Then I glanced at my watch. Almost ten! Where the heck was Kevin? He was supposed to take over the rest of the tour so I could go to the staff meeting.

  I stalled for time. "Now, remember how we talked about major themes in the first gallery? I want you each to look for an object that has to do with conflict- war. It can be weapons, helmets, catapults, anything like that. Come back in five minutes and tell me who made it, what it's made out of, and when it was made."

  The children dispersed, chattering to each other, and I saw Kevin approaching at a trot. He was only a sophomore, but he was an excellent tour guide and he really loved kids. "Hi, Lisa. Sorry I'm late."

  "That's okay, you made it-that's what counts. Quickly I filled him in and then hotfooted it back to my office.

  ? ? ? ?

  Ten o'clock was our regular staff meeting, with coffee and bagels provided to sweeten everyone's temper. Most weeks it was "bagels and bad news," as Susie called it. Before Marion's death, the meetings had grown exciting as we discussed the plans for a new museum building-a modern facility with state-of-the-art display and storage areas and air-conditioning. The current museum was just hopeless. The cases were antiques (in the worst sense of the word), and the display areas were way too crowded. Security w
as a joke, because the staff could never see more than a case or two at a time, and we were all expected to do other work while guarding the artifacts. Worst of all, we had no sprinkler system, so a good fire would wipe out fifty years worth of collections.

  I noticed that my stack of folders had been moved to the other side of my desk. Had someone been using my computer again? I sighed in frustration. A little real privacy would be nice. I gathered my notes for the exhibit and my favorite coffee mug with a black cat on it. Dropping my keys in my pocket, I hurried to the staff room.

  Carl Jacobsen was there first, lounging across two chairs near the head of the table with his feet up while perusing the Clarion, the campus newspaper.

  Typical pose.

  "Move, Carl!" Susie rushed in with the bagels, swept Victor's place clear of newspaper with one elbow and dumped the box, some paper plates, and containers of cream cheese in the center. Briskly, she arranged the refreshments and added some napkins from the box.

  Carl slid over and put down his paper on the chair Marion usually sat in. Susie and I exchanged disapproving glances.

  "Hey!" he said, oblivious to our finer feelings. "You guys, I need some ideas for my exhibit title." I sat down, welcoming the distraction. Naming exhibits was the staff's favorite game.

  "What's your theme?" asked Susie, pulling out another chair and sitting gracefully.

  "Pueblo pottery technology. You know, how they made their pots, decorated them with colored slips, and fired them. So far I have 'From Pots to People,' but I don't really like it." Carl's swarthy face was animated.

  "Didn't Pueblo potters keep their special locations for clay and polishing stones secret?" I asked.

  "Yeah. And everything was passed down from mother to daughter, kept in the family-especially in the Acoma culture." His glance at me was friendly, and I remembered how much fun we'd had discussing his southwestern dig. Too bad we were competing for the same job.

  "Generations of Pots," offered Susie. Carl grinned at her.

  "Family Secrets and Sacred Stones," I said.

  "Too made-for-TV," was Carl's response.

  "Too hokey," added Susie.

  Ellen came in, ears flapping. "The Naming Game?" She pulled up another chair and sat down, eyes gleaming with interest.

  "Carl's exhibit on Pueblo pots," Susie told her.

  "How about 'Potting for Posterity'?" said Ellen.

  "Or just 'Potted'?" I suggested. Groans all around.

  "Pueblos and Potsherds."

  "Fire and Clay."

  "Rock, Scissors, and Paper," said Susie. Everyone laughed.

  Ellen leaned her chin on one hand and thought a minute. "Go back to the firing part. How about, 'Earth and Fire.'"

  Carl was jubilant. "Perfect! It sounds mystical." He settled down as we heard the unmistakable footsteps of our boss.

  Victor's tall silhouette paused in the doorway as a student called something to him. "Take a message!" he said.

  I looked across at Ellen. She looked especially scrumptious in a raspberry colored sweater that went well with her blond bob. Making a face at me, she rolled her eyes in the direction of Ginny, who had just taken a seat on my right. That was a signal that Ellen and Ginny had had words about something. Probably a turf war. Everybody in this museum was jockeying for more space and more job security.

  "Right, let's get started." Victor leaned back in his chair, smoothing back his thinning hair with both hands. His laser-beam eyes swept around the room. "Ginny, please put out your cigarette. Now, we're all upset about Marion, but we still have to deal with the police. I want to thank you for your help so far, and ask that you continue to cooperate-both with each other and with the police. I have met with each of you to discuss additional assignments, and I am aware that you are all overloaded. Hopefully by January we'll have a new preparator, but until then we'll be short-staffed. Understood?"

  There were somber looks and nods around the table.

  "Let's have your reports then." Victor nodded at Ellen.

  I didn't listen, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness about Marion. My body felt heavy and achy, as if I were coming down with something. My brain was at war: half of it was fighting off depression while the other half went on alert. It was watching my colleagues and wondering if one of them was a murderer.

  Carl was whispering to Susie. She looked irritated, as she turned sideways so she was facing away from Carl. Carl wanted Susie, but Susie had her heart set on Victor. A nice little triangle.

  Okay, Carl first. Carl was totally self-centered, but did he have the essential ruthlessness to commit murder?

  Now Susie, our resident tiger masquerading as a clotheshorse. Susie thought she was the sun and that men were planets that revolved around her. She didn't like other women who thought they should be suns, too. Susie wasn't fond of Marion because Victor had been nice to her (Marion), but I didn't think Susie's dislike was strong enough to risk her job and her love life. I watched as Susie snorted at another whispered comment from Carl, and Victor nailed them with a frosty gaze.

  Victor. Now he was a calculating machine. Methodical, organized, very hierarchical in his management style. He was cold-blooded enough to commit a murder, but what possible motive could he have? It would have to be something with enormous profit and no danger to his comfortable lifestyle.

  Then there was Ginny, a real dark horse who was adept at concealing her feelings.

  "Lisa will take care of that," Victor was saying. I jerked to attention. All eyes turned my way.

  "Er, yes," I murmured, frantically wondering what I had just accepted.

  Susie leaned towards me with an evil smile. "You're in charge of designing the invitation for the Egyptian opening," she whispered.

  "Great." I muttered into what would be my beard, if I had one. Serve me right for a straying mind. I'd never get that curatorship if Victor thought I couldn't pay attention when he was talking.

  Victor caressed his tie (discreet gray-and-maroon checks today) and glanced at his notes. "Next. Ginny, what have you to report?"

  Ginny shoved up the sleeves of her pale gray cashmere sweater and leaned closer to the long table. Nudging her ashtray to the side, she spoke directly to Victor, her voice crisp. "The database is coming along. We're making progress, but I've got to have more student help to get through this transition. I need a small army to help me go through Marion's files."

  Victor nodded. "You can have Stuart and Brenda. What else?"

  "I need more staff cooperation. All the database updates have to go through me if you want them to be tracked. Otherwise, we'll have endless confusion." Ginny was referring to the tortuous process of making changes and then trashing the numerous slips of paper on which staff and students entered corrections.

  Ellen asked, "How about we add another category in the database so we know every time someone makes a change and who did it?"

  Carl said, "That's a great idea, but I couldn't make such a modification until after the Pueblo opening." Implying no one else could do it, which was probably true. Certainly I couldn't.

  "Couldn't we have more staff authorized to make database changes as we encounter errors? Then we wouldn't have all those bits of paper to keep track of," I suggested.

  Ginny had the final word. "Maybe later. Right now, you folks don't have time for database work. That's what the student staff is for." And Ginny liked to stay in control. "Our current system works. Just make sure you all put your change slips in my mailbox, and not on top of piles in the Registration area where students get them mixed up with entries we've already done."

  Victor moved onto the revised plans and schedule for "Crypts and Queens." Carl gave me a dirty look when he realized Victor had given me his exhibit.

  No doubt he'll find some way to give me a hard time, I thought wearily. Sometimes I wondered if Victor was deliberately pitting us against each other: may the best man (or woman) win. Wasn't there a way for us both to win, and not be antagonists? At the moment, I couldn't think of on
e.

  Victor switched gears and asked Carl how his Pueblo exhibit was coming.

  "Just great!" exclaimed Carl, doing his usual snow job. Carl wasn't stupid. He dumped his bitching and whining on his fellow staff, saving his best face for his boss. I wondered how many of us would get roped into the last-minute painting, cleaning, and label printing the day of the opening.

  For the moment, Carl made it sound like he had everything under control. "And I've got a great exhibit title: 'Earth and Fire,'" he finished.