“Hey. Look at that.”

Fraser turned to look at the cheerful brightness shining behind one square-paned window. “Well, well, well,” he said softly.

“Is someone from your crew in there?”

He shook his head.

“Maybe it’s on a timer? A security measure to protect the museum?”

“I don’t think they could give away most of the junk in that place.”

“Maybe it’s a nightlight for the princess.”

“Come on.”

“Wait. Maybe we should—”

Once again I was talking to myself. Fraser went charging down the sidewalk, up the porch steps, and then—then—belatedly showed a little discretion and stealthily unlocked the front door.

He slipped inside and waved for me to join him, and showing the same fabulous good sense I’d shown all evening, I did just that. I crept through the open door behind him.

We stood for a few seconds, listening. The light from the exhibit room threw a sharp triangular shadow across the hallway floor, and I found myself trying to decide if it looked like a pyramid or not. And whether that was relevant. And whether I was going to beg Fraser to shoot me in the morning. I could hear the very faint whir of some kind of electronic equipment.

Fraser made a motion for me to stand still. Why I should stand still and not him, I had no idea—and I wanted to discuss it. But he gestured sharply for me to stay quiet before turning away to step cautiously toward the exhibition room. One of the floorboards squeaked beneath his foot like the crack of doom.

He froze and looked at me. No way could that sound be mistaken for anything like the building settling or wooden joints contracting in the cold. And the total stillness from the other room confirmed it.

I shook my head. Fraser nodded solemn understanding—and then did exactly what I was afraid he’d do. He rushed headlong into the exhibition room. It sounded like he drove into a brick wall. The whole building shook, and there was a sound of a smashing clash and crashing wood.

I burst into the room after him to witness a scene straight out of a Hammer film. Fraser was locked in combat with a mummy. A mummy built like Lurch from The Addams Family. The mummy had its big bandaged paws on Fraser’s shoulders and was shaking him like a rag doll—until Fraser hauled off and delivered a punch that sent the mummy careening back into the small offering table. I cried out as the canopic jars went flying. They smashed to the floor and one cracked open. Sand spilled out.

Considering what should have spilled out, that was maybe a good thing.

The mummy tore free of Fraser’s grip and charged toward the entrance, which meant me. As he brushed by Fraser’s equipment, he knocked the camera on its tripod, and I dived to save it.

The mummy flew past me and pounded down the hallway. It disappeared into another room.

“Come on!” Fraser whipped by next, and I ran after him.

We pounded into the room where the mummy had disappeared. We were in a small office. There was a desk and a number of wooden file cabinets. Framed black-and-white photos lined the wall. The room was empty. A window on the opposite side stood wide open, and the cold, Wyoming night air gusted through, rippling the papers on the desk.

Chapter Seven

Fraser began to swear.

I ignored him and picked up a framed photo that had fallen from the desk to the floor. The image was of a dark-haired woman, hand propped on chin, smiling for the camera.

Dr. Solvani’s wife? Dr. Solvani?

Fraser stopped swearing at last. “We better call the cops. Or the sheriff. Whatever they have for law enforcement in this hick town.”

“I’m not so sure.” I was still gazing at the photograph. Something about it was familiar, but I couldn’t think what.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it.” I met his eyes. “One mummy appearance tonight could be chalked up to coincidence. Two mummy appearances might be a joke. Three mummy appearances indicate a plan.”

“A plan? What plan?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. But we didn’t randomly stumble in here tonight.”

“How do you figure that? No one could know we were going to drop by. We didn’t even know until fifteen minutes ago.”

“Really? Your equipment is here. The Princess is supposed to walk tonight. And in case you lost track of that fact, Mummy Man keeps popping up to remind you. I think you received everything but an invitation with hieroglyphics to get over to the museum.”

Fraser frowned, thinking this over. “What would be the point?”

“I don’t know.”

He scratched his beard absently.

I said, “Think about it. What was he doing in here except waiting for us to show up? The light didn’t even go on until we were standing outside the building. I think we’re going to look like total fools if we call the cops. Maybe that’s the point.”

His gaze darkened. “You think someone’s out to discredit the show?”

“Uh…” Was there a way to discredit a show like The Mysterious? Not that I was unwise enough to say so, but since he put it like that, I couldn’t imagine the goal was to destroy Fraser’s credibility in the scientific or historical community.

But I also didn’t think it was by chance that we’d stumbled on our friend the mummy for the third time that night.

“Is your equipment okay?” I asked instead.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Thanks for saving my camera, by the way.”

I nodded acknowledgment. “Those canopic jars.”

“What about them?”

“They’re filled with sand.”

“So?”

“You know what they should contain.”

“The internal organs of the deceased.”

“Exactly. Canopic jars were used by the Egyptians to store the large internal organs during the mummification process so that their owner could use them in the afterlife.”

“I know. I know about the whole sucking-the-brain-out-with-a-straw thing too.”

I sighed. “Something about those jars is triggering my warning system.”

“You have a warning system? Like the Emergency Broadcast System? Like the National Severe Weather Warning Service?”

“No, smartass. More like the Traffic Collision Avoidance System. I think we’re headed for a pileup if we call the cops. Assuming we can even convince them this isn’t a prank call.”

“I guess the truth is there’s no rush in calling anyone.” Fraser checked his wristwatch. “It’s two in the morning. I can’t see what difference a couple of hours will make.”

Not to the police. I was thinking I’d kill for a couple of hours sleep.

“You convinced me,” Fraser said. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We’ll report the break-in to Babe in the morning.”

I don’t remember much about the walk back to the hotel. I think I did it on automatic pilot. Or maybe I was sleepwalking by then. But as we reached the hotel and let ourselves inside the glass door, I began to wake up a little and wonder…

I looked at Fraser, but he seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.

We walked past the bank of vending and ice machines. When we reached the lobby, Fraser seemed to shake off his preoccupation. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

I laughed because of course he was going to walk me to my door and to my bed.

But when we reached my room and I finally found my cardkey and got the door open, Fraser politely kissed me on the cheek and stepped back.

I grabbed his jacket sleeve. “Where are you going?”

“Well,” he said with clear reluctance, “it’s pretty late. I think it’s time to say good night.”

“Good night? Aren’t you— I mean, wouldn’t you like to—?”

“I would, yeah, but…I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Tired?” That was so lame an excuse as to be almost offensive.

“Hey, I’m tired.”

“Fine. Sleep tight. Good night.” I turned away.

Fraser’s hand landed on my shoulder. I faced him again. “Drew, I’m not that tired.”