Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 04 - Miami Mummies (15 page)

Mace was right. The mummy should be taken to a place of safety. Tribesmen gathered near a broken entrance that had once walled off the Bates Hotel property. A single brave stepped into the center of the group and began to perform a spirit dance. Beautiful as it was, each beat of the drum made my skin clammy. I was treading on dangerous religious ground. What does Kit always advise? Do the opposite of my gut feeling because my gut is usually wrong.

The van door opened and Gary Grant tumbled out followed by a team of portly agents in faded gold jackets. Each swung a softball bat, some pounded the ground as if on home plate. This was going to get ugly. The sedan spit out more agents, each one looking more desperate than the last batch. Some wore team jackets others ball caps backward. With their longish hair it was hard to tell if they were coming or going.

The Semaphores stepped from their Jeeps and twirled their shovels like sandwich boards. Mace and I stood at the edge of the pit. I punched in nine-one-one, my finger poised over the send button.

A black Escalade arrived on the scene bumping and grinding up the curb and stopping within two feet of the edge of the dig. Kit jumped out of his SUV carrying a pizza box and a six-pack of Coke. He was dressed in his stage drag costume as Queen Kitten. A six-four stunner in five-inch heels, a platinum blonde wig, Carol Channing eyelashes, and a gold lamé cocktail dress. He was every macho dude’s nightmare. You could have heard a gonad drop.

Grant and his real estate mercenaries froze as Kit teetered over the loose rocks and gravel balancing the pizza box on the flat of his giant manicured hand. If he was trying for shock value, he nailed it. To a man, the Semaphores dropped their shovels. The gangs of Miami were transfixed by a transvestite.

I took advantage of the mass hypnosis created by Kit’s theatrics. The best way to keep someone at a distance is to act insane. I spread the pink raincoats on the ground and squatted, motioning for my compadres to join me in a picnic.

Kit hiked up his lamé cocktail dress and scrunched down on his platform heels. If Carol Channing could see him she’d bust out in her raucous laugh. I opened the box and we each grabbed a slice of the cold cardboard food.

Mace fiddle-nibbled on a slice of pizza and fixed me with her bright green eyes.

My eye itched. I rubbed and got some garlicky pizza sauce in it which burned like the dickens but ignited a brilliant Wendy Darlin idea. My garage was dehumidified and temperature controlled. If we could get the mummy from the pit to my condo in reasonably good condition, it would be safe until Roger got his Amicus Mummius. Even nit-picky Roger couldn’t fault that plan.

Somewhere in the pit lay the box of large trash bags. We could body bag the mummy and slip it into Kit’s car then pretend we were calling it a night.

Dropping my voice to a whisper I said, “Kit do your best to keep them away until Mace and I get into the pit. We’re going to loosen that mummy and take it to my place.”

“As long as I’m back in time for my next show.” On cue, he stood to his full height, kicked out his right hip, and began fussing with his platinum wig, and checking his makeup in the Escalade’s side mirror. He was at his drag-queeniest best.

Mace slipped into the pit. For a Tallahassee lassie she seemed not to be particular about being in a cavity in the ground with a dead body, albeit a long-time dead body. She must really be a political activist.

My side vibrated. Caller ID said it was Roger. “They’ve got me in a holding cell. I’m afraid I became a bit testy when they wouldn’t produce one judge. All of a sudden the courthouse was empty. Bull.”

His voice was hoarse. I feared he had gotten more than a bit testy.

“I’m in overnight for contempt of court, filed without a judge! Can you believe it?” he growled. “Come and get me in the morning.”

“After eight? Bail money?”

“More like nine. Right now no bail.” I could hear him release a blow of frustration. “One of the bailiffs is a member of the Tribe. He says the Semaphores are on their way to the site to fill in the dig as they know the state is going to defy them. Gary Grant is leading a counter-faction. He’s got developer mercenaries with him. Do whatever you have to do to protect that mummy!”

“How do you know about developer mercenaries?”

He hung up.

Roger said to do whatever I had to do to protect the mummy. I casually kicked the pink raincoats into the pit and dropped down after them joining Mace in the dig. Kit was prancing above ground in a music-less performance of
Hello Dolly.

Mace’s eyes followed me as I clambered past her, grabbing the Walgreens bag of nail and hair tools, I released the ropes that held the
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
elevator. The platform squeaked down in an uneasy fall lodging against a rough edge that looked suspiciously like the cavern Roger mentioned. I stepped out on a two-foot wide ledge. The elevator squealed back up and returned with Mace. She was one game chick. You have to love those activists.

A corner of the mummy was visible. Standing side by side on the ledge we reached into the niche and whittled with the nail files, cosmetic brushes, and our bare hands. Eww… the top of a head appeared. I tugged on it hoping it wouldn’t pop off. The shoulders presented. It was like delivering a baby. A baby with… damn… holes in the cloth wrappings. I stepped away tumbling from the ledge and twisted my back. Something popped in my vertebrae. It hurt like hell.

Mace held the mummy’s feet and pivoted the body to line up with the elevator platform. I was in agony but somehow I managed to brace the mummy on the ledge. “Call Kit,” I told her. “We need another pair of hands.”

She squeaked up the elevator to the main cavern and called, “Psst, Kit!”

I imagined he’d have to work on getting his clingy lamé dress up and over his long legs, then wobbling on gold heels at the top of the drop off point. I wondered if the gangs of Miami would charge the dig once Kit dropped out of sight.

Mace elevatored back to my side and together we carefully hoisted the mummy free of the airless chamber and off the narrow ledge. She held the feet and I had the holey head. I felt the clock ticking down as the ancient body was exposed to the salty moist air. My nerves turned me into an all-thumbs klutz while my new partner slipped the mummy’s feet into a clear trash bag. I pulled it up over the mummy’s head, and flipped on the battery-operated hairdryer moving the control to super-high.

We squeezed the bag with our hands, squashing out as much air as we could.

The soft crackle of the mummy’s bindings sent chills down my back. The heat from the dryer liquefied my synthetic nails melting me to the top of the gooey plastic bag. Gummy strings dangled from my fingertips as I pried them away from the mummy bag. Roger’s mummy was sealed nice and tight. I hoped he would be pleased once he calmed down. I braced my feet and pulled the body onto the elevator platform.

Mace remained on the ledge and held the mummy steady on the board with her fingertips and standing on her tippy-toes as I ascended with the corpse. I worked the ropes and pulleys and made it up into the main cavern without banging my passenger to bits.

I sent the elevator down for Mace and she joined us in the cavern.

The look on Kit’s face matched his expression the first time he spotted a Laura Ashley dress. He put his hand on his chest, gulped, and straightened his stance. Reluctantly, he stretched out his hands to accept the corpse.

I cut him a weak smile. “You can do it.”

Adept at dancing with lightweight bodies Kit held the mummy against his chest as Mace and I double-bagged from the other direction. I limped around the bagged mummy in agony. I must have slipped a disk down in the pit. Biting the inside of my cheek to fight the pain in my back I mumbled, “’ink runcoats.”

My two person street team understood and wrapped the mummy in the pink fluorescent raincoats. Kit settled the rain-coated mummy around his neck. It resembled a stiff shawl and clashed horribly with this gold lamé gown. He rose from the pit, a giant Barbie doll wearing a mummy shawl.

A collective gasp from Gary’s mercenaries and the Semaphore tribesmen rose over the drone of traffic on South Miami Avenue. The apparition was enough to refreeze them into inaction.

The tailgate of the Escalade popped open with a fob click and Kit secured the pink-coated mummy inside. He slipped into the driver’s seat, skirt riding up his lanky legs, started the engine, and slowly rolled off the site.

“See you at the drag club!” I yelled hoping to throw the tribesmen and Grant’s mercenaries off the scent. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Detective Stranger but that could be a trick of the lights.

Mace’s car, a black Honda CRX, was parked in a gap between the streetlights on Southeast Fifth. I eased in, trying not to set off a new wave of back pain. I checked the side mirror and watched silhouettes tentatively creep onto the site like vultures approaching carrion on a country road.

I checked the mirror for tails every second as we followed the Escalade to my place. Kit kept just a smidge under the speed limit. It would be a stretch to explain to a traffic cop a mummy in pink in the back of the SUV. We arrived in less than twenty minutes. I struggled out of the car and pressed the code on the garage door. It rolled up and Kit rolled in.

I deactivated the security system, cleared a space on the workbench against the back wall, and amped up the dehumidifier. Kit and Mace eased the mummy to the counter. I’d had enough holey heads to last me for the night.

I would have invited Mace in for a glass of wine and a bite to eat but a long hot shower had my name on it. The holey spots had to be scrubbed from my body immediately and my collection of restaurant leftovers weren’t enough to share.

“Thanks, Mace. I really appreciate your help,” I said shooting her my warmest, under the circumstances, smile. “Not too many dames would touch a mummy for a friend let alone a stranger. You’re a pretty strong woman.”

She ran her fingers through her silky red hair. “All female agents at Pure Politics are put through Marine Corps boot camp. Comes in handy working undercover, you never know when a politician is going to put the moves on you.”

She glanced around my garage. “Your place looks pretty secure with that little guard at the toll booth and a security system.”

I nodded. “The mummy will be safe until Roger can sort this out.”

“No gun? Huh?” She shook her head. “Be careful until Roger returns.”

I walked her to her car and saw her safely in with the doors locked. She waved and cruised down the community road toward the main street.

As I returned to the garage, Kit backed onto the driveway. I punched in the code and lowered the door with fresh reservations on my mind. I always seem to do the wrong thing where Roger is concerned. He’d be pissed, and not in the British way, if he thought I’d pushed the panic button and foolishly moved the mummy. But it was the best solution. Grant’s mercenaries wouldn’t have been able to stop the Semaphores if they’d decided it was time to fill in the dig. It would have been a bloody battle between opposing factions with the poor mummy in the middle.

Kit leaned out the car window and checked his watch. “Oh Mildred! It’s almost ten. I’ve got to be at the Queen’s Croquet like yesterday. He flipped down the lighted makeup mirror. My face is a mess! I’ve got a second Carol Channing wig in my dressing room, but… Oh nuts!” His hands shook. I patted his arm. I wasn’t about to lean in and hug him with mumminess all over me.

“You are coming back? Right? I need you to help me guard the mummy until I can pick up Roger.”

“Wendy, have I ever let you down? I’ll be back at two-ish.”

I was alone with an illegal mummy and no backup. What would Olivia Benson do? Take a hot sudsy shower with her gun on the soap shelf. I had no weapon, but I feared would soon be in a lot of hot water with Roger.

I limped through the front door, activated the security system, and hobbled to the bathroom, my back hurting more now that I could focus on me. Stabbing pains shot down my thigh and up my spine. I opened the medicine cabinet and gagged down two aspirin.

The warm shower eased my muscles. Lather, rinse. Lather, rinse. Wipe out the holey contact. I rubbed a lavender loofa into the sore spots and the knots fell away.

I heard what sounded like a squealing violin. I shut off the shower and listened. Plumbing problem? I turned the water back on adjusting the showerhead. The violin returned, high-pitched and off key. A shadowy form appeared through the shower curtain. My heart pounding, I backed against the tile wall and prayed the loofa would intimidate my intruder. The silhouette disappeared. I turned off the water and made ready to rumble. The thought of naked wrestling exhausted me.

“Whoever you are, get ready! I’m armed.” Yeah, armed with a left and right arm.

I stepped from the shower into the steamy bathroom. No lurkers. Bracing myself over the sink I checked out my face to see if I still looked human. Swiping the mirror haze I spotted a shadowy image over my shoulder. I spun around holding my toothbrush as a weapon.

“Don’t move! I’ve got you covered!” I stabbed the fog with my Colgate
medium
brush.

A ghostly chuckle blew through the mist. Mrs. MacGuffin hadn’t changed from her housedress and apron. She wore a pleased smile as she stepped toward me.

“Put down the toothbrush, sweetie. I’ve come to tell you Hic is on his way.” She placed her withered hand on my arm. “Now’s the time for you to call the Nashville police so they can find his shell. When the new Hic comes to you with the password, help him to establish himself as his own rightful heir.” She reached through the steam and touched the safe deposit key around my neck. “Then you shall be free from your promise.”

I felt the tension drain from my body like water from a leaky pitcher. There would be no need to come up with a tall tale for Roger to explain my mad dash to Nashville in the middle of playing mummy Monopoly.

Mrs. MacGuffin blended into the fog, disappearing as quietly as she had arrived.