Fraser told her. It almost sounded like a compliment coming from him.
Jillian seemed to take it in that spirit. She laughed again, but then peered more closely at us. “You’re not mad are you?”
Fraser and I glanced at each other. Were we mad? Speaking for myself…no. I was puzzled, exasperated, but no, I wasn’t mad. In fact, considering how much fun I’d had the night before, I wasn’t mad at all.
Fraser had been pretty irate this morning, but coffee, aspirin, and then more coffee and a couple of doughnuts had mellowed him considerably.
She must have read it on our faces because she nodded, looked down at the broken pieces of canopic jar in the dustpan, and said, “It’s a shame about these. My great-great-grandfather brought them back from Egypt in 1914. Right before World War One broke out.”
“Just so you know, the mummy did that.” Fraser was firm on that point, no doubt thinking of his insurance premiums.
“I know,” Babe—Jill—said. “He called and told me when he got home. He said he gave you a good run for your money anyway.”
“Literally,” I said.
Fraser put in, “Yeah, he pretty much ran us all over the damned town. Is everybody in Walsh in on the joke?”
“Not everybody, no.” Jill struggled to hide a smile. “My cousin Jack runs the Blue Moon.”
Fraser muttered to me, “I knew that guy went inside that joint.”
Win some, lose some. I nodded acknowledgment. I should have let him chase the mummy out the back. Fraser might have caught him and saved us a few hair-raising moments at the museum last night.
“Where did he come up with that costume?” I asked.
“Oh, Ted used to run the theater next door. He’s got access to lots of costumes. He could have shown up as Marie Antoinette if I’d needed it.”
I was trying to think of what circumstances would have required Marie Antoinette making an appearance when Fraser said, “Let me see if we’ve got this straight. You hired some guy named Ted to follow us around and pretend to be a mummy?”
“Ted Alwyn. We go way back.”
“ Why ?” Fraser and I demanded at the same time. We exchanged quick looks.
Jill blushed, but said steadily, “Oh come on, you know why. Promotion. Advertising. Marketing. That’s what it’s all about now days.”
“But you already had our interest. He was writing his article. We were already filming the segment,” Fraser said.
“I know. That was the start. But I needed more. I knew that. Once we caught the attention of the media, we had to find a way to hang on to it.”
I protested, “But you’re a museum.”
“A dime museum.”
“But you’re still a museum. Why would you try to promote yourself like a…like a circus?”
“Ouch,” murmured Fraser.
“I just don’t understand this.”
“I know. I’m starting to recognize that fretful expression.”
Jill was already turning away. “Maybe some of my tactics weren’t strictly orthodox, but the princess is real. You want to see the mummy’s provenance? Here.”
We followed her past the mummy case, shoes crunching bits of sand. We left the exhibition room and went down the hall to her office. She went straight to one of the wooden file cabinets, opened a bottom drawer and began going through folders.
She rifled through the files, muttering to herself, then she jumped up and went to her desk. “It’s right here. I had the folder out earlier in the week.” She dragged open a drawer and began scooping odds and ends out. Loose pens, rubber bands, Cheez-Its, Wite-Out, coffee coasters, and something that sparkled and glittered as it rolled to a stop on a pink legal pad.
A ring. A heavy gold signet ring with an oblong carnelian intaglio of a Ptolemaic queen. I reached for it automatically. “Wait a minute…”
“Where did I put it?” Jill stopped searching and removed her wig. Her own hair was a dark, sleek bob. She ran an absent hand through it and scratched her scalp. “I got the sarcophagus on eBay a couple of
Jillian seemed to take it in that spirit. She laughed again, but then peered more closely at us. “You’re not mad are you?”
Fraser and I glanced at each other. Were we mad? Speaking for myself…no. I was puzzled, exasperated, but no, I wasn’t mad. In fact, considering how much fun I’d had the night before, I wasn’t mad at all.
Fraser had been pretty irate this morning, but coffee, aspirin, and then more coffee and a couple of doughnuts had mellowed him considerably.
She must have read it on our faces because she nodded, looked down at the broken pieces of canopic jar in the dustpan, and said, “It’s a shame about these. My great-great-grandfather brought them back from Egypt in 1914. Right before World War One broke out.”
“Just so you know, the mummy did that.” Fraser was firm on that point, no doubt thinking of his insurance premiums.
“I know,” Babe—Jill—said. “He called and told me when he got home. He said he gave you a good run for your money anyway.”
“Literally,” I said.
Fraser put in, “Yeah, he pretty much ran us all over the damned town. Is everybody in Walsh in on the joke?”
“Not everybody, no.” Jill struggled to hide a smile. “My cousin Jack runs the Blue Moon.”
Fraser muttered to me, “I knew that guy went inside that joint.”
Win some, lose some. I nodded acknowledgment. I should have let him chase the mummy out the back. Fraser might have caught him and saved us a few hair-raising moments at the museum last night.
“Where did he come up with that costume?” I asked.
“Oh, Ted used to run the theater next door. He’s got access to lots of costumes. He could have shown up as Marie Antoinette if I’d needed it.”
I was trying to think of what circumstances would have required Marie Antoinette making an appearance when Fraser said, “Let me see if we’ve got this straight. You hired some guy named Ted to follow us around and pretend to be a mummy?”
“Ted Alwyn. We go way back.”
“ Why ?” Fraser and I demanded at the same time. We exchanged quick looks.
Jill blushed, but said steadily, “Oh come on, you know why. Promotion. Advertising. Marketing. That’s what it’s all about now days.”
“But you already had our interest. He was writing his article. We were already filming the segment,” Fraser said.
“I know. That was the start. But I needed more. I knew that. Once we caught the attention of the media, we had to find a way to hang on to it.”
I protested, “But you’re a museum.”
“A dime museum.”
“But you’re still a museum. Why would you try to promote yourself like a…like a circus?”
“Ouch,” murmured Fraser.
“I just don’t understand this.”
“I know. I’m starting to recognize that fretful expression.”
Jill was already turning away. “Maybe some of my tactics weren’t strictly orthodox, but the princess is real. You want to see the mummy’s provenance? Here.”
We followed her past the mummy case, shoes crunching bits of sand. We left the exhibition room and went down the hall to her office. She went straight to one of the wooden file cabinets, opened a bottom drawer and began going through folders.
She rifled through the files, muttering to herself, then she jumped up and went to her desk. “It’s right here. I had the folder out earlier in the week.” She dragged open a drawer and began scooping odds and ends out. Loose pens, rubber bands, Cheez-Its, Wite-Out, coffee coasters, and something that sparkled and glittered as it rolled to a stop on a pink legal pad.
A ring. A heavy gold signet ring with an oblong carnelian intaglio of a Ptolemaic queen. I reached for it automatically. “Wait a minute…”
“Where did I put it?” Jill stopped searching and removed her wig. Her own hair was a dark, sleek bob. She ran an absent hand through it and scratched her scalp. “I got the sarcophagus on eBay a couple of
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