Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 04 - Miami Mummies (17 page)

I looked upriver. Roger stood triumphant on the bow of the pink speedboat. Gary Grant lay at Roger’s feet tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey. “Call the cops,” the world’s greatest archaeologist yelled falling short of beating his chest like a lowland gorilla.

“Police are on their way,” our host yelled as he brought the whaler to the seawall. I fell back on the cushions fighting to catch my breath and closed my eyes to wait for the cops.

Sirens wailed by land and sea. I opened my eyes. Tippy sat across from me, a blanket wrapped around her scrawny body. This time the blood in her platinum hair had to be hers. She held an icepack to her head. Roger remained in his conquering hero pose standing over Grant until the police took the lobbyist into custody.

Our savior vanished before I could thank him. I found two beach towels tucked near the whaler’s console and handed one to Roger. I dried the stinky river water from my face and hair, but my silk outfit clung to my body like hotdog casing.

It was near noon by the time the police and the Coast Guard had taken our statements. I explained the rescue but couldn’t describe the guy who’d saved both Tippy and me. I couldn’t recall what he was wearing only that he was young and had nice eyes. The officer quizzing me pocketed his notebook with a shake of his head.

“I’m sorry but I’m drawing a total blank. It must be the shock.”

The police manhandled Gary Grant into the squad car, his hands in cuffs.

He screamed for a lawyer even as a plainclothes officer gathered the broken pieces of the champagne bottle in a plastic evidence bag. All his lobbyist friends in Tallahassee weren’t going to save his murderous butt.

I was curious why Tippy went cruising with the shifty dude.

Roger and I trotted to the EMT truck where Tippy moaned as a medic checked the crack on her skull informing her she was on her way for an MRI.

She clutched at me, her fingers digging into my hands. “Gary promised to chaperone my project and keep it out of the state’s hands. We came to celebrate our new partnership with a champagne breakfast at the site.”

I exchanged glances with Roger. He shook his head in disgust.

“Did you sign an agreement?” I asked the dingbat.

“Last night.” Head down she began to whimper.

“Signed under duress. Invalid.” I said.

“Add attempted murder,” Roger threw in his two cents.

I scanned the assembled collection of law officers and emergency personnel. No sign of Detective Stranger. I’d been tripping over him for days and now that the crime was wrapping up he chose to drop out of sight. There must be a gummy bear sale at Target.

Roger shot me another stink eye, dropping his voice to a whisper, “This is how you protect my mummy?”

“I did the best I could. Mace and Kit helped me.”

“Mace?”

“The redhead from Tallahassee.”

“You let a stranger touch my mummy.”

Tempting as that line was I let it slide.

Tippy looked like a child on the gurney as the EMTs lifted her into the truck. I brushed aside the attentions of the female emergency dudette. Aside from a rapidly shrinking blue silk ensemble causing me to move like a robot, my only concern was the location of the holey mummy.

Confession is supposed to be good for soul but I didn’t feel cleansed after I told Roger we’d stashed the mummy in my garage. I held my hands over my ears and waited until he calmed down. I reminded him it was temperature and humidity controlled for Goldie’s sake but even that didn’t placate him. He’s unbearable when he gets his panties in a wad.

It took close to thirty minutes to get to my condo. The lights were on but the place had an eerie aura. I put the key in the lock noticing the alarm wasn’t on. I called out to Kit. No response. Was he merely sleeping soundly or something worse?

Roger and I made our way through the foyer to the living room. The sofa was vacant. The condo had that too quiet feeling. I tiptoed past the refrigerator and turned the deadbolt lock on the garage door. Flipping the light switch my eyes shot to the workbench. Mummy-less!

It couldn’t be. I ran to the bench in the futile hope the mummy had rolled off and onto the floor. I looked beneath and behind although there was only a three-inch gap between the bench and the wall.

My right shoe released from the floor with a
smack
sounding. Something sticky glopped on my sole. My left shoe made the same tacky sucking noise. Blood?

“Look away,” I said to Roger.

“Is it my mummy?”

“Might be blood.”

He backed away and leaned against the workbench.

I lifted my right shoe toward the overheard light. A purple gummy bear stuck to the bottom. My other shoe carried two gummy bears, one red and one green.

Roger leaned forward his hand shielding his eyes.

“Not blood. Gummy bears. Detective Stranger is addicted to them.” I grabbed Roger’s shoulders and shook him. “Stranger must be the mummy thief! He dropped these when he stole the mummy.”

Roger pulled free of my grip. “Makes no sense,” he leaned back with a sigh. “Kyzer Saucy travels the world stealing mummies. How would a Miami cop get time off for jet setting?”

“Perhaps he accumulated a lot of personal days?”

Roger glared at me.

“Let’s check the rest of my place!” My heart said a little prayer on Kit’s behalf.

My condo is small and it didn’t take us long to tear it apart. The last room we hit was the guest bath. The door was locked. Strange. Roger slammed his shoulder into the white panel and it burst open.

The room stunk of male sweat and sugar. The pink raincoats covered a body-sized heap in the tub.
Oh please don’t be Kit.
My vision was blurred by tears, and my hands shook as I peeled back the raincoats.

Detective Farley Stranger lay in a heap, his grease-stained coat swirled over his belly.

Roger slammed into my already injured back. I teetered at the edge of the tub.

“Is he alive?” he asked.

I felt Stranger’s rubbery neck and found a pulse. I also found a business card tucked in his sweaty shirt collar. With my index finger and thumb I extricated the soggy paper. Black ink on gray paper it read,
Marnie’s International Funerals. You clip ’em. We ship ’em.

Roger grabbed the card from my hand. “A body transporter! That’s how Kyzer Saucy smuggles the mummies!”

I took the card back and flipped it over. Tiny hand-printed letters sliced at my heart.
I have Kit. Will trade him for Roger Jolley.

Roger read the notation. “The airport. Now.”

It was the spaces between his words that worried me.

I propped Stranger up in the tub and smacked his face to rouse him. His bloodshot eyes drooped open, and the pupils rolled into place like messages in a Magic 8 Ball. I threw my demand at him before he could think. “Call your office. We need to know where they load bodies for funerals on private jets. Where in Miami International Airport are those hangers located?”

He stared unblinking, his complexion a perfect match for my pale green bathroom walls. Rummaging in his pocket he plucked his phone, pushed a button with his fat bruised thumb and repeated my request.

Stranger clicked off and looked from me to Roger and back. “Where am I? How’d you guys get here?”

“This is my home. What are you doing here?”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I followed the mummy.”

He fell back in the tub hitting his head with a thunk, and conking out. Either Saucy drugged him or he was in a gummy bear diabetic coma.

His phone bleeped. I grabbed it. “Detective Stranger can’t speak right now. Whatcha’ got for us?” I asked in rapid fire before the voice on the other end could question my identity.

A moment of hesitation and then the voice on the line shared. “There’s a body shipping service at the north side of the airport. Come in off Airport Expressway. No visible markings on the building but long boxes in and long boxes out. It’s a white hanger with a tan metal roof about four-thousand square feet.”

I clicked off and tried to revive Stranger. Whatever it was that took him down he was not coming back. I punched in nine-one-one on his phone. “Officer down. Possible gummy bear over dose.”

The operator hesitated, “Is this Wendy Darlin?”

You know you’re having a bad week when nine-one-one recognizes your voice. I wedged a rolled up towel behind Stranger’s head and scribbled a note for the EMTs,
Come on in. Victim in guest bathtub.

Roger and I fought our way out the bathroom door and raced through the living room. Wedging the note in the front door, I closed it gently without locking it. Jangling the keys for Kit’s car, I motioned Roger to the passenger side mainly because he’s a lousy driver.

Mashing the gas pedal to the floor, my wet silk slacks now shrunk to a second skin, they formed a grip around my thighs tighter than the super-small sized Spanx.

We arrived at the airport so fast I must have performed a
Star Trek
teleport. My best buddy was the tradeoff for my lover. What would Spock do?

The scorching Miami sun reflected off the dozens of private hangers, each one glaring white with a tint of color. This was really a needle in a haystack. I tried to sense Kit’s presence through our BFF connection. Slowly so as to not miss a clue I tooled the Escalade up and down the tarmac covering acres of airplane hangers.

Cruising around the corner of a building the size of Costco but with no cars in the lot, I spotted a smaller building with a tan roof. It looked about the right size. A Lear jet more like a baby airliner sat fifty yards from the building. The name
Marnie
was written in swirling black and gold letters on its tail.

“Bingo,” Roger said. “Kyzer Saucy!”

I swung the Escalade in front of the jet blocking its escape, not that it appeared ready for takeoff. The door was open and the steps were down.

Roger leaped from the car.

“Careful! He’s bound to be armed.” I yelled as I threw the keys under the car seat for safekeeping. I joined Roger sandwiched against the plane’s hull out of range in case anyone on board was packing a gun, a probable one-hundred-percent sure thing.

“Kit!” I called leaning from the shelter of the hull.

No response.

“We’re coming in! Don’t shoot we’re unarmed!” Roger said.

I followed Mr. Big Mouth into the plane. Now that the international mummy thief and everyone within shooting distance knew we weren’t carrying guns we were definitely dead meat.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light in the aircraft and my breath caught in my throat. Mace Kelly was slumped unconscious in the pilot’s seat. I scanned the cockpit but she was alone. I fell on my knees in front of her and checked for a pulse. She was alive. I smacked her twice and she came around. I was getting good at smack-revival.

Saucy must have kidnapped both Mace and Kit. He had to be carrying a gun.

Roger cursed and bounded down the aisle into the cabin.

“Is Kit back there?”

“No!” he yelled.

“Where am I?” Mace looked out the windshield her eyes two green eggs. “Am I a pilot?” Her orbs went buggy as she fought to focus.

“Where’s Kit?” I shook her again.

She peered over my shoulder toward the rear of the plane. In the very back of the eight-passenger jet sat the two Peruvian child mummies, seat belts across their chests, ready for flight. They provided a slightly different take on being stuck too long on the tarmac.

“Where is Kyzer Saucy?” Roger stormed into the cockpit swinging his fists. I was afraid he was going to pop her. I stood between Mace and Roger. “It’s not her fault!”

The redhead tried to stand and tumbled in the seat. She rubbed the back of her skull. “I followed Gary Grant here. Someone must have whacked me on the head.”

I elbowed Roger. “Mace is an activist cleaning up politics in Florida.”

Roger smirked.

“I’ve
got
to find Kit.” I scanned the length of the plane. My buddy was too tall to be stashed in the leather-upholstered cabin.

Mace pointed to the hanger. “I heard someone scream right before I was hit. Maybe I was in that building and they dragged me here!” She stumbled from the seat and fell to the floor.

There wasn’t time to slog her behind us. I resettled her in the pilot seat with her head flung back against the headrest.

Roger was pumped. “You check out the hanger. I’ll stay on board the plane with what’s-her-face.” He made a shooing motion. “Kyzer Saucy is setting his getaway. He’ll be here and I’ll be waiting. I have him right where I want him.”

It wasn’t a good time to correct Roger. His testosterone glistened but his common sense was a little on the dry side. I stumbled toward the door, hesitant to leave my love waiting for someone who had sworn to kill him. “Saucy could be in the hanger. Maybe you should come with me?”

Roger’s eyes grew to twice their size. “Go! If that crook is headed anywhere it’s here to the plane. Those sitting mummies aren’t waiting to be served peanuts.”

Roger fought like a hamster, all punch and no delivery. He needed some sort of weapon against a vicious international smuggler. No way was I going to leave my man unprotected. I gave the cockpit a once over looking for something heavy. Not an ashtray in sight. Figures.

A bottle of Dom snuggled in an ice bucket behind the pilot’s compartment. Bizarre but doable. “Grab the bottle!”

“Not now, Wendy.”

“Doofus. Use it as a weapon.”

Roger picked it up by the neck and turned it upside down, water dripping along his arm. He swung the bottle over his head coming close to whacking himself. “I’m okay!”

With my hands on either stair rail I leaped to the ground sending a shock wave through my injured back and splitting the silk pants which were now a child’s size four.

I dashed to the hanger. The flight door was wide open like an unhinged snake’s mouth. The main bay, which could have accommodated three airplanes, was empty. To the right sat a small glass-walled front office, a short hallway ran between it and a row of closed doors on the opposite side. I headed down the hall calling Kit’s name and throwing open the doors on the left. Surprisingly they were all unlocked but on second look, not so surprising. Long thin boxes stood against the far walls. Coffin crates for shipping. I shivered thinking of her slogan. You clip ’em; we ship ’em.