McGrave's Hotel (11 page)

“Nuts,” he said.

He pushed in the knob to turn off the machine and opened the lid to inspect a large load of submerged bedding.

Carefully, James plunged his hand into the water and felt about in the wet laundry until his hand found something suspicious. He tugged, and out came a long narrow strip of gray linen. Could this be the three-thousand-year-old wrapping of a celebrated Egyptian queen? He pulled and pulled, and more and more came out, yards and yards.

If it had been
her
, it was no more, nothing but an unraveled accumulation of wet fabric.

“Oh, James, we’ve lost her,” Fawn said.

James felt that Queen Siti had been someone he would like to have known. He envisioned her as a child, running in reed sandals, playing in the shadows of the pyramids.

“We haven’t lost her,” he said. “I think it’s still her, but it doesn’t look like her. What if we put her back together?”

“Um, I don’t think that’s possible, James. It’s nice of you to want to try.”

“No, I think we can do it,” James said. “Look, the original mummies were really sort of husks. After the morticians washed the bodies and dried them with salt, they stuffed them with things like herbs and spices and sawdust. So the body was more or less a form to wrap the linen strips around. It’s the three-thousand-year-old
wrapping
that is still
her.
If we could simply give her a new form, we could reinvent her.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Fawn asked.

“Every boy knows about mummies,” James said. “It’s the second thing we read about most, after dinosaurs. There are some great books on Egypt in our hotel library.”

“Okay, so what about the form? She will need a shape.”

“I’ve got that worked out. Come with me.”

They found a clean pillowcase and stuffed the wet linen inside it.

As they walked back to the elevator, Fawn noted, “It’s spooky being in these basements, all alone at night.”

“Wait until you see the wine cellar,” James said. “It’s actually haunted.”

Anyone walking past the Beyond the Veil boutique in the Pearly Gates Gallery a few minutes later would have been surprised to have seen the blond-haired mannequin bride in the window display snatched from view by a young bellhop and by a girl about the same size.

“Why not?” said James inside the store. “Let’s get her dress and wig off.”

The disrobed plaster dress dummy was a perfect replica of an attractive young lady. It was fully articulated so that James and Fawn could easily pose its arms and legs.

For the next half hour, the two worked together to rewrap this newer, more shapely Queen Siti. James’s jackknife came in handy to slice and share the long strips of ancient linen. Fawn worked diligently to rewrap each finger of the queen’s delicate hands. James occasionally tied strips off after completing sections, using knots his dad had taught him on Saturday mornings. A sheet bend here, a clove hitch there, a square knot just so.

Finally, using the small blade on his jackknife with the utmost care, he created the slits with which she might open her eyes and behold the lights of Broadway, the nostril openings through which she might inhale the aromas of Chef Anatole’s favorite dishes, the slim mouth-opening tracing the lips with which she might once again become the Beautiful One Who Sings.

“She’s perfect,” Fawn said, admiring the complete package.

“Now for the disguise,” James said. “I think this will work.”

They slipped her back into the white wedding dress that the mannequin had been wearing and carefully placed the long blond wig onto her head. With the addition of a pair of sunglasses from a display case, she was a close approximation to a stylish modern bride.

“If you hold one arm and I hold the other,” James explained, “we can walk through the lobby as three people. We shouldn’t attract any attention.”

The queen was heavier than expected, and it took a moment to get her balance right, but, as they passed the full-length mirror in the Pearly Gates Gallery, James thought they looked quite good.

“She looks more real than Frau Grimm,” he said.

The ruse worked well to get them from the boutique to the elevators. Fortunately, the only folks they ran into en route were the Beaumonts. They were so tired from dancing that they were fading almost to invisibility.

“We’ll be going to our room now,” said Mr. Beaumont. “What a lovely time we’ve had. The pianist was simply sensational.”

“Love your hair,” Mrs. Beaumont said to Queen Siti. “You must give me the name of your stylist.”

In the elevator, James explained his plan to Fawn.

“We’ll need Mrs. Kobler,” he said. “She can get us back into the suite unseen. Abasi and the other guards are surely still there, guarding the golden casket and the jewels.”

“Why not merely knock on the door and explain everything?” Fawn said.

“Oh, no,” said James. “That would never do. Far too embarrassing to the hotel. We can’t go cramming our guests into washing machines. What would people say?”

James correctly calculated Mrs. Kobler’s whereabouts. Given her normal maintenance route, where he saw her last, and that she had begun one load of laundry since then, James estimated that she must be one floor down from Queen Siti’s suite. Indeed, as soon as the elevator doors opened to that floor, he heard the familiar squeak of her cart.

“Who’s there?” said Mrs. Kobler, peering at the trio in the dim hall lighting. “Oh, it’s you, Master James. With some friends, I see.”

James quickly filled her in on the plan, omitting to accuse her of creating the problem in the first place. She was happy to oblige, as any maid might be happy to loan someone a master key to get back into his room.

“Come,” Mrs. Kobler said from inside the Royal Suite, as soon as she had imposed her enchantments.

James and Fawn carried the mummy in, James now holding her under her arms and Fawn holding her under her knees. They passed the sleeping Egyptians. Two were seated on the sofa, and one snoozed at the desk over an open library book. Abasi stood motionless inside the door, which he had opened at Mrs. Kobler’s knock. They were like four silent statues.

In the bedchamber, James and Fawn removed the mummy’s wedding dress and wig and sunglasses and laid her gently on the bed. Carefully, James crossed her wrists over her heart. Fawn provided a flower from the vase in the salon, and they placed it in her hand. On the larger expanse of the bed, her favorite possessions surrounded her.

“She’s beautiful,” James said. “Mohammed Bey will be happily surprised.”

Here was someone’s daughter, someone’s mother, and a nation’s queen from the golden era of the pyramids, lying as she once did three thousand years ago under a brilliant Egyptian sun, when she was warmed by hot desert winds, adored by an empire, and guarded by the great crouching limestone lion with a pharaoh’s head. All hail.

Wings

On the great clock in the Grand Lobby, the smaller hand of the majestic timepiece pointed squarely at the golden
IV
as four chimes rang out. In only three more hours, a rising sun would paint the New York City streets with cold winter light.

Behind the Front Desk, Mr. Nash and Miss Charles could not have been more generous with their thanks for the successful resolution to the Case of the Missing Mummy. James didn’t know if it was the solving of the “crime” or something else, but he had never before seen Mr. Nash and Miss Charles standing so close together.

“Mohammed Bey phones every few minutes to express his gratitude,” Mr. Nash said. “Of course, he only
assumes
the hotel was responsible for the mummy’s return. I try to persuade him to merely embrace the hotel’s philosophy of all’s well that ends well. That would be sufficient. For myself, however, I applaud the two of you for your resourcefulness, from the bottom of my heart.”

As to the Case of Rupert Grimm’s Missing Head, Bradbury Mortuary had already arrived and removed the body. The nearby funeral home was on twenty-four-hour call by McGrave’s and was prized for its discretion. Dr. Otto had signed enough papers to send Mr. Grimm on his way, and Detective Dan Durbin and his boys had also departed, having come to the conclusion that the most likely suspect in this bizarre murder was a cat burglar. The fact that nothing had been stolen was proof to Detective Durbin that it was the work of a thief.

“Frau Grimm is resting,” Mr. Nash said. “She refused a sedative that Dr. Otto might have provided. Instead, Jim, boy, she requested that you bring up some warm milk and honey. Chef Anatole will prepare it for you.”

James glanced at Fawn and guessed she must also be thinking, “You can catch more flies with honey … ”

“And Mr. Lesley?” he asked. “Have those three girls returned?”

“They must still be auditioning,” said Mr. Nash. “They haven’t come down yet. We’ve had no screams. I’m certain Mr. Lesley took your threat to heart. Walter Quinn could seriously damage his reputation.”

“Actually, I did receive one phone call, Martin,” said Miss Charles. “Someone reported what
might
have been a scream. Then someone else mentioned a strange fluttering noise. Lately, things have been quiet, so it slipped my mind. I could consult the cards if you like.”

“We should check on them,” said Fawn, to everyone’s surprise. “James needs to walk me back to my room. We can check on Mr. Lesley on the way.”

“I don’t think the girls have to worry,” said Mr. Nash. “There are three of them, after all. Lesley’s nothing but a harmless Casanova.”

“It’s not the girls I am worried about,” said Fawn.

James wondered what she meant by that, and he sensed Fawn’s concern as they approached the actor’s suite. Upon arrival, he leaned his ear against Mr. Lesley’s door. He could hear an odd buffeting sound, like the blades on a bad fan, but certainly nothing in the way of screaming females.

“Here we go,” he whispered.

Using his master skeleton key, James unlocked the door and slowly turned the handle.

The sight he and Fawn beheld upon swinging the door open shocked them both.

Two of the Godfrey girls were visible, and each had sprouted great leathery wings out the back of her backless dress. One was on her knees at the sofa, where Victor Lesley reclined. Her wings oscillated slowly back and forth, as if they were in a slight breeze, and she seemed to be feeding on his neck as though it were a hunk of corn on the cob. The little music box was playing a Gershwin tune, “I’ve Got a Crush on You,” one steely note at a time. The girl’s head spun around to see who had come in, and James could see that her mouth and chin were scarlet with blood. The girl’s wings seemed to fold up in anger, and both girls appeared to have developed an inch-long pair of fangs. Vampires!

“What do you think you’re doing?” James shouted. “This is McGrave’s. You can’t feed on our guests! It is
completely
against the rules to kill anyone in the guest rooms. Didn’t you read the little sticker on the door?”

James wasn’t quite sure whether the rules meant anything to vampires, but it had to be said.

“Oh, hi,” said the one on her knees. “James, isn’t it? Goodness. We haven’t killed him. Well, not exactly. We’ve merely turned him. If we had simply killed him, there would be no Broadway play. We’re actresses. We need this gig.”

“He was a terrible actor,” said the second. “Handsome enough with his wig on, but I think he took this job as a scheme to meet girls. Now, he’s going to be the most convincing Dracula ever.”

James didn’t think anyone could be a better Dracula than Bela Lugosi in the movies, but then Mr. Lugosi was only an actor, not a real vampire.

“The critics are going to love him,” said the third sister. Her wings flapping slowly, she descended feet first from the high shadows of the vaulted guest salon. Treading air, she floated before the poster of
Girl Crazy
, and her smile, like those of her sisters, showed off a new set of soda straw incisors.

As the kneeling vampire stood and moved away from the sofa, James could see that Victor Lesley looked as pale as a winter moon, his face frozen in a stupor. His throat looked like raw ground beef.

“We’ll be a smash as Dracula’s wives,” said the first vampire. “It’s the part we were born to play.”

“Correction, the part we died to play,” her sister said.

“Anything for our craft,” said the third.

“You have to get out of here,” James said. “This is all so unacceptable.”

He recalled the three tarot cards Victor Lesley had drawn from Miss Charles, now proved to be dead on, three for three. The Fool, The Wheel of Fortune, and Death: dark indicators indeed for an actor who, thanks to his peculiar run-in with death, was destined to play the part of Dracula
forever
.

“Oh, we’ll be gone before the sun rises to its full glory,” said the first, looking in a mirror to check her hair. James too gazed into the mirror but saw nothing of the girl. A brush seemed to float in midair.

“We always check out early,” said the second.

“We wouldn’t want Victor to suffer a ‘meltdown’ on his first day in the fold,” said the third. “We’ll be taking him with us.”