Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 03 - Cairo Caper Read Free Page A

trick I learned at real estate school. I peeked at Roger. The archaeologist was in his element. The man spoke mummy, read hieroglyphics, and probably was oblivious to the crowds outside at this point.
    Petri Dische guided us to the gift shop entrance. “Sir Sydney’s office is on the second floor. Madame, this is where we leave you.”
    “You’re kidding. I’m part of this team.” Surely, they wouldn’t leave me here when the horde could break in at any second.
    “Sir Sydney prefers to meet with Doctor Jolley alone. You will enjoy the shopping.”
    Yeah, I’d love it if I wasn’t maimed or killed by the rabid mob. Not to mention I was being treated like some tagalong bimbo instead of Roger’s partner. My blood pressure skyrocketed. I felt like picking up that pipsqueak Dische by his ankles and banging his head on the floor.
    He turned to Roger. “Didn’t you tell her?”
    Roger was a geek-in-the-headlights. “Would you? Look at her.” He held his arms up in a shoulder-protecting move. “Wendy, trust me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    A quick scan of the nearly vacant hall told me no one was watching. Dische was looking the other way. I stomped on Roger’s right foot. “You are dead meat, Jolley.”
    My faux-husband limped off after Dische, clinging to the railing and mounting the polished stone steps to the upper floor leaving me alone and defenseless with rioters, hitmen, cayenne pepper spreaders, and who knew what else.

Chapter Four
    The Cairo Museum holds one of the finest collections of ancient treasures in the world. Usually I would have loved to take in all the mummies, canopic jars, papyrus scrolls, and elaborate jewelry. Today all I cared about was arming myself.
    I stomped into the gift shop. A collection of glass ashtrays filled a shelf on the back wall. Proving that tackiness knows no borders, I found a pink-tinted mummy-shaped beauty and bought two, one for each of the pockets hidden in the folds of my skirt. They weren’t as large or as heavy as I would have liked, but I couldn’t chance them pulling my skirt down.
    I stepped out of the gift shop feeling a little less defenseless. On a normal day the museum would be packed, but the air hummed with tension and the building was barren of tourists. I stood in the lobby looking for a safe room in a mall of mummies laid out in glass display cases like an old-fashioned five and dime.
    Surely, the guards would be sent to the Royal Mummy Room if things erupted. I headed there. These mummies were among the rarest treasures on earth. Eleven bodies were on display including the newly discovered mummy of Hatshepsut.
    I took an uneasy breath and walked to within a foot of the long case that held the first female pharaoh, Hatshepsut. She was wrapped in linen and her head was bald. I studied the tattered remains of a woman who was once a king in a world where women were less than second-class. How did she wrest control and retain it for decades? If I could bottle her strength, I could sell it on the Internet. My teeth chattered. I guessed Hatshepsut wasn’t pleased with my scheme and sent a shiver my way.
    Our stay in Cairo had been less than a barrel of fun so far, but it seemed like a great adventure when Roger first got the call from Sir Sydney. The government’s Egyptian Antiquities Society was hot on the trail of Cleopatra’s tomb. If Roger and I could bring back a certain super-secret personal possession of Cleopatra, known only to Sir Sydney, then we would confirm the location of her grave and solve one of archaeology’s great mysteries. I imagined my name in history books. Wendy Darlin without the “g.”
    A sigh escaped my lips as I gazed at Hatshepsut, the forerunner of Cleopatra. Declaring herself Pharaoh, she dressed as a king and wore a false beard. What a dame.
    “She was. Wasn’t she?”
    I turned toward the voice. A tiny prim-looking thing in a tan safari jacket over a long beige skirt, with old-fashioned lace-up boots peeking