Mission: Irresistible Page 5

  “Sure thing. I got the memo,” Clyde lied.

  His reply took Cassie by surprise.

  Why was Clyde lying? She knew he liked her and that he really disliked Phyllis. The curator had the annoying habit of sending him on “essential” errands the minute the man sat down for a meal in the employees’ lounge. And the sneaky woman would always wait until Clyde had a cherry Pepsi poured over ice and his sandwich unwrapped or his frozen Hungry Man zapped in the microwave before she sprang the urgent assignment on him. But that wasn’t explanation enough for him to risk his job over her.

  She looked at him, and he gave her a quick smile that said, Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. But she was worried. Why would he cover for her?

  Maybe he wasn’t covering for her. Maybe he was lying to protect himself. He was in charge of overseeing the crew that had set up the lighting for the exhibit. Maybe he was afraid Phyllis would accuse him of some culpability in the crime when she got done chewing out Cassie.

  She might get fired, she might even get accused of stealing the amulet, but she knew she was innocent. Whatever Clyde’s and Harrison’s motives might be, she simply could not allow them to prevaricate on her account. She’d done nothing wrong. Phyllis couldn’t pin a thing on her.

  Could she?

  “What memo?!” Phyllis’s voice jumped an octave, and the tip of her nose turned blotchy red. “What are you talking about? What did this memo say?”

  “Interactive murder mystery theater,” Harrison supplied. The tone of his voice was calm and steady, but Cassie caught the jerk of a subtle tic at his right eyelid. He was nervous.

  A general titter of delight undulated throughout the gathered crowd.

  “What a marvelous idea,” murmured Lashaundra Johnson, a reporter for the Arts and Entertainment section of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Lashaundra had written a feature on Cassie last year after she’d helped the FBI capture the art thief.

  “I adore murder mystery theater,” exclaimed a very prominent, very moneyed museum patron dressed as Isis. “Will there be prizes for the winner?”

  Murmured speculation rippled throughout the room as the guests eagerly exchanged ideas and discussed suppositions. Harrison’s fabrication was a huge hit.

  “I don’t understand.” Phyllis impatiently tapped her foot. “Explain it to me.”

  “Give us more details,” one of the King Tuts said. “Who is the mummy? Why was he in the courtyard? How is he connected to the legend of Kiya and Solen?”

  “Wait, wait,” Nefertiti said. “I’ll need a pen and paper to keep this all straight.”

  “Me too,” piped up Horus the Sky God.

  “But what about Dr. Grayfield?” Phyllis asked dubiously. “What about the reunification ceremony?”

  “Oh, that’s not tonight.” Harrison shook his head. Cassie admired his grace under pressure. To the casual observer he seemed totally composed, but she noticed he was squeezing his replica djed so tightly the muscles in his wrist bulged.

  “Not tonight?” Phyllis repeated and frowned.

  Not tonight? Cassie wondered.

  “It’s all in the memo.” Harrison gave Phyllis a gosh-are-you-out-of-the-loop expression.

  On the surface, he did not look like a man whose life’s work had just jumped off that display case and walked out the door. He was pretty darn good at bluffing. But Cassie detected the telltale signs. His lips were pressed thin, and she saw a single bead of sweat glisten on his forehead.

  “Let me get this straight, Dr. Standish. What you’re telling me is that the amulet is not really missing. No one stole it?” Phyllis asked.

  “That’s correct.”

  Cassie adjusted her cumbersome headdress. What had happened to the amulet? She shot him a surreptitious glance, and the look he returned was so desperate that she knew for certain the amulet had been stolen and he was covering up the theft.

  But why?

  Because of her?

  But that made no sense. Harrison barely knew her, and until tonight he’d acted as if he didn’t care for her methods or her personality.

  Was he simply using this opportunity to steal the amulet for himself? But why would he do that? He’d discovered the amulet. If he’d wanted to steal it, wouldn’t he have done it when he first excavated it?

  Should she back him up in the lie or blurt out the truth? What were Harrison’s motives? Who had stabbed the mummy? Who was the mummy? Who’d turned off the lights? Who’d stolen the amulet? And most of all, where was Adam Grayfield? Things were weird and getting weirder by the minute.

  “Where is the amulet?” Phyllis inclined her head toward the empty case.

  “It’s secured in a bank vault. The amulet on display was a copy made for the sake of the murder mystery theater. It was all in the memo.”

  “I wish I could see this memo. Clyde, do you still have your copy?” Phyllis crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I deleted it from my e-mail,” Clyde said.

  “Since there doesn’t seem to be a copy of this elusive memo, then you won’t mind taking me to the safety—

  deposit box at the bank vault tomorrow morning and showing me the real amulet, Dr. Standish.”

  “I wish I could, Ms. Lambert, but Adam Grayfield has the key. He’ll bring both halves with him to the reunification ceremony,” he said.

  “Dr. Grayfield is in on this too?”

  “You could say it’s his brainchild.”

  Was Adam party to this farce? Cassie frowned. Pondering these questions was giving her a headache. She didn’t like thinking this hard.

  “Oh. Well. Then I’ll take you at your word.” Apparently Phyllis was willing to give them enough rope to hang themselves. “What happens next?”

  “The guests will have a chance to solve the mystery on their own, and then when everyone returns with their guesses, we’ll give out the prizes and have the reunification ceremony,” Harrison supplied.

  Cassie realized he was trying to buy them time to figure out who took the amulet. She only prayed it worked before Phyllis became suspicious and called the police. She didn’t know who Harrison was protecting or why, but if she went along with his plan, she would be up to her eyeballs in the conspiracy with him.

  And the last thing she wanted was to be eyeball-deep in anything with the contentious, but oddly compelling, Harrison Standish.

  She had to speak up.

  But how?

  “And when is everyone supposed to return for the reunification ceremony?” Phyllis raised an eyebrow.

  “Anyone who’s interested in returning for the second part of the show will meet back here on Saturday night. Eight o’clock,” Harrison said.

  “What about the logistics of all these people returning?” Phyllis waved a hand. “Will there be another party?”

  “Absolutely.” Harrison nodded. “It was in the memo.”

  Another party on Saturday night! Cassie didn’t have the budget for a second party, and it was only three days away. Would they be able to find Adam and the amulet in seventy-two hours?

  “But I can’t make it on Saturday,” one of the King Tuts whined. “Will I get a refund?”

  “This event is a charity fund-raiser for the Kimbell,” Harrison said. “You’re one of the most influential men in Fort Worth. Surely you will still want to make your contribution, even if your schedule doesn’t permit you to return for the second party.”

  That shut King Tut up and put an end to a possible mass rush for refunds.

  “Dr. Standish,” Cassie said. She took his elbow and squeezed it meaningfully. “May I speak with you in private about our mystery theater?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, right now.”

  “Phyllis,” Harrison said and smiled at the pickle-faced woman, “could you give us a minute?”

  “Of course.” The curator’s return smile was frosty. Clearly, Phyllis didn’t want to go along with their story, but the guests were so excited about the murder mystery theater con
cept that she had little choice.

  “Out in the courtyard, Standish,” Cassie hissed.

  She flounced away through the murmuring crowd. Harrison followed at her heels.

  “What gives?” she demanded once they were outside. “What’s with this interactive murder mystery theater crap?”

  “I’m trying very hard to save your skin, along with my brother’s miserable hide.”

  “Who in the heck is your brother?”

  “Adam Grayfield.”

  “For real?” That was a shocker. Charming, romantic Adam was kin to this pigheaded cynic? The plot thickened. “But you have different last names.”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “If he’d told me, then I wouldn’t be surprised that you two were siblings, now would I?”

  “We’re half brothers. We have the same mother, different fathers.”

  “That’s all well and good, but please don’t do me any more favors. I didn’t ask you to do me any favors. Why are you doing me favors?”

  The man was a certifiable nut job. Why was he under the mistaken impression that she needed saving? And even if she did need saving, she wasn’t his to save. If she was searching for a Sir Galahad, she certainly wouldn’t turn to Sir Gripes-a-Lot as a consolation prize.

  Harrison’s jaw hardened in that stubborn clinch she’d come to recognize and dread over the course of the past nine days. Whenever he set his mandible at that fight-or-die angle, Cassie had learned she was in for a protracted battle.

  “I know what Adam’s up to, and the way you’ve been waxing rhapsodically about him all week makes me wonder if you two might be in on this together. As far as I know, you might even be his lover.”

  “How can I be Adam’s lover? I’ve never even met your brother in person, you ass,” she snapped.

  Harrison’s cheeks flushed. Was he embarrassed over his false accusations? Or was he mad because she had called him an ass? He was lucky she hadn’t called him worse.

  “Besides, I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she finished.

  “I’m talking about you two staging a publicity stunt involving Solen and Kiya as a way to milk the museum benefactors out of more money to fund Adam’s future excavations.”

  “You are a petty, suspicious man, you know that?” Even though she felt a little guilty for sounding so harsh, Cassie refused to budge. She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him. To think that for one brief millisecond back there in the dark she had actually been sexually attracted to him.

  Heaven forbid.

  “I’m not petty and suspicious,” he denied. “Not at all. But I do know my brother. He’s a trickster. He loves games and treasure hunts. When it comes to Adam, I know exactly what to expect. You, Miss Cooper, are the wild card.”

  “I might be wild,” she agreed, “but I don’t pull stunts to dupe people out of their money. And I can’t believe you think so little of your own brother.”

  Cassie was breathing hard and she didn’t know why. For the longest moment, they glared at each other, gazes locked, temperatures rising.

  “Why don’t you try to call Adam and see if you can wring a confession from him?” she challenged.

  “I will.” Harrison took out his cell phone and punched in his brother’s number. Voice mail answered. He hung up.

  “Is he still incommunicado?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it that your brother and I are not in cahoots.”

  She could tell he didn’t want to buy it, but at last he relented. “All right, I’ll take you at your word, and I apologize if I offended you in any way.”

  He did have the good grace to look chagrined, and when he humbled himself he was less like a high-minded pompous ass and more like a real human being.

  “Your apology is accepted,” Cassie relented, uncrossing her arms.

  “Thank you for not holding a grudge.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re on probation with me.” She shook an index finger at him.

  “As are you with me.” His eyebrows bunched darkly. “I don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t even like you.” She hardened her chin.

  “Nor I you.”

  “You’re arrogant and judgmental and contentious.”

  “And you’re self-centered and overly opinionated and self-destructive.”

  “Obviously we don’t get along.” She wondered why she was so breathless.

  “Not so much.” He frowned and shook his head. He looked a little winded too.

  “Great, as long as we have that established, could you clue me in? Where do you think your brother might be? Seeing as how my livelihood is on the line and all.”

  “Adam was here just a little while ago.”

  “You saw him at the museum?”

  Harrison nodded.

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “I tried. He ran outside.”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  Harrison shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought you might have the answer.”

  “Not me. What did you do?”

  “I followed him. Just as I hit the street, he took off around the corner on a custom Harley. He had Gabriel Martinez slip this to me.”

  Harrison pulled an envelope from his pocket, extracted a small rectangle of paper, and waved it under her nose.

  “Looks like a baggage claim ticket from American Airlines,” she said.

  “Exactly,” he crowed, like he was Columbo or Hercule Poirot or Perry Mason. Her mother was a huge mystery buff. Cassie had cut her teeth on late-night Charlie Chan reruns and could recite verbatim every title Agatha Christie ever wrote in order of publication date.

  “I had to tell the white lie in order to buy us time with Phyllis, so we could figure out what the baggage claim ticket means,” Harrison said.

  “It means there’s baggage at the American Airlines terminal that needs picking up.” What was the deal? She thought the guy was supposed to be some kind of Mensa genius.

  “But whose baggage? And why hasn’t it already been claimed?”

  Cassie shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “If we get the baggage,” he continued, “we might find the answer to Adam’s whereabouts. Or a clue to who took the amulet, but we don’t have time for honesty. Police rigmarole would slow us down for hours.”

  “There’s something more you’re not telling me. You’re not too upset about the missing amulet. You’re thinking that Adam’s the one who took it, and you don’t want to get him into trouble.”

  “No, I’m just good at cloaking my panic.”

  “Had me fooled.”

  “Actually I’m praying like hell that Adam did take it. If the amulet is truly missing and it’s not part of my brother’s crackpot ploy, then my life’s work has vanished in a whiff of smoke.” He snapped his fingers. “The Egyptian government is going to be extremely unhappy with me. If the amulet is not recovered, I’ll lose not only my funding, but my visa to Egypt. My entire future is on the line.”

  “So that’s your real motive for lying. To save your career. This isn’t really about your brother. This is personal.”

  “Yes, okay,” Harrison admitted. “It’s personal. What’s wrong with that? But I’m not as selfish as you want to believe. Even though the amulet represents everything that I treasure deeply and hold dear, that’s not what’s important. The real travesty would be the loss of a precious artifact that gives us new insight into the ancient Egyptian culture. There’s nothing more important to the future than an understanding of history. I’ve devoted my life to it, and I’ll do anything to preserve it.”

  “Even lie?”

  “Even lie.”

  Cassie blew out her breath, letting everything he’d told her sink in.

  “Meanwhile, your boss is getting edgy.” He nodded toward the exhibit hall. “So like it or not, we’re in this mess together.”

  She peeked over his shoulder to see Phyllis st
anding behind the glass door, hands on hips, lips pursed disapprovingly.

  “I’m not in the habit of lying,” she whispered. “Not even to keep myself out of trouble.”

  “I don’t lie either, dammit. But this is important. I just blurted it out. Believe me, I’m not an impulsive guy. I hate this as much as you do, probably more so. But this has to be done. For me, for my brother, for Egypt, for Kiya and Solen, but most important, for humankind.”

  What a moving speech!

  She’d had no idea such passion lurked beneath his cool exterior. The moonlight glinted off Harrison’s honed cheekbones, giving him a surprisingly knavish appearance in spite of his scholarly spectacles. An unexpected shiver tripped down her spine.

  “You’re cold,” he said and removed his jacket.

  Before she knew what he intended, he’d already slipped the hideous purple tweed jacket over her shoulders. She wanted to protest and hand it back to him, but she was cold. The jacket smelled of him, and the pleasantness of his scent caught her off guard.

  She stuck her hands in his pocket and felt a cylindrical tube. It was the replica he’d made of the djed found in Kiya’s tomb. Harrison had once told her that he was determined to discover the true use of the djed. Considering the size and shape, Cassie often wondered if it hadn’t been anything more than an Egyptian sex toy, although Harrison would probably be horrified if she suggested such a thing.

  “Please,” he said. “I know this is not an optimal situation, but just go along with me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I can’t lie.”

  “What happens,” he asked softly, “if my brother has stolen the amulet and you’re left holding the bag? You two planned this event together. You expect Phyllis to believe you weren’t part of it? Especially after that stabbed, disappearing mummy escapade you pulled.”

  “I didn’t pull anything. A mummy was stabbed in the courtyard.”

  “Either way, Phyllis is gunning for you.”

  “You noticed that too? I’m not just paranoid?”

  “Who could miss the animosity? She almost hisses whenever you walk by.”

  Well, thank you very much. At least someone else had confirmed Cassie’s suspicion that Phyllis hated her guts.