Page 16 of The Stolen Queen

“Of course,” Charlotte conceded. Leon said nothing.

“In any event, half of everything we find goes to the Egyptian government, don’t forget,” said Henry. “Let’s hope we can hold onto the broad collar.”

“I heard from the Department of Antiquities inspector today,” said Mr. Zimmerman. “I’m afraid it’s bad news. Theywillbe taking the broad collar.”

Leon let his chair crash down onto the porch loudly. “That’s not fair!”

For once, Charlotte and Leon were united in their reaction.

“In return, we have a number of more important items from another dig that will be sent back to the States,” said Mr. Zimmerman. “And don’t forget the Hathorkare curse. I might have saved you both from certain death.” He held out his drink with a laugh. “You’re welcome, my friends.”

“What’s the point of even bothering,” whined Leon, “only to have the antiquities end up in the Egyptian Museum? They might as well toss them into the trash.”

“How so?” asked Charlotte.

“The museum isn’t well-run,” explained Henry. “There’s not much money, which means the works don’t get the treatment they deserve.”

“It’ll end up covered in as much dust as when it was in the tomb,” added Leon.

“What about the mummies?” asked Charlotte. “What happens to them?”

“They’re still there,” said Mr. Zimmerman. “The door will be locked and gated so no one else can gain entry.”

Charlotte found that strange, and said so. “Why are they left behind? I mean, they’re actual people, not things. No one wants the mummies?”

Leon sniffed. “Why would you? There’s nothing valuable about a pile of bones and tendons.”

Charlotte begged to differ, and his cavalier attitude rankled her. “They were once as alive as we are, and might have wielded great power, even. The one with the crossed arm could have been royalty.”

“We’ll never know that for sure,” corrected Mr. Zimmerman. “Not without a sarcophagus. For now, they’ll both remain on-site.”

Charlotte pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. It seemed wrong, to have gone into the tomb and extricated the last of the riches, leaving the possible queen and her nurse with nothing but a few mummified geese. The conversation turned to the international situation, what would happen to the other excavation teams in the Valley of the Kings as uncertainty clouded Europe, with Hitler’s forces reoccupying the Rhineland against the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. Dark clouds were gathering.

That night, she dreamed of the mummies wandering around the tomb, bemoaning the loss of the necklace in the darkness of their burial chamber. Who had these women loved in their lifetimes? What had they accomplished? Why were they forgotten? Charlotte got up and splashed water on her face, and then she and Henry made love once more.

After, she dreamed of a little girl with thick eyelashes and alabaster skin, and a month later, she discovered she was pregnant.

Chapter Six

Annie

New York City, 1978

The Met Museum loomed in the night sky, its expanse so wide that it would be almost impossible to capture the entire building in a single photograph. A sprawling staircase in the shape of a stunted pyramid crawled up the limestone exterior, guarded by four imposing pairs of Corinthian columns. To either side of the main entrance, a trio of more restrained additions stretched out like the wings of some magnificent creature.

A few taxis glided past, but the sidewalks were empty of pedestrians, a fact that made Annie nervous. In the past couple of years, as the city fell apart financially and resources became scarce, the general mood of its citizens had turned feral. Stabbing, muggings, and murders were climbing. She figured if she was attacked, she could run to the nearest Fifth Avenue doorman for help.

The entrance was on the north side of the building, and beyond it, Central Park yawned into blackness. The security guard at thedoor didn’t seem surprised by her request, just told another guard to escort her and went back to reading hisNew York Post. Annie had spent countless hours on the other floors of the museum, but she’d never been to the basement level. She followed the security guard down a wide white hallway with signs reading “Yield to Art in Transit” posted at regular intervals. Overhead, exposed pipes and conduit ran along the ceiling.

Finally, they reached a set of double doors. “In there,” the guard said.

Annie pushed the doors open. Inside was an anteroom with a couple of desks that led to a vast room with large tables where a dozen or so women were at work, sewing colorful appliqués on layers of tulle, ironing black and white tunics, and sewing flounces onto dark velvet drapery. Other than the vibrant fabrics, everything else—the walls, the cabinets, and even the floor—was white, so that it resembled some kind of fashion laboratory. The workers even wore white gloves on their hands.

No one had noticed her entrance. Annie approached the woman working closest to the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Hollingsworth asked that I give this to Diana,” she said.

The woman’s eyes widened in horror.

“Dee-AH-nah,” Annie quickly corrected. She pulled the boa out of the shopping bag and held it out.

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