Tempest Court. Jan Walters

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      Chapter 7

      Brett froze as he opened his office door. Donnellson sat on the corner of his desk with a Cheshire cat grin plastered across his face.

      “About time you got here, O’Shea.”

      Brett glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. “Who are you trying to impress by getting here early?”

      Donnellson shook his head and rose to his feet. “I’m in lust.”

      “Don’t tell me that.” He frowned. “You know Lisa and Layla are good friends. Your ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ philosophy will get you in trouble someday.”

      Donnellson grinned. “Hell, you’re worse than my mother.”

      Brett dropped in his chair. “Whatever. I’m trying to save your ass.”

      “Seriously, though, I like this girl. We’re going out tonight when she gets off work.”

      “Great. Just don’t tell me any details. I don’t want to know.”

      Donnellson muttered under his breath. Brett waved as his friend closed his office door. Brett turned on his laptop and started reviewing e-mails.

      Hours later, he rose and stretched. He glanced out the window. The large maple and oak trees were dropping their leaves. An overnight frost brought a chill to the air. Fall had come to Des Moines. For the past couple of years, fall had been the harbinger of paranormal cases and crimes that kept him up at night.

      This year, Brett felt optimistic. Life was good. No serial killers roamed the streets. No hocus-pocus activity was reported. For once, he was going to enjoy the fall season—after he opened the package from Morocco. He needed to verify whether there was anything to Michael’s accusation.

      * * * * *

      After dinner, Lisa headed toward their home office to prepare for an interview at work. As a news reporter, her work hours were as crazy as Brett’s. With Lisa occupied, he retrieved the unwanted package from deep in their bedroom closet and set it on the table. A large shadow ominously covered the wall. With scissors in hand, Brett jerked and stepped back.

      Michael stood next to him. His fedora grazed the top of his brow, giving him an old-time, dashing look.

      Ignoring his pounding heart, Brett grinned. “What’s up, Michael?”

      Michael eyed the package in front of Brett. “Nothing. You haven’t opened that thing yet. What’s the problem?”

      “Chill. Feel any vibrations?” Brett held his breath.

      Michael tilted his head. “No, though I did hear something the other day.”

      “Whatever.” Cutting the twine that held the package together, Brett peeled back the multiple layers of stiff brown paper. He lifted the rug, weighing it in the palm of his hand. “I didn’t realize it would be this heavy.”

      “Spread it out. I want to see what a $300 rug looks like.” Michael jabbed him in the side.

      “Don’t remind me,” grumbled Brett. As he began to transfer the rug to the living room floor, a piece of pottery rolled out on the table.

      “What’s that?” Michael asked.

      Brett picked up the strange-looking jar and turned it around. The lid on the jar looked like some animal head, maybe a dog. They didn’t purchase the jar. Why was it inside their package?

      “I have no idea. What do you think it is?”

      Michael leaned closer, tapping the jar with his finger. “Beats me. A vase? Why don’t you look inside?”

      Brett tugged on the broken lid. “Ouch!” Blood welled up and ran down his finger. “You know, it reminds me of those jars in The Mummy movie with Brendan Fraser. What are they called?”

      “I have no idea. I missed that movie,” Michael grumbled. “Just break the damn thing.”

      Brett held the jar in the air, ready to smash it on the floor. At the last second, he lowered his arm, deciding that he would talk to Lisa first. She may know what it was. Whatever it was, he was worried. Did Hassan put it in their package? “I should talk to Lisa.”

      Michael muttered under his breath, “Fine. We’ll do it later. By the way, who was the bombshell that was here last night?”

      Brett rose to his feet and combed his fingers through his hair. “A friend of Lisa’s from college. She’s working on an exhibit at the Art Center.”

      “What kind of exhibit?” Michael grabbed the remote and began flipping through TV channels.

      “Drop the remote. You’re driving me crazy.”

      Michael sighed and continued to change channels. “You never answered my question. What kind of exhibit?”

      Brett grabbed the remote. “Ancient Egypt. They’re bringing in a mummy.”

      “A mummy?” Michael yelped and jumped to his feet. “A mummy? A mummy in Des Moines?”

      Brett scowled at Michael. “Yeah, a mummy. Why are you acting so weird?”

      “I hate mummies. Hate them.”

      “What do you even know about mummies?”

      Michael’s face twisted with something that looked like fear. Why would a ghost be afraid of a mummy? Damn! What is going on?

      “Crap, Brett,” Michael snarled. “I didn’t live in the Stone Age.”

      “Chill. I was asking a question.”

      “In fact, I bet your mummy movie was a remake of the 1932 version I saw—also СКАЧАТЬ