Free Mummy Dearest by Joan Hess Page A

other’s proximity. I sighed, then cautiously approached the rim of the hole. Peter’s arm around my waist was comforting. In that I am not a spiteful person, I did not glance up to see if Shannon noticed, and I took no satisfaction in her faint frown as she descended a series of square steps ringed with rocks.
    “Workmen’s huts,” Alexander commented. “They lived in villages several hours away on foot. They would stay herefor ten days at a time, then go home for a few days. When the heat grew intolerable in the summer and the Nile flooded, they would stay home to plant crops.”
    “But those so-called huts are only a few feet square,” I said. “They couldn’t live in them.”
    “They stored their tools and whatever personal belongings they’d brought.”
    I bent forward. At the bottom of the hole were several people. I recognized Wallace Laxenby, the garrulous photographer I’d met at Lord Bledrock’s cocktail party. Shannon, having lost her audience, had replaced her hat. A few minutes later, she reemerged, followed by a stout woman with cropped gray hair, leathery skin, and a square jaw. She regarded us with the beady stare of a snapping turtle.
    “This is Magritta Vonderlochen,” Shannon said. “Alexander has brought Claire Malloy and Peter Rosen out to visit.”
    “I see that.”
    “Magritta and her late husband, Oskar, have been working in Egypt for more than forty years. It used to be quite easy for archeologists to get concessions to excavate, but these days they need approved sponsorship. MacLeod College is honored to oversee this particular project.”
    Magritta’s lip curled in response to Shannon’s pointed remark. “This is true, but we still revere the glorious days of Borchardt, Brugsch, Lepsius, and Sethe. They did not have to beg for funds to pay the workmen, feed and house the staff, take menial jobs during the off-season in order to pay their own transportation. Nor did they have to answer to a personage such as Dr. King, who will take credit for whatever we find. The view from the podium is much nicer than that from the bottom of the pit.”
    “There’s no need for this,” Shannon said coldly. “You’re lucky that MacLeod is allowing you to continue working the concession without Oskar. You’d best hope you make a significant discovery this season. The two of you have been at it for four years, and all you’ve found so far is a handful of shards. There are plenty of other excavators interested in this particular concession.”
    “Success requires diligence and perseverance. Oskar was convinced that we would find something of significance in this immediate area. When we open the tomb, it will be his final triumph. His life’s work will be validated.”
    “If there is a tomb.”
    Magritta scowled. “You know nothing except what you have read in books by pompous scholars who have never dirtied their hands or endured the suffocating heat and dust. You stay in that fancy hotel where you have every luxury, and then fly back to your insignificant college to prattle about the hardship. Look at your hands. Are they scarred and calloused?”
    “I am not a common laborer,” Shannon retorted. “My objective is to evaluate your progress—which has been minimal, I might add. MacLeod College is losing enthusiasm for your so-called expertise. Oskar refused to write proper reports or even publish updates in the Egyptology journals. If you don’t do better, you’ll be reduced to digging holes in a sandbox in your own backyard.”
    “How dare you speak of Oskar with such impudence!”
    Wallace Laxenby’s face appeared from below. “What’s all this?” he sputtered. “Shannon, I won’t allow you to upset Magritta like this. If Oskar were alive, he would bound up the steps and turn you over his knee to paddle your well-padded backside until you shrieked for mercy.”
    In the ensuing silence, everyone covertly assessed Wallace’s description of Shannon’s anatomy. I decided,