Conspiracy to Murder Read online

  “That’s work. Not personal.”

  “Yes, true. I’ve been to Florida to visit my family. And I’ve gone to tons of shows with Kieran’s family. Her twin brother, Kevin, is an actor and—”

  “I know. So why did you suddenly need me so badly?” he asked her.

  She turned toward him, drawing the sheets to her shoulders as she answered the question. “Why are you here—needed or just as needy?” she asked.

  He laughed softly. “Ouch. Hmm.”

  “It’s a fair question. I was in criminology, probably because of Craig. I’ve lost family members, but I hadn’t ever seen anyone die the way Henry did. And I was so crazy about him, as if he’d been a relative. You know…yeah, you know what he was like. Anyway, I tried to do something about his death. I failed. I never expected this, though!”

  “You mean me?”

  “No, sorry! No, I meant Thursday night, at the gala. Vivian! Why kill Henry and wait all this time to attack Vivian?” Harley asked.

  He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe the killer’s triggered by events.”

  “You mean—”

  “Henry died the day your team made the discovery. Vivian was attacked the day you were all about to celebrate that discovery.”

  “The mummy’s curse?”

  He groaned.

  “No! I don’t believe it, but… Micah, there were Egyptian workers who told us we were going to be cursed.”

  “None of the Egyptian workers were here at the gala,” Micah reminded her.

  “Yolanda. Yolanda Akeem,” Harley said.

  “Ah, Yolanda.”

  “You know her?”

  “I do. I met her in Cairo.”

  “So…would you say you’re friends?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that word describes our brief time together. No, she got me out of Egypt, helped me chase after you guys,” Micah said. “We’re having some problems reaching her, although I assume she’s still in the country. McGrady tried to get her to stick around after the night of the celebration, and he managed to talk to her for a few minutes, but in my mind, she hadn’t been properly questioned yet.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She has some kind of diplomatic immunity. And, of course, she had nothing to do with what happened to Vivian.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She was always within range of cameras,” Micah said. He smiled. “The FBI’s taken the lead, so we have footage, prints, you name it. Sadly, even with all the crime scene evidence that was collected, we don’t have answers. But as far as Yolanda goes, we’re almost positive she wasn’t anywhere near the museum before the gala. She arrived just in time for the party, and she was on camera the entire time. She didn’t even take a trip to the ladies’ room.”

  “Why do you think she doesn’t want to talk to police?”

  “Apparently, she believes that the entire expedition was run by a bunch of idiots, and she’s tired of all the bad press involving archeological work in her country.” He grinned suddenly, and ran a finger from her collarbone to her abdomen. “There’s something wrong with this picture. I’m lying here, next to you, seeing you, feeling you and…”

  “And we’re talking about work. But with your kind of job, it’s what you do all the time, right? Is that what you mean?”

  “No,” he said, laughing. “What I meant is that I’m obviously not so good or you’d be more intrigued by us being together here—naked in bed!—than by the puzzles that will return in the morning.”

  “Morning, evening…”

  Harley felt almost giddy and worried about herself all at once. It was too natural to be here with him. Too easy, too sweet.

  She crawled on top of him, her breasts just teasing his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m not at all distracted. Like I said, you’re very, very good. Of course, feel free to reinforce such a notion at any time.”

  “Of course!”

  He drew her to him. They were locked in a hot, wet kiss again, then disengaged to shower each other with featherlight touches, brushing with their lips and fingertips, delicate brushes that turned urgent and became fierce, passionate lovemaking that left them both breathless, hearts pounding once again.

  It was incredible. Being together was incredible. She lay curled next to him as he held her. They were both silent for a few minutes.

  “Okay, we know that while Yolanda Akeem might conceivably have had something to do with Henry’s death, she couldn’t have had anything to do with what happened to Vivian,” Micah murmured.

  Harley laughed softly. “So, I’m not that good, eh?”

  He turned to her. “Good? Good? ‘Good’ is a total understatement. You are spectacular. And beyond.”

  They both went on to prove just how much they appreciated each other.

  * * *

  WHEN MORNING CAME, and they’d both showered and dressed, he sat on the bed next to her, adjusting his sleeves while she buttoned her blouse.

  “Amazing, huh?” he said. “And that’s not a word I use lightly.”

  “What is?” She grinned; she couldn’t help herself. “‘Very, very, very good’? Now, as to amazing…”

  “Hey!”

  “Okay…amazing.”

  “I meant that it was special to have a night like this, to be focused entirely on another person, without losing focus on the rest of your life.”

  “But remember, neither of us has a hold on the other. How awkward! What I mean is…you didn’t become forever committed.”

  He gently kissed her lips.

  “No hold. I have to meet up with Craig at the office. I’ll see you later, right?”

  Harley nodded. “I’ll be at Finnegan’s this evening. I’ve gotten together with Kieran and Craig for Sunday roast the last few weeks. I imagine that if you’re going to be with Craig, you’ll end up there, as well.”

  “Excellent.”

  At the door, he lingered, kissing her goodbye.

  He left and she leaned against the door.

  Then she reminded herself that he’d been nothing but a forgotten voice until two nights ago. That she’d wanted to believe she’d be happy with just one night.

  Except that now…

  She wanted far more than a night.

  * * *

  MICAH SAT IN the New York office with Craig and one of the computer techs.

  He stared at the security footage from the museum over and over again.

  It didn’t matter how long he studied the footage, it didn’t change. He saw everyone involved with the exhibit as they arrived that day. Administrators and other key people got there early, heading straight over to the area that was about to be unveiled.

  He saw the coming and going of visitors to the main part of the museum during the day.

  The caterers arrived. Everything looked just as it should for the evening that would welcome a special group for the official opening of the Henry Tomlinson Collection.

  “Whatever went on with Vivian, it was planned way before the event. There are security cameras just about everywhere except for the offices, and they reveal nothing and no one out of the ordinary. Of course, there are the subterranean so-called ‘secret access’ areas that Arlo showed Harley and me,” Micah said. “There’s no question in my mind that whoever did this planned it well ahead of time. The linens would’ve been on hand in the prep room. Even before the Amenmose exhibit, the museum offered Egyptology and they have classes for high school kids in which the religious and funerary rituals are demonstrated. As to the nicotine poisoning, it’s easy enough to get hold of insecticide.”

  “We’ll need warrants,” Craig said, “if we want to check out credit card purchases. Although I sincerely doubt we’d find what we’re looking for. And I’m not s
ure we can even get warrants unless we have information or evidence we can use to designate suspects.”

  “Whoever bought the poison didn’t use a credit card. And he or she didn’t buy it all at the same place,” Micah said. “It’s one of them,” he added. “I know that one of them killed Henry. The same person apparently tried to kill Vivian. Either that or…”

  “Or?”

  “We’ve been chasing the wrong dog,” Micah said thoughtfully. He looked at Craig. “Everyone involved in that exhibit and in the expedition knows that a lot of people didn’t believe a verdict of death by accident—that Henry killed himself in a state of delirium—no matter what official reports said. I realize that most eventually gave up and accepted the verdict, or pretended to.”

  “What if someone was trying to kill Vivian, and trying to make it appear that it was Henry’s killer coming after her?” Craig suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Micah said with a long sigh. “Maybe that’s far-fetched. I’m still suspicious about the entire thing that went on in the desert. The insurgency—the supposedly violent insurgency that killed no one and led to nothing but a few demonstrators being arrested. Also, there’s another name that keeps coming up, that of Satima Mahmoud. The translator.”

  “She’s in Egypt.”

  “I’d like to talk to her. If we can reach someone in our Cairo office, perhaps they can arrange a meeting.”

  “All right. I’ll give tech a call. We’ll see if they can get through to our people over there now. And if so, if the staff can bring Satima in and set up a satellite call.”

  “That’s great. Either a video meeting or, if I have to, I’ll fly back over.”

  “Alone?” Craig asked him.

  “You’re welcome to join me.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about me. To be honest, I don’t like the idea of Harley going back there—not now, and not in relation to this case.”

  “I wouldn’t bring Harley,” Micah said quickly.

  “You’re going to make damned sure you keep her out of danger, right? I know she’d say she can look after herself, and of course, that’s true. But she’s my cousin and I love her, so I can’t help feeling this way. You understand?”

  Micah nodded. He understood.

  Craig was still looking at him. “Yeah, you do understand. Thank you,” he said quietly.

  And once again, Micah nodded.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Edward Fillmore was an exceptional boss.

  In many ways—although he was less on the slightly crazy academic side—he reminded her of Henry Tomlinson.

  They were both decent men. Not on-a-pedestal wonderful; they had their moments. But they were both good people. Or, rather, Henry had been good until his unfair and untimely end.

  Edward had founded his company years earlier. They handled private investigations, such as finding lost family members, searching for missing children and were certainly happy to participate in any “silver” alert, as well. He seldom took on divorce cases in which one spouse was trying to trap the other. In fact, he’d only take on such a case if he met with someone he saw as an injured party first, and then only if it meant getting suitable support for any children who might be affected.

  When Harley had first gone to work for him, he’d told her to feel free to use her own time and whatever resources the company had to look into Henry’s death. She’d never used work hours—say, when she was tracking down a credit card report or some lead on a missing person—to pursue her own investigation. But she’d accepted his offer, although she hadn’t come up with anything yet. Henry was gone, had been cremated. And there was no lead to follow; it was all a stone wall. It was somewhat comforting to know that the FBI had encountered the same stone wall. No one had been able to crack the defenses established when the Amenmose expedition had ended, Henry had died and they’d all left the site.

  Now, of course, she had a new crime to pursue—the poisoning of Vivian Richter.

  She called Edward Fillmore and asked if she might have his blessing to head into the offices and search through info on various people.

  Edward was quick to allow her access to his computers and databases.

  So Harley spent her Sunday morning going through everything she could find on everyone she knew—including her colleagues on the expedition, the people she’d never suspected. Her search yielded little.

  Ned Richter had been a CEO with a pharmaceutical company for nine years before joining Alchemy, where he’d been in charge of “Exploration” for over a decade.

  His work record was spotless. He’d graduated from Harvard.

  He’d married Vivian Clifford, a graduate of Cornell, a decade ago. When not working, the couple loved to vacation in historic places, including Peru, Mexico, Egypt and Greece. The couple had no children, but seemed devoted to each other.

  Arlo Hampton had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. He’d received his doctorate in Egyptology from Brown. He’d been with Alchemy for nearly eight years and had been hired by Ned Richter.

  She looked up Jensen next. He’d gone to NYU. He was a New Yorker through and through.

  He had a ton of parking tickets.

  Nothing else on him.

  Roger Eastman had been arrested once; he’d been protesting commercial testing on animals.

  He’d received probation.

  Belinda had no parking tickets—she didn’t drive. She’d never been arrested. She’d been valedictorian of her high school class and had gone to Northwestern before arriving in New York for graduate work.

  Joe—Joseph Rosello—had also been born in New York City, in the Bronx. He’d gone to Ithaca, in Syracuse, and then finished at Brown. However, she found something she hadn’t known or even suspected. He’d paid his way through college by working as an extra in movies and doing a stand-up comedy gig at a place in Times Square.

  According to his social media pages, he still enjoyed dressing up and playing parts.

  She should have known this. And, of course, she would have—if she’d just spent more time on social media. So…he played roles.

  Would that include the part of a mummy?

  * * *

  HARLEY WASN’T EVEN sure what she was doing at first when she reached for the phone; then she knew. She called Kieran and asked for Kevin’s number, since Kevin was a working New York actor.

  Naturally, Kieran wanted to know what was up. Harley told her.

  “Kevin’s performing at some kind of zombie walk today in Times Square. What’s your guy’s name? I can see if he’s taking part,” Kieran said.

  But Harley didn’t need Kieran to check it out for her; she’d keyed in some more information and had come up with Joe’s status for the day.

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “They’re both taking part in the zombie walk. The walk’s for charity, and Joe’s one of the performers doing pictures with people. Hey, do you feel like heading down to be in a zombie walk?”

  “Sure,” Kieran said. “I’ll be a good sister. What the heck, we can support a charity and investigate what’s going on. Sounds like a plan to me.”

  They agreed to meet at a restaurant off Times Square—quieter and not as much of a tourist attraction—and get lunch before joining the zombie walk.

  And watching the players.

  A waste of time? Harley wondered.

  A lot of investigative work was a waste of time; that was part of the process of elimination, as Micah had described it. But Kieran was right. If nothing else, their entry fees would go toward charity.

  * * *

  MICAH HAD NO intention of denying anything; he really cared about Harley—and Harley certainly behaved as if she cared about him. Was it forever and ever? How could they tell? Did he want to see her again?

  Touch her again,
breathe in her scent, be with her again and feel her, naked, against him?

  Well, yes. That was a definite yes.

  But he’d never been in precisely this situation before.

  Was Craig supposed to ask him about his intentions? Or maybe he was supposed to give Micah a good left hook to the jaw.

  “You’re sleeping with her, right?” Craig asked.

  “Define sleeping,” Micah said. “I only knew her as your cousin and a voice on the phone until two days ago. Last night, yes. We were together.” He hesitated and then admitted. “I actually tried to leave. Probably not hard enough.”

  Craig lowered his head, obviously amused.

  “Just keep her safe,” he said.

  And then, before either one of them could say any more, the phone in the conference room rang.

  Craig picked it up and frowned as he listened to what was being said. He hung up slowly, rising as he did. “Come on, Egan’s office. He’s got a video call up with one of our agents in Cairo.”

  “Already? They have Satima Mahmoud?” Micah asked.

  “No, but they have some kind of information,” Craig replied.

  They strode rapidly down the hall. Egan’s secretary waved them in and they entered his office. He was speaking with someone via his computer; they both walked around behind his desk.

  Micah had met the agent on the screen. His name was Sanford Wiley, and Micah quickly greeted him. Egan introduced him to Craig.

  “So, we got your inquiry just now and I happened to be in the office,” Wiley said. “I don’t know whether it means anything or not, but I wanted to get back to you right away with what I have. The local police are looking for Satima Mahmoud. Now, they’re not always entirely forthright with us, but from what I’ve been able to gather, she’s suspected of having something to do with agitating trouble—and insurrection. She was under suspicion by the Egyptian police, who are now helping our people with the investigation, we believe, as well. They’ve been searching for her for several days. We’ll start our own line of investigation, since she’s a witness or person of interest to you all. Fox, I know you had some interaction with her. Do you suspect her of being involved in Henry Tomlinson’s death?”