Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 04 - Miami Mummies by Barbara Silkstone Read Free Book Online Page A

tired.”
    He stepped aside.
    I threw my case in the backseat taking a quick scan for stowaways. “I just remembered Tippy had a tomahawk on her doorstep yesterday.”
    Stranger nodded, “I know.” He pulled a bag of gummy bears from his pocket and tore the cellophane.
    He offered me the bag.
    “No thanks. I’m trying to quit.”
    I turned on the ignition. “Why are you here? Do you have something to ask me?”
    “You pretty much answered it.” he turned and ambled away, his scrunched jacket revealed the butt of his trousers, which appeared to have spent the night in a venetian blind.
    I closed Goldie’s door, snapped the locks, amped the air conditioning, and dialed Roger, not that I needed him. No answer. I was ready to click off when he picked up.
    “You rang?” he said with a smile in his voice.
    My heart was suddenly so full it reached up and plastered a silly grin across my face.
    “How are you?” he said
    I sighed and cut to the chase. “Fine. Listen… What do you know about sitting mummies?”
    “You’re such a flirt.”
    “I’ve got a mummy problem.”
    “So we are pregnant, little mommy. It’s not a problem. It’s wonderful.”
    “I said mummies as in desiccated corpses.”
    “You are the least romantic woman I have ever impregnated.”
    “Exactly how many women have you… never mind.” My jaws slammed shut.
    “Did you say sitting mummies or hitting mummies? The line was garbled.”
    I filled him in on Tippy’s predicament carefully avoiding the part about the dead dude for the moment.
    “Something’s hinky. Native Americans didn’t bury their dead in a sitting position. That’s a Mayan thing. Now you’ve got me curious. There’s never been a mummy discovery in Miami. The soil is too moist.”
    “Just my luck I’m the mummy-ville broker. I could use your expert advice. I’m being threatened off the case and it’s not even officially a case.”
    “I’m in Palenque in southern Mexico, up to my elbows in cinnabar, red metallic powder. The Mayan Red Queen mummy has been targeted by antiquity traffickers and we’re beefing up her security. Thirteen centuries old and she’s just made the International Museums’ hot list.”
    “I thought you were on the trail of what’s his name?”
    “Hush. Not over the phone.”
    He paused. I could almost hear him thinking. “The Miami mummies intrigue me. My team will have to finish without me. I can be back by Friday.”
    Some romantic words would be nice.
    He read my mind. “I really miss you.”
    My heart did a pitty-pat.
    “Hurry,” I whispered. “That’s two whole days away.”
    “How are you feeling?” he asked.
    “Fine. Gotta run. Need to find a cat burglar.”

Chapter Eight
    Reluctantly I pushed thoughts of a shower and scotch aside. I didn’t have much time to fulfill Hic’s wish of seeing the bronco melted down before he died.
    Kit Kennedy was my best friend and consigliore. His nightclub, the Queen’s Croquet was the place to see and be seen. He drew the glitterati from around the world. Okay maybe just South Florida. He ran an upscale nail salon where pampering was the primary commodity. Get Nailed was low key but snazzy.
    According to my White Rabbit watch, it was leaning hard on four o’clock when I entered the salon. The tan and ivory walls offset the black marble floor and brushed-steel manicure tables. Classical music played, softening the sound of gossip at the stations. All the techs were male and could have been in the latest issue of Vanity Fair .
    I spotted Kit talking to a client. He looked up and shot me a million-dollar smile. He tapped his client’s hand and whispered something to her. She tittered, kissed Kit on the cheek, and sashayed out the door.
    My buddy placed his hands on his chest and belted out the first lines of Que Sera Sera à la Doris Day. I joined in the chorus. It was our version of fist-bumping.
    Kit’s singing voice was a deep Natalie Cole. Mine was more Lucy Ricardo with strep