The Vandemark Mummy (10 page)

“I mean Mom.”

He knew that.

“You don't
do
anything.”

“What could I do?” he asked. “Nobody can
do
anything. And who're you to talk? All you've done is bury your face in some book. Some Greek book.”

“She shouldn't be doing it. It isn't as if he hasn't always let her run things before. Do you imagine that he wanted to teach high school? He's got a PhD, Phineas.”

“He liked teaching high school,” Phineas protested.

“He always likes things, that's the way he is. That doesn't excuse her. She should have come along, when he got this job. He always went along with her for her jobs.”

“So you blame her.”

“Don't you?”

Phineas shook his head. “No.” He figured, his mother got tired of having them around to pick up after and nag, to make up her second full-time job. She'd said that pretty often, about having two full-time jobs, and he'd never let it get through to him; he figured, she was a grown-up, she knew what she was doing, if she didn't like it she could take care of it herself. He was sorry, and he wished now he had tried to help out instead of trying to get away with not doing things, but he didn't blame his mother. “You don't understand.”

“Just because you look like her doesn't mean you can read her mind. How do you think Dad feels, having to explain to people? Do you ever think about that?”

“Look, Althea,” Phineas said. He couldn't believe that she didn't already know this. She was the smart one. “It doesn't have anything to do with us. It's not our marriage, and we can't do anything about it. It's not even our business,” he pointed out. “We're just kids.”

Althea was looking thoughtfully at him. He lifted his mug and drank down some cocoa, so he wouldn't have to look back at her. “Sappho was a woman,” Althea said.

What was that supposed to mean?

“Tradition says she was married, to a merchant, a businessman. She definitely had a daughter, named Kleis. That's proved by her poems. There are also stories that she was a lesbian—she lived on Lesbos, and that's where the name comes from, from Sappho of Lesbos. There's proof for that in the poems too.”

So what? Phineas wondered, and drank. “Are you saying you think Mom's gay?”

“You take everything so personally, that isn't—I'm trying to say that it must have been a lot the same for her,” Althea said. “Conflicts and choices. I'm trying to say maybe it isn't all that different now. Nothing much has changed for women.” She waited. “You must think something, Fin—what do you think about that?”

“If that's true, it's pretty depressing,” Phineas said.

“If it's true, I guess it could be depressing. Except—Sappho's a great poet, everybody agrees, so something worked right in her life. I don't know if Mom is right about taking the job, I don't even know if I'm so sure she's wrong. That's depressing too.” She drank at her cocoa, looking at him but not seeing him. Phineas let his mind drift, now that she wasn't going to blow up at him. “Who
do
you think did it?” she asked.

“Huh? Did what?”

“Broke into the collection.”

“How would I know?”

“You wouldn't, I didn't ask you if you knew. I just asked you who you thought. We could probably figure it out.”

“Why us?”

“Because,” Althea explained, “we're on the scene. We know as much as anyone else. Except whoever did it.”

“Who'd want to?” Phineas asked, meaning he couldn't imagine who would want to take the collection or any part of it.

Althea took that as a real question. “That's a good idea. Motive. If we think about who might want to steal something, then you narrow down the possibilities. Somebody who thought something in there was worth
stealing. Somebody who read that article in the paper and thought the emerald necklace was inside the mummy?”

“But Ken said it wasn't. He said they didn't bury people with their jewels on, then.”

“So someone who didn't know that. Unless,” Althea said, “our mummy is an exception, and she
is
wearing the necklace.”

“That would show up in an X ray,” Phineas said. “Dad's going to have X rays done.”

“So we'll find out, pretty soon. Ken acts like he knows everything, but he could be wrong.”

“I bet it was just some kids. Some kids who read the article in the paper and don't have anything better to do, just seeing if they could get in. That sounds likely, doesn't it?”

“It does to me,” Althea said, sipping thoughtfully, “but that could just be because I'm a kid. It's easier to imagine why someone who's like you would do something, even if it's something you'd never do. I bet neither Dad nor Mr. Lewis have thought of kids. I wonder if the police will.”

It was kind of fun, thinking up all the possibilities. “Wait,” Phineas asked, getting up. “Let me get paper.”

“Why?”

“To write things down. We can make a list.” Althea made a face. “Yeah, but if we write it down, then we'll avoid repeating ideas.”

“Mr. Efficiency,” she said, but she waited.

“First, a thief,” Phineas said, writing that down. “To steal the necklace.”

“Or thinking that the collection has some cash value,” Althea added. “If you read the article in the paper, you might think it did. Especially the crown. The way O'Meara wrote it—she should go get a job on the
National Enquirer
, the way she writes.”

“What about her?” Phineas asked. “No, listen. If there's a big story and she gets to cover it, her career will profit. Or, what if they're about to fire her, and she knows it, she might steal something from the collection so she'd be too important to fire. Because she's the reporter on the story.” He could really get into this.

“You can write that down if you want to, but that's like writing down Ken because he wants the necklace—and lied to us about it being there, to convince us it wasn't.”

“Why would he do that?” That was a possibility. Anything was possible.

“I don't know, for the money, maybe he wants money.”

“He has money, they do—he said, remember? Or anyway hinted, about how much she makes?”

“Maybe she keeps it herself? Unless he gambles or something, or has another woman or . . . can we find any of this out?” Phineas was busy writing. “Is there any way to find out if O'Meara's about to be fired, or if Ken needs money?”

Althea's mind ran along a different track. “What about Mrs. Prynn? She's afraid Old Felix will get ahead of dear Olivia in the donation race.”

“Or that Mr. Fletcher, with the same reason, only the other way around. I can't imagine it, but then I'm not a grown-up so I can't imagine what they might get up to.”

Althea grinned. “This is getting crazy, Fin.”

“I don't mind. I think we have to put down Mrs. Batchelor too.”

“Why her?”

“Because she was so angry, that first day, remember? It didn't make sense, and it still doesn't—Why should she be so angry?” Phineas answered his own question. “Maybe she wants to protect her library, keep it pure, just books. Or keep absolute control over it?” Phineas suggested. “Or preserve the architecture?”

“It's ugly,” Althea said.

“She might not think so.” Phineas couldn't imagine what someone like Mrs. Batchelor would care so much about that she'd do something weird to get what she wanted. He couldn't imagine an adult caring that much—so that, in a way, he could imagine almost anything, even Mrs. Batchelor sneaking around at night to steal the collection.

“But there's her husband. Maybe she hopes if the college loses the collection her husband's museum will get it. Maybe”—Althea reached across to grab Phineas by the wrist, her eyes sort of glittering and not even stopping to think over her newest idea—“Listen, Fin, maybe we've got it backward. Maybe we've got it all wrong. Who says anyone really intended to succeed, to break into the room and take something out. It could be that someone just wanted to show that a break-in
could
occur.”

“Why?” he asked, but what he was thinking was that his sister really
was
smart, was seriously smart.

“To make Dad look bad. It does make him look bad.”

“So the collection would be taken away from him? And go to someone else? Who would want it? Or maybe it would go to
somewhere
else? From the college too. Where would it go?” It made sense to Phineas, this new idea of Althea's.

“To the MFA in Boston, which is where Mr. Vandemark said the family wants it to be. He did say that, didn't he?”

“Or to the museum here. Mr. Batchelor said they didn't have room, but that—or, the valuable pieces at least might go there. But, Althea, you'd have to be a little crazy to go to those lengths—doing something criminal—just because you wanted a certain museum to have something. Or a certain man not to have it. Or a certain place not to. Mrs. Batchelor is weird, but is she crazy enough to do something criminal just to show that something criminal can be done?”

“She's a better candidate than Mr. Vandemark.”

“I don't know about that. Someone who's used to getting his own way, like a dictator, like Noriega. If people like that are crossed, they don't take it lightly.”

Once he'd started thinking suspiciously, Phineas couldn't stop himself. He looked at his sister, and wondered how far she would go to get their parents back together. It took a minute for it to sink in that Althea was looking at him in the same wondering way.

Or how far his father might go, he wondered, not meeting Althea's eyes.

By the time Phineas came down to the kitchen the next morning, Althea was already there, already dressed, reading, ignoring him. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, topped it generously with sugar, and doused it with milk. He ate standing up, staring into the glass-fronted shelves that held plates and glasses. He knew what his mother would have to say about those shelves: Glass might let you see in, but glass had to be kept clean. Give her formica cupboards, preferably white, so you could see the dirt right away, and get it.

Phineas poured himself a glass of juice, put two pieces of bread into the toaster, and sat down at the table.

Althea continued to ignore him. She was writing chicken scratches on a piece of paper, her india ink
eyebrows gathered together in concentration. “How come you're working down here?” he asked.

She answered without looking up. “In case the phone rings. Dad didn't get back until almost dawn. Not everybody can sleep like the dead.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you turned off the light you'd sleep better,” he said, before he thought to stop himself. He was sorry he'd said it even before he saw the combination of anger, and fear, cross her face to settle in her eyes. His parents had at first told him, and then when he was older explained to him, that you had to be considerate of someone's genuine fear. Althea was afraid of the dark, not crazy afraid but seriously afraid. Phineas knew it was as much of a pain for her as the rest of them, maybe even more of a pain. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Althea settled into anger, and stayed there. She ignored him and glowered at him, both at the same time.

“So, were there any phone calls?” he asked.

Althea shook her head.

“What're you doing?” he asked.

She looked up at him, sarcastic under a raised eyebrow, and didn't bother answering. Of course he knew it was Greek. He was just trying to be friendly. He buttered his slices of toast and didn't say anything else.

There was a knock at the front door,
rap rap rap.
Before Phineas could even start to get up, it came again, louder. Althea took off to answer it. Phineas spread peanut butter on his second slice of toast, and wished he'd thought of it sooner so the peanut butter would have been melted by the heat. He put another slice of
bread into the toaster so he could have a perfect piece of peanut butter toast.

Two voices at the door, one loud and inquiring—he recognized it, and as it came toward the kitchen he identified it: O'Meara. Althea's voice was low, sort of a murmur, but O'Meara didn't take the hint. “If you don't have coffee, then I'll take a cup of tea, if you have it,” she was saying. She came in and plumped herself down on a chair. “When do you think he'll wake up?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Althea. Then she bent down to pull a notebook and pen out of her bag. That morning she wore a black T-shirt over her jeans, and a jean jacket over the T-shirt.

Althea caught Phineas's eye, and they shrugged at one another. “Do you want regular or herbal tea?” Althea asked.

“Regular. You never know what's in that herbal stuff. Morning, Phineas,” O'Meara said.