“Did you take the amulet?!” he cried, aghast.
“Of course I did. It’s ours. We found it fair and square.”
He had to agree that his friend had a point. “Well, I found it, actually.”
“We both found it.”
And as they walked away, dragging their shovels behind them, they agreed that they would share ownership of this new and exciting treasure. Doug would get to keep it one week, Rick the other. That was only fair.
“Who do you think that body belongs to?” asked Rick.
“Old Yardley, of course,” said Doug. “Who else?”
Ricky shivered. “I hope he won’t put a curse on us.”
“No, he won’t. We buried him again, didn’t we? Trust me, Ricky. It’s fine.”
“Do you think we should have called the police?”
“Are you nuts? For digging up the cardinal? We’d be expelled!”
As usual, Doug was right. And as Rick palmed the amulet, his nails removing some of the dirt, he asked, “How much do you think this amulet is worth?”
“Millions,” said Doug knowingly. “Maybe even billions.”
His face lit up. “You think?”
“Of course. We’re rich, Ricky.”
“How rich?”
Dough thought about this for a moment. “At least as rich as David Beckham.”
“Wow,” said Rick, his eyes wide as saucers. “We’re super rich, Doug!”
“Yah,” said Doug with a wide grin. “Super duper rich!”
And as they walked home, he quickly forgot all about Cardinal Yardley’s body. They were rich like Beckham!
Chapter One
We walked the hallowed halls of the Natural History Museum, our feet sounding hollow on the stone steps as the sound reverberated in the vaulted space. As I looked around, I thought the museum resembled a cathedral more than an actual museum, and was more than a little spooky. Great place for a ghost to make a nuisance of himself.
Jarrett seemed even less comfortable traversing the hallways of this ancient place than I was. Then again, Jarrett hates both mummies and dinosaurs, so that might have had something to do with that slightly worried look on his face.
My name is Henrietta McCabre and I’m a ghost hunter—though we like to call ourselves wraith wranglers, as it sounds a little—or a lot—cooler. My associate Jarrett and myself have been doing this work for a little while now, and are usually called in when some poltergeist or other ghostly guest kicks up trouble. It was the first time we’d actually been called in to clear a museum of its ghosts, though.
“I don’t like this, Harry,” said Jarrett, his eyes flitting up at the gigantic skeleton of the dinosaur at the heart of the museum hall. “I don’t like this at all.”
“Relax, Jarrett. It’s just a bunch of old bones.”
“It’s a dinosaur. Have you seen what they can do? I’ve seen Jurassic Park. And Jurassic World—you just have got to love that Chris Pratt. He’s got the finest bum I’ve seen in the movies recently.”
“Focus, Jarrett,” I said. “We’re here to do a job, not talk about Chris Pratt’s bum.”
Jarrett craned his neck to take in the enormity of the dinosaur. “That thing’s huge! Where is Chris Pratt when you need him?!”
“It’s a dead dinosaur,” I reminded him. “It’s not going to do anything. So we don’t need Chris Pratt.”
“You don’t know that,” he said. “It might come alive again. And one can always do with a bit of Chris Pratt. That man is fine.”
“Will you just focus?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Oh, all right,” he grumbled, patting his hair to make sure it was still in place. Jarrett is fair-haired, slender and one of the richest men in the country. Or at least his father is. Jarrett simply sponges off the old man. As for me, I’m not rich nor come from money. I pushed at my blond bob, smoothed my pink T-shirt around my lithe form, adjusted my jeans, and walked up to the man we were here to meet.
“Hello, Mr. Goodfellow,” I said. “Henrietta McCabre, but everyone calls me Harry. And this is my associate Jarrett Zephyr-Thornton.”
“The Third,” Jarrett added petulantly.
“So what can we do for you?”
Julian Goodfellow was younger than I’d imagined and rocking a sexy bookish look, with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on a well-shaped nose, his handsome face creased into an engaging smile. When he gripped my hand and shook it, there was power in those fingers.
“So nice to finally meet you, Harry. Your reputation precedes you. And you, Jarrett.”
“H-hi,” said Jarrett, slightly taken aback. “You’ve got a-a firm grip, Mr. Goodfellow. Do-do you work out?”
I rolled my eyes. When Jarrett starts stuttering, it’s usually because he’s spotted prey. It’s part of his Hugh Grant impersonation, which he figures will add to his charm.
“I do work out, yes,” said the museum director after a pause. “It’s important to stay in shape.”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Jarrett. “I work out myself, of course. Not a day goes by that I don’t spend in the gym. And the sauna, of course. Nothing like a nice sauna after a hard, hard workout.” He gave the other man an appraising look, but the director ignored him.
“So. Shall we?” he asked, directing an expectant look at me.
“Yes, let’s,” I said, after giving Jarrett a nudge.
“What?” he hissed when we both fell into step behind Julian.
“This is not the time to hit on the guy!” I hissed back.
“I’m not hitting on him! I’m just… being nice.”
“Nice! You practically invited him to share a sauna!”
“I did not. I was just exchanging pleasant banter.”
“Well, save it for later. We’re here to do a job, not to pick up a date. Besides, what about Deshawn?”
“What about him?”
“I thought you guys were happy together?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug. “He’s cheating on me.”
“What?!”
“If you haven’t heard, Deshawn’s joined The Great British Bake Off.”
“He’s cheating on you with Paul Hollywood?!”
“Well, I don’t think so, actually. But he is having a ball.”
I frowned. Having a ball at a baking show didn’t exactly constitute cheating. And then it hit me. “I know what this is. You’re jealous!”
“I am not!” he said.
“You’re jealous because Deshawn is suddenly getting all the attention and you’re not.”
“You’re bonkers,” he muttered, looking away, which was as much an admission as if he’d come right out and said it. “It’s just not much fun to see my better half having so much fun without me, that’s all.”
I smiled. Deshawn Little had been Jarrett’s ‘man’ for years, until they both confessed to harboring feelings for each other deeper than merely being master and servant allowed. They’d been inseparable ever since. Until now.
“As long as Deshawn doesn’t take his baking skills into Paul Hollywood’s personal kitchen, you’re fine,” I said.
He grumbled something, but we’d arrived in the Ancient Egypt room, and there was no more time for idle chitchat about Deshawn’s baking adventures.
“Here we are,” said Julian with a wave of his arm.
The room was relatively dark, with several mummies on display, along with sarcophaguses, gilded masks, and wrapped and unwrapped remains of people who’d long been dead. It was all very impressive, and a little disconcerting at the same time.
“Are these… real mummies?” asked Jarrett, gulping slightly.
“Yes, they are all very real,” Julian confirmed.
Jarrett produced a soft whimper, and I patted his back. “They’re all quite dead, Jarrett,” I said. “Just like Dippy the Dinosaur.”
Julian stopped in front of a mummy that had been put upright. It was stiff as a board, and thoroughly wrapped up, except for its head, which was a mere skull.
“This is the one,” Julian said. “We call him Snoopy, as he resembles a beagle.”