“Dad makes the best grits,” Richie informed the chief. “He uses milk and butter. You should have some.”
“I already ate, thanks,” Cutter said pleasantly. He would just as soon grits be declared illegal, but he was clearly in the minority in this household.
“Mom,” the boy said, between spoonfuls, “are you staying for my birthday?”
That seemed to have blind-sided the woman. “Uh, sweetheart, that’s two weeks from now. I, uh...”
“If she doesn’t stay over that long,” Ryan cut in, “we’ll make sure to go down to Atlanta and see her.”
“Or maybe,” she said, patting her son’s hand, as he sat near her, “I’ll drive back here.”
Richie’s expression was hopeful. “But you might still be here.”
Cutter certainly hoped he and his men wouldn’t be.
“I might,” Helen said lightly. “Now, eat your grits and drink your milk. It’s a brand-new day, and you need a good start.”
Richie drank some milk and then, grinning under a milk mustache, said to the chief, “I don’t have to go to school today.”
“That’s nice,” Cutter said, not knowing what else to say as the mother wiped the boy’s face. “What will you do today, Richie?”
“Oh, I’m in training.”
“Training... for what?”
“The Olympics.”
“Special Olympics,” Ryan said softly to Cutter. “I’ve fixed up a little work-out area in the attic for him. He’s getting very fit.”
Cutter grinned and said, “Well, that’s great, Richie.”
Cutter’s man Jackson came in, frowning. “Chief?”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
The big cop jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a UPS truck outside the gate, wanting to make a delivery. Needs to be signed for.”
Cutter looked to Ryan. “You expecting a delivery?”
Ryan shrugged. “We get medical supplies regularly. It’s nothing unusual.”
Drawing closer to the table, Jackson said, “I don’t think this is medical supplies. I eyeballed the package. It’s pretty good size, crated up. I had a look at it and so did Buster. You know, considering the situation here.”
“Buster?” Helen asked.
Cutter said, “Our Doberman Pinscher — our one-dog K-9 squad. Buster can sniff out nitro and plastic explosives and marijuana, too.”
This time Helen raised only a single eyebrow. “A ten-man department with a bomb- and dope-sniffing dog?”
The chief chuckled. “One of our guys came back from Vietnam with him and we adopted them both. But I told you last night, Helen — we’re a small but elite unit.” Cutter got to his feet and faced Jackson. “Where’s it from, Sergeant?”
“Return address is Chiapas, Mexico. From a Peter Potter.”
“Uncle Pete!” the boy blurted.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Helen said, smirking, shaking her head.
“Don’t be redundant, honey,” Ryan said. To Cutter and Jackson, he said, “Pete Potter is my sister’s husband. He’s an archeologist and so is she. They’ve been in Mexico all year.”
Richie had forgotten his half-eaten grits. “It’s my birthday present! I bet it’s my birthday present!”
Patiently, Helen explained to Cutter. “His uncle always sends Richard some oddball artifact from whatever dig he’s on. For his birthday. Isn’t that right, honey?”
Richie bobbed his head. “I have a whole collection in my room. I have a spear point...”
“From St. George Bay, Nova Scotia,” his father said.
“...and a harpoon handle...”
“From Quinhagak, Alaska.”
“...and a scary mask...”
“From the Judean Hills, Israel.”
“...and a bunch of arrowheads!”
“South Carolina.”
Richie was on his feet. “Do you wanna see, Chief Cutter? After I get my new gift, I mean.” To his father, the boy asked, “Do I have to wait till my birthday to open it?”
His father frowned. “Well...”
Cutter said, “I think we probably should have a look inside that crate now.”
“Why the hell not,” Ryan said with a shrug.
“Dad,” the boy said, “language.”
His mother smiled.
Soon, in the living room, in the open space between the couch and the stairs, two officers lugged in a wooden crate stamped FRAGILE and THIS END UP and bearing the markings of passage between various ports and countries. It looked weathered, as if it had come from a war zone.
Following the two-man parade, another officer led Buster in. The Doberman waited and watched patiently for its own closer look at the contents. The dog was a friendly pooch and allowed the boy to pet it and in return slathered his face with a few long-tongue licks that made the child giggle.
Jackson handed Richie a sealed letter. “You’re supposed to read this first, son.”
The boy looked at his father, who was at his side. His dad nodded and Richie accepted the envelope from the officer, opened it carefully and withdrew a card.
In red letters against a light blue background, the card said Feliz Cumpleaños in a dialogue balloon pointing to a sombrero-sporting dog that was definitely not a Doberman, rather a Chihuahua between two cacti.
The message inside the card was in cursive, which the boy could not read. He passed the card to his father, who took over.
“‘Happy birthday, Mexico-style, to my favorite nephew from his favorite uncle. Here is your own genuine Aztec mummy. Treat him like a friend and he’ll protect you. Love, Uncle Pete. P.S. This is a genuine artifact so don’t let your mom put him out for the trash.’”
Helen just stood there with her arms folded, shaking her head, clearly annoyed but saying nothing. Meanwhile, Ryan got a couple of claw hammers from somewhere and the officers pried open the crate.
As the lid came slowly off, Richie leaned in anxious while his father restrained him gently and the dog sniffed the air and growled softly, more fear in the sound than menace.
Within the boxy crate, roped in place, seated in the bottom with his knees up, was a desiccated, mummified body with wisps of white hair, sunken eye sockets, a lack of lips exposing teeth in a terrible smile. The seated passenger in the box wore a moldering, once-colorful Aztec tunic over a withered once-white woven tunic.
“Cool!” the boy yelled as his mother simultaneously gasped in horror.
Cutter goggled at it, saying, “What in the hell is this?”
Hands on hips, wryly amused, Ryan was appraising the grisly contents of his brother’s surprise package. “That’s what we call in the medical trade a dead man, Chief. I’d say two- or three-hundred-years dead. But you can get the Medical Examiner out here if you’d like a second opinion.”
Cutter gestured to the thing. “This is what your brother considers an appropriate gift for an impressionable kid?”
Ryan grunted a laugh. “Apparently. Pete’s always been an individualist.”
“A screwball is more like it.”
Ryan shrugged. “One in every family, they say.”
Helen was trembling and pointing to it she’d seen a ghost, and she wasn’t near wrong. “Get that goddamn thing out of here!”
“Language,” her husband said.
She spoke through her teeth, looking daggers at him. “It’s a corpse. I won’t have it in, in...”
“Your house?” Ryan with mild but unmistakable sarcasm. “Not your house, remember. Anyway, you were married to a medical student in another life. You’ve seen cadavers before.”