Tempest Court. Jan Walters
he could count. Besides, this way he’d keep an eye on the young detective. Keep him safe.
Michael settled in Brett’s recliner and lifted the leg rest. He tossed his fedora on the sofa before stretching out. Michael slipped into a light sleep—not that ghosts slept, but at least his eyes were shut.
Then he heard it: the low vibration sound, like a wound-up toy that barely worked. A chill ran up his spine. Michael lowered the leg rest and sat on the edge of the chair; his head cocked to one side, trying to locate the sound. Damn it! Are the rug and vase in his bedroom? That boy is asking for trouble!
He eased out of the chair and crept toward the bedroom. Michael hesitated outside Brett’s bedroom. He felt like a stalker. Geez! How do I get in these predicaments?
He inched the door open, tiptoeing across the carpeted floor. Moonlight streamed through a large open window. Michael peeked at Brett to make sure he was sleeping. So far, so good.
The closet door was slightly ajar. Rather than take a chance of waking Brett or Lisa, Michael shifted to a ghostly form, enabling him to go through solid structures. Inside the closet, he materialized once again and listened, zeroing in toward the sound. A wadded-up towel was on the shelf. It had better be the vase, not a vibrator. Slowly, he reached out, drawing it toward him. Pulling the fabric aside, he peered inside. He gripped the vessel and carefully removed the towel. He felt a shiver ripple through his body. A tiny squeal leaked out of his mouth. Damn it! He stared at the oblong vase-like container. After hanging out at the Art Center tonight, the Egyptian symbols and objects were fresh in his mind. Lisa thought this thing was just a vase. He disagreed. He’d bet that the lid on the vase was Egyptian, which was not good. He hated anything connected to mummies. All he could think of was how Boris Karloff scared the bejesus out of him. With a shake of his head, he attempted to push the fear from his mind. He had to prevent Brett and Lisa from making a big mistake.
Strange markings covered the outside of the vase. It was heavy as if made from pottery. As he held the curious piece, a light began to grow from the center, filling the closet with light. His breath froze in his chest. Now what was he supposed to do? Drop it? Break it? His hands shook. Should he cover it back up and walk away? But what about Brett and Lisa? They could be in danger.
When Brett moaned, he nearly dropped the vase.
“Damn it,” he hissed. He crouched down and grabbed the towel on the floor to cover the glowing vase. He needed to get out of here before Brett discovered him.
The closet door jerked open abruptly. With dark brown hair standing on end and clad only in a pair of boxers, Brett glared down at him.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growled.
“Uh, I heard…”
Brett cut the air with a hand. “Shhh! You’re going to wake Lisa up.”
Michael stood, grasping the vase to his chest. “But…”
Brett jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Let’s go.”
Brett tromped down the hall and flipped on the light switch. Gasping, Brett jerked to see Michael already sitting at the table with the vase in the middle of the kitchen table.
“Damn it! Quit scaring me.”
Michael arched his brow. “Really? Is that all you can say?” Michael pointed to the blanketed vase. “I told you something was going on.”
Brett rubbed his head. “What are you talking about?”
Michael expelled an exasperated sigh. “The vibrating noise. I told you I heard something.” Waving his arms in the air, Michael blew out a big breath. “Now…now it’s glowing.”
“Argh! I wish I knew what you were talking about. What’s glowing?”
Michael met Brett’s annoyed gaze. “Wake up, Brett. You need to pay attention to what I’m telling you. The vase is possessed. I think the vase is Egyptian, not Moroccan, and it was making a vibrating noise while you were sleeping. I went to check it out, and the damn thing started glowing. I knew something weird was going on.”
Brett studied the vase, turning it this way and that. “Egyptian?”
“Yes, Egyptian. I hung out at the Art Center and saw some similar vases, but the lids were shaped like different animals.”
“You were at the exhibit tonight?” Brett crossed his arms and glared at Michael. “I thought mummy stuff creeped you out?”
“It does. I wanted to make sure no hocus-pocus stuff was percolating.”
Brett sighed. “Percolating? Do you ever listen to yourself? You talk crazy half the time. How am I supposed to understand you?” He set the vase back on the table. “Well, it’s not making any sounds now. Does it seem odd that you’re the only one who hears it make noises or sees it glow?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. The vase sat there like a lump of coal. Frustrated, Michael spat, “No. Since I’m a ghost, it doesn’t know that I’m here. It’s obvious you don’t believe me.”
“Don’t be getting all pissy on me. It’s the middle of the night.” Tearing his hand through his thick hair, Brett wearily muttered, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll ask Layla to look at this tomorrow. She can verify what it is.”
Michael bit his lower lip. Why doesn’t Brett believe me? It was as if his grandson had a chip on his shoulder. If Brett didn’t appreciate his help, then he didn’t need to be here.
“Well, I think you’re asking for trouble having that thing in the house, sonny.” Michael grabbed his hat before vanishing. Sometimes it was like spitting into the wind when talking with Brett.
Chapter 11
“It’s a canopic jar,” Layla murmured, studying the vase that Brett brought her. “A very old one from what I can tell. Where did you get it?”
“It was wrapped up in a rug we purchased in Morocco.”
With sparkling eyes, Layla set the jar on her desk. “Well, I’m glad you brought it in. Who knows? It might be something special.”
Brett studied Layla, sensing her excitement at the find. The woman couldn’t take her eyes off the thing. “So exactly what is this can…canopic jar?”
Her hand caressed the side of the jar. “Ancient Egyptians used these to store and preserve the viscera of their owner for the afterlife by placing specific body organs within them.”
Brett winced, wondering what might be stored in his jar. Thank God the lid was stuck on his. He could only imagine how it smelled.
“I’m guessing that this is from around the nineteenth dynasty since the lid depicts one of the sons of Horus.”
“Who the hell is Horus?” Warning signs flashed in his brain. He knew he shouldn’t have bought the rug. Body parts of a dead guy have been sitting in his house. His stomach churned.
“Horus is a god in the form of a falcon whose right eye is the sun or morning star, representing power, and whose left eye is the moon or evening star, representing healing.”
“A god, huh?” Brett stared at the jar, still thinking of the rotting organ inside. “You mentioned the four sons of Horus. So which son does the jar represent?”
Layla rose and took the jar to the window. “The facial features are a little worn and the ears are broken off, but I believe it’s Duamutef.”
“Who?”
Layla smiled at him. “I know. Information overload. Duamutef is a jackal or wild dog who guards the stomach.”
His eyes widened. “Stomach. You mean a man’s stomach would be placed in that jar?”
“Yes. The other sons include Imsety, guardian of the liver. Imsety has the face of a man. Then there’s Qebekh-sennuef,