The Vandemark Mummy

  “Or a successful politician,” Mr. Hall answered. “Althea wasn’t in her room?”

  Phineas shook his head. “It looked like she had been there, working, because of the papers on her desk. Maybe she heard Ken and didn’t want to see him?”

  “She’s hiding out in the bathroom? I doubt it. Probably, she went to get us something for dinner. Women like to soothe men with food.”

  “They do?”

  “Your mother does. And it works. Don’t underestimate feminine wisdom, Phineas; a lobster would make me feel a whole lot better about the world at this point. Let’s hope Althea’s gone out to get lobster.”

  Phineas opened the drawer where they kept grocery money and counted it. “There’s forty dollars. Has she taken money?”

  His father was sitting at the table again. He looked up at Phineas, but Phineas didn’t feel like he was being looked at. The laugh lines on his father’s face looked like worry lines. “I can’t remember.”

  Phineas sat down to face it. “You’re worried too,” he said.

  “Of course I am. I’m not even sure there won’t be a third attempt.”

  “Because it’s not like her to just—disappear.”

  “I don’t know how much blame President Blight will put on me. I don’t even know if he’s the kind of man who always blames someone. I don’t know anything about him, or anyone up here.”

  “And it’s been over two hours since we’ve seen her.”

  “Althea?” his father asked. “She’s fifteen, Fin, she’s smart, it’s Maine, not New York. Kids her age love being alone, feeling alone, taking solitary walks.”

  Phineas relaxed. His father was right.

  By six, neither of them was relaxed, and by eight both of them were moving fitfully around the house, going out to the porch to look up and down the road, sitting on the stairs to be close to the phone. Phineas finally went back up to Althea’s room, thinking maybe she’d left them a note up there, maybe he should have looked more carefully the first time he went up. He went straight to the desk.

  Pieces of lined papers were sort of scattered around, filled with Greek letters, and some of the awkward sentences that identified them as attempts at translation. “If the leader would have the tents of the (cruel? bad? vengeful?) enemy known . . .” The gooseneck lamp shone like a spotlight on the paper she must have been working on last. But all that was written on it were some mazelike doodles, and words in English. Phineas read his own name, and his heart rose. Phineas, he read, So If Mom Asks Request Divorce.

  His heart sank. Underneath, she had written more sloppily Kill Every Noodle, and crossed it out with a single stroke.

  It didn’t make any sense. Althea didn’t want their parents to get divorced, did she? He’d have said she didn’t, but he guessed she might. If they did get divorced, then Althea and Phineas wouldn’t have to worry whether they were going to. If they did, then Althea wouldn’t have to cope with the question of if there was anything she should do to stop them.

  But killing noodles was seriously weird. If that was what came out of her hand when she was doodling, he was going to think that there was something wrong with Althea. You couldn’t even kill noodles. They weren’t even alive. You couldn’t kill anything unless it was alive. He wished Althea would come home, so he could ask her.

  Downstairs, his father was talking on the phone, which hadn’t rung. Phineas came out of Althea’s room, turning off the light, but his father had hung up before Phineas could hear what he’d been saying. Mr. Hall turned around. “I called the police. They’re sending someone over.”

  The two of them waited in restless silence until a knock at the door announced the arrival of a policewoman with shining blond hair. They hadn’t turned on any lights, so Phineas did that while she introduced herself as Officer Gable and said yes, if it was already made she’d like a cup of coffee, with milk and sugar if they had it. She sat down at the table and took out her notebook. Phineas sat next to his father at the round table.

  “It’s your daughter who’s missing?” Officer Gable asked.

  They both nodded.

  “I am sorry,” she said, and sounded like she meant that. “Often, there’s some simple explanation. How long has she been gone?”

  “We haven’t seen her since about two this afternoon,” Mr. Hall said.

  “How old is she?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Ah, fifteen,” the officer murmured, as if now things were beginning to make sense. “Did you have a quarrel?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Her mother?”

  “My wife is living in Oregon. As far as I know, she hasn’t called today, or recently. I suppose she could have, before we got back?” He turned to Phineas.

  “Althea would have left a note,” Phineas said.

  “You’ve called the homes of her friends?” the officer asked.

  “We just moved up here. She doesn’t have any friends. The only place she might have been is the college library, but that closed three hours ago. Over three hours ago.”

  The officer had pale blue eyes, and she looked sternly through them at Mr. Hall to ask her next question. “Has she run away before?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Did she leave any note?”

  Phineas found his voice again. “I went up to her room, and all there was was some doodling, and her work. She’s studying Greek,” he explained to the officer. “Ancient Greek. She studies a lot.” The officer nodded sympathetically at him, to encourage him to keep talking. “We leave notes for one another down here, on this table, where they’ll be noticed.”

  It was funny, the officer’s sympathy made him feel better, because she was taking them seriously. But by taking them seriously she was making him even more nervous. He kept wanting to swallow.

  “I think the first thing is to radio a description to all the squad cars, in case anyone sees her. It’s Althea Hall, correct? Age fifteen. Height?”

  “Five three or four,” Mr. Hall said. “Weight, I don’t know, but she’s chunky, solid.”

  “What was she wearing, when you last saw her?”

  The blatt-blatt of the phone interrupted the questions and answers. Mr. Hall jumped up to answer it, but returned to send Officer Gable to the phone. She spoke briefly before coming back into the kitchen. She didn’t sit down. Her cheeks were pink and she seemed angry. “You didn’t tell me you were already involved in another investigation. You didn’t tell me you were working with Detective Arsenault.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Hall said meekly.

  “What difference does that make?” Phineas demanded.

  She didn’t answer. “Detective Arsenault wants you to come downtown. I’ll stay here, in case there’s a phone call, or Althea comes home. Until you return, I’ll be here. You should have told me you were involved in the mummy theft.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with the mummy,” Phineas said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wondered if that was true. It didn’t make sense. But nothing about the mummy had made sense, all along, or about the collection—if that was what was causing everything. Phineas didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t know how to think about it. He just wanted somebody to make it all all right. And he thought his mother ought to be there with them to help out. He knew he couldn’t blame her—she didn’t even know what was going on, she was thousands of miles away, but—

  He hurried after his father, who was already heading out the door to the car.

  * * *

  Phineas had never been inside a police station before, although he’d seen plenty of them on TV. It had a lot in common with a hospital, he thought—both of them big spaces filled with people doing their jobs. Detective Arsenault’s office had glass walls facing the desk-filled central area; Phineas guessed that the windows were there because if somebody pulled a gun everybody would see what was happening. Detective Arsenault stood up and waved his hand at two wooden chairs. Phine
as sat down and waited for the detective to explain everything, and tell them where Althea was. Otherwise, why would he call them down to the station?

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Detective Arsenault asked Mr. Hall. “When did you know she was missing?”

  Phineas slumped down in his chair. The detective didn’t know any more than they did.

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” the detective said. He straightened his glasses and slumped into his own chair behind the desk. “I have kids of my own. Missing kids—that gets me where it hurts.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Mr. Hall said.

  “Sam, is it possible she’s run away to be with her mother? I know it’s an awkward question, but—might she have?”

  “I suppose.” Phineas’s father rubbed at his eyes. “The way I feel right now, anything could have happened. I don’t care what as long as Althea’s all right. But how would she plan to get across the country?”

  “Hitchhike? Or, does she have any money? Buses don’t cost all that much, have you tried the bus station?”

  Phineas exploded. “Althea wouldn’t. That would be—crazy—and she doesn’t do crazy things. You don’t understand. This was something we talked over. A decision we all made. It was a choice. Althea doesn’t back down on something she’s thought about and decided. Besides, she’s angry at Mom, she blames her. So she wouldn’t go to see her.”

  “Even if something happened she desperately wanted to run away from?”

  Phineas shook his head. Nothing had happened, expect the mummy and everything related to the mummy.

  “Then where else might she go?”

  “Nowhere!” Phineas practically yelled. He didn’t know why the detective was being so dumb. “That’s why we’re worried!”

  Detective Arsenault looked at him from behind glasses, sympathetic and patient. “Kids Althea’s age, teenagers—you never know what they’ll get up to. Girls especially.”

  “She’s too smart,” Phineas said.

  “Nobody’s too smart, Phineas,” the detective warned him. “Especially not someone who’s sure he is. If you take my meaning.”

  Phineas took it, and he agreed. Not just about kids, either. Grown-ups acted as if kids were stupider than adults, acted superior, but as far as he was concerned it was a tie match.

  “If, however, she hasn’t run away, we have to consider the other possibilities,” the detective said.

  “Other than something connected with the mummy,” Mr. Hall said. “And I can’t see what connection with the mummy there could be.”

  Detective Arsenault nodded. “Kidnap, rape, suicide—I’m sorry, Sam, but those are the choices.”

  “I know. Don’t think I haven’t thought of that.”

  Phineas hadn’t. His stomach felt like it was trying to climb up into his chest.

  “Or running away,” the detective said. “Neither of you can think of any reason?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Phineas, you wouldn’t keep secrets for her, would you? In a situation like this?”

  “She doesn’t have any secrets. Or if she does, I don’t know them. If you’re thinking of drugs,” Phineas said, finally figuring out what the detective might be hinting at, “you’re wrong.”

  “Sometimes a family doesn’t suspect,” the detective said.

  “But we would,” Phineas told him.

  The detective looked at him, waiting, brown eyes behind big glasses.

  “I’d tell you,” Phineas said. “I would.”

  Detective Arsenault decided to believe him. “All right. But it would have been simpler. I think we ought to plan for all possibilities. We’ll radio a description to the patrol cars. Phineas, you’ll wait at home, in case she calls. If she does, or if there’s a phone call—”

  “From a kidnapper? Who’d want to kidnap Althea? She’s not rich.”

  “You call the station, right away. Do you understand that?”

  Phineas nodded.

  “And, Sam, I thought you and I would get in your car, which isn’t a police car, to check out the places where kids tend to gather. Just in case.”

  Mr. Hall nodded.

  “Because”—the detective looked from Phineas to his father—“if Althea was the one who took the mummy, and damaged it—People do some very strange things,” he said, to both of them. “A policeman learns that. Once you know the motives, things make sense, but before that things often look senseless. If Althea is the thief, she’ll be feeling guilty, and afraid—”

  “You mean, she could be a lot more upset than she’s shown, about her mother and me,” Mr. Hall asked. “Phineas, do you think she is?”

  “Of course she is, but that doesn’t mean she’d go crazy. We’re all more upset than we’re showing.” Phineas was out of patience with both of them. His father at least should know better. But his father was too frightened to be thinking clearly. Phineas wondered if he also was too frightened to think clearly. “She was doodling about divorce,” he remembered. “But, Dad, I can’t believe Althea would do all that. Be crazy enough to do all that. And us not notice. Can you believe that?”

  “It makes some kind of sense, at least,” Mr. Hall answered. “I almost want to believe it, because it does make sense.”

  “Let’s get going,” Detective Arsenault said, getting up from his desk. “I’ll send you home in a squad car, Phineas. Officer Gable will be there when you arrive, but she can’t stay. Will you be all right alone?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Phineas said. He had trouble thinking of Althea as crazy enough to break into the library, twice, to steal the mummy—and with a blowtorch which she had no idea how to use?—and what about that whispered phone call, when Althea was in the kitchen? He had trouble thinking of Althea as someone whose way of dealing with trouble was to run away. “I’m fine.”

  And he didn’t believe she would, not for a minute.

  CHAPTER 16

  Phineas rode alone in the back of the police car, through bright city streets, then onto less lighted residential streets, then into the darkness of the college campus. Among the dark shapes of empty houses, his own porch light shone brightly, and dim yellow light showed through the glass panes of the door. A police car was parked in front of their house; the police car he was riding in drove away; with all these police cars, they had to find Althea.

  Phineas didn’t care where she was, or how she’d gotten there, as long as she got back home. Once she was home, they could deal with any other problems. Getting her home, safe—

  Officer Gable hurried out of the kitchen as he let himself in the door. “It’s you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Phineas said.

  “Nothing here, no phone calls,” she reported. Phineas nodded. “I have to go back downtown,” Officer Gable said. Phineas nodded. “Is there anyone I could call, to come stay with you?” she asked.

  “I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” Phineas said. He didn’t need her standing there feeling sorry for him, when Althea needed to be found.

  “Do you have someone you can call, if you—feel like you need someone?” she asked. She was turning her hat around and around in her hands.

  “Yeah,” Phineas said. It wasn’t a lie. He could always call his mother—for all the good that would do. He shut the door behind her.

  Phineas got about one-third of the way up the stairs before he turned around. Sat down. Put his knees together and rested his elbows on his knees, chin on his hands.

  He had no reason for sitting down. But then, he had no reason for going up into the darkness or down into the light.

  * * *

  Sitting on the stairs, waiting, was pretty familiar. It was how he waited when he had a friend coming over, or it was Christmas morning and not time yet to fetch the stockings. He sat on the stairs—except those stairs had carpeting running up them, they were a lot softer—listening to his parents last spring, arguing out solutions for the dilemma. Sitting on the stairs, waiting, was always solitary. Last spring, Althea had already started
to close herself in her room and bury her nose in a Greek book.

  He wished he could call his mother. He could call her, he knew the number. But it wouldn’t do any good. What could she do, all the way across the country and probably—he subtracted three hours from the time—having dinner, probably having dinner out with someone, arguing out some proposal, or networking. He had no idea where his mother was. He could no more find her than he knew where Althea—

  Blatt blatt.

  Phineas jumped, and was on the ground floor without his feet touching any of the steps. He picked up the phone. “Phineas?” a woman’s voice asked, and he almost said Mom. Before he could say anything, the voice asked, “Is your father there? It’s O’Meara.”

  “No. He’s out.”

  “You’re alone?”

  “Yes.” So what’s it to you? was in his voice.

  “Althea hasn’t turned up?”

  “No.” He wondered how she knew.

  “You don’t have any idea—”

  “No. Listen, I’ve gotta go, we can’t tie up the phone.” He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he especially didn’t want to talk to O’Meara. Who had started all of this with her dumb newspaper story. Who didn’t care about anything except getting a story. “Okay? Good-bye,” and he dropped the receiver onto its cradle without giving her any chance to say anything. She didn’t know how people felt.

  How Phineas felt, right then, was seriously bad.

  He didn’t want to think about it. Thinking about it didn’t do any good. He could have gone up, gone to sleep maybe, or gone to eat, or gone to watch TV, but he didn’t. It was as if there was a wide foggy space between anything he might think of doing and his body that would do it. He sat on the stairs, on the bottom step this time, waiting. Not thinking about anything.

  * * *

  Footsteps on the front step. He raised his head and saw right away it wasn’t Althea. It was too thin for Althea, and it wasn’t running the way Althea would be if she were coming home, to explain and apologize for whatever—

  The second knock on the door he answered. O’Meara stood there, so he let her in. Before she was through the door she was talking away. “I know I’m intruding. You don’t have to pretend I’m not. I just didn’t like to think of you alone here. When I heard about Althea—”