The Vandemark Mummy by Cynthia Voigt

Author:Cynthia Voigt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

CHAPTER 12

“The mummy’s gone.”

Althea looked up from her bowl of cereal, the spoon halfway to her mouth. Their father had stopped at the phone in the hall and was dialing it, then talking into it.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Gone, you know, like, gone. Not there. Stolen, missing, lost—don’t be stupid, Althea.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “What’s going on?” she asked, which was just what his father had asked.

“They cut through the door with a blowtorch, or that’s what we think. That’s what it looked like.”

“It doesn’t make sense, Fin.”

“All that was left was the shroud.”

The more he said, the worse Phineas felt. He didn’t know why he should feel so bad over a mummy. He didn’t know why that mental picture of the table, empty, just the shroud lying there like someone’s tossed-away towel, should make him feel so bad.

“We haven’t had any breakfast, or anything to eat,” he said. He opened the refrigerator, took out eggs and English muffins. His father would need a good breakfast, after what had happened, before the day that awaited him. “I guess these were professionals after all,” Phineas announced.

“I don’t understand,” Althea said. She got up from the table and stood beside him while he cracked eggs into a bowl. She didn’t do anything, she just stood there, watching him.

“What’s so hard to understand?” Phineas turned to look at his sister, their eyes level. “The mummy’s been stolen. It’s gone. Probably forever.”

“I thought it was the crown that was valuable.”

“Apparently not.” For a minute, he thought he was going to get angry at Althea. She kept making him say it over and over. He whisked the eggs with a fork. The mummy was hundreds of years old, so he didn’t know why it should bother him so much.

“I mean, who would want a mummy? What would you do with it?”

“Don’t you even care?” Phineas demanded, turning on her, never mind that the fork was dripping raw egg down onto the floor.

“Of course.” But she didn’t sound upset. “I care about Dad, especially. He’ll lose the collection.”

“But it’s not his fault.”

“But he’s in charge, he’s the one responsible. They’ll blame him.” She stared at Phineas without seeing him. “Who would want a mummy? Seriously, Fin, who? Unless she was buried with that necklace, so it’s simple stealing, and then it could be anyone. Who else but museums wants mummies?”

Phineas put the split muffins into the toaster and pushed the lever down. Butter bubbled in the frying pan on the stove. He had no idea. His father’s voice spoke into the phone. “Detective Arsenault? I’m sorry to call you so early. It’s Sam Hall, at Vandemark—Yes, well, there’s bad news. The mummy has apparently been stolen.”

Phineas poured eggs into the pan and turned down the heat. You had to cook scrambled eggs gently, he remembered his mother saying that; otherwise they got too dry, and leathery.

“Museums, places like schools with collections of their own, people with collections,” Althea said, talking to herself. “But none of those

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