The Curse Read Online Free Page A

that history had to do with the mummy’s revenge: Lord Carnarvon died soon afterwards from what was thought to have been an infected mosquito bite, Vanderbilt croaked the following year from food poisoning, and the curse of the mummy was off and running.
    Vanderbilt also incurred considerable controversy because his wife was seen at a society gathering wearing an ancient Egyptian necklace, raising suspicion that it belonged in the Tut collection, even though he had claimed that he bought it on the open market.
    His wife drowned when she fell and bumped her head in a bathtub and the newspapers had a field day again about the curse.
    The current Mrs. Berkshire Vanderbilt had the necklace on in the picture. Somewhere along the line she had married a British lord and became a lady. I was surprised she was wearing it because I’d read she donated it to the Smithsonian, but the picture could have been taken before she gave it to the museum.
    Nothing about the picture, other than it had been sent to me with a mysterious phone number, grabbed my interest. There was nothing new or sensational about Mrs. Vanderbilt or the necklace. The curse stories were decades old.
    I studied the picture, wondering why it was sent to me.
    Who sent it was another question.
    And was there any money in it for me? And Morty. The damn cat had gone “green” and ate only fish not on the mercury or endangered species list. He used only biodegradable cat litter.
    Studying the picture, I realized that the woman Lady Candace was talking to was also wearing a necklace that looked familiar to me.
    I got out my magnifing glass and took a closer look. I recognized the necklace because I’d seen it before.
    The Isis necklace.
    The last time I’d seen the necklace was at the Egyptian Museum five or six years ago, where it should be. It had been part of the Tut exhibit.
    How did the necklace get from the museum to this woman’s neck?
    The more I looked at the picture though, the more I realized that this necklace belonged in a museum, not on some rich woman’s neck.
    Someone obviously knew my weakness for protecting antiquities.
    The title of the magazine article deepened the mystery: “The Mummy’s Revenge After Howard Carter Looted the Tomb.”

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    Howard Carter was the Holy Grail of archaeology. He lacked a university education in archaeology, yet gained a reputation as an outstanding archaeologist and Egyptologist even before he made the most stunning antiquities find in history. And he didn’t just make a lucky find—he spent more than thirty years digging, bringing up a lot of dry holes along with some good finds, before he hit the jackpot.
    The word “looting” and Howard Carter’s name were also not in anyway synonomous: artifacts were his babies and he treated them with a rare reverence and respect.
    I’d worked and studied antiquities for half my life and I never heard a bad word about the man.
    The magazine that carried the mummy’s revenge story was little more than a tabloid with scientific pretentions. I’d seen it near the checkout at grocery stores, with glaring headlines about ancient aliens and farm girls who have two-headed babies.
    I would never have read the article if it hadn’t come with an intriguing picture about the Isis necklace.
    The article began with tantalizing details about the curse of the pharaohs thrown upon those who violated their tombs. Hollywood characterized it as the revenge of mummies and turned it into a cottage industry after strange events made the news following the opening of King Tut’s tomb.
    The first event revolved around Howard Carter, a snake, and a canary.
    Soon after opening the King Tut burial chambers, Carter sent an aide back to his house to retrieve something. As the man approached the house, he heard what he called a “faint, almost human cry.” As he came to the entrance, he found a cobra curled up in the birdcage that