Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,101

already decided to keep my old bullet-scarred jacket. Instead, we put the extra money into the operating expenses account, saving for a rainy day. The Unnatural Quarter had a lot of rainy days.

Sheyenne packed up the finished paperwork and closed case files in a bankers’ box and headed off to our storage unit. When Sheyenne was gone, Robin came in and sat on the corner of my desk. She had that concerned look on her face. “I worry about the risks you take, Dan. I tried to warn you, but you didn’t listen.”

“Oh, I listened. I just wasn’t careful enough.”

She sighed. “You’re dead, and I still worry about you.”

“Even these bullets can’t stop me from getting back up and going to work. But I won’t let it happen again—I promise I learned my lesson.”

“Or maybe you should take up a safer profession?”

I laughed. “Like being a zombie accountant? I’m a private investigator—that’s what I do. I can’t change that any more than you could close your law books and walk away from the legal profession.”

She smiled. “You’re right. You know me, and I know you.”

“That’s why we’re such a good team,” I said. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Robin came around the desk and threw her arms around my shoulders in a fierce hug. Fortunately, her fierceness didn’t knock loose any of the stitches Lujean Eccles had used to reattach my arm. She felt warm and smelled good, and I let her just stay there for as long as she wanted.

CHAPTER 45

On the following Saturday, Sheyenne and I went to the Metropolitan Natural History Museum to see Ramen Ho-Tep’s first public presentation. Despite his grudging acquiescence to the terms, the museum curator and his staff got behind the effort and provided substantial publicity. People flocked in to see the ambulatory mummy do his schtick.

“An afternoon at the museum,” Sheyenne said. “When we were still alive, we might have called this a genuine date.”

I grinned at her as we walked into the Ancient Egypt wing. “So why can’t we?”

A smile crept across her beautiful face. “Other than the obvious physical limitations, you mean?” She arched her eyebrows.

If she had ever finished med school, she would definitely have caused an increased pulse rate among her male patients.

“I’m not that kind of guy, Spooky. I don’t do that on a first date.”

She laughed. “Yes, you do. Or did I count wrong?” As if we had rehearsed it, we both took in a deep breath and let out a sigh. That one night would have to do. Dead guys can’t be choosy, and I would rather have a ghost of Sheyenne than any other real woman.

“We could go out for fondue,” I suggested. “In honor of Sheldon.”

“You’d have to invite Robin too. She’s the only one who could really enjoy the food.” Then her pragmatic streak came to the fore. “We could discuss cases, make it a tax-deductible meal.”

“Sounds good to me.”

A crowd of patrons, many of them school-aged children, had gathered around the exhibits and the artificial pyramid that held the ancient treasures. I glanced at my watch—we were just in time.

The museum intern designated as the mummy’s personal assistant (though Ramen Ho-Tep insisted on calling him a slave) hovered around the periphery of the audience, straightening chairs, nervous about this big debut. Recognizing us, the intern pointed to two empty chairs near the front; as guests of the former pharaoh, we had special VIP passes.

Lujean Eccles was also in the audience, accompanied by the Patchwork Princess. The museum had consulted with Miss Eccles on how to spiff up Ramen Ho-Tep for his public-speaking debut. A smile brightened Wendy’s crooked face when she noticed I was wearing the jacket she had stitched up. She waved, and I waved back.

The lights dimmed, and with great theatrical effect, the mummy of Ramen Ho-Tep rose from his sarcophagus and regarded the crowd, who oohed and aahed. The children’s eyes were as big as saucers. The mummy was indeed ready for prime time: His bandages were freshened, the stains removed, the caked dust whisked off him.

Seeing us, he swelled larger with self-confidence. “I was a pharaoh of Ancient Egypt!” His voice boomed, sounding impressive. “I ruled the lands from the Nubian Desert and Kush in Upper Egypt, down to Thebes, and the Nile Delta and Memphis.”

“Memphis?” asked a young boy. “Where Elvis lived?”

“No! I was the King.” Ramen Ho-Tep crossed his arms over his chest. “I had thousands of slaves, and I was worshipped by my