“Not of Princess Merneith.”

“You don’t believe in the curse of the hom-dai?”

I squinted, trying to see him behind the light. “What? No. There’s no such thing.”

“Ah. You’re a man of science and you don’t believe in curses.”

“No. Well, yes. Naturally, but I mean there’s no such thing as a hom-dai. That’s totally made up for the movies.”

“Now hold on a minute.” Fraser sounded like someone trying hard to bring the voice of reason to a truly crazy debate. The only problem was, he was the voice of crazy. “You’ve heard the mysterious stories told by the caretaker of the museum. You’re still unconvinced?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Fraser sighed. “Cut.” The camera stopped. “You’re really not going to play ball, are you?”

“I like a good game of ping-pong.”

“I bet you’re the reigning champ.” His laugh was short, but he didn’t sound particularly put out as he said, “Okay, thanks, Doc. I think we can take it from here.”

“So that’s it? I can go?”

“People don’t usually sound that delighted at being kicked off the set.”

That gave me pause. “Am I being kicked off the set?”

“Nah. Of course not. You’ve been a good sport. Is there anything else you need to see?”

I stood. “No. That’s pretty much everything I needed.”

More than I needed, frankly. Now I had to decide what direction I should take in my article. Debunking legends was always popular, and I had the evidence of the phony sarcophagus, but I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of debunking the legend of the lesbian princess. Not that I wanted to twist historical fact to suit my own theories—and wishful thinking—but there was enough academic scoffing at the notion of homosexuality in ancient Egypt without adding my voice to the choir.

Fraser walked me to the porch. “Just so you know, you were great in there. I knew it the minute I saw you. You’re a natural.”

I’d been lost in my own thoughts, but that brought me out of my abstraction. “The minute you saw me? I thought you thought I was an arrogant ass.”

He gave me another of those mischievous, absurdly engaging grins. “Well, yeah. But you’re okay really. You’ve just been hanging with the wrong crowd.” He winked. “Too many garden parties.”

I snorted.

“Of course, you could have made a little more effort to play up the legend, but that’s okay. I know you’re worried about your image.”

Funny. I’d never thought of myself as a guy who worried about his image. “Thanks again for letting me examine the mummy. I appreciate it.”

“I should be thanking you. That shot when you were looking at that inscription? Your expression was great. You looked gobsmacked. What did it say, by the way? ’Cause I know you were able to read it.”

I hesitated. Even though the sarcophagus was fake, the mummy itself might be the real thing. But if the mummy was also a fake, Babe Jenson’s high hopes for the museum were going down in flames, and I couldn’t do that to someone without knowing for sure. Plus, it would probably spoil Fraser’s show if I told him what I suspected. Better to keep my suspicions to myself for the time being.

I said, “I have to check a couple of things. At first glance it looked like some kind of warning to tomb robbers.”

His eyes lit up.

“But it’s too soon to know for sure. I wouldn’t want to speculate.”

He nodded, clearly not in agreement. Offered his hand. “Up to you.” He waited hopefully, but when I said nothing he conceded defeat. “Okay. Take care, Doc. Stay out of trouble.”

“Always.”

I started across the parking lot, stopping short at his “Hey!”

I looked back, shading my eyes.

He called, “Karen is right. You are a cutie.”

Back at the hotel I tried calling Noah again. I wanted to talk to him about the discovery I’d made about the princess, but also…I simply wanted to talk to him. I couldn’t help feeling that our earlier conversation could have gone better. It wasn’t something I could put my finger on. Lately we seemed to have trouble communicating. Or maybe that was just me feeling that way.

I’d felt oddly adrift ever since I’d left L.A., and I wanted to hear his voice and reassure myself that everything was okay. Although I suppose our earlier phone call should have taken care of that. It’s not like I was usually so insecure.

Anyway, I already knew that Noah would think revealing the truth about the fake sarcophagus would be a good angle for my article. And he’d be right. But I was hoping to talk to Dr. Solvani about the artifact’s provenance before I made any decisions.

So I rang the house. There was no answer.

That was unusual. Noah should have been home by now. I glanced at the radio clock on the dresser next to the bed. Three thirty on a Friday. Yes, Noah should have been home well before now.

Listening to the phone ringing, I could picture it shrilling through our empty house. It made me feel lonelier than ever. I disconnected.

For a time I worked at the desk near the sliding glass doors. I downloaded the photos I’d taken to my laptop. Not bad. Pretty good, in fact. I looked over my notes from the afternoon. I had enough there to piece together a nice little article. Nothing that would set the academic world on fire, but then it didn’t need to be.

Gradually, raucous sounds of merriment from the pool outside my room infiltrated my consciousness. I could hear the pound of bare feet, the creak and spring of a diving board, the explosion of a human body in cannonball form hitting deep water—followed by a tidal wave slop onto cement. Swimming? In October? In Wyoming?

I went to the glass door and peered out. Fraser Fortune’s entire film crew seemed to be splashing and kicking the pool into a miniature whirlpool. I guess their presence wasn’t that much of a coincidence. There were only two hotels in Lasse and one of them looked like a home for old hookers.

I caught sight of Fraser in a pair of tight black Speedos. Ugh. Did he have a permit to carry that thing in public?

And yet, weirdly, watching his glistening, square, compact body striding onto the diving board, I felt my own cock stir.

What was up with that? Besides the obvious.

Fraser strode to the end of the board, bounced once and dove. It was a perfect dive. Not graceful, but clean and efficient. Like a bullet hitting the water.

He surfaced, swam to the side, hauled himself out of the pool. Water sparkled on his hair and skin. I absently reached down and gave myself a comforting squeeze—which nearly turned into the most embarrassing moment of my life when Fraser suddenly looked over at my window.

Could he see me? The balcony of the room above my own threw my porch into shade. Hopefully the glass door was in deep shadow.

Fraser raised his hand. “Hey, Doc! Come on out.”

I fumbled with the latch and slid open the door. The hum and rattle of the pool pump and the smell of chlorine and Lycra wafted in.

Fraser padded over to the short wooden fence separating my mini-patio from the pool yard. “I thought that was your car in the parking lot. Why don’t you come out and join us?” He smiled, his teeth very white in the gold frame of his beard.

My throat tightened in unexpected response to his wet nakedness. Other things tightened too.

What on earth…? It wasn’t as though I’d never seen a naked—nearly naked—man before. It wasn’t as though I was seventeen. It wasn’t even as though I liked Fraser. It wasn’t any of the above, and yet there was no question that my body was reacting like a damn divining rod.

Karen and a couple of the others called out from the pool, echoing the invitation.

I shook my head. “No swimsuit.”

Fraser’s smile widened. “Wear your underwear. We won’t tell.”

I laughed, shaking my head again. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”