Curse of the Ibis Box: A Cindy Nesbit Mystery

CURSE OF THE IBIS BOX

J. Lee Taylor

Curse of the Ibis Box

Copyright 2015 by J. Lee Taylor

All rights reserved

Cover by Katrina Kirkpatrick

Cover Design: Katrina Kirkpatrick

This is a work of fiction. All characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

JLT Publishers

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Contents

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Praise for Kill Cinderella

Imagine looking into a missing person case when the face of one of the people with whom you’re meeting is shattered by a bullet. Chaos ensues. This is how J. Lee Taylor opens her newest Cindy Nesbit book. From the opening to the ending, Taylor keeps you on a suspenseful ride. Well done. This is the best Cindy Nesbit book yet!

– E. R. Westphal

Praise for Cinderella and the Vampire

J. Lee Taylor has elevated sly humor to an art form in this vampire tale. This story is a delight, so if you’re looking for a dark, depressing, real bloodsucker, this may not be the book for you. But if you enjoy dry wit and a brief trip into the weird, with an intriguing setting, great characters, and a clever voice, then polish your fangs and chomp down.

– Ramona Butler

Books by J. Lee Taylor

Cindy Nesbit Mysteries

Cinderella and the Vampire

Cinderella and the Wolf (Cinderella—Dog Gone)

Cinderella—Slay Bells for Santa

Kill Cinderella

Curse of the Ibis Box

Jax Hollister Mysteries

Murder by Haggis

This book is for the fans who demanded the return of Dane Wolf.

CHAPTER ONE

Sky Lake Hotel and Casino, Incline Village, Nevada

Thursday, late afternoon, October 29

‘WHOSOEVER POSSESSES THE Ibis Box shall find Death before True Love.’

I looked from the photocopied piece of paper to the flat wooden box resting in the center of our table. The dim lights of the cocktail lounge caught the partial gold outline of an Egyptian ibis bird on the lid of the box.

From what little research I’ve had time to do, this curse is pretty specific. Robert, maybe you should hire a body guard? I tried to tease a smile from my old college professor. When I was at Stanford, I’d been his research assistant. He was old-fashioned and liked using the library instead of computer sites. I handled the deeper research and technical stuff for him. After I graduated, we’d remained friends. He still used my computer research company, Finders Inc., when he was stumped.

Robert didn’t respond to my teasing. Instead, he reverted to professorial pop quiz mode. Can you deduce anything from the handwriting?

I studied the paper again. I’ve seen this kind of handwriting on old census pages. It’s from the nineteenth century, I think. But that means the curse is only a couple of centuries old."

No, only that the piece of paper is from more recent times, Robert said. Celeste, the antique dealer, found it inside the scribe’s box.

But she told you the box was older than the eighteen hundreds, that it was an artifact.

Celeste is a reputable dealer, Cindy. I’ve dealt with her in the past. She didn’t guarantee it, but she believes the box is ancient. I’ll know more on Saturday when the expert from the Cairo Museum has a look at it. Until then I’d like you to continue your research into the curse.

I didn’t think you believed in spells and curses.

I don’t, but whatever you find may help authenticate it. Robert’s eyes sparkled. Besides, if this curse was true, it’s been broken. I’ve found my true love, and I owe it all to you. I’ll always be grateful you encouraged me to search for Lenore. After all these years, I’ve reconnected with the love of my life. Ah, here she is now.

He stood as a petite woman with gray streaks in her auburn hair approached our table.

Lenore Timmons slid gracefully into the chair Robert held for her. His hand lingered on her shoulder, and she smiled up at him.

I’d found Lenore and reunited the pair two months ago at a San Francisco chapter meeting of the Society of Amateur Egyptologists of America (SAEA). I thought they made the perfect couple. She brought him out of his academic ivory tower and made him laugh.

Lenore picked up on our conversation. Cindy, do you believe in the curse?

I deal in computer logic, I said. Curses are illogical.

Robert poo-poos the idea, too. I’m not sure what to think.

He patted her hand. We’ll be fine, my dear.

Robert says you love a good puzzle. Have you found anything about the box?

Only that the antique dealer got it in an estate sale. It was hidden in a trunk of old clothes. That proved to be a dead end. So far there’s not much else to report. Who knew there were so many curses, in so many countries?

Lenore reached for Robert’s hand. Could it be possible that the store owner was stretching the truth? Even with the gold outline, I don’t think the box would normally attract the attention of a collector. It’s quite ordinary looking. Perhaps she fabricated an interesting story and wrote the curse so you would spend more money?

I’d wondered the same.

Not Celeste, Robert said. I trust her. Besides, we’d already agreed on a price. She felt a responsibility to tell me about the curse. She didn’t know what to make of the manuscript papers wrapped around the box.

I’ve only had time to take a quick run at them, I said. It looks like an unfinished story. My initial search for the names mentioned hasn’t turned up a thing. There’s not even a footnote about this prince, the scribe, or the princess.

Robert shrugged. "I didn’t purchase the legend or the curse, I bought the box. I think it’s authentic and the find of my lifetime. The outline of the bird is real gold. To me, that means it probably belonged to some high ranking official.

I can’t wait to hear what the Cairo expert says, Lenore said.

And I can’t wait any longer to do this. Robert slid the Ibis Box in front of Lenore. There’s something I want to do. I’m glad you’re here, Cindy, since you were so instrumental in bringing Lenore and me together. He beamed at Lenore. Look inside, my dear.

She handled it carefully. A rattling sound came from inside the wooden box. Her surprised gaze returned to Robert. But I thought you said there was only the slip of paper inside.

He squirmed with beaming impatience. Please, just open it.

She did so by holding the top of the wooden box in one hand and sliding a tray out of the bottom. Inside was a diamond and ruby ring that glittered in the overhead light.

Oh, my. A shimmer of happy tears threatened to brim over.

Lenore, my love, he slipped the ring on her finger, will you marry me?

Oh, yes, Robert. Yes.

They kissed. It was more than a peck. I turned away. I don’t know why public displays of affection embarrass me, but they do. Through the lounge’s windows, I studied the fading light as day turned to evening over the Sierra Nevada mountains.

After the couple ended their embrace, I gave them my congratulations and rose to leave. I wanted to give them some privacy, but a raspy voice grated over my shoulder.

It’s about time, Robert. What took you so long to ask her?

The voice and attitude could only belong to Velma Whitney. Dressed as always in white and dripping with jewelry, she leaned heavily on her silver cane. At her side, wearing a contrasting black suit was her ever-present grand-nephew, Avery Whitney. Until I met him, I’d never seen an anorexic man. His facial skin stretched over high cheekbones and matched his scrawny hands. He looked like a skeleton about to happen.

I’d met these long-time friends of Robert’s at a SAEA San Francisco chapter meeting when I attended as Robert’s guest. This weekend was the society’s big annual conference here at Lake Tahoe.

Avery held a chair for Velma and introduced the young man at his side. This is Gavin, an old friend from college. They sat next to each other. Gavin is a gemologist and jeweler with a shop in San Francisco. He designed Lenore’s ring.

Lenore held her hand so all could see. Thank you, Gavin, it’s beautiful. I love the antique setting.

It’s a one of a kind. Love beamed from Robert’s eyes. Just like my bride-to-be.

Gavin’s designs are always unique and unusual. Velma flashed a huge emerald ring before turning her attention to Robert. Now, Robert, Lenore said yes, but you need to do it right. Take the ring back, ask her again, and do it proper this time.

In my opinion, the lounge at the Sky Lake Casino was not a romantic place for a proposal. Slot machines clanged just outside the bar, and Keno runners passed through calling Keno, Keno.

But what do I know? I’ve never had a proposal.

Despite the lack of atmosphere, Robert dropped to one knee and put the ring on Lenore’s finger. The bar patrons nearby noticed and applauded. Lenore blushed.

Robert pushed to his feet at the same time Samuel McCord pulled up in his high-tech electric wheelchair. I’d also met Sam at a chapter meeting and liked his old world courtliness and gentlemanly ways. Five years ago he’d been the victim of a drunk driver and was paralyzed from the waist down. Instead of turning into a recluse, he used his Silicon Valley-made fortune to actively support stem cell research.

He shook Robert’s hand and kissed Lenore’s. I’m glad I was here to witness the happy occasion. Congratulations.

This calls for champagne, Velma signaled the waitress. We should toast Lenore and Robert’s engagement.

See? Robert said to McCord. There is no curse. My happiness is complete. He entwined his fingers with Lenore’s.

Avery gestured to the box. Is that the big surprise you promised us, Robert? Or is it your engagement?

Robert’s smile filled his face. Both. I wanted to share both with my friends.

After another round of congratulations died down, Avery leaned toward the box and said, If it weren’t for the gold outline, I’d say it looks like the pencil boxes you used in school, Auntie V. What is the significance of the bird?

If you hadn’t squandered my money and applied yourself to your studies, Velma scolded, you’d know that the ibis-headed god, Toth, was patron god of scribes, and this is a scribe's box.

Avery was in his late thirties, but squirmed in his chair like a reprimanded schoolboy.

Velma’s sharp tongue was nothing new or unusual, but this time the heightened