O'Hare House Mysteries Read online

  The crowd gave a disappointed, but understanding murmur as he turned and walked away. Clara whispered into Wesley's ear, "We should follow him!"

  Wesley nodded and moved her swiftly through the crowd until they arrived once more at Dr. Mallfeld's side. He was standing awkwardly by himself, downing a glass of wine without pausing to catch his breath.

  Clara cleared her throat. "Dr. Mallfeld, I hope that I did not give you any offense by my request. I assure you it was for amusement and not to make light of the important work that you do."

  He turned back and seemed to fade a bit to see Clara and Wesley there once more. He none too subtly began looking for an escape as he replied, "Good madam, I assure you no offense was taken."

  "I was wondering, sir," Clara continued before he could make another excuse to leave their company, "about a certain object we learned you have possession of."

  His face because strangely thoughtful as this woman suddenly took his attention. "Truly? Pray, tell me, what object might that be?"

  "We were friends of Lord Horace Oroberg. He had an object of Egyptian origin—we seem to remember it once belonged to Peter Nero," Clara continued, hoping that the deceit she was spinning from all the half-stories they gathered was somewhat close to the truth. "We grew quite attached to it. We inquired with his lawyer today and were informed that you are now the guardian."

  Dr. Mallfeld nodded gravely. "Indeed, Lord Oroberg financed half of our expedition to Egypt, and in return, asked for a memento from the gravesite before the rest was disposed of… to the scientific community and such."

  Clara wondered if Dr. Van Flemming had been truthful in hinting that the objects were more likely to be distributed to the "and such" than the scientific community, but she had no chance to enquire more, for Dr. Mallfeld continued, "The other half of the expedition was financed by a Mr. Phineas Stokeman. Upon Lord Oroberg's death, I gathered up the item you referred to and passed it along to Mr. Stokeman before… well… before another party could lay false claim to it."

  "Dr. Van Flemming?" Clara offered innocently.

  Dr. Mallfeld looked like she had struck him across the face with that name, so she quickly calmed him down. "The lawyer mentioned several interested parties and if it was not in your possession, we were going to speak next with Dr. Van Flemming."

  "Ah! So Dr. Van Flemming was after the heart after all!"

  "The heart, sir?" asked Clara.

  "Oh! Did you not know what was in that urn?" he enquired.

  "No, I had just rather admired it from afar," she replied.

  Dr. Mallfeld took on the same air of his lecture. "Indeed, as you may have heard earlier, for most mummies, their internal organs are all removed, except for the heart. But this particular mummy's brain remained while the heart was removed and placed into one of the tomb jars. It really was quite a remarkable find."

  "I see," said Clara. "And why would they have done such a thing?"

  "The world may never know. But if the answer can be found, you may rest assured I will not stop until I find it!" Dr. Mallfeld suddenly gave a wave over their shoulder and bowed to Clara and Wesley. "I apologize that I must be rude. I'm afraid that my attention is required elsewhere. But please, do call on me if you wish to discuss Egyptology in the future. I would be happy to oblige such friends of Lord Oroberg."

  As Dr. Mallfeld walked away, Clara sighed, "Well, Wesley, I am afraid we find ourselves with more questions than answers."

  He gave her a reassuring squeeze of the hand. "Never fear, my darling. The wonderful thing about questions is the discovery of the answers. And we shall not rest until we have them."

  7

  The hallway Clara and Wesley walked down was filled with books. Row after row, the shelves groaned, double-stacked with hardbound volumes, seemingly organized by which shapes could be jammed best into the nooks and crannies. A single spark and Dr. Van Flemming's entire home would be a raging inferno, Clara thought morbidly. They were led by a wheezing maid into his study, which continued the house's disorganized décor of loose papers and maps.

  Clara and Wesley picked their way to two chairs before Dr. Van Flemming's heaped desk and sat. Clara began sneezing from all the dust and Wesley gallantly handed her his handkerchief, but quickly needed it himself. Watery-eyed, it was a relief when Dr. Van Flemming burst through the door.

  "My apologies," he said, though his voice did not seem to indicate there was anything he felt he really needed to apologize for. "I am afraid that I was caught up in research for an upcoming pamphlet and I quite forgot you were coming to see me today."

  "We can come back—" Clara began, but Wesley gripped her arm warningly.

  "We apologize for interrupting you," Wesley said. "I assure you that we won't take much of your time."

  "Yes," said Dr. Van Flemming, "so many think that, but once they have observed the depth and breadth of my findings, oh, an entire day can quickly slip away without even noticing it is gone."

  "I am sure," Clara demurred.

  "So, how might I be of assistance?" Dr. Van Flemming asked, sitting down at his desk and adding another handful of papers to a teetering stack.

  "Well, my good man," said Wesley, "Dr. Mallfeld's lecture yesterday on Egyptology was fascinating—"

  "It was terrible!" he replied. "How can you possibly say with a straight face that you sat there listening to that drivel and found it intellectually stimulating, much less fascinating? If you want to see fascinating—" Dr. Van Flemming interrupted himself. He got up from his chair and indicated that Wesley and Clara should do so, too. "Please, please, follow me. If you want to see what REAL artifacts look like, I would ask you to follow me into the basement."

  Dr. Van Flemming took a candle from the kitchen. The maid seemed to have retreated out of earshot, and no other servants were within shouting distance to light the way, although from the state of Dr. Van Flemming's house, Clara wondered if he had anyone else tending to things.

  He led Clara and Wesley down the stairs into the basement. The hallways wound about, much like they were a part of some maze. Clara felt a creeping foreboding. This was entirely too similar to another basement maze she found herself trapped in. She pulled Wesley back slightly and whispered, "We should leave!"

  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving Dr. Van Flemming's figure. "Lives depend upon us learning the truth, Clara. We are the only ones who saw the wickedness which seized Violet. If this curse lives, we are the only ones with the power to stop it. We must be brave."

  "But not foolish," Clara stated.

  Wesley acquiesced to her logic. He called to Dr. Van Flemming. "Pray, tell me where you are taking us?"

  "Ah! To my gallery! To my store room!" he replied with glee.

  And it was at that moment he opened the door to the room.

  Inside was a square room with four doors. It was decorated with hieroglyphs and golden torch holders on the walls. The room was filled with artifacts: jars, statues, and ancient crockery. In the center of the room was a golden sarcophagus. It was a lovely creation, covered in inlaid gold and onyx. Clara had never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life.

  "There is my girl!" said Dr. Van Flemming proudly.

  Clara looked around, seeing no one. "I pray, sir, who do you mean?"

  "Why! The mummy of course!" he exclaimed, pointing at the sarcophagus. "We brought her all the way from Egypt. THIS is the mummy that Dr. Mallfeld spoke of yesterday, the one he is willing to do anything to try and get his hands on again. The mummy who is all brain and no heart."

  "And of what significance is this?" asked Wesley.

  Dr. Van Flemming was as excited as a child on Christmas morning. "Don't you understand? The ancient Egyptians always left the heart inside of the body so that it might be weighed against the weight of a feather. Otherwise, such a person would be condemned to walk the world for eternity. THIS mummy's heart is missing!"

  "But where did it go?" asked Clara, suspecting the answer.

  "Ah, and
there you see, my dear, the root of my problem with that charlatan. He stole the heart from me fifteen years ago! Took the jar away from this mummy and gave it to Peter Nero as a present. I was but a poor archeologist! How on earth could I possibly request that our benefactor, the man who made all of the expeditions possible, give back the one and only object he was ever given from the dig site? When Peter disappeared, the urn went to Lord Oroberg. And now, Dr. Mallfeld has done it again! Giving it to Phineas Stokeman! That man is even worse that Lord Oroberg! He's sure to destroy it with his careless ways!"

  Clara's blood froze in her veins. Of course this was the object, this heart, given to Violet's father the night that all of the house staff were killed, the night that Wesley's sister, Minnie, was killed. She felt Wesley grow still beside her. Tact and decorum would keep Dr. Van Flemming from ever reuniting the mummy with her heart so that she could face final judgment.

  As one, Clara and Wesley asked, "How do we find Phineas Stokeman?"

  8

  "Really, Wesley," said Clara as she paced the carpet, "I am quite beside myself with worry."

  For the past three days, they had been sending messages to Dr. Mallfeld requesting an appointment. Dr. Van Flemming utterly refused to offer them an introduction to Phineas Stokeman, or even tell them where to find him, and Clara and Wesley found themselves at Dr. Mallfeld's mercy. Clara could not blame Dr. Van Flemming. Two strangers asking to be introduced to an important benefactor to discuss ownership of a controversial object? Why, she would have balked, too.

  But Dr. Mallfeld was another matter. She had no idea why he would be avoiding them. He had no reason. He did not even know their reason for the request. She could hardly believe that he would be so absent-minded he would ignore Lord Oroberg's friends.

  Wesley and she should have been pleasantly enjoying each other's company here in her parlor, but she found both their thoughts were distracted. Clara paced the floor, looking out the window every few minutes to see if a messenger had arrived.

  "Wesley, do you think that something awful might have happened to him?" Clara asked.

  "What do you mean, darling?" he said, putting down the paper. He had been reading the same page for the last twenty minutes.

  Clara nervously sat at the edge of the seat. "What if this object is indeed cursed and the curse has been passed along to him? Or perhaps passed along to Mr. Stokeman, who has done some great injury to Dr. Mallfeld? Oh Wesley, I fear the worst. What if we are too late?"

  Her distress seemed just the catalyst needed to step into action. Relieved, Wesley folded the paper resolutely and placed it by the table beside him as he rose. "Then we have a moral and imperative duty to ensure that this is not the case. Get your hat, Clara!"

  "Where are we going?"

  "We are off to the museum!" Wesley said, putting out his hand and helping her to her feet.

  She swiftly walked into the hallway and called out. "Mr. Willard! Mrs. Nan! We are going out."

  Mrs. Nan stood at the top of the stairs, folding a pillowcase. "Will you be home for dinner?"

  Clara looked at Wesley and he politely shook his head. "We will be having dinner out," she replied.

  Mrs. Nan nodded and gave them a smile. "Very good then. Now, shoo, you two. I have washing to finish."

  Wesley opened the door for Clara, putting on his tall hat as they walked down to the corner of the garden square in front of the house to hail a cab.

  "How shall we approach this subject with him?" asked Clara. "We already know that he does not give any credence to curses or supernatural elements."

  "We shall perhaps have to tell him some half-truths," Wesley replied as the cab pulled up and he helped Clara inside. "The means shall justify the ends."

  They rode in worried silence and it was a great relief when the museum came into view. Wesley reached over and squeezed her hand. "Never fear, my dear. In my years as a charlatan on the vaudeville circuit, I was used to navigating the waters of the skeptics. How strange that this time we shall be convincing this skeptic of the truth!"

  They left the cab and walked up the stairs to the museum. It was much quieter than the evening before. After telling a helpful employee the slight white lie that they had an appointment, they were directed to Dr. Mallfeld's office on the second floor.

  The hallway was cream-colored; the frosted glass paned doors were dark oak. Card catalogs lined the walls. Despite the sun coming in through the skylights above, there was something gloomy and secretive about the wing.

  One of the doors had "Dr. George Mallfeld" painted on the glass in black letters. Clara tentatively knocked. There was no answer. The room within seemed to be dark. Wesley rattled the handle and confirmed that it was locked.

  "Oh dear," said Clara, looking around for someone who might be able to help them, but the hallway was deserted. "What shall we do?"

  "What shall we do, indeed," said Wesley as he peered at the lock in the door. "Would be terrible if the old chap was sprawled out on the floor with grave injuries, and was yet to be discovered."

  Wesley took a small packet from his coat pocket and unfolded the black leather to reveal a set of lock picks.

  "My word!" Clara exclaimed, and then hushed herself. "Please tell me you have no idea what you're doing with those things."

  "Clara," he said as he worked, "my days in vaudeville were filled with color and once, when a magician lost to me at cards and did not have the ability to pay, I allowed him to teach me some tricks which have proven to be of great use over the years."

  "I dare say that breaking and entering a renowned scientist's office is frowned upon in any circles, much less polite ones," she chided, stepping to the side to hide him behind her skirts.

  He paused with his picks in the door to calm her. "Clara, like you said, he might be unconscious in the middle of the floor and we can hardly leave him in such a state."

  "But let us go and ask a clerk to open the door for us?" she pleaded, worriedly.

  "What? And miss the opportunity to look around?" said Wesley as the door opened. He scooped his arm around Clara's waist and pulled her inside the room. "Come. We'll just take a quick glance to see if we can find Mr. Stokeman's address and then we shall leave with no one the wiser."

  The room was the complete opposite of Dr. Van Flemming's office. Every piece of paper was tidily stacked and filed, every object clean and dusted.

  "Do you know the nice thing about people who are so well organized?" asked Wesley.

  "What?" asked Clara.

  "They make it so easy to find things."

  Wesley walked over to a large cabinet and began flicking through the files inside. He pulled out a paper. "Look here, a receipt of delivery for an Egyptian heart in an urn to a Mr. Phineas Stokeman, as well as a thank you note in reply."

  The door flung open and a furious Dr. Mallfeld stood in the opening. His face was beet red and he spat, "What, pray tell, do you think you're doing?"

  9

  "I will ask you again before I call for the police, what are you doing in my office?" Dr. Mallfeld growled. His eyes flashed dangerously. His ham-fists were clenched at his side, ready to begin swinging.

  Clara searched her mind for some sort of fabrication that was excusable or believable.

  But it was at that moment that Wesley surprised her. He calmly turned to him and closed the cabinet door. "We were looking for this." He held up the receipt for the mummy heart.

  Dr. Mallfeld's face was at first confused. "A piece of paper from my files? Are you here to steal my data?" He pointed a finger accusingly. "Are you sent by Dr. Van Flemming to discredit me?"

  "No, Dr. Mallfeld. While we are acquainted with Dr. Van Flemming, he is not the reason we are here today. We are here to save your life."

  Dr. Mallfeld paled. "What do you mean?"

  Clara stepped bravely forward. "We know there is a curse. We know that it is connected to this heart. We know that many have died because of it."

  Dr. Mallfeld sat down hard in a wood
en chair, holding his head in his hands and crumbling. "I thought if I got rid of it, it would go away, but it did not…"

  "What didn't go away?" Clara asked. "The curse?"

  "She visits me," Dr. Mallfeld said, his voice whining like a child as he explained. "When I sleep, she haunts me, begging for a host, swearing that she will torment me until the end of my days if I do not help her find rest."

  Clara walked over and crouched beside him, placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "We can help."

  Dr. Mallfeld instantly stiffened, aware that he was making a spectacle of himself in front of strangers. He struggled and pushed his emotions deep below so that the image of him as a tortured man seemed almost impossible to believe. "I am fine. A moment of weakness. Nothing more. I require no help."

  "Please, Dr. Mallfeld," said Wesley stepping forward, realizing that a woman's sympathy might have made the man ashamed of his fear. "We know what you are going through. We were in Lord Oroberg's house the night that he was killed, the night his daughter-in-law, Violet, killed him."

  "Violet killed him?" said Dr. Mallfeld. "But that is impossible! She was but a weak child! That is not what they said in the papers!"

  "We saw it," replied Clara, "and we were careful as we made our statements to omit those details which might have thrown doubt upon our testimony, but I swear to you upon all that is good, Violet was possessed by some demon creature intent on draining the living to achieve eternal life."

  Wesley held up the piece of paper. "The Egyptians believed in eternal life, did they not, Dr. Mallfeld? Except that the heart was needed by the gods to judge the deceased soul. It seems our deceased mummy did not want to be judged by anyone. You with your scientific mind, can you deduce why that might be the case?"

  Dr. Mallfeld nodded slowly, as if waking up from a dream or remembering a long forgotten memory. "The haunting started the night the heart was removed from the tomb, and only grew worse the closer we got to the central chamber. But I got her a host! Why does she return to torture me?"