Even though he’d known for a long time that she was the one he wanted to grow old with, it was three months ago when he decided he would make it official. The memory filled his vision and he could see it as clear as if he were watching a movie.
The bus rocked back and forth as it bumped over a pothole. The smell of diesel hung in the air. Xander gripped the hanging bar, even though he had no trouble keeping his balance with his feet. The bus came to a stop and the doors swung open. Two people stood and jostled their way to the front.
According to the map above the door, he had two more stops to go. He glanced at his watch. One hour and ten minutes. He should be able to make it in time. All he had to do was run into the British Museum, grab his keys, catch the next bus home, pick up the minister, and from there, drive to the rehearsal. No problem. The bus rolled again. How could he have not been paying attention to his keys? He’d ridden in a motorcade to the museum and back last night. He never needed them. Never thought to check.
At least someone had found and returned them. A miracle these days, really. He adjusted the tie around his neck, loosening it so the knot hung a couple inches below the collar.
Why did this have to happen today, of all days? Even though he was happy for his sister and Mark, he was dreading the whole thing.
He hated having to go alone. He hated the five-hour flight between him and Leila. Although he’d been to visit her a few months ago, another visit was long overdue. And she should have been here. Today. Except she’d canceled four weeks back when she realized there was a scheduling conflict.
She would have loved to come, he knew that. But her degree couldn’t be put on hold—her dissertation defense would take place tomorrow. All he could do was send her a text saying he was rooting for her and missed her. She sent him a heart and wished him a fun day.
Finally, the bus arrived at his stop. He thanked the driver with a quick “ta”, exited onto the sidewalk, and strode toward the museum. With no time to waste, he took the steps three at a time up to the front doors, then passed through the foyer and into the Great Court.
His gaze was drawn heavenward at the tessellated glass ceiling, following the triangular patterns as the structure curved downward like a rolling wave toward the smooth, white walls of the circular building in the center of the spacious courtyard.
He stopped in front of the information desk and leaned on the black surface.
The neatly-dressed lady behind the computer looked up at him, holding her thin necklace woven between her fingers. “May I help you?”
“My name is Harrison. I called earlier today to ask if anyone had returned a set of keys and was told I could pick them up here.”
“Oh, yes. Harrison.” The receptionist stood, walked to the other side of the desk, and pulled a drawer open. She dug through it for a moment, then withdrew an envelope. “I was asked to give you this when you arrived.”
Xander studied the envelope, which simply had his last name on the front. It was light and thin. Definitely no keys inside.
“Thank you, but are you sure?”
The receptionist shrugged. “That’s all she gave me. She did say something about keys.”
He frowned. There must be an address or a number inside. Muttering, he opened the envelope and took out a slip of paper.
Ask the moai.
What buffoon did this? He flipped the paper over to see if more had been written on the back, but only a museum ticket had been paperclipped to it.
Understood.
But why? He didn’t have time to go looking through the entire museum for a moai.
“Any idea where this is?” He showed the note to the receptionist.
She shook her head. “I could look it up if you’d like.”
“Please.”
It only took half a minute before he had his answer.
“The moai is a stone figure from Easter Island. You’ll find that in room twenty-four. Straight ahead.”
Xander thanked her again, then pivoted and walked across the Great Court, the ticket clenched tightly in his fist. So whoever had found his keys thought it would be great to send him on a scavenger hunt. Cute. Real cute. He didn’t have time for this. If he was late, Vivian would kill him.
He slipped into the line waiting near the entrance and cut off a pair of tourists looking at the museum map upside down. After a quick “excuse me” he handed his ticket to the usher guilt-free, ignoring the glares aimed in his direction.
The pimply teenager handed him the stub, and Xander rushed into the first room. It took less than ten seconds to reach the other end of the long hall, where he took a left and jogged through the room displaying North American artifacts.
He entered the Easter Island section and skidded to a halt in front of the colossal black statue in the center of the room. The stoic features stared over his head.
“Right. I don’t suppose you have my blasted keys?” he muttered, looking for the information plate at the base of the display. He circled around the transparent case surrounding the statue, and his gaze fell on a small, yellow square stuck to the glass. He peeled off the Post-It note, only to find another clue.
The Bactrian from the general’s tomb will guide you.
First a statue. Now a two-humped camel.
“A Bactrian. A camel native to Central Asia. An Asian camel. In a general’s tomb. I need to find an Asian general.” He pulled a crumpled museum map from his pocket and unfolded it. After studying the list of exhibits on the right side of the overloaded pamphlet, he located his next destination.
“Figures from the Tang Dynasty. Sounds promising.” He ascended a flight of stairs to reach the next floor and walked into the Tang Dynasty exhibit on his right. An elderly couple lingered in front of one display case as he scanned the room.
Brightly-painted figures of dragons, soldiers, and horses filled the glass boxes. Greens, reds, and gold sparkled under the warm display lights.
Finally he found the camels. Intricately detailed, they threw their heads up, their mouths open wide in a toothy wail. And on their information plaque was another yellow sticky note. He ripped it off and read the clue.
Ptolemy has lost his key.
All right. At least he knew he now had to look in one of the Egyptian rooms. Ptolemy was obvious, but did one of them have a key? He wasn’t aware of the museum having a collection with something like that. An ankh, perhaps?
He shook the image of car keys or anything vaguely similar out of his mind. He suspected the clue referred to a different kind of key. Not one to unlock something physically. A key could be symbols. Or a code to decipher things. He slipped the Post-It into his pocket. A Ptolemy wouldn’t have left keys lying around for archaeologists to find thousands of years later. But one of them did unwittingly help decipher a code.
