Sample Chapter of THOUSAND DOLLAR PHARAOH

THOUSAND DOLLAR PHARAOH is a fast-paced, intricately layered mystery-suspense-romance with a strong, sassy heroine who shines through it all. --Christy Carlyle Night Owl Romance  Thousand Dollar PharaohBy Sherry Silver
She never thought she would have to sacrifice this much for her country…

A Stand-Alone Book in The Good Girls of Washington Series
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Book Summary:

In 1945, a beautiful undercover secret service agent has a dangerous assignment. United States thousand dollar bills are turning up all over the globe. Bodyguarding the widowed former First Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, Chloe must tread lightly and include her in what the first lady views as a thrilling cozy mystery. Can she protect Mrs. Roosevelt, unmask the counterfeiting ringleader and throw the swift fist of justice while traveling from Egypt to Washington to London with a royal mummy’s severed arm and a peculiar sand cat? Agent Chloe Lambert takes a bullet for her country and suffers the government's inexcusable intrusion into her private affairs. She will stop at nothing to complete this mission…
Chapter One
August 1945 in the Valley of the Kings, Egypt

A redhead lay face down on the dusty earthen floor. Moaning as she regained consciousness, Chloe raised her head and twisted it from side to side, struggling to understand. Where was she? Searing pain in her upper right arm jolted her back to her surreal reality. When she had signed on to become a United States Secret Service Agent in the counterfeiting division, they neglected to mention all of the occupational hazards. She quickly learned that the missions providing an adrenaline rush always seemed to end in physical pain. Reaching over and snatching the three-thousand-year-old arm for leverage, she struggled to stand as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the flicker from a stubby red candle on the floor of the burial chamber. Oh God, no. Who desecrated this mummy...?
Chloe tried to clear her mind and figure out how she got there. She remembered tripping down some wooden stairs and grunting on a landing. As she clambered up, two men appeared at the top of the steps and chased after her. She scurried down, rounded three corners and squeezed into a small breach in an earthen wall. Did I lose them? No, they must’ve knocked me out cold. But my head doesn’t really hurt. Did they make their getaway or are they lurking, waiting to finish me off after they interrogate me?
What’s that smell? I know that smell. From where? She closed her eyes tight. Remembering a winter night. White fur coat and Bill...Hundred Dollar Bill...the printing room at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing in Washington. Up on the catwalk...the flash...six shots ringing out...the last one louder...the silhouette blowing smoke from the gun. The lithe shadow walking into blackness...her lavender French perfume commingled with hair lacquer and cigarette smoke. Bill’s assailant...his wife loomed there. Is here somewhere now.
Chloe, you’re delusional. What would his American wife be doing in Egypt? Ha ha ha. Good one, Chloe girl.
She staggered over to the candle and grabbed it. It was sometime after midnight, inside an ancient tomb. Grover Cleveland seemed to glare ominously at her from the bloody thousand-dollar bill stuck to a royal mummy’s severed arm.
A bead of hot wax dripped onto her ring finger. She drew in a short breath. Carefully cradling the mummy’s arm, realizing how sacred it was, she approached the three open stone coffins within the dusty tomb. One female had flowing red hair and a bent left arm. A black-haired male had his hands crossed at his groin. The third was a bald, one-armed female. Shivering at the sight, Chloe brooded over her mission and strategy. She gently replaced the arm on the mummy closest to her. Mummy! Yuck. It appeared to fit. Now noticing the thousand-dollar bill, her mind kicked into analytical gear.
Chloe examined the ancient corpse. Double ear piercings. Tight banding around the forehead where the headdress would have been. No trace of hair whatsoever. Bent right arm. Henna on the long fingernails. Fingers curled in as if gripping a scepter, which some evil tomb robber had previously helped himself to. This mummy was a royal woman and was in bad shape. Her mouth and chest had been bashed in on the left side. Right arm ripped off. Hacked off. Chloe’s stomach contracted as the bile churned. What kind of people could do such a heinous deed? The bad guys could. But who are the bad guys? Two of them surprised me in the upper burial chamber. One or both no doubt responsible for...
She grabbed the wound in her right arm. Her fingers slipped in the coagulating blood. Pain shot up her arm, all the way to her teeth.
I’ve been shot!
Anger seethed through her. Great. I’m going to die. Alone in a creepy crypt. But wait. I’m not dying yet. I’m up and about. The bleeding seems to have stopped. So it’s either a flesh wound or else the bullet is lodged in my arm. Fine. Take it like a big girl, Chloe. You’re the one who volunteered to jump right on into the boots of our boys at war. You are an American, and you will see this mission through. The fire of her resolve manifested itself in the nerve endings of her wound.
Chloe flinched and stumbled backward as a cat pounced from a stone ledge onto the mummy’s chest. Larger than most cats she’d ever seen. Tawny yellow-gray fur, a long tapering tail and striped markings. A sand cat. It kneaded and dug into the bandages before circling three times, nesting in the chest or what was left of it inside the shreds of black, tan and red burial wrappings.
Now that is just wrong.
“Here, kitty. Nice kitty.” She held her fingers to its nose. The cat sniffed and turned away. Not even a lick. Chloe petted and stroked the shaggy soft fur.
 “Come on, kitty. Come on, girl. Come out of the coffin. Out you go.” Gently tugging on the cat near the back of its neck, it wouldn’t budge.
 Dates. I have some dates left. Where is my bag? Chloe spun around until she spied it near the hole in the wall where she’d penetrated the chamber. The cat kept an eye on Chloe as she shoved her arm into the tapestry carpet bag and fished out a date. “Here you go, kitty.” Chloe offered the sticky sweet fruit. Allowing the cat one lick before pulling the date away, “No, no, no, girl. I guess you’re a girl. Let’s play fetch.” Chloe tossed the date on top of her bag. The cat leapt after it, with a piece of currency stuck to its tail.
 Chloe petted the feline as it licked the date and even gave her one scratchy lick of thanks on her hand. Swishing back and forth, the tail betokened gratitude.
 Hmm... A US thousand-dollar bill. She removed it from the tail. These haven’t been minted since 1936. Well, isn’t that a coincidence? That’s just the date on here.
 Trying hard to examine the bill for authenticity in the dim candlelight, she thought it appeared real enough. She rubbed her fingers over a tacky patch. What was making the bills sticky? Taking the candle back to the stone coffin, Chloe shoved her left arm inside, cringing, feeling around. The brittle bandages crinkled. Or was that the currency?
 Peering inside, she found a stash of thousand-dollar bills. Chloe dashed over and coaxed the cat off of her bag, more or less yanking it out from underneath the animal. She stuffed it with the cash, filling it one-third full. Feeling around the bottom of the sarcophagus, her ring bumped something metallic and clanked. Her wedding ring. She smiled and remembered the National Cathedral where Momma had walked her down the aisle. It still seemed like a dream. Did it ever really happen?
 Chloe sighed. Her whirlwind action-adventure romance had culminated in marriage to fellow agent Mike Taurus. In the picture dictionary of life under the listing for man was his photograph. Perfect in every way, except when he opened his mouth and said something completely inappropriate. What a mouth. Firm lips. Slightly crooked two front teeth. Hot probing tongue. The world’s best kisser. Oh Mike. I wish you were here on this mission with me.
 The cat meowed three times. Chloe turned to see the fur standing up along its spine. It must sense danger. Chloe returned her attention to the coffin and dug deep, running her fingers over the metal. They had to be plates. Plates to print currency. Shazam. Holding the dwindling candle between the mummy’s legs, she verified her deduction. Her stomach settled and she smiled.
 Chloe gasped and nearly dropped the candle as the cat pounced on the mummy’s face. Hissing and with fur bristled up on its arched back, the agitated creature leapt across the three sarcophaguses, onto her carpet bag and then circled back to retrace her route.

Conspiring voices from elsewhere in the tomb loomed in the distance. Speaking English.
 Relieved she didn’t set the mummy on fire, her pulse raced while she scanned the chamber for a weapon. She hurriedly dug through her bag and extracted her revolver.
 Now what? Think, Chloe, think. “Almighty God, forgive me and be with me.” She reached into the next gritty stone coffin, grabbed the mummy’s straight right arm, closed her eyes and yanked. Oh did that hurt. Then pain in her arm shot both ways, up to her brain and stinging into her fingertips.
 She focused on her disgusting task. Eww...just like trying to carve the leg off of an over baked, dried-out chicken like the one I ruined for Uncle Edmund’s wake. That incident was why Daddy had insisted she get her degree in Home Economics.
 Chloe waved her hands in the air, shaking off the disgusting creepy task she was performing. Her injured arm screamed in pain. Tears of agony ran down her face as she likened it to the pain this mummy might be feeling in the afterlife, having her arm ripped off. Inhaling the stale air, she looked up at the low stone ceiling and prayed, “Almighty God of the sun and whoever else these poor old people believed in, whomsoever is guarding this tomb, please, please, please, forgive me.”
 She tugged and twisted until the limb finally snapped off. Opening her eyes, she blinked and sneezed as dust flew. Dust and dead bugs and mummified flesh. Shoot! She had to unwind the bandages to get the arm loose. Eww! Ancient flesh and bones. Stop looking at me! Why did they have to perform an eye- and mouth-opening ceremony after they’d prepared the mummies? They’re all watching me do these horrible things to them. Tears trickled down her dusty face. She shuddered. Good grief, she was desecrating a pharaoh.Somehow, she had to focus on this task and convince herself she wasn’t actually tomb robbing, abusing a corpse and touching a dead person. This was just another day at the office...out in the field. Just doing her routine job in a routine way. Concealing the identity of this royal mummy, in order to protect her. What was left of her. In the process, desecrating the mummy’s boyfriend here next to her. Great, just great. Now two spirits wouldn’t be able to rest in peace and enjoy the afterlife.
 Shaking it off, literally by shaking her head, Chloe positioned the straight arm on the mummy with the bashed-in face and the sarcophagus full of dough. If her research and hunches happened to be correct, these were the remains of a very important royal mummy. A pharaoh. A lady pharaoh. How divine. Wow. Chloe felt humbled in her presence. And more determined to protect the mummy and see that the counterfeiters were prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
 As she placed the bent right arm in her carpet bag, the cat somersaulted into it too. Fine. Come along. Together they squeezed through the two-foot breach in the earthen wall and into the main chamber of the pyramid. The air wasn’t as dusty, but it sure was muggy and hot. Whose great idea was it to traipse off on a counterfeiting caper in the Egyptian desert in August? Orpha’s. Well, yeah, Orpha had volunteered for this mission, but Chloe had been drafted.
 Breathless, Chloe scurried up the wooden stairs in the tight passageway, pushing the wall with her left hand, painfully hugging the carpet bag handles and candle with her right. Zigzagging through the ancient passages, she suspected the eyes on the hieroglyphics loomed judging her. As she briefly read the simple curses, she realized they were dooming her to be eaten by a crocodile, hippopotamus and then a rhinoceros. Yet some of the characters bespoke to urge her onward, as if history depended on her to complete this chapter. If circumstances had been different, Chloe would have loved to have lingered and examined the hieroglyphics. Maybe even buy an animal symbol necklace at the gift shop. Take photographs with her Brownie camera. Mug and pose...what a fun honeymoon this would be. Mike...
 Chloe forged onward and upward as fast as she could. When the main entrance of the tomb spit her into the black Egyptian night, she extinguished the flame. Climbing the steep steps, she gasped for breath before making a sharp right at the top. She huffed her way through the sand hurrying toward the thunder of approaching hooves. Chloe stifled a scream as a camel rounded the next corner in her path.
 Agent Orpha Livingston thumped the camel with a stick, forcing it to its knees. Chloe grimaced at the camel’s body odor as she handed the carpet bag to her partner and then hiked her sari up, grabbed onto the saddle blanket and hoisted herself astride the beast. “Boy, am I glad to see you, Orpha.”
 “You too, clover-girl.”
 As soon as Chloe was seated, she grabbed the bag and hugged it to her middle, smashing it between her and the driver. It screamed a meow as they stole away through the desert.
 Clasping the carpet bag between herself and the jockey, Chloe balanced by digging her fingers around the belt on the driver’s sari. The woman’s slim waist didn’t leave much room for margin.
 As the camel proceeded into the indigo night, Chloe’s heart pounded, nearly as much as her arm stung. Please let it just be a graze. I can’t get a bullet dug out now. No time. I should have departed yesterday. She tried to pacify and convince herself she could indeed still make it back to Washington in time. Well, she’d just have to. There was no alternative.
 In an effort to calm down, she breathed in deeply through her nose and held it as long as possible, then blew it out through her mouth. Inhaling so deeply of Orpha’s wig-top incense cone was nearly drugging. Orpha had been a little over the top buying a black braided wig with an incense pot on top. Royal women wore them back in the days of real pharaohs. Orpha had always been a sucker for costumes.
 Chloe’s nostrils separated out frankincense, eucalyptus and what was that other scent? Marijuana? That’s just about right. I’ll not only be late for my mission, I’ll be arrested and thrown in jail on drug charges. Still, perhaps the marijuana could ease my pain. Chloe lifted her nose and inhaled as closely to the cone as possible. Pressing against the jockey, she mashed the carpet bag between them, sending out a mew of protest from the sand cat. “Sorry, kitty.”
 What am I going to do with this cat? I’ve always wanted a cat. A companion. Better than a dog. You don’t have to let it out.
 Once they rounded a bend in the hot windy night, Chloe reached up with her left hand, mesmerized by the heady incense. In an attempt to crook the cone downward slightly for a greedy whiff, she inadvertently knocked it from the woman’s head. Chloe flailed as Orpha caught her with one hand and slowed the animal down.
 “What the heck are you doing, Clover?” she demanded.
 “Sorry.”
 “That wig cost me my last six Mr. Goodbars.” Orpha sounded hurt.
 “I’ll buy you a hot fudge sundae when we get home. I’m so sorry. And I’ll pay for a shampoo and dryer set at Mabel’s.”
 Holding firmly to her colleague’s saffron silk belt for the rest of the journey, Chloe’s attention returned to fantasizing about having a cat. Keeping a cat. This cat. An Egyptian cat. I’ll call her Cleo. For Cleopatra. Maybe Patra? Pat? Patty? Paddycake... She drew in a deep sigh. Good old Paddycake. Paddy Grogan, proprietor of Paddycake’s Bakery in Miami Beach. Her room upstairs. The chocolate-frosted yeast raised doughnuts and his infamous cinnamon-sugar wiggle worms were to die for... She shivered. Babies did die for... Hundred Dollar Bill poisoned them. She wept for her twins. They said grief got easier with time, but she really couldn’t imagine a day would go by when she wouldn’t ache for her unfathomable loss.
 Tears stung the kohl makeup into her eyes. She tightened her grip on Orpha’s belt and buried her head in the back of her sari, sobbing.
 Orpha abruptly halted the camel. She twisted around to face Chloe. “What’s the matter, Clover honey?” After prying her friend’s fingers out of her belt, Orpha dismounted. She reached for Chloe’s hand. “Come on down and talk to me.”
 Chloe let herself fall into Orpha’s arms, depositing both them and the carpet bag onto the hard-trodden sand path.
 Chloe screamed and grabbed her right arm. Orpha rolled over on top of her. “What’s wrong?”
 “I’ve been shot. My babies are dead. I botched the mission. I’m no good.”
 “You’ve been shot? Where? Who shot you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
 No stars dared twinkle. No moon shone down. Only blackness. Evil foretold.
 Orpha crawled toward the sound of the camel’s breath and groped around inside her saddlebag. A beam of dim light returned to Chloe, in the form of an army flashlight.
 “Clover, you’re bleeding. Your arm. Where else were you shot? Who did it?” She yanked down the sleeve on Chloe’s sari, exposing her shoulder and upper arm to examine the coagulated wound. Orpha slipped her fingers underneath Chloe’s arm and twisted herself and it to get a good look.
 Chloe shoved her away with a shriek of pain. “Don’t touch me!”
 “There’s no exit wound. I’ve got to dig the bullet out.”
 “No! Are you crazy? Absolutely not!”
 “Well, at the very least I have to close the wound.” She returned to her saddlebag and fished out her army air corps nurse’s kit bag.
 “Don’t even think about it. I’m fine.” Chloe snapped at her friend. The tears in her voice betrayed her brave words.
 “You’re fine? Then why are you writhing around in the sand, blubbering, shrieking and generally making a mess of yourself?”
 The cat emerged from the tattered bag and pounced on Chloe’s stomach. She paced up and down the length of her torso, licking her nose, turning to swish it with her tail and then kneading her paws into Chloe’s taut belly before curling into a ball. Chloe concentrated on the cat’s purring as Orpha positioned the flashlight beam, propping it on the carpet bag to illuminate the surgical field.
 Chloe jerked upright and screamed from the sting of alcohol as Orpha sterilized the area.
 “Sorry, honey.” Orpha firmly shoved her patient back down.
 “You are going to give me a bullet to bite on, right?”
 “You don’t need a bullet, Clover. You already have one, remember? Now you’ll feel a little sting...and burn.”
 A little sting and burn...more like blinding pain as Orpha injected the area with a local anesthetic.
 “Again a little sting and burn.” She moved the syringe to an adjacent area.
 “Could you have used a duller needle? Sheesh! What are you giving me? Procaine?” Chloe dipped her head to the left and tried to wipe her eyes and nose on her dress.
 “I wish. Ran out of that the first week here.”
 “Well, what is it? Camel spit?”
 “Cocaine.”
 Chloe tried to concentrate on the cat’s purring. She still hadn’t named her. Cleopatra and all its nicknames were unsuitable. Sphinx? Nah. Egypt? Phff. Valley? Valley of the Kings. Yeah, right. Here, kitty, kitty. Here, Valley of the Kings. Why did it have to be kings anyhow? Women were just as effective leaders. Queen. Queenie. Nefertiti. The wife of Pharaoh Akhenaten. Rumored to have assumed his role as pharaoh upon her husband’s death. Husband. What a glorious word. Mike. Chloe smiled.
 “Do you feel that, Clover?”
 “What?”
 “Do you feel anything?” Orpha poked around the edges of the wound with a needle.
 “No. What do you think of Nefertiti for a name?”
 “You’re changing your name to Nefertiti?”
 “No, naming the cat.”
 “Who gave it to you?”
 “Nobody. She just pounced into my carpet bag.”
 “Well, you can’t keep her.”
 “Why not?” Chloe asked defensively.
 “She obviously belongs to somebody. Look how big she is, my gawd, she’s well fed.”
 “She’s mine now and you can’t take her away from me.”
 “Easy now, Clover. You know I wouldn’t do that. I just don’t want you to be surprised if she runs home.”
 Chloe could feel tugging as her friend sutured the wound. “Are you doing layers?”
 “I can’t. You won’t let me dig the bullet out.”
 “You don’t know how to dig a bullet out.”
 “I’ve watched plenty and assisted the army docs.”
 “Yes, but all you have experience in is closing.”
 “Not anymore.”
 “What do you mean, not anymore?”
 She handed Chloe the bullet.
 “You promised you wouldn’t dig this out!”
 Orpha tied off the last suture and clipped it. “It was right under the epidermis. Easy as pie with my little tweezers. I couldn’t leave it inside. The risk of anaerobic bacterial infection is too dangerous. No gangrene on my watch, Clover.”
 Relieved, Chloe changed the subject. “Mike’s cute, don’t you think?”
 “Sure.” Orpha agreed.
 “You really didn’t get a chance to meet properly at our wedding. We’ll have you over for dinner. Lots.”
 Orpha tied a bandage over the wound. “I didn’t know you could cook, Clover. What kind of food?”
 “Country food. Southern cookin’. Fried chicken, greens, butter beans, corn pone, mashed potatoes and gravy you’ll be talking about for weeks.”
 “Count me in. But where are you living now? Where did you and Mike set up housekeeping?”
 Good question. Make-Believe Island was their little hideaway. Primitive and isolated. Oh wait. That was just a safe house on a mission. Owned by Uncle Sam. Shoot. Somebody else was probably there now.
 “Mike said he’d find us a real home while I’m gone. I’m sure it will be small and cozy and just big enough for the two of us.”
 “You are so lucky to have a husband. Me, I’m destined to be an old maid. That’s why I have a career, you know.”
 “What?”
 “I learned early on what men want, and I just don’t have a pretty face and big bazoomas.”
 “Hush, Orpha. Men don’t want that. Well, yes, they do, but not for a wife. Just the shallow men. The high-quality husbands want personality. Good clean girls they can trust and count on. Sweet girls with a capital S.”
 “Even if that is true, I’m obviously, glaringly lacking in the personality department. I’m boring as a boulder.”
 “Orpha, stop that. You’re one of the funnest girls I know. Well, just look at you. Who else would be skulking around in Egypt, in the black of night, galloping on a camel, sewing up a bullet hole in the middle of the sand? Gee, think of all the adventures you’ve had. You are a very sweet, kind woman too. Caring, and you placed your country before your own happiness and safety.”
 Orpha poured alcohol over the hypodermic needle and wiped it with gauze. “Sorry I don’t have any antibiotics for you, Clover. I’d slather some honey on it to try to ward off infection, but with those sutures, I’m afraid they’ll pull right out when you change the dressing. Keep it dry for forty-eight hours and then change the bandages after every bath.”
 Honey. Hmm...maybe that was the substance sticking to the counterfeit thousands.
 Orpha wiped down the forceps, then packed the unused portion of gauze in her saddlebag. She kicked sand over the bloody swabs.
 Chloe rose to her feet and snatched the flashlight. “I don’t know about leaving that stuff here.”
 “I don’t see any medical waste receptacles on the date palms, Clover. What do you propose we do? I can’t risk taking them and getting caught.”
 “Why not? You’re here as a nurse.”
 Orpha snorted. “Yes. And they’d want to know just who I sewed up and why I was carrying the bloody mess with me.”
 “Good point.”
 Chloe opened her carpet bag and awkwardly placed the cat inside with her left hand. It stepped inside willingly. She hoped she hadn’t been too rough with it.
 Orpha said, “Here, give that to me.” She hooked the two leather handles around the rear saddle horn, draping the bag over the sitting camel’s rear end.
 Feeling some euphoric properties of the anesthetic, Chloe giggled as she placed the back of her hand near the camel’s big nostrils. It sniffed and turned its head. She patted the top of the animal’s bristly skull and then climbed aboard.
 Orpha jockeyed herself into position and coaxed-commanded the camel to stand.

Holding tight to Orpha’s belt, feeling the saddle horn digging into her hind parts, Chloe clutched on as the camel swayed up and down and back and forth as it rose. The cat mewed. Chloe turned her head. “Ouch! It’s okay, kitty. Nefertiti. We’re safe. You’ll be fine, girl... Orpha, what did you do to me? Sew my arm ligaments to my neck? It hurts like Hades to move. But I can’t feel my arm. And I do have a pretty good buzz going.”
 “Sorry, Clover. You’ll have to take it easy for the next seven to ten days. Try not to use your right arm. Limit any reaching or yanking movements. Whatever you do, don’t try to pick up anything heavy with that hand.”
 “No problem. I’ll be traveling anyhow. I’ll carry my bag with my left hand.”
 The camel found its cadence and lighted through the sand.
 “I am so sorry I knocked your incense cone and wig off.”
 “Yeah, I’m sorry about that too. The marijuana might’ve eased your pain.”
 Chloe gingerly shook her head, giggling. She marveled at the cultural differences. Here they were, two young women out in the middle of the night alone, and they had been inhaling an illegal drug. Illegal in their country. But it was perfectly acceptable in this context. Actually, it was part of their cover.
 Cover.
 Undercover agents for the United States Secret Service. On the trail of counterfeiters. A far cry from the life she’d led in Shrew, North Carolina. Not putting her degree in home economics to any good use here.
 The thunder of hoof beats approached from the north. Orpha fought to keep the camel under control as it stumbled into a crow-hop. Nefertiti meowed and Chloe half-screamed as she was thrown.
 A chariot arrived.

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