He’d spent almost the whole of it in the dingy basement of the Cairo Museum, escaping only the final week for a whirlwind tour by Volkswagen bus into Upper Egypt, hoping to make it to Luxor, but getting only as far south as Abydos. He’d stopped at all the de rigueur monuments-the pyramids, Memphis, Saqqara, Beni Hassan-sometimes three in a day, and by the time he’d staggered out of the last one, they’d all started to look alike to him. Now, six years later, they were little more than a blur.

Other than that, the only thing he’d done in Egyptology was to teach a couple of classes in it while the regular professor was on sabbatical, but as he didn’t have to tell them, that hardly made him an expert, and besides, it had been years ago. Getting up in front of a camera and talking about Egyptology would make him feel like a fraud, he said, and an interloper besides. Why not turn to a recognized expert in the field?

“I’ll tell you why,” Bruno said, “first, because there aren’t as many recognized experts as you think, and second, we’re not doing a movie for professional anthropologists, we’re doing it for businessmen who might want to give a few bucks, and for high school students who might want to learn a few things, so we don’t need any fancy scientific gobbledygook. What we need is someone personable, someone who can talk in front of a camera in understandable language.”

“Yes, but-”

“Look, it also doesn’t hurt that you happen to be Gideon Oliver, the Skeleton Detective. That’ll catch people’s attention. How many Egyptologists are celebrities?”

A reference to the nickname that had clung to him like a barnacle since his first publicized forensic case was not the best way to win Gideon over. He scowled down at his plate. “I’m not-”

“I don’t think you should reject this too hastily,” Rupert interjected.

“For what it’s worth,” Bea said, “it was Abe Goldstein’s idea.”