by Joan Hess
As usual, Ahmed was lurking in the lobby. “Mr. Rosen and dear Sitt Malloy-Rosen,” he gushed, grasping my hand in a moist clamp, “I hope you enjoyed the cruise. Egyptians are very proud of the dam at Aswan and the prosperity it has brought us. Were the accommodations on the ship to your liking? Have you had lunch? Sitt Malloy-Rosen, I have saved many newspapers for you. Abdullah will bring them up immediately. You have both received messages. If you will allow me a moment to find them, I will—”
“Send them to the suite,” Peter said. He led me to the elevator and pushed the button. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to Mahmoud’s office. We need prints of the photos of Buffy and the horsemen to distribute to the military. Why don’t you and the girls order room service?”
Before I could respond, I found myself staring at his back as he hurried toward the lobby. The elevator doors opened. “Do you want to wait for room service?” I asked Caron and Inez.
“I think I’ll check e-mail first,” Inez said, blinking at me like an owlet.
“We’ll eat at the restaurant,” Caron added. “See you later.”
I rode the elevator in solitude, annoyed at being so handily dismissed. A cleaning cart in the hall was the only suggestion of life on the third floor. I let myself into the Presidential Suite and went out to the balcony. It felt very much like home, although my apartment in Farberville was hardly as posh. Peter and I had not had time to look at houses, since he’d been off learning how to be a spook before and after the wedding. I was gazing at my ring to assure myself that we were indeed married when Abdullah appeared at my side.
“Your newspaper and messages, Sitt Malloy,” he said gravely. “I also brought a bucket of ice and some fresh fruit. Will you be ordering room service?”
“Did you miss me, Abdullah?”
“Yes, Sitt, as did Lord Bledrock and his group. You will find an invitation for a cocktail party among the messages. I believe they have heard rumors about the young American lady who has gone missing.”
“What have you heard?” I asked him.
“Nothing more than gossip at the cafés and shops. There are more police officers on the street and at the tourist sites. I myself was asked to provide identification when I came to work this morning. Hotel security has placed a metal detector at the service entrance, which made many of us late to our work.”
I tried to read his expression, but I might have had more luck with a newspaper in Arabic. “So what do you make of it, Abdullah? Was Miss Franz snatched by a couple of brash young men, or is there something more sinister going on?”
“That is not for me to say, Sitt. Please let me know if you require anything else.” He glided across the living room and out the front door.
I hadn’t really expected him to confide in me. I sat down and glanced through the messages. The majority of them were for Peter and came from the embassy as well as purported international investment firms that might as well announce themselves as “Spies ‘R’ Us.” I paused as I found a message asking me to call Luanne Bradshaw. It was curious—and alarming. Luanne was not the sort to expect an update on my honeymoon, especially when it involved the machinations of an international call. I squinted at the lengthy string of digits necessary to call her back. Peter probably knew how to call London, Paris, CIA headquarters, and the North Pole, but I didn’t want to wait for him to come back from the police station.
I was dithering when Alexander breezed into the suite, bearing a tray with covered dishes. He set it down on the table. “I ran into the girls downstairs, and they said you haven’t eaten since breakfast on the ship. I brought you a salad, an omelet, and a selection of pastries. How about a drink?”
“Do you have a key?” I asked with an unfriendly look.
“No. Abdullah saw me struggling and unlocked the door for me. I think he suspects we’re engaging in a bit of hanky-panky. I think the idea is delightful. Is there a chance …?”
“There’s ice by the mini-bar,” I said.
I tucked the messages in my pocket while he availed himself of my less than gracious hospitality, and picked at the salad when he joined me. Feeling guilty, I said, “Thank you for bringing me lunch, Alexander. I understand rumors have been flying up and down the staid corridors of the hotel. What’s the current theory?”
He poked his finger in his drink to stir it. “Ransom. The girl’s father will pay a small fortune for her return. The Arabs who took her will be more than willing to give her back for Hummers, which are a lot more useful than spoiled California princesses. They’ve already realized that they can’t get more than a hundred camels for her. Mrs. McHaver is quite certain that the girl’s virtue has been tarnished beyond redemption, but she’s an anomaly from the Victorian era. My father, in contrast, is concerned about potential international repercussions.”
“He’s a politician? I thought he was more into riding to the hounds, shooting pheasants, and pinching parlor maids.”
“He has no interest in politics, I assure you, and hardly ever bothers to show up at the House of Lords. He’s worried that enhanced security at the docks will make it more challenging to slip antiquities out of Egypt. It could be awkward if the contents of some of his crates were subjected to proper documentation.”
“The Baron of Rochland deals in black-market antiquities?” I said, almost choking on a bite of tomato. I set down my fork and stared at him.
“I did mention his private collection, if I recall. Not all of it would stand up to scrutiny. Are you quite sure you wouldn’t like a glass of wine with your lunch? There’s a decent selection in the cabinet.”
“No,” I said distractedly, picturing Lord Bledrock creeping around a freighter in the middle of the night, dressed in black, his white hair tucked under a knitted cap. The image came straight out of a 1940s movie, complete with heavy fog and the raspy reverberation of the ship’s horn. Miriam McHaver in the shadows, tears welling in her eyes. Sittermann in a trench coat, prowling like a feral cat.
Alexander finished his drink. “If all you’re going to do is gape at the lovely lunch that I brought you, I shall be on my way. Perhaps you’ll be more sociable at the little party this evening. You and your husband must come. There’s been a curious increase in activity at the excavation site. Farewell, my lovely Mrs. Malloy.”
I gave up on my noir fantasy and ate enough to tide me over until tea. After I’d replaced the covers on the plates, I went into the parlor and sat down by the telephone. Rather than tackling the innumerable numbers required to call Luanne, I punched the button for the concierge’s desk and asked him to put through the call. A minute later, Luanne answered the phone with her typical Yankee briskness.
“Hey,” I said. “What happened?”
She ignored my question and asked about the flight, the hotel, and so on. I obliged with somewhat terse answers, aware that the meter was running, then brought the conversation back to her message to call me.
“Strangest thing,” she said slowly. “I went by your apartment last night to water that pathetic weed you call a houseplant. I’m not sure, but I got the impression that someone had searched your apartment. It wasn’t obvious. Superficially, no one would have even noticed. The contents of your drawers and cabinets were almost too neat, as if someone had moved them and then very carefully replaced them. The stack of books by your bed was too precisely aligned. The patina of dust on the furniture was gone. What really caught me was that whoever was there was so overwhelmed with pity for your houseplant that he couldn’t stop himself from watering it. I have to admit it was turning yellow and dropping leaves, but I thought it was pining for you.”
“You called me because the apartment was tidy and you forgot when you last watered my plant?” I said.
“I watered it four or five days ago. There’s no way the soil would still be moist. Somebody was there, and he was methodical as well as neat. Nothing seemed to be missing, but I don’t know where you keep your crown jewels and stock certificates.”
“At Windso
r Castle.” I went on to describe the Baron of Rochland, his eligible son, Lady Emerson’s lethal parasol, and the other odd characters, then ended the call without going into the current crisis. I felt as bewildered as Alice must have when she imprudently stepped through a looking glass. Rather than trying to sort it out, I retreated to the bathroom.
I’d had a most satisfactory soak and was wrapped in the hotel’s luxurious robe when Peter returned. After he called room service for tea and sandwiches, we went out on the balcony.
“What about Buffy?” I asked.
“Still missing,” he said, “and it’s been twenty-four hours. It doesn’t look good. And before you ask, I checked with the American Embassy and they haven’t been able to locate her parents or her group in Rome.”
“Maybe you were talking to the wrong people. Sittermann seems to know everything about her, right down to her home address. Has he been questioned?”
“He’s disappeared. He had his luggage taken ashore at Abu Simbel, but he didn’t take a flight from the airport. If he arranged for a car and driver, he avoided the obligatory military escort back to Luxor. According to Mahmoud, that’s not uncommon. A native driver knows how to go around the checkpoints, and bribery works well. Nobody at the embassy has ever heard of him.”
“What do your colleagues think?”
“I made a call from a safe phone, but I’ll have to wait for a reply.”
“You call them from ‘a safe phone’?” I tried not to giggle. “Is that why we’re sitting out here? Is a bird going to land on the rail with a note tied around its leg? Do you have a decoder ring?”
“I’ve had a decoder ring since I was in second grade, but it’s in a box in the attic in Newport. Shall we discuss something else?”
Abdullah arrived with tea, smiled, and left. I told Peter about Luanne’s assertion that my apartment had been searched. Neither of us was impressed with her self-proclaimed keen power of observation. When I mentioned Lord Bledrock’s invitation, Peter muttered something unpleasant and went into our bedroom to take a nap.
I was reading the amazingly lurid prose in The Savage Sheik, trying with no success to picture Buffy describing her captor as “a lustful brute with a devilish twinkle in his steely blue eyes,” when I heard a soft tap on the door. Since everyone else seemed to stroll into the room, I was puzzled as I opened the door.
“Miriam?” I said, then stepped back. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Malloy,” she said in a low voice. She glanced over her shoulder, then ducked inside. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you like this. I saw your daughter and her friend in the lobby, and realized you were back. I won’t take very much of your time. I hope you don’t mind dreadfully.”
“No, not at all,” I said. “Come out to the balcony. My husband’s in our room, resting.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing about nervously as we went through the sitting room. “I do so love this view. All the noise and activity below us, and the serenity of the mountains across the Nile. Such a fascinating contrast of modern and ancient, don’t you think? Those barely visible lines along the mountains are paths still used by goat herders today, as they were in the time of the pharaohs three thousand years ago.” She gripped the rail and bent over. “Look, there’s Lord Bledrock and my aunt, having drinks on the terrace. I don’t suppose you have a flowerpot I could chuck at them, do you?” She spun around and put her hand to her mouth, but her eyes were bright. “Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that. Aunt Rose was kind enough to take me in when I was orphaned at a young age. She paid for my basic needs and schooling. I have only the warmest regard for her.”
I made sure my chair was well away from the railing and that I could make it inside in a step. “I’m sure you do, Miriam. The tea is tepid by now. May I offer you a drink?”
“No, thank you. I need your advice, Mrs. Malloy. You appear to be quite friendly with Alexander. I’ve discovered… well, that I might be growing just the tiniest bit fond of him, even though he acts as though I’m not worthy of his attention. I haven’t had much experience with men. I went to a girls’ school and was much too shy to mingle with the boys brought in for dances. I always found a way to serve punch so that I could avoid conversation. I devoted myself to my studies at the university, and spent the holidays with my aunt. She has provided me with wonderful opportunities to travel, but I rarely have any free time. She can be so very demanding, as you must have seen.”
Miriam had uttered more words in the last five minutes than I’d heard from her since we were introduced at Lord Bledrock’s party. Sadly, I was at a loss to come up with any of my own. There had been a tinge of resentment in her voice when she mentioned my purported friendship with Alexander, as if I’d made an effort to enamor him with my womanly wiles.
“Alexander likes to hide out from his father,” I finally said.
She sat down across from me, her hands folded in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles. “How can I persuade him to notice me, Mrs. Malloy? Should I have any hope? I realize I’m not beautiful or clever, but I am capable of intelligent conversation. What do you and he discuss? Temples and tombs? Hieroglyphs? More contemporary subjects such as politics? Art and literature? If only I knew, I could prepare myself.”
“We don’t really talk about much of anything,” I admitted. “He told me a little bit about his family and his youthful escapades. Idle chatter, mostly. I’m afraid he finds his father, Mrs. McHaver, the Misses Portia and Cordelia, and the rest of the group tedious.” I winced as I realized what I’d said. “Not you, of course, but the cocktail parties, bridge games, and lectures.”
“He does seem to go off on his own quite a lot,” Miriam said thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea where he goes?”
“I don’t keep track of his activities. He went with us to the Valley of the Kings one day. My husband invited him.” This wasn’t exactly true, but I wanted to remind her that I was happily married and had no designs on Alexander. “Other than that, I have no idea what he does when he’s on his own, as you put it.”
She leaned forward, her expression intent. “He’s friendly with your husband?”
“I suppose so.” I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. The balcony had never seemed spacious, but it was shrinking rapidly. I would have squirmed if it had not been unbecoming. “Not drinking buddies or anything like that,” I added. “Alexander has been in Luxor before and was kind enough to offer his expertise, that’s all.”
“Is your husband still looking into real estate opportunities? I’ve noticed that he’s gone quite often.”
“He has obligations to his colleagues. I knew before we came that he would be gone some of the time, which is partly why I brought along the girls.” I’d stumbled onto a safer topic and grasped at it. “You said that you saw them downstairs. What were they doing?”
Miriam smiled wryly. “E-mailing their boyfriends, I suspect. They were in the computer room, sitting so close to each other that no one could catch a glimpse of the monitor. When I was that age, I used to wonder what it would be like to have a boyfriend. The other girls shared their secrets with each other, but no one ever bothered to ask my advice. Why would they? The only date I ever had was dictated by the matron, who arranged for me to attend the school Christmas dance with a boy from Saint Cutthroat’s. He was a big, horrid pig with bad breath and stained teeth. I was miserable the entire time.”
“Hmmm,” I said, wishing that either Peter would rouse himself or the girls would return to the suite.
“What do you know about this young woman named Salima?”
“She studied at Cambridge. Her father is a professor in Cairo and her family lives across the river. She can be overly enthusiastic and opinionated, but that’s not uncommon at her age.” It occurred to me that she and Miriam were likely to be the same age. “That doesn’t excuse her behavior,” I added. “She took Caron and Inez to a birthday party at her parents’ house and then to a nightclub, where she lost track of t
hem. Peter and I were frantic until they came back to the hotel.”
“I’m sure you were. The nightclubs in Gurna have a terrible reputation for excessive drinking and drugs. The police don’t interfere unless there’s a brawl that spills out into the streets. The girls must have been terrified to be abandoned like that, without a single familiar face in the crowd.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from blurting out the rest of the story. “Well, they were introduced to some local girls, and they thought they saw Samuel Berry. You’ve heard about Buffy?”
“That sort of thing could only happen to someone like her,” Miriam said. “It’s so melodramatic and juvenile. I wouldn’t be surprised if she arranged it beforehand, just to get attention and sympathy. Late last week I heard her and Samuel arguing about the cruise in the restaurant. They were so loud it was impossible not to overhear what was said. He insisted that he couldn’t afford to go, but she was adamant. I lingered over coffee, expecting her to jab him with a fork if she didn’t get her way. It was crass.”
“I’m sure it was,” I said, straining to hear indications that Peter was moving about in the bedroom. I heard snoring.
“So the girls saw Samuel in Gurna on Saturday night,” Miriam went on, as if interviewing me for an article in the society column. “Did they see anyone else they recognized?”
“Not really. I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Miriam, but I need to finish unpacking and send out our dirty laundry. Everything gets so dusty here.”
“But we will see you and your husband tonight, won’t we? Alexander will be there, and—well, I’m hoping you can encourage him to notice me. I’ll be ever so grateful, Mrs. Malloy. Do promise that you’ll come.”
