by Joan Hess
Caron hesitated. “Not really, but things have been disturbed. It may look like a mess to you, but it’s actually very organized.”
“In its own way,” Inez said, nodding. “Do you think that man with the scar got in while we were on the cruise?”
“Why would he?” I asked.
“Why was he stalking us?” Caron countered. “Maybe he ordered his henchmen to kidnap us before we got to Abu Simbel. They grabbed Buffy by mistake. I’ll bet they’re sorry now.”
I conceded defeat. “Peter’s gone off again. Do you want to have lunch in one of the cafés in the neighborhood? There are some little shops with local crafts.”
Inez blushed. “I sort of told this boy from Ohio that I’d meet him at the pool this afternoon. I promise I won’t leave the hotel grounds, Mrs. Malloy. He and his parents are staying here. I have their room number if you want to call them.”
I glanced at Caron, who was simmering dangerously. “That’ll be fine, Inez. Caron and I will enjoy a chance to go shopping.”
“Sure we will,” said my darling daughter, her words enunciated with lethal precision. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than buy a camel made out of clay and a set of napkin rings. Inez, you’d better wear a lot of sunscreen. Your nose is liable to start peeling any minute now. It’s already flaky.”
“It is not.”
“Like you stuck on onion skins. You should cover it with a Band-Aid.”
Inez shoved back her hair. “You should cover your whole face with a Band-Aid.”
“Go get ready,” I said, unamused.
There was no conversation in the girls’ bedroom, although I knew dirty looks were as abundant as dirty socks on the floor. I told Inez to meet us at four, and then Caron and I went down through the lobby to the corniche. We headed in the direction of Luxor Temple and walked up the side street into the neighborhood where Peter and I had eaten lunch the previous week.
Caron claimed to have no interest in where we ate, so I selected a café. Once we were seated, I said, “Why are you so sure your room was searched? It’s not as if anyone would think you had expensive jewelry or camera equipment. When I asked you if anything was missing, you were evasive. Is something missing?”
“You should have seen Inez flirting with that boy last night. It was disgusting.” She picked up a menu. “This is all in Arabic. How are we supposed to order? I’m not about to point at something and end up with a bowl of mushy potatoes and green beans. I loathe mushy potatoes and green beans. I loathe everything about this place and this trip. You should have just brought Inez and let me stay home with one of my friends. If I wanted to see boring old temples, I could have watched the Discovery Channel. At least I could have had a pizza while I was soaking up all that culture.”
A waiter appeared, begged our pardon, and put down menus written in English. Caron crossed her arms. I ordered for both of us, then acknowledged the futility of attempting any sort of semicivilized conversation with her. She relinquished her martyred pose only when the waiter brought us kebabs and rice, although she ignored my chatter as she ate.
“All right,” I said when we went out to the street, “I give up. If you want to spend the next couple of hours feeling sorry for yourself, then you’ll have to do so alone in the suite. Or you can go spy on Inez. I’m going to browse in some of these shops.”
“I might as well stay with you.”
“I’m not sure I want your company. Head that way, take the second left, and left again at the corniche. Do you have a room key?”
She took her time weighing the options. “Okay, I’m sorry, Mother,” she said in a somewhat credible tone. “It’s just that—well, it’s not my fault that I never learned how to play poker. Inez’s creepy little brother taught her. Everybody thought she was so clever because she knows all these different games. I sat there like a clump of mud on the sofa, totally confused. Whenever I did something stupid, they all snickered—even Inez.”
“You’ll have to get over it. Focus on what you do well, and don’t try to compete in every arena.”
“So now you’re Confucius?”
“Let’s look for jewelry,” I said. “Maybe some earrings or a chain.”
We drifted in and out of shops, unable to find anything that caught Caron’s eye. Clay camels were in abundance, as well as scarves, slippers, and decorative boxes. Empty-handed, we eventually ended up on the corniche and turned toward the hotel. I hesitated as we came to the sandwich board at the entrance to the alley mall.
“There are some antique jewelry stores at the far end,” I murmured.
“What about that man with the scar?” Caron said, sounding like a child being sent into the dark on Halloween night.
“We’ll stick together,” I said firmly. “If you see him, you can point him out and I’ll confront him.”
“Confucius with a stun gun?”
“Absolutely.” I made sure she stayed next to me as we ran the gauntlet of shopkeepers with the finest wares at the cheapest prices in all of Luxor, only for us because we were such beautiful and gracious American ladies. I felt as if I had a tattoo of the flag on my forehead. We smiled and nodded but refused to be drawn inside. Eventually we came to the shops I’d mentioned.
Caron’s trepidation that we might bump into her stalker was replaced by the calculating look of a seasoned shopper. We went inside several shops, where she examined jewelry with the assurance of a certified appraiser. Shopkeepers beamed with anticipation as they pulled out trays, then deflated with misery as she shook her head. Her skill had no genetic basis; I would have bought the first item that appeared remotely suitable and retired to the bookstore.
“That’s nice,” I said as she tried on yet another ring.
“It’s close, but it won’t do. I am not about to go back to the hotel and listen to Inez prattle about that boy unless I have something to flaunt under her nose. You might want something for yourself, Mother. You can tell Peter it was a gift from a mysterious suitor and he might stop disappearing every other hour. He was here for a couple of weeks before we arrived, you know. Maybe he was lonely and took up with a belly dancer. He could be meeting her.”
“Ten more minutes.”
“All right,” she said. “I was just pointing out the obvious. If you’re going to stick your head in the sand, this is the place to do it.”
We reached the shop where I’d seen Lord Bledrock—or hadn’t, according to pretty much everybody else. The proprietor was standing in the doorway, smoking a pipe.
“Mrs. Malloy,” he said, “and your daughter. You are shopping, I see.”
“Good afternoon. I’m afraid I don’t recall your name.”
“Dr. Butros Guindi, at your service. Come inside and we’ll have a glass of tea.” He took Caron’s arm. “We must find a piece of jewelry to adorn this charming creature. Silver or gold? Gold is more expensive, but surely your stepfather can afford it. He is a wealthy man, is he not?”
“How do you know?” I said.
“Please make yourselves comfortable while I have a word with Girgis. Miss Malloy, if you see anything you like, feel free to try it on.”
He went behind the curtain. I sat down while Caron moved about the shop, picking up various objects to examine them in the dusty sunlight. The air was warm and held a trace of incense. My eyelids were beginning to droop when I heard a muffled gasp.
“What’s wrong, dear?” I said as I sat upright.
Dr. Guindi emerged before she could reply. “Is there a problem? It’s impossible to keep the shop completely free of spiders and insects, although Girgis does his best. Ah, Miss Malloy, you have come across some of my most treasured stock. Sit down and I’ll bring the display case to you. Your mother may be interested, too.”
I certainly was. Caron would not have gasped if she’d encountered a spider; she would have screeched. She was pale as she sat down near me, her lower lip clamped under her teeth. “What’s wrong?” I whispered.
“Nothing.”
Dr. Guindi set down a wooden box holding a half-dozen figurines. They were eight to ten inches long, their heads intact. Their beards were elongated black rectangles; their eyes were flat as they gazed into the eternal afterlife. “Shabtis,” he said. “These are particularly fine ones. Would you care to pick one up, Miss Malloy? I ask that you do so carefully. They date back to the twenty-first dynasty. Those made at a later date are more accurately described as funerary figurines, although modern Egyptologists use the terms more loosely.”
Caron was staring at them with a horrified expression. “Are these really that old?”
“These are, yes,” he said, “but there are many counterfeits as well. Only highly trained experts can tell the difference. Many tourists have returned home to boast to their friends about having smuggled a priceless artifact through customs, when in truth its value is negligible. Some of the better replicas from the nineteenth century are collectible as curiosities.”
“Does Lord Bledrock have any in his private collection?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” Dr. Guindi said with a shrug. “Let me see why Girgis is so slow.” He picked up the box and went into the back room.
Caron gripped my wrist. “Let’s go, Mother.”
“That would be rude. Why don’t you keep looking for a ring? They’re scattered around all over the shop. Did you see the ones on the window ledge?”
“I’m about to get sick. That’s rude, too, you know. It must be from lunch. The meat on the kebab smelled kind of funny, like it was spoiled. We have to leave right this minute.” She started for the door.
I couldn’t send her back to the hotel on her own, having vowed to defend her from her imaginary stalker. I called to Dr. Guindi that we were leaving, then caught up with her outside the shop. “There was nothing wrong with the kebab,” I said as we made our way to the corniche.
“That’s easy for you to say, since your insides aren’t heaving.”
I trailed her back to the hotel and up to the suite, where she immediately disappeared into the bathroom. I listened for sounds of retching, but whatever was happening was muted. The sight of the shabti had provoked her reaction, I thought as I settled on the balcony. I hadn’t mentioned the one found at the excavation, and there was no way for the girls to have heard about it. Even if they had, I could see no reason that they would have cared.
Inez came back at four, squared her shoulders as best she could, and went into their bedroom. I expected a loud argument, but all I could hear was a low buzz of voices. Relieved, I decided to have a drink. I was calling room service for a bucket of ice when Alexander came into the suite.
“The door wasn’t locked,” he said, “and it is the cocktail hour. My father and his cronies are sitting around his suite, swaddled in such gloom that I’m surprised no one has suffocated. My only hope of survival was to come here and bask in the glow of an invigorating companion. Your husband’s not here, is he? I don’t want the chap to get jealous.”
“He has no reason to be jealous.”
“Alas, he does not.” Alexander set out glasses and bottles of gin, scotch, and vermouth, then went out to the balcony. After rearranging the furniture to his satisfaction, he sat back and crossed his legs. “Any thoughts about Shannon’s purported accident in the early hours of the morning? Have you interviewed the suspects and gained keen insight into their whereabouts? Some of them have motives, and in a sense, all of them had opportunity. I must admit it’s difficult to picture any of them finding his or her way across the Nile and up the road to the Valley. Then again, determination might win out over inebriation. Shannon made her way there, despite her wobbly legs and tendency to bump into furniture as the night went on.”
Abdullah entered with a bucket of ice and a platter of sandwiches. “Good afternoon, Sitt Malloy. I thought you might enjoy something to eat.”
I cut him off in the parlor, where I hoped Alexander wouldn’t be able to hear me. “Abdullah, have you heard what happened to Dr. King?”
“Yes, a terrible thing. It is dangerous for women to go off by themselves in the night. Will there be anything else?”
“Do you know the name of the taxi driver who took her across the river?”
“I am familiar with his family. They live in a small house in the south part of the city.”
I would have been surprised if Abdullah didn’t know not only the driver, but also his relatives, pets, and friends. “Has he gone to the police yet? I know they want to question him.”
“I cannot say, Sitt. This man, Sobny, drives his taxi at night and must sleep during the day. Is there anything else you might want?”
“Yes, I’d like to hear why you know all this. Were you here at the hotel at three o’clock in the morning—or is there a conspiracy among the staff to spy on the guests and keep track of all their activities?”
Abdullah looked pained at my accusation. “Nothing like that, Sitt Malloy. There was some gossip. Dr. King was barely able to walk when she arrived in the lobby very early this morning, but she insisted on taking a taxi. The night manager and a bellman helped her out to the curb, and then waited with her until Sobny drove up. They were worried about her. What gossip there is stays within the hotel. The Winter Palace has a reputation for discretion.”
“And her accident?” I persisted.
“That was on the news. There is a small television set in the basement.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling foolish. “We won’t be needing anything else, Abdullah. Thank you for the ice and sandwiches.”
“I believe Sitt Malloy is familiar with the basement. Have a pleasurable evening.” He glided out of the room.
“What on earth were you badgering him about?” Alexander asked from the doorway to the balcony. “The guy’s at least twenty years older than my father. He probably earns less than a thousand pounds a week, and I mean Egyptian pounds, not Her Majesty’s currency of the realm.”
“Nothing,” I muttered. “He’s just so insufferably smug and omniscient, as if nothing that goes on around here escapes his notice. I’m sure he knows my shoe size and Peter’s preference in reading material.”
“You really do need a drink.” Alexander busied himself at the mini-bar, then brought me a scotch and water.
We went back out to the balcony and sat in silence for a long while. I thought about calling Mahmoud with the taxi driver’s name, but doing so would antagonize Peter, who’d assume I’d been grilling the hotel staff. Which, to a limited extent, I had. “So there’s a meeting of the gloom-and-doom society in your father’s suite? Will the excavation be closed down?”
“Nobody knows. Magritta’s furious, naturally. The discovery of the shabti strongly suggests that she may have stumbled across the first really important find since Carter opened Tut’s tomb. Last night she was overwhelmed with visions of fame, if not fortune. Her photo in the bar alongside of Carter and Carnarvon. Interviews with the media and articles in the prestigious journals. A book deal. The ultimate feather in her professional cap.” He paused to take a sip of his martini and lick his lips. “Shannon would have given her some competition. Pretty young blondes make better talk show guests. It would have made for a most intriguing situation. Imagine the two of them in a studio, separated only by a scholarly moderator with a wispy goatee and bifocals.”
“Well, that won’t happen now,” I said.
“True.”
“And your father won’t be pressured to display his collection at MacLeod College.”
“He’s relieved. Shannon cornered him around midnight and tore into him about it. The old boy’s too much of a gentleman to raise his voice to a lady, but he was displeased. After she left, he blustered for half an hour about her impertinence. He compared her to a commoner daring to demand that Queen Victoria hang her undies on a clothesline at Buckingham Palace. Lady Emerson thought it was hysterically funny, and even Mrs. McHaver was amused.”
“And Miriam?” I asked.
“She almost smiled, althoug
h it might have been the death of her. I’ve encountered more animation from a smoked salmon. Have you ever noticed how she sniffles?”
“No, I can’t say that I have. Run along and console someone, Alexander.”
He put down his glass, winked at me, and sauntered across the room to the door. “Perhaps later, Mrs. Malloy,” he called as he left.
Caron and Inez emerged from their bedroom. There were no red scratches on either’s face, to my relief.
“We’re going to check e-mail,” Caron called. “Back in an hour or so.”
Once again I was alone. I heard a siren below and went to look over the balcony railing. An ambulance raced past, lights flashing. Peter would know how Nabil was faring in the ICU, I thought as I continued to stand at the railing. Perhaps Mahmoud had questioned the other workmen at the excavation to find out when and why Nabil had overdosed on a methamphetamine. Or perhaps Mahmoud had been too preoccupied by Shannon’s accident to worry about a laborer.
On the terrace below, I noticed Samuel seated at a table. A waiter set down drinks and waited until Samuel had signed the tab. Moments later, Miriam came out of the lobby and sat down across from him. I could see that they were conversing, but their faces weren’t visible from my vantage point. Miriam began to drum her fingers on the table. Samuel bent forward and spoke to her at some length. Peter might have been able to read their lips. As an amateur in basic surveillance skills, I would have settled on seeing their expressions.
I was debating whether or not to go to the lobby and then ever so casually join them when Sittermann, wearing his white suit and a hat, came up the walk from the corniche. I would have hurtled a glass at him had I not realized the danger to the other occupants on the terrace. I was about to hurtle an invective instead when he sat down with Samuel and Miriam. Whatever he said caused both of them to sit back.
