Phantoms of the Pharaoh (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 4)

by Jason Blacker

  They ate in silence for a while, each to their own meal, enjoying the full and subtle flavors. Taking a moment to have a sip of wine to help things down.

  The gaunt man behind Florence received his steak. It was a large rare steak that was accompanied by a baked potato topped with sour cream and chives. There was also a clumping of green beans next to the potato. Frances watched as he pushed the potato and green beans to the far side of his plate, and cut into his steak. From what she could tell, it looked like the steak had a pepper sauce upon it.

  Frances and Florence made quick work of their meal. The haddock had been deboned, but Florence still found one in it that she set aside. They both ate every last morsel on their plates. At the end of the meal Frances wiped her mouth with her napkin and placed it back on her lap.

  "I can't believe I managed to eat it all," she said.

  "Me too, though I must confess that I was quite famished by the time it arrived."

  Frances nodded.

  "I was too, actually."

  Frances watched the gaunt man finish with this steak. He had eaten it all, except for the layer of fat on the outside of one end. Like a surgeon he had excised that part, and it lay limp on his plate like a piece of rubber. He delicately and carefully pulled free one of the green beans. He cut it in two and ate each piece cautiously, taking his time, as if it were the first time he had ever tried something like that.

  He placed his knife and fork on the plate like kissing cousins and moved it away from him. Frances found him a very curious specimen. He had eaten all the meat and had eaten one green bean. A gesture that had appeared difficult to him. The potato he had not touched. He sipped from a glass of water that was in front of him. He had not ordered anything harder.

  Ammon came by and took Frances' and Florence's plates. He asked how their meal had been and they answered with delight. He went over to the gaunt man and inquired if everything had been acceptable. Ammon looked quite disheartened seeing so much of the food still left behind.

  "It was fine, thank you," said the gaunt man in a phlegmy voice. "I'll take a coffee with cream and sugar."

  Frances could tell he was American by the accent she heard.

  "What about a coffee?" she asked Florence.

  "Why not," said Florence. "I've heard many exclaim how good Egyptian coffee is. I think we should try it."

  Frances put up her hand just as Ammon was about to leave the gaunt man's table. She caught his eye.

  "Yes, madam," Ammon asked.

  "We'll take two coffees too, if you don't mind."

  "Of course," he said, bowing slightly while still holding onto the three plates. "Cream and sugar for you?"

  "Yes please," said Frances.

  Ammon bowed himself away and headed towards the kitchen. Frances leaned in towards Florence.

  "That American behind you," she said in a low voice, "only ate his meat, and nothing else."

  "Really?"

  Frances nodded her head.

  "How do you know he's American?"

  "From his accent, when he asked Ammon for coffee."

  "I see. Perhaps that's how he keeps so slender then," said Florence half jokingly, "by not eating his vegetables."

  Frances grinned at her.

  "Or rather, that's how he keeps so unhealthy," she said. "He looks sick."

  Frances looked up at him again. He had steepled his hands and was resting his chin on them with his eyes closed. He looked tired and sad, but perhaps that was just the natural expression to his face.

  Ammon came back with a tray carrying three coffee mugs. He placed two down, one in front of Florence and one in front of Frances. He put a small jug of cream down and a bowl of sugar which contained a sugar spoon. On each of the saucers upon which their coffee mugs sat was a silver spoon.

  "Thank you, Ammon," said Frances.

  "Would you like to look at the dessert menu?" he asked.

  Frances shook her head and looked over at Florence. Florence shook hers too.

  "No thank you," she said.

  Ammon went over to the gaunt man and placed cream, sugar and coffee in front of him. He asked if he wanted the dessert menu to which the gaunt man said no.

  Mahulda and her grandmother were just finishing up when Ammon went to their table and picked up their plates. Ammon asked them if they'd like anything else. For a moment Frances thought that the young woman might have liked a dessert, but her grandmother was quick to dismiss Ammon and they got up from the table and left. Mahulda trailing the older woman by a few feet, her head hung low and dejected.

  The gaunt man reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a silver tin containing cigarettes. He pulled one out and put it in his mouth where it dangled precariously while he fished for his lighter, leaning back and stretching his left leg in front of him as his hand reached inside the trouser pocket.

  He got what he needed and lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, and close his eyes. He blew the smoke out slowly through his nose, then he opened his eyes again and placed the lighter on top of his cigarette case. He poured cream into his coffee and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. He stirred the coffee for a long time. He tasted it, and finding it not quite up to snuff, he added another quarter spoon of sugar. He stirred again for a long time and then tasted it. The beginnings of a smile curled his lips and he inhaled again on his cigarette, closing his eyes.

  Florence had finished with the cream and sugar so Frances added both to her coffee. She took a sip. It was rich and dark and robust in flavor.

  "For not being a regular coffee drinker," she said to Florence, "I must say that this is particularly good coffee."

  Florence nodded.

  "Full of flavor," she said. "I can see myself enjoying more cups of this while we're in Egypt."

  Frances nodded and smiled.

  "Strong enough to put hair on your chest, as Eric liked to say."

  Florence laughed out loud.

  "I really hope not."

  "Metaphorically speaking," said Frances.

  "Of course," said Florence.

  Five

  It was just before eight in the morning when Frances and Florence were seated in a soft cream colored couch in the main lobby of the hotel. The fountain was quietly spraying and splashing water some distance behind them. Florence was fiddling with her camera in its camera bag.

  "May I have a look at it?" asked Frances.

  "Certainly," said Florence.

  She took the Argus out of its bag and put it on her lap. It had a leather strap attached to each side that went around your neck. On this occasion it sat relaxed on her legs.

  "It's a rangefinder camera," said Florence.

  "I see," said Frances, "I'm not sure what that means."

  "Basically," said Florence, "as the salesman explained it to me, the rangefinder uses two images of what you're trying to take a picture of, and you use this dial to bring the two images into focus so that they become one. When they are one image, you know you're in focus so you can take the picture."

  Florence pointed to the vertical dial on the front, upper right corner of the camera.

  "Try it out," said Florence, handing the camera to Frances. "You look through the viewfinder there on the left and turn the dial until both images become one."

  Frances took the camera and put it up to her right eye. She pointed the camera outside, through the large windows and across the street at an outdoor cafe that was filled with Egyptians. She turned the focusing dial until the images became sharp and singular.

  "I do say, that is simply marvelous. One could get used to this. I might even pick it up myself as a hobby," she said.

  Frances handed the camera back to Florence who put it away back in its bag.

  "That is simply astonishing," she said. "The wonder of modern technology. I can't believe how small and light it is."

  "I know, and it wasn't all that expensive either. Not like they were ten or more years ago."

  "You simply must share those
pictures with me when you get them developed."

  "If they're any good, I will," said Florence.

  "Nonsense, I'm sure they'll be terrific. Practice makes perfect."

  Florence chuckled and they sat back into the couch. Outside, a large bus drove up to the main entrance. Frances looked around. She noticed that everyone she had noticed from dinner last night was present. She turned to Florence.

  "Do you remember these people from last night?"

  Florence looked around for a moment.

  "I remember that older woman there with her granddaughter," said Florence nodding towards the couple who were seated in individual chairs with a table between them. They were both reading. The older woman was reading a magazine and Mahulda was reading a novel which Florence couldn't make out. "I also remember that tall, thin chap, who you mentioned only ate his meat last night and not his vegetables." Florence chuckled. "As for the others, I can't say I remember them distinctly."

  Frances leaned in towards her friend.

  "I remember them all. If not from dinner last night, then from the boat ride over here."

  Florence smiled at her friend and nodded.

  "You are exceptionally observant, Fran. I have no fear that we will get lost anywhere."

  Frances smiled. The tall, thin man was smoking a cigarette and standing facing the windows and looking outside at the bus. The bus driver, a fat and older Egyptian man with thinning hair, climbed out of the bus. Following him was a tall, slim Caucasian man with a deep tan. He looked in his element. He wore khaki shorts and a matching khaki short sleeved shirt buttoned up to his neck except for the top button. He looked fresh and unperturbed by the morning warmth. He had a bushy mustache and rugged features with dark brown curly hair that was kept short. He strode into the hotel with an air of authority, leaving the driver standing by the rear of the bus, smoking the last of his cigarette.

  The deeply tanned man walked up to the grouping of tourists. They were all gathered loosely towards the front of the lobby. This young chap, perhaps in his mid-thirties, stood and looked around at all of them for a long moment. As he did so, those on the outskirts started in towards him. He smiled broadly and already he seemed immensely likable.

  "Ladies and gentleman," he said, in an English accent with a deep baritone warmth to it. "Welcome to Thoth Tours. I will be your guide for the next four weeks. My name is Perry Fowler. Your driver who will take us to Giza this morning and to the boat this evening is Darius."

  Fowler pointed outside to the fat Egyptian standing at the rear of the bus. As he did so, the Egyptian flicked his spent cigarette towards a flower bed off to his right.

  "Our estimated ETA to Giza and the pyramids will be between eleven thirty and twelve this afternoon. We will set up an outdoor area within walking distance of the pyramid where you'll have a chance for light repast while I share some interesting tidbits with you about ancient Egypt, the Pharaohs, the pyramids and the mythology surrounding them."

  Fowler looked around and grinned at them each in turn. Frances couldn't help but smile back at him. His warmth and enthusiasm was infectious.

  "All right," he continued. "I'll come around and take a look at your tickets, and then you can take your bags out to the bus where Darius will pack them away for you. If you need help with your baggage, please let me know when I come to you, and I'll help you with them."

  Fowler walked up to the tall thin man who had by now put out his cigarette in a waist tall ashtray. Despite the gaunt man's lack of friendliness, Fowler still offered him his hand and shook it vigorously. He smiled at him broadly.

  "Mr. Samuel Newton," said Fowler, "welcome to Thoth Tours and to Egypt. Do you have any baggage?"

  Newton pointed to one medium sized suitcase that was off to one side. On top of it was his brown fedora.

  "Very well, please make your way to the bus where Darius will help you with it. We are delighted to have you with us."

  Newton didn't say anything. After Fowler had moved on, he rubbed his face and squashed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He took them away and blinked tightly. Then he picked up his suitcase and with long strides, and without looking at anyone he made his way outside.

  Fowler made his way to the next couple who were closest to him. Frances remembered these two from the boat the day before. He looked military and very crisp in his uniform. Today however, he was dressed in khaki pants and a cream colored shirt.

  "Lady Abigail Pompress and Captain Timothy Wainscott, a very warm welcome to both of you," said Fowler, taking their tickets and looking at them.

  "It's Lady Pompress," said the attractive woman. "Abigail to my friends, and Mr. Fowler you are not my friend."

  Her voice was haughty and crisp. Frances saw Captain Wainscott wince as she spoke so dismissively to Fowler. Fowler looked up at her and smiled even more broadly. He seemed not in the least bit put out.

  "My sincerest, and humblest apologies, Lady Pompress," he said, "it is not often we are blessed with the company of nobility."

  She nodded at him and then tossed her head up to the side. Across her elbow was a handbag and white parasol that was closed. Capt. Wainscott extended his hand to Fowler and shook it warmly.

  "I'm really looking forward to hearing all about the pyramids from you. Please call me Tim."

  "I will do, Tim, and you may call me Perry. I hope you have a marvelous time with us. My Lady."

  Fowler nodded, handed back their tickets and moved on to the next passenger closest to him.

  "You're an imbecile," said Lady Pompress to Capt. Wainscott. "These people are our servants not our friends."

  Lady Pompress stormed off towards the exit as Capt. Wainscott shook his head ever so slightly. He looked around him and took the two suitcases out to the bus, then he came back and grabbed the third and last. He looked around and caught Frances' eye. She smiled to him and he smiled back before walking back out. Frances noticed Lady Pompress give him a stern lecture, about which she couldn't hear but she was certain she knew what it was about. Capt. Wainscott protested at which point Lady Pompress turned her back to him as Darius loaded their baggage.

  "Mr. Nigel Durmott," said Fowler, shaking a man's hand vigorously.

  Durmott was one of the men who had sat alone eating dinner last night. He was average height and good looking with a square jaw. He had a pleasant manner with black curly hair. He eagerly shook Fowler's hand and his voice carried when he spoke.

  "Mr. Fowler, I am delighted to be here. I have heard that you know your Egyptian history like no one else. I am very eager to hear all about it. Though it looks like you might have your work cut out for you."

  Durmott laughed heartily just then, as Fowler continued to smile at him.

  "What a horrid woman," added Durmott.

  "I have dealt with worse, Mr. Durmott, trust me."

  "Without reservation," said Durmott, "as long as you'll call me Nigel."

  "Only if you'll return the favor," said Fowler.

  "Agreed."

  Fowler moved on to the next guest who was another single man. Durmott picked up his single suitcase and headed out towards the exit. Fowler was just about to extend his hand to this tall, thin man with a plump belly, when the older woman, Mahulda's grandmother stepped up. She was visibly upset.

  "Excuse me, Perry," she said, in a high pitched annoying tone. "But surely you should be helping the ladies first."

  And with that she looked at Frances and Florence and gave them a curt nod and a severe smile. Fowler looked over at the single gentleman, and he gestured with his hand towards the older woman.

  "Ladies first," he said, and he didn't sound particularly upset.

  The older woman turned towards him and nodded ever so slightly and gave him a pinched smile so small you might have thought it was currency of which she had little. Mahulda was clearly embarrassed trying to hide behind her novel in the chair she had been in.

  "Mahulda, dear," said the older woman in a voice that was shriek but which likely
wasn't meant as such. "Come on, dear."

  Mahulda got up and walked briskly over to her grandmother bringing with her the tickets, which she handed to Fowler. Fowler smiled at her warmly, and he looked at the tickets.

  "Mrs. Orpha Bendled," he said, looking at the older woman, "and you must be Mrs. Bendled's daughter, Miss Mahulda Montague."

  Fowler smiled at Mahulda.

  "Don't get smart with me, young man," she said to Fowler, "I am Mahulda's grandmother."

  "By George, you don't say," said Fowler, keeping a straight face, "you look much younger."

  Orpha practically tore the tickets from him and stormed past.

  "Get the bags, Mahulda, quickly," shrieked Orpha, and this time she meant it.

  Fowler tried to stifle a chuckle but he didn't manage it very well. The tall, thin man in front of him took a few steps closer, smiling at the spectacle.

  "That's two difficult women you'll be dealing with," he said, handing Fowler his ticket.

  "That matches my record, Mr. Maurice Gabberdeen," said Fowler.

  "Good luck with that," said Gabberdeen, no longer smiling. He took the ticket from Fowler and picked up his suitcase and walked out.

  Fowler walked up to the fat couple that Frances had seen getting off the boat. They looked similarly enough that Frances wouldn't be surprised if they turned out to be siblings.

  The ever indefatigable Fowler walked up to them and the man stood up and handed him their tickets. Fowler smiled warmly at them.

  "Mr. Albert Warrant and Mrs. Abigail Beckles, we are delighted to have you with us. If there is anything you need, I hope you won't hesitate to call up on me."

  Warrant stood up and shook Fowler's hand.

  "We will, Mr. Fowler, we will. Thank you."

  Fowler walked over to Lady Marmalade and Florence. They both stood up and shook his hand. They each in turn handed him their tickets.

  "Lady Marmalade and Mrs. Florence Hudnall. I must say, this is quite a treat. Never before have I had the pleasure of showing two Ladies around Egypt at the same time."

  He smiled at them broadly.

  "Please, Mr. Fowler," said Lady Marmalade, "please call me Frances."