Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)

by Monique Martin

  Simon smiled over at Elizabeth, enjoying Whiteside’s obvious fatherly pride.

  “If I recall, father, I found it by literally tripping over it.”

  He smiled. “Well, you still found it, didn’t you?”

  “It was quite by accident. I was only seven.”

  “Such a precocious child!” he said proudly.

  Christina shook her head, but smiled fondly at her father.

  “I used to travel with my father,” Elizabeth said. “Although,” she added with a small smile for Simon, “we didn’t go to such exciting places as Switzerland.”

  To anyone else, she would have sounded like the usual Elizabeth—charming and self-effacing. However, Simon knew her too well and heard the sadness in her voice that always accompanied thoughts of her father.

  Eddie West had been an itinerant gambler. He’d taken Elizabeth with him on his travels much the same way Whiteside had with Christina. Except, of course, Elizabeth stayed in shabby motels in Texas and not the four-star elegance of Europe and beyond that the Whitesides were accustomed to.

  Arthur was about to ask Elizabeth about her father when a man announced that dinner was being served. Their foursome followed the rest of the crowd into the main hotel and toward the special dining area designated for the Cairo museum benefit.

  Simon’s good mood evaporated as they rounded the corner. Standing just inside the main hall leading to the dining room were the last two men on earth Simon wanted to see. Henri Jouvet and Ahmed Kassem stood talking with a well-dressed woman he’d seen around Shepheard’s.

  Jouvet called out to them and Ahmed blanched as he saw Simon. Or had he? It took Simon a moment to realize that he didn’t appear to be the cause of Ahmed’s discomfort. The boy was looking right past him and at Christina.

  The small amount of color her cheeks had had a moment earlier paled, and her large eyes widened behind her glasses. “Ahmed.”

  Oblivious to it all, Whiteside greeted Jouvet with an enthusiastic handshake. The boy stared at Christina, a moment of joy at seeing her vanished and was replaced by embarrassment. Simon’s jaw tightened as the realization set in. Their erstwhile kidnapper had been the one who’d broken Christina’s heart.

  That was strike two against the young man. Simon narrowed his eyes at Ahmed, who tugged uncomfortably at his collar.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” the woman by his side said as she slipped her arm possessively through his.

  She was attractive in a forced beauty pageant sort of way, mid-twenties, wealthy from the look of her clothing, and, from the look of annoyance on her face, the sort who expected to be the center of attention At. All. Times.

  “Awkward,” Elizabeth whispered under her breath, before giving Christina a “courage Camille” smile.

  Ahmed started to speak, but had to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. This is Annabelle…”

  “Douglas,” she finished with an impatient edge that was hardly softened by a Southern accent and a ridiculous amount of eyelash batting. “Of the Savannah Douglases.”

  “Oh, of course, pleasure,” Whiteside said. “I’m sure I’ve seen you around the hotel, haven’t I? Are you a patron of the museum?”

  She laughed and her eyes slid to Ahmed, clearly enjoying his good looks and oblivious to his discomfort. Simon rolled his eyes. He’d met this type before and they never failed to set his teeth on edge. “I am now,” she said as she pulled Ahmed closer.

  Ahmed obviously wanted to edge away, but was forced to smile politely and endure her advances. Simon took a moment to enjoy his discomfiture.

  “Yes,” Jouvet said. “Miss Douglas has been quite generous.”

  “I just love old things,” the woman said. “They’re just so…”

  “Old?” Simon finished for her, politely ignoring Elizabeth’s snort of laughter.

  “Yes!” she said enthusiastically.

  “Well,” Whiteside said, trying to fill the awkward silence that followed. He glanced around the small group and finally noticed his daughter’s expression. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  Christina looked at Ahmed for a moment and then straightened her shoulders and turned away from the man who had obviously broken her heart. Good for her, Simon thought. “I’m fine, father.”

  He frowned and looked between her and Ahmed, but before he could say anything more, Elizabeth stepped in to save her.

  “I think Christina and I are going to wash up. Will you excuse us?”

  “Are you going to the little girls’ room?” Annabelle said, as she moved to follow.

  Simon abruptly stepped in her way. “I think your table is ready.” He glared meaningfully at Ahmed who spluttered in agreement.

  “Good seeing you again,” he said as he pulled a confused Annabelle away.

  Jouvet, arched an eyebrow. He’d clearly seen the undercurrents, but appeared to have no idea what they were about. He bowed slightly. “Arthur. Cross.”

  Whiteside watched him follow Ahmed and Annabelle into the dining room and Simon could see the dawn breaking as he realized why his daughter had been upset.

  Simon cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should wait for the ladies over there?”

  Christina’s eyes were red-rimmed when they returned, and he half expected the girl to beg off for the evening, but she stayed, soldiering through dinner and conversation. She commented occasionally throughout their meal, but the bright, charming girl he’d had a glimpse of earlier had dimmed.

  When the last plate had been cleared, the men were invited into the billiard room for cognac and cigars. Simon would have preferred to have gone with Elizabeth to sit on the veranda, but he dutifully played his role.

  Men sat in large leather club chairs clustered together in a comfortable salon. Simon and Whiteside found a pair of chairs in a corner near the windows. It was dusk now and hotel workers traversed the perimeter of the grounds lighting torches as they went.

  Whiteside watched them move from right to left and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. Simon took a sip of what turned out to be a rather fine glass of Martell.

  “I wish she’d told me,” Whiteside said at last. When Simon didn’t respond, he glanced over at him and smiled. “I’m old, but I’m not blind. Or perhaps I am. I had no idea until today.”

  Simon shook his head in confusion, pretending not to know what Whiteside was talking about, but the other man just smiled sadly. “It’s all right. I suppose the father’s always the last to know.”

  Having never been on this side of events, Simon didn’t know what to say and found himself offering vague platitudes. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  Whiteside nodded, although the crease between his eyes and the worried set of his mouth betrayed his true thoughts. “Of course.”

  He took a pull on his pipe and let the smoke drift of its own accord before blowing it out in a long smooth stream. “You don’t have children, do you, Cross?”

  “Not yet,” Simon said. The confidence in his voice caught him by surprise, as though it were a certitude. Perhaps, in his heart it was.

  “Hmm.” Whiteside settled back in his chair. “You know, I was about your age when Christina was born.”

  It was a simple truth, but it hit Simon squarely in the gut.

  Whiteside shook his head and looked every year of his sixty. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I never realized how old I’d feel even though she’s still so young. Now she’s growing up and I feel like one of those antiquities half buried in the sand. Bound to be forgotten.”

  The realization that he would be in his sixties when his child was Christina’s age caused Simon’s head to spin and his chest to tighten.

  “Of course, if her mother were still alive, I…” Whiteside inspected the bowl of his pipe and frowned. “I don’t mean to be so maudlin, but it’s times like these when I feel her loss most acutely. Most acutely indeed.”

  Simon could only imagine. Just the merest thought of losing Elizabeth made his blood run cold.
“How long has it been?”

  “Ten years. Christina was just eight when…her mother passed. I was at a total loss, as you can well imagine.” Whiteside took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m afraid I’ve not done a very good job of it. Dragging the poor girl all over the world.”

  He sat forward in his chair and tapped his pipe against a crystal ashtray. “I just couldn’t bring myself to pack her off to boarding school or leave her in London. Told her we were a matched-set, couldn’t be broken up. I suppose it was selfish of me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Simon knew all too well what it was like to be packed off to boarding school. “She’s a lovely young woman. Broken hearts are part of growing up, I’m afraid.”

  Whiteside grunted and drank down the last of his cognac. “An Egyptian boy no less. “

  Simon wanted to argue that point, but what could he say? Don’t be prejudiced against him because he’s Egyptian, be prejudiced against him because he’s a thief and liar.

  “Perhaps, she’s better off.”

  “No doubt,” Whiteside agreed as he pulled out a leather tobacco pouch and dug his pipe deep into it. He tamped down the fresh tobacco and stared at it for a moment before slipping both the pipe and the case back into his pocket. He reached for his glass and realized it was empty. “Damn.”

  “I’ll get us both another,” Simon said and turned to flag down a waiter, but they seemed to have all disappeared. “Excuse me.”

  Simon left Whiteside and walked over to the short wet bar at the end of the room. He placed his order and leaned back on the bar while he waited.

  Ahmed clearly could not be trusted. Not that Simon ever did, but Elizabeth had. But then she’d trust the Devil himself. In fact, Simon remembered, she had. He would have laughed if it hadn’t been so damn foolish and dangerous. And now, their kidnapper was mixed up with Whiteside’s daughter. Nothing good could come from any of this.

  “Your drinks, sir.”

  Simon turned to retrieve them when a waiter who had just come in with a tray caught his attention. They stared at each other for a moment before the man lowered his eyes. Simon couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew him and took a step toward him.

  The man shifted the tray in his hands and reached to open the door he’d just come through. As he did, his sleeve rode up and Simon saw the tattoo on his inner wrist.

  “You!” Simon called out. It was the same as the marking on the man who’d broken into their room.

  The waiter hurried through the door and quickly shut it behind him. Simon raced after him and yanked it open. The hallway was crowded with people. Simon shouldered past a few, ignoring their indignant protests. His heart pounding with adrenaline, he spun around, looking in every direction, but the man was simply gone.

  He grabbed another of the hotel staff. “A man just came out of this room. A waiter. Which way did he go?”

  The man shook his head.

  Simon clenched his jaw. “He had a marking, a tattoo, just here.” Simon shoved up his sleeve and pointed to the inner part of his wrist, but the other man just shook his head.

  Simon let him go with a grunt. Dammit. He’d almost had him.

  “Is everything all right?” Whiteside said, appearing at his side, slightly winded. “I saw you rush out.”

  “No,” Simon said, keeping his eyes on the crowd. Finally, he spared Whiteside a glance. “Everything is not all right. I need to find Elizabeth.”

  “Oh,” Whiteside said. “Well, I’m sure she’s not—”

  Simon ignored Whiteside’s protest and set off to find her. They found Christina and Elizabeth on one of the verandas, unharmed and unaware that anything had happened. Simon let out a sigh of relief.

  Elizabeth’s smile faded as her eyes danced over his face and she started to stand, her own expression now alarmed. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  Simon nodded and waved her back into her seat, but she wasn’t fooled. “I’m fine.”

  Whiteside put his hands to his hips and frowned. “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on here.”

  Simon glanced at Elizabeth, who frowned and said, “That makes two of us.”

  He obviously couldn’t tell the Whitesides the entire truth, but perhaps some of it.

  “Not here,” Simon said. He looked over his shoulder at the milling crowd, still feeling far too exposed. “We should go.”

  “But what about the opera?” Elizabeth asked. “You’ve got me all worked up for it.”

  Simon held out her chair and as she stood, he turned her to face him. “The hero and the heroine die, buried alive.”

  Her face fell. “How ’bout we go back to the hotel?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Elizabeth hadn’t been able to get much out of Simon on the ride home with the Whitesides. Something had spooked him, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it openly.

  They’d barely set foot inside Shepheard’s when the manager appeared and stopped them in the lobby. “Professor Whiteside!”

  The tall, slender man mopped his brow and stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket as he hurried toward them. “Professor, I am most sorry to be the bearer of such news, but it seems that we have had another,” he lowered his voice, “break-in.”

  Elizabeth cast a quick glance at Simon.

  Whiteside squinted at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Break-in?”

  The man clasped his hands in front him and looked furtively around to see if other guests had heard. “Please, will you come to my office?” His eyes shifted to Simon. “All of you.”

  He hastened them into his office adjacent to the front desk.

  “Now, what’s all this about a break-in, Salim?”

  The man shook his head. “I am sorry. After the recent incidents,” Salim said as he looked at Simon and Elizabeth. “We increased security on the grounds. You will find, new, much stronger locks on your balcony doors, but even our precautions could not prepare us for such a bold thief.”

  “Thief?” Whiteside said, his voice rising in an uncharacteristic show of anger. “By God man, if—”

  Salim raised his hand to stop the coming tirade. “We caught him.”

  “Oh,” Whiteside said, the wind taken right out of his bluster. “Well done.”

  Elizabeth saw the “however” on Salim’s face before the word came out of his mouth. “However, there was a bit of damage, I am afraid. Not much,” he added hastily. “Our men were there within moments, but…”

  ~ ~ ~

  Whiteside sat down heavily at the small, round table in his room and let the hand that held the tiny remaining bit of charred papyrus fall to the table. “Oh, dear.”

  Christina went to her father’s side and laid her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry, papa.”

  He reached back and patted one of her hands. “It’s all right, my girl. Nothing we can’t live without.”

  “I don’t understand,” Christina said. “There are far wealthier guests here if they wanted to rob someone. Why target us?”

  “I had hoped this wouldn’t involve you,” Simon said and looked sadly at Elizabeth. “I’m afraid this might be our fault.”

  Whiteside put down the remnant and turned in his seat. “I beg your pardon?”

  Simon gestured to Christina to take a seat next to her father. While she did, Simon looked to Elizabeth, silently asking permission to share some of what they knew. She nodded. The Whitesides were mixed up in it now and had a right to know. Elizabeth joined them at the table.

  Simon took a deep breath and began. “Two days ago, a man broke into our room. And another into Jack Wells’.”

  Whiteside arched an eyebrow in surprise, his eyes shifted uneasily to his daughter.

  “We weren’t sure what they were looking for,” Simon continued, “but I’m afraid it might have something to do with George Mason.”

  Whiteside frowned as the seriousness of what Simon was saying began to sink in. He put both hands on the top of his
thighs and sat back in his chair, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts. “I see.”

  Simon scratched the back of his neck. “We knew he was looking for something, but he never told us what it was. But I think two things are clear now. Whatever it is, it’s related to your papyrus and secondly, he wasn’t the only one looking for it.”

  “What would anyone want with a bit of old papyrus. It’s not exactly a treasure map, now, is it?”

  Simon tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps it’s part of one or leads to one.”

  Whiteside’s forehead wrinkled in thought.

  “But then why burn it?” Christina asked. “If it’s so valuable, why not steal it?”

  “Maybe they were going to and when the guards came, they did the only thing they could,” Elizabeth said. “Destroyed it so no one else could have it.”

  Whiteside shook his head. He looked up at Simon, doubt still etched in his creased forehead. “And George was involved in this?”

  Simon nodded. “We think so.”

  “And someone killed him because he was getting close to finding the answers he sought?” Whiteside reasoned.

  “Possibly,” Simon said, pausing for a moment and Elizabeth could see him weighing how to continue. “We have reason to believe that the man who shot him and the man who broke into our rooms, and yours, are connected.”

  Whiteside turned to his daughter. “We’ll make arrangements tomorrow for you to return to London.”

  Christina sat up defiantly. “Only if you come with me.”

  “No,” Whiteside said and the absent-minded professor fell away and the man he had once been, many years ago reasserted himself. “I’m going to stay. I don’t like being run out of places. And I think I’d like to have a few words with the man who did this.” He pushed the scorched bit of papyrus across the table.

  “Then I’m staying, too,” Christina said. He started to protest, but she shook her head. “You always said we were better off together than apart. We’re a matched-set, remember?”

  Whiteside started to argue, but then reached out and squeezed his daughter’s hand before turning his attention back to Simon. “And this evening? In the salon?”