Daisy Gumm Majesty 06-Ancient Spirits

by Alice Duncan

  I’d had enough of his incivility. “That’s enough, Sam Rotondo. Quit sounding like a copper interrogating a couple of murder suspects and relax. This is supposed to be a holiday.”

  After swallowing, Sam said, “Huh. For you maybe. I just want to make sure you both get home in one piece.”

  “Two pieces,” I grumbled. “There are two of us, after all.”

  It didn’t surprise me a bit when Sam rolled his eyes.

  “Um, Daisy said you know something that might relate to some of the incidents that have taken place since we arrived in Egypt and moved on to Istanbul—I mean Constantinople. Daisy’s room was broken into once while we were at supper and once while she was asleep one night, but Daisy drove the intruder out.”

  Sam eyed me over his ginger-ale bottle. “How’d you do that?”

  “It was the first night of my illness, and I was so sick I could scarcely move. But I heard a noise in the night and sort of woke up.”

  “Sort of?” Sam recommenced glowering at me. “What the devil does that mean?”

  “I was sick, darn it! I rolled over and the noise stopped, and I thought maybe I’d dreamed it. Then I heard it again, opened my eyes, and saw something that looked like a person at the closet door. I tried to grab a ginger-ale bottle so I could conk the guy on the head, but another bottle fell off the bedside table and made a big noise, so he ran for the door. I ran after him, but I was sick and feeble, and only managed to hit part of him with my bottle. I don’t know what part. The bottle broke,” I added, although I’m not sure why.

  “How’d he get in with that guy at the door?” Sam gestured at the door with his thumb, indicating Ali.

  “Ali wasn’t there then. He was hired to guard my door that very night.”

  “Ali? You’re pretty chummy with him, aren’t you?”

  Lord, please grant me patience. I’d asked the Lord to do that before, and so far my prayers had gone unanswered. I really tried to keep my temper that day, however. “His name is Ali Bektas. Mister Ozdemir, the manager of the hotel, posted him at my door the night of the break-in. The police didn’t seem interested. In fact, they said it was impossible for anyone to break into a first-class hotel like this one.”

  “Huh,” said Sam. “I sure as hell can’t afford it. I’m staying a few blocks away, at a place called the Bosphorus.”

  “You can stay here,” Harold said in a rush. “I’ll be happy to—”

  Sam didn’t even have to speak to Harold to make him shut up. He merely looked at him with his cop’s eyes, and Harold’s generous offer gurgled to a stop.

  “I’ll pay my own way, thank you,” Sam said, sounding extremely grumpy and not at all thankful.

  Harold shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful,” he mumbled.

  “Sam Rotondo, you’re about as gracious as a hippopotamus. Did you know that?”

  “Huh. What’s a hippo have to do with anything?”

  “Billy read that more people are killed by hippos in Africa than any other animal, including the ever-popular lion. You’re about as gracious as that.”

  “Well, I don’t like taking things from other people. I’d rather pay my own way.”

  “Fine,” said Harold, throwing up his hands.

  Silence filled the room for a moment. Then Sam said, “So, do you want to hear what I’ve learned about what might be going here, or not?”

  That’s when I truly lost my temper.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sam held up a hand after listening to me rant for several minutes. “All right, all right! If you’ll shut up, I’ll tell you.”

  “I asked you to tell us what you knew the minute you entered the room, darn it!”

  “So quit hollering at me, and I’ll tell you now.”

  My gaze paid a visit to the ceiling and I prayed once again for patience. Again, it was not granted unto me. I did, however, remain silent.

  “It’s like this,” Sam said once he decided I wasn’t going to interrupt again. “There are gangs of antiquities thieves running riot all over the Middle East, and especially in Egypt, where new antiquities are being discovered all the time.”

  “New antiquities. That sounds like an oxymoron to me,” I muttered.

  Both Sam and Harold looked at me as if I’d just spoken to them in ancient Greek or something. I tried to explain. “New antiquities. It’s funny calling something so old as to be ancient new. Kind of like calling somebody pretty ugly. Or saying something’s a little big. Phrases like that are called oxymorons.”

  Harold said, “If you say so, sweetie.”

  Sam said, “Huh. May I please continue? Or do you have better vocabulary words for us to learn today?”

  I huffed. “Go on. I didn’t realize how scanty your vocabularies were, or I never would have used the word.”

  “Good,” growled Sam. “There are also gangs of white slavers who like to get their hands on unattached females. Then there are the drug smugglers. At any rate, some of these gangs are really smooth, and they like to get in good with tourists. After they pal around with a tourist for a while, they’ll manage to stuff drugs or small antiquities or antique coins or whatever into the tourist’s luggage or what have you. Then, when you get back home or to England, or wherever the gang is stationed, they’ll get it back from you again, and nine-tenths of the time, the sucker never even knows he’s been used. If the customs guys do happen to find whatever it is that’s being smuggled, the tourist will be called on the carpet for it, and the gang members get away Scot free. Of course, if it’s a gang of slavers, you’ll be snatched, and nobody will ever find you.”

  “How very comforting,” said I.

  Sam, as I might have predicted, said, “Huh.”

  “Anyhow, Sam, I’ve been through every piece of baggage I brought with me, and there’s nothing there that shouldn’t be. I swear it.”

  “I’ve gone through my stuff too,” added Harold, “even though nobody’s bothered me.”

  Sam frowned. He had formidable eyebrows, and he looked mighty fierce when he was unhappy. “I don’t understand this. Clearly, something’s going on.”

  “Clearly,” I agreed a trifle snidely.

  “Well, I don’t know what the devil is going on, but I’m going to be with you from now on, so nobody can get at you.”

  “We’ve already hired Ali to be our escort and guard when we tour the city.”

  “That’s fine. You’ll have me, too. If we figure out what these guys who are after you want, maybe we can set up some kind of sting.”

  Harold and I gazed at each other blankly for a second before I asked, “What’s a sting?”

  “You just carry on with your business. My copper pals—”

  “What copper pals?” I demanded.

  Sam shrugged. “A couple of fellows from Scotland Yard came with me. Anyhow, they’ll hang around out of the way, and when the thieves approach you, we’ll pounce.”

  “You’ll pounce?” I repeated, still unable to grasp what Sam and his British cohorts were up to.

  “Yeah? See, you’ll go on about your business as if nothing’s the matter. Since I’m here and I’ve already made contact with you, I’ll just be a friend who’s joined you from the States. But the London fellows will hang out in the background and see if they can determine who’s behind the odd things that have happened to you two and what the perpetrators are after.”

  “That sounds really lame, Sam,” I told him. “But if your friends want to follow us around, I guess that’s okay. I can’t imagine why we’ve been targeted. Nothing’s been stolen and nothing’s been added to our stuff.”

  “Not that you’ve seen,” said Sam. “These gang guys are pros, don’t forget.”

  “Good Lord,” murmured Harold.

  “And they’re mean as snakes, too, so don’t expect to do any detecting on your own,” Sam growled.

  “We have no intention of doing any detecting, Sam Rotondo, curse you!” After a moment of silence in the room, I decided to tell Sam the
names of the people I thought were behind the plot, if there was a plot, being carried on in and around my luggage and me. Well, you know what I mean. “However, I can give you three names that might comprise some of this so-called gang of yours.”

  “Oh, cripes, Daisy,” said Harold, running his hands through his hair. “You can’t really mean you suspect—”

  “Yes, I do suspect them, although I’m not sure of what.”

  Sam held up a hand that was big enough for a family of four to eat from. “Hold on a minute. Who are these people and what do you suspect them of?”

  “I don’t know what I suspect them of, but I suspect them of something. Harold disagrees.”

  Sam rolled his eyes once more and said, “Will you please just give me the names and tell me why you consider them suspicious?”

  “All right. The first one is Mister Stackville.” I glanced at Harold. “Do you remember his first name, Harold? It was something strange.”

  “Wallingford,” said Harold resignedly. “Probably an old family name or something.”

  “Wallingford Stackville?” Sam, who’d used his big paw to withdraw a policemanly notebook and pencil from his pocket, wrote the name down, although he did so with clear distaste, as if he didn’t approve of Mr. Stackville’s name. Huh. Wait until he met the man himself.

  “He’s the leader of the gang, if you want my opinion,” said I. Rather than hesitate long enough for Sam to tell me he didn’t, I hurried on. “Then there’s a Frenchman named Pierre Futrelle and another British guy named Gaylord Bartholomew.”

  “Huh,” said Sam.

  “Any of those names ring a bell? I mean, if your London brothers-in-uniform have any names.”

  “No.”

  “Well, there’s something odd about them.”

  “Daisy,” said Harold, in a warning sort of voice.

  “There is, too, Harold. Stackville stuck to us like glue when we were in Egypt, and he was horrified to see we were leaving Egypt earlier than we’d planned.”

  “Yeah?” said Sam, his interest piqued.

  “Yeah. And then who should show up at this very hotel but Pierre Futrelle!” I announced triumphantly. “What’s more, somebody with a French accent knocked at my door when I was sick, and when I asked who it was, he went away again.”

  “How do you know he had a French accent if he went away again?”

  I frowned at Sam. “Because he said something and had a French accent, of course.”

  “I haven’t seen him since that one time, Daisy, and I only caught the one glimpse of him, you know. It might not have been him at all.”

  “You said it was he,” I told Harold, feeling as though he were abandoning me on a field of battle.

  “Well, I thought it was, but I didn’t talk to him or anything.”

  “Anyhow, it wasn’t the last time someone knocked on my door and then went away when I asked who it was. I think that’s suspicious behavior.”

  “Hmmm.” Sam. “Well, it sounds as if you might be right about those men being in a conspiracy of some sort. But darned if I can figure out . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “You mentioned political spies, didn’t you? What might they want with little old me?”

  Sam frowned at me some more. Then he said, “Damned if I know.”

  I sighed. “I can’t imagine what an antiquities thief would want with me, either. I guess I can see a political spy sneaking something into my handbag or something, but I swear to heaven, nobody’s put so much as a pottery shard in my luggage. I think smuggling antiquities is really a stretch.”

  “I guess. Although that’s what the London folks are here for. Egypt was a British protectorate for years, you know, and it’s only recently that the Egyptian government has taken an interest in keeping their antiquities in their own country. Hell, Europeans have looted the place—with the complicity of the natives, mind you—since before Napoleon’s time.”

  I blinked. “That is a very long time, isn’t it?”

  “Very,” said Sam dryly. “But now everyone’s up in arms about the problem, so folks are trying to stop it. I don’t know about drugs or spies, though. That’s . . .” Again his voice sort of sagged to a stop.

  “You’d think Turkey would be the place for drugs,” Harold said, rather unexpectedly in my estimation. “Isn’t Turkey where the opium poppies grow?”

  “Oh, my,” said I, not having thought about opium poppies in connection with Turkey, even though the notion of smuggling opium sounded a bit more possible than smuggling antiquities.

  Sam threw up his hands. Fortunately for all of us, he kept a hold on his notebook and pencil. “Hell, who knows what’s going on? You’d better let me go through your bags, though, since I’m trained to search, and you’re not.”

  “Darn you, Sam Rotondo. I searched everything there was to search.” Besides, I didn’t want him going through my more delicate, private belongings.

  “Better me than a customs agent,” he snapped.

  “All right. All right. But does it have to be now?” With some astonishment, I placed a hand on my stomach and announced, “I’m hungry!”

  This time it was Harold who threw his hands up in the air. “Hallelujah! It’s about time! Let’s go down to the dining room and have dinner. My treat. Please join us, Detective Rotondo.”

  Sam looked for a moment as if he were indignantly going to refuse Harold’s offer, but he glanced at me, I made a face at him, and he finally said, “Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

  I glanced down at my plain skirt and shirtwaist. “I suppose I’d better change into something more presentable for a first-class hotel restaurant.”

  “Hell, does that mean I have to change, too?” asked Sam, sounding aggrieved.

  “You look fine, Detective Rotondo,” said Harold hurriedly. “Daisy, why don’t you put on that blue dress you wore before? That’s not formal, but it’s a bit nicer for dinnertime than what you’re wearing now. I’ll go to my room and change, too.”

  “What will I do while you guys are changing?” asked Sam, looking for the first time since I’d met him as if he felt a little left out of the party.

  “Just hang out in the hall with Ali, why don’t you? He speaks very good English, and maybe you can detectivate some information out of him about your gang of villains and thugs.” I smiled at Sam when he shot me a thunderous scowl. “You just don’t want to talk to him because he’s so good-looking and exotic.”

  “Don’t be silly,” snarled Sam, grabbing his coat and hat and heading for the door.

  “You’re a little hard on the man, Daisy. He’s only trying to help us,” Harold said after Sam left my room.

  “He’s always been a thorn in my side.” I sighed heavily. “But you’re right. He’s trying to help us. I shouldn’t rag him.”

  “See that you don’t in the future.” And Harold wagged a playful finger at me before he, too, left my room.

  It didn’t take me long to change. I’d bathed earlier in the day and washed my hair for good measure so as to cleanse away the lingering remains of my recent ordeal. Then I hesitated, wondering if I should wait for Harold or Sam to come and fetch me. After all, if Sam was right, and I was some kind of target for a person or persons unknown—although I was pretty sure they were known to me even if I didn’t know why they wanted me—I didn’t want to be snatched away by a criminal from the hallway of my hotel. Then I recalled Ali, relaxed, and opened my door.

  To my utter astonishment, I discovered Ali and Sam yukking it up as if they were long lost friends reunited after an absence of decades. I must have stared at them, because Ali shut up and straightened into his official posture. Sam turned his head and frowned at me. How typical.

  “Ready at last, are you?” said he.

  I decided to ignore his sarcasm. It hadn’t taken me more than ten minutes to dress for dinner, after all. “I see you two managed to get to know each other. Mister Bektas, this is Mister Rotondo, from my home town of Pasadena, California, in t
he United States.”

  “Yes. He told me. He say your—what do you say?—Your . . .”

  “Husband,” Sam supplied helpfully.

  “Ah. Yes. Your husband recently went to God, and your brother takes you on a big trip.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” I told Ali, trying to remember if we’d told Sam that Harold and I were masquerading as brother and sister. “And then I got sick and somebody tried to rob me.” I shook my head. “Some trip so far.”

  “Most unusual,” said Ali, his demeanor formal. “Not the sick, but the rob. Most unusual. This the Sultanahmet, and the Sultanahmet is the best hotel in Istanbul.”

  “I understand that such a thing is very unusual. But I don’t want to think about that now. I’m really glad you’ll be our guide when we visit the beautiful spots in Istanbul, Ali. I’m looking forward to it.”

  His teeth gleamed in a smile so magnificent, I darned near got weak in the knees. “Yes. I take you to beautiful places we have.”

  I thought of a question I’d had before, so I asked Ali, “Will I be allowed into the Blue Mosque. I mean, I’m a woman and all.” I felt my cheeks heat as both Ali and Sam grinned at me. Curse all men.

  “You cover your head and remove your shoes and dress respectable, and you be allowed to see the great room.”

  Dress respectable? I wondered if Ali considered my usual mode of dress to be disrespectful. Boy, I never realized how complicated travel to foreign parts could be for us blasé Americans who never thought about cultures other than our own. In fact, I’d bet anything, if I did anything so foolish as to gamble, that if you asked your average American (whatever that is) if we even had a culture, and you’d get blank stares back.

  My musing upon this interesting subject was interrupted by Harold, who joined us at that point. “Ah, good,” said he, rubbing his hands. “Let’s go to the hotel dining room and take some nourishment.” Before he took his nourishment, he took my arm. “I’m so very glad you’re at last feeling hungry again, Daisy.” He nodded politely at Ali, who bowed politely back, and Harold, Sam and I headed for the lift, which took us to the lobby, from whence we went to the hotel restaurant, a five-star affair if ever there was one.