Mummy Dearest (10 page)

Caron and Inez dragged chairs from the parlor out to the balcony and mutely sat down, watching me. Alexander returned and offered Salima a glass.

“As Your Highness requested,” he said with a grin.

Salima laughed. “I can assure you that the only blue blood in my veins came several generations ago from an Abyssinian princess. You’re Lord Bledrock’s son, aren’t you? You must have forgotten the last time we encountered each other. I was in the midst of that terrible preadolescent stage and you were a despicable boor. You looked down your aristocratic nose and declared me to be a spoiled brat.”

“Were you?” said Alexander.

She waggled a finger at him. “That’s hardly the point, is it?” Dismissing him, she turned back to me. “Did you enjoy your outing to the Valley of the Kings?”

“It was very interesting,” I said.

“I do hope you’ll allow me to join you another time. There are several tombs barely mentioned in the guidebooks that are much more intriguing than that of the much-regaled Tutankhamun. Carnarvon and his cohorts made off with souvenirs, but the Egyptians managed to keep most of the
contents of the tomb. Have you been to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo? It’s vast, dusty, and disorganized, but they do have the solid gold death mask and coffin, and the incredible jewelry.”

“We’re hoping to have some time in Cairo during our stay.”

“We haven’t even seen the pyramids,” Caron said. “I mean, who goes to Egypt and Doesn’t See The Pyramids?”

Salima shook her head in sympathy, although her eyes were glittering. “Well, Mrs. Malloy, will you permit the girls to come to my little family gathering on Saturday? It will be boring, I fear. The older relatives don’t speak English, and the younger ones tend to be overly excited in the presence of sweets and festivities. I solemnly promise to bring the girls back to the hotel by eleven o’clock.”

Even Alexander was waiting for my reply. I realized I’d been ambushed and had no graceful retreat. “If you’re sure they won’t intrude …,” I began reluctantly. “After all, it is a family party and—”

“Good heavens no,” Salima said. “It’s settled, then. Caron, Inez, I’ll be in the lobby at seven. Some of my aunts are priggish, so I suggest you dress conservatively. You might want to bring a box of candy or dried fruit for my mother, and a little something for Jamil.” She gulped down the martini, hopped off the rail, and paused to touch my shoulder. “I’ll take very good care of them, Mrs. Malloy. Have a lovely time at the dinner party on the
dahabiyya.
Mr. Bledrock, it’s been ever so lovely seeing you again. We must get together in another ten years, unless, of course, you’re occupied pulling wings off flies.
Ma’asalama
, everyone.”

“Isn’t she fantastic?” Caron demanded after the parlor door had closed. “She knows everybody in Luxor.”

“I’d be surprised if she doesn’t know everyone in Egypt,” Alexander said. “She’s hardly a shy sort.”

“Hardly,” I murmured.

Inez picked up the copy of
The Savage Sheik
that I’d left on a corner table. “I’ve been looking for this.”

The three of them looked at me. It occurred to me that it was time to shower and change clothes, and I excused myself rather hastily. As I fled into the bedroom, giggles and snorts were audible from the balcony.

Peter returned as the sun was setting behind the mountains across the Nile. He went into the bathroom and emerged after half an hour, damp but clean and dressed decorously. I glanced up from my book (a civilized British mystery) as he came out to the balcony. “How was your meeting? I noticed that you didn’t mention it until we ran into that lout in the lobby.”

“Sorry about all that, but I knew you were capable of fending him off. Lovely evening, isn’t it? Did you ever imagine you’d be gazing at the Nile as the moon rose?”

I allowed him to nuzzle my neck for a moment, and even went so far as to reciprocate in a seemly fashion. After a few minutes, he sat down across from me and sighed. “Bad news, I’m afraid. I have to fly to Cairo in the morning to meet with”—he hesitated—“some people. You and the girls can come along if you like, but I’ll be tied up most of the time. I’ll be back Saturday in time for us to have dinner on the
dahabiyya.”

There was no point in protesting. I reminded myself that I’d been warned this would happen—not that said warnings made it more palatable. I told him what Alexander had said about Oskar’s death, and when he failed to offer speculation, I continued with Salima’s whirlwind appearance. “I guess Caron and Inez will be safe with her,” I added.

“Bakr can tag along if it’ll make you feel better.”

I shook my head. “The idea appeals, but the girls would be furious. It’s not as if they’ve been sheltered all these years. Their track record is impressive. They’ve talked themselves out of more nasty situations than any politician ever has.”

“Very few politicians have been taken into custody by an animal control officer,” Peter murmured, grinning, “or stolen frozen frogs from the high school biology lab. Let’s just hope they don’t decide to steal the Sphinx.”

On that note, we gathered up the would-be felons and went to dinner.

Lord Bledrock swept down on us at breakfast, his mustache trembling with anticipation. “Dear Claire, how delightful to find you here. I understand Rosen has gone to Cairo for a few days. I hope you’ll allow us to entertain you and the young ladies in his absence.”

Caron and Inez busied themselves with their waffles. I put down my coffee cup and said, “How did you happen to hear about Peter?”

“You must realize this is a tight little community. Ahmed noticed Rosen’s departure and mentioned it to Alexander, who had been out taking an early-morning stroll with Miss Portia and Miss Cordelia. One of them told Miriam, who reported it to Mrs. McHaver, who called me to inquire if there was any hint of marital discord.”

I started to protest, but he ignored me.

“However, Alexander suspected it was due to Rosen’s meeting yesterday with Chief Inspector el-Habachi, who asserted that the trip was a business matter involving the Minister of Economic Development. You see, I can be quite the Hercule Poirot myself, when need be.”

“Shall I assume you are also aware that I sneezed twice this morning while taking a shower?” I said.

He stepped back. “Now you mustn’t think we were gossiping about you, Claire. It’s our obligation to look after any young woman of our acquaintance who has been abandoned in such a fashion, if only for a few days. Several of us are attending a lecture this morning at the Mummification Museum on the floral motifs on the coffins of the twenty-first dynasty. Some Swedish chap who’s written a book. I’ve met him, and his accent is impenetrable, but he has slides. I do hope you will join us.”

I ignored the intakes of breath across the table. “Thank you for the invitation, Lord Bledrock, but we have other plans for the day.” I looked at my watch. “Our driver will be picking us up soon, so we must go. I hope you enjoy the lecture.”

Caron, Inez, and I hurried up the stairwell to the suite. Once I’d collapsed in a chair and caught my breath, I said, “Think of something.”

“We could go to Luxor Temple,” Inez suggested timidly. “It’s next to the hotel.”

“If we leave on foot, Ahmed will rat us out,” said Caron. “But if we stay here, then the maid will say something and we’ll end up on the local news.”

“True.” I leaned back, feeling empathy for a fox in a burrow on the day of the hunt. The hounds were baying in their kennel down the hall, eager to catch a whiff of us should we venture forth. “What a bunch of busybodies. Lord Bledrock is probably speculating about our outing, as well as my sneezes. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if he were telling Ahmed to locate an allergist who makes house calls.”

“What if,” Inez said, “we have Bakr pick us up and drive around for a while, then drop us off at the Luxor Temple? They’ll all be at the museum by then.”

“Lame, but workable,” Caron said, shrugging disdainfully since it was not her idea and was therefore second-rate at best. “Just promise me that we don’t have to gaze soul-fully at every hieroglyph while Japanese tourists take our pictures.”

I called Bakr, and after fifteen minutes we crept down the stairs and out through the lobby of the New Winter Palace to the van waiting at the curb. Bakr took us to an area with narrow streets, crowded shops, and tourists burdened with dauntingly large backpacks and maps in hand. We bought a few native crafts to take home, then had tea and biscuits. An hour later, we decided it was safe to proceed to Luxor Temple.

Bakr dropped us off at the ticket office on the corniche, which was well away from the entrances to the Old and New Winter Palaces. Once inside, we headed down a stone walkway toward the imposing facade of the temple.

“That’s the avenue of sphinxes,” Inez said as she gestured to a long path flanked with smaller versions of the more famous Great Sphinx at Giza. “It used to go all the way to Karnak
, which is three kilometers to the north. The temple is an expansion by Amenhotep III during the New Kingdom on the site of a sanctuary built by Hatshepsut. Over there by the entrance are the colossi of Ramses II and a pink granite obelisk. There were two obelisks, but the second is in the Place de la Concorde in Paris. The wall is twenty-four meters tall and—”

“Howdy!” boomed Sittermann, stepping out from behind one of the colossi. “Fancy meeting you here!”

I was almost glad to see him. “Good morning.”

“Ain’t this a dandy coincidence,” he continued, oblivious to the chill in my voice. “I got some folks I want you to meet. Americans, just like us. I met ’em out at the Kharga Oasis.”

Nudging and jostling, he hustled us inside the temple as if we were wayward calves. I tried to pause long enough to gape at the towering pillars and lucid blue sky above them, but Sittermann was relentless. We went through several rooms, edging our way past tour groups, until we were allowed to stop. A couple stood near a scaffold, talking to a mason above them.

“I was wondering where you two ran off,” said Sittermann. “I want you to meet a real good friend of mine, Claire Malloy. She’s over here with her husband, who’s in development, same as me. Mrs. Malloy, this is Samuel. I don’t rightly recollect his last name.”

The young man turned around. His scruffy beard, stained T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and sandals were appropriate collegiate wear. A frayed canvas bag hung on a strap on his shoulder and an elaborate camera from another strap. His dark hair hung in his eyes in the style of punk celebrities. His shirtsleeve partly obscured an amateurish tattoo. “Hey,” he said, squinting at me. “Samuel Berry, from Richmond. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

His companion looked over her shoulder at me, then more closely at Caron and Inez. “Me, too,” she said in a squeaky voice. “I’m Buffy Franz, from Marin County, across the bay from San Francisco.” There was nothing scruffy about her appearance. Her ash blond hair was
shoulder length and artfully flipped, her makeup adequate for a presidential reception, and her blouse and skirt discreetly adorned with designer labels. If she’d come from an oasis, she’d found a manicurist and a pedicurist in a mud hut next to a hair salon.

“How do you do?” I said. I was aware of Caron and Inez breathing on my neck, but neither spoke.

“Isn’t this just fantastic?” demanded Buffy. “All these really big columns and statues and stuff? I just shudder when I think how old it is!”

“Me, too,” Caron said softly. “Shudder, that is.”

I stepped on her toe, but only hard enough to illicit a small gasp. “Yes, it is fascinating. Please don’t let us interrupt you. There’s so much more to see, I’ve been told. The… ah, hypostyle hall and so forth.”

Sittermann deftly blocked my path. “Samuel and Buffy are staying at the Old Winter Palace. What say we have a look around here, then go back to the bar and cool off?”

“I’d rather eat spiders,” Caron muttered in my ear.

Samuel frowned for a moment, then said, “Sure thing, Sittermann. The columned hall is this way, Mrs. Malloy. There are some great frescoes from the Roman period.”

Buffy fell into step next to me. “This is my first time in Egypt. I’m not supposed to be here. My parents think I’m in Rome doing the junior year abroad thing, but it was really boring after the first few weeks. We had to go to classes and listen to these funny little Italian professors drone on and on about history and architecture. It was all I could do to sneak away for a few hours to shop. It was maddening. There I was, sitting on the Spanish Steps listening to a lecture about some dumb Bernini fountain, when Armani, Gucci, Versace, Valentino, Hermès, and Prada were all within a block. I thought I was going to throw up!”

“Brutal,” Inez said ever so innocently.

Buffy sighed. “It was awful. So one night some of us went to a bar, and Sammy came in with a couple of guys he’d met at a youth hostel, and one thing led to another. Isn’t it amazing? Even though the shopping here is positively dismal,
I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids. They were built by aliens, you know. There’s like no way those stones could have been piled up like that without the help of extraterrestrial technology. When we go back to Cairo, I’m going to bribe somebody to let me spend the night in the room at the bottom of the pyramid. Supposedly, if you have a crystal, it gets all kind of mystical power and you can use it to cure cancer and promote worldwide peace.”

“Those are admirable goals,” I said.

Samuel stopped until we caught up. “Buffy, lay off the crap about the aliens and crystals, okay? The pyramids were built by Egyptian laborers, who had nothing better to do during the season when the Nile flooded their fields. They had a system of ramps to move the stone blocks up the pyramid. Construction engineers figured it out a long time ago.”

“I thought they were slaves,” Buffy said, pouting.

“Don’t rely on Hollywood for historical accuracy.”

Sittermann, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet, swung around, nearly toppling an unwary tourist with a camcorder. “What are you, Samuel—a historian or an engineer?”

“An architect. I finished my degree in May, and I’m taking a year off before I settle down at a firm. I’m a big fan of the Graeco-Roman period. I’d been in Rome for a couple of months when I met Buffy. When I told her I was heading here, she begged to come along. She makes a cozy tent mate.”