Mummy Dearest (11 page)

Buffy rolled her eyes. “As if I’d be caught dead in a tent. That hotel at the oasis was the nastiest place I’ve ever slept in. The sheets felt like old towels and the bathrooms were your worst nightmare.”

“What were you doing out there?” I asked Samuel.

“There’s a good museum of antiquities, a couple of temples, a necropolis, and the Monastery of Al-Kashef, which overlooks what was once the most significant crossroad in the Western Desert.”

“Caravans and camels?” Inez asked, perking up. Behind her glasses, her eyes were bright.

Samuel grimaced. “It was the major route for the slave trade from Darfur to Asyut in the Nile Valley. Untold numbers of poor souls died of starvation and thirst along the route. The Brits finally put a stop to it, but not until the end of the nineteenth century. These days it’s all Humvees and ATVs. Not very romantic.”

“Why were you there?” I asked Sittermann. “It’s a little desolate for a theme park. I guess you could have a giant sandbox and shovels.”

“Now, now, Mrs. Malloy. I’m as curious as the next fellow. I have to admit I was hoping to see sheiks and exotic dancing girls instead of backpackers and ruins. Little Buffy here was the prettiest thing out there.”

We remained silent as we resumed walking, although Buffy was wiggling her bottom and tossing coy glances at Samuel as if she were in contention for “Miss Sand Dune.” Samuel gave us a detailed talk on the faintly visible fragments of Roman frescoes. Caron and Inez retreated to a pillar and perched on the base, whispering and sending dark looks at me. Buffy did her limited best to appear interested, then gave up and wandered into a shady corner to file her fingernails.

Samuel at last ran out of minutiae. Sittermann slapped him on the back, then took my arm in a proprietary way that set my teeth on edge. “I do believe we’ve earned that drink, Mrs. Malloy, and I’m not going allow you to beg off. Your husband’s in Cairo. You’re not one of those meek wives who are scared to be seen in public with a man other than their husband, are you? I’d be mighty disappointed in you. It ain’t like you have to go to your room and iron his shirts.”

“I drink with whomever I choose,” I said as I removed his hand. “Thank you for the invitation. The girls and I have a car waiting for us, and an engagement for a late lunch. Perhaps we’ll join you another time.”

“Good thing you’ve got sweet young chaperones to protect your reputation.”

I clamped down on my lip for a moment. “Samuel,
Buffy, I enjoyed meeting you. I hope you have a lovely time in Luxor.”

I spun around and walked toward the front of the temple, confident that Caron and Inez were following me. We kept a brisk pace until we arrived outside the ticket office. I allowed myself to exhale. “That contemptible man!”

“We have an engagement for a late lunch?” Caron blotted her face with a tissue, then dug a lipstick out of her purse and pinkened her lips. “Thanks for mentioning it.”

“I think she made it up,” Inez volunteered.

Caron snorted. “The end justifies the means? How come you always jump down my throat when I tell one tiny fib?”

For a moment, I felt like the Savage Sheik facing a pair of whiny English ladies. They were saved only by the arrival of our car. Bakr leaped out and opened the back door for me.

“Did you enjoy your outing?” he asked. “Luxor Temple is very, very magnificent, is it not?”

I glared at him. “Just drive, okay?”

We opted to have lunch at the Hilton, where we were safe from the unwanted attentions of Sittermann and the British contingent. Once we’d savored final bites of ice cream, we strolled around the pool and then found Bakr near the car, chatting with other drivers. “I’d like to have another look at the bookstore,” I said to Caron and Inez. “What would you like to do?”

“Go back to Luxor Temple,” Inez admitted. “I didn’t have a chance to see Amenhotep III’s birth room scenes and the barque shrine rebuilt by Alexander the Great. He’s depicted as a pharaoh in the reliefs, although I don’t see how he could—”

“I’d rather shop,” Caron said. “I want to get souvenirs for Emily and Ashley. I can go with you, Mother.”

Her tone, interjected with martyred sighs, suggested that I was begging for company on the way to the guillotine, but I merely nodded. Since we’d all be within easy walking of the Winter Palace, Bakr dropped Inez at the ticket office and then took Caron and me down to the quirky little mall. I told him that I would let him know about our plans for the next day as soon as we had any, then sent him home or to the police department or wherever he went when not hauling us around. From his expression, I inferred that he’d be much happier sitting in the car with his paperback and a can of soda.

Caron announced that she’d find me in an hour or so.
She had already disappeared into a swarm of tourists as I went into the bookstore. Sneezing occasionally, I poked through books with photographs of Egypt during its days under British rule. The text was dry and vaguely disapproving of the local culture. I moved on to botanical books, most of them written in German. Even when indecipherable, the written word has a certain glory. The invention of the wheel led to mobility (and the tainted gene pool that included SUVs), but the alphabet gave us the ability to communicate with humanity and our posterity. If one read German, anyway.

I bought a battered novel by an obscure English novelist who’d been disregarded due to her flagrant inclusion of plot, then realized almost two hours had elapsed since I’d parted ways with my daughter. I went out to the walkway and peered in the direction she’d taken. It was less crowded, as many of the tourists had faded away to their hotels for afternoon naps. The idea of a cold drink on the hotel terrace appealed, but I was reluctant to abandon Caron. Pop music blared from some of the shops as I walked by them, peering inside for a flash of red hair. Shopkeepers came to their doorways and held out linens for my inspection. A shoeshine boy approached with a glint in his eyes.
“La, la, shukran,”
I said in what was quite likely to be an excruciatingly bad accent. He looked down at my sandals, shrugged, and went after other prey.

I wasn’t overly anxious, but I wasn’t happy, either. Caron would not have gone back to the hotel without telling me. On the other hand, everyone seemed content to go about their business. She could not have been tricked into leaving with someone; nor could she be forcibly hauled away without making her displeasure loudly known. Loudly enough to be heard in Cairo.

I glanced at a shop with a dusty window and a display of antique jewelry and trinkets on the sill. It might be a place to find something for Luanne. I was about to go inside when I saw Lord Bledrock by the counter, conversing with a fashionably dressed Arab gentleman likely to be the proprietor.
I stepped back, bumping into a hovering shopkeeper with a selection of long robes draped over his arm.

“Hello, lady,” he said. “You like these? I make you a special deal.”

I shook my head, keeping an eye on the antiques shop door. “No, thank you. I’m not interested.”

“American? I have a cousin who lives in America, in the city of Toledo. His name is Hany Husseini. Maybe you know him?”

“I’ve never been to Toledo,” I said without turning my head. “But if I ever go there, I’ll be sure to look him up.”

He stuck a robe in front of my face. “This is very pretty with your eyes,
Sitt.
You try it on, yes?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to buy a robe. Please, if you don’t mind, I’d—”

“A scarf, then. I have many fine scarves. I will give you a very good price because you are a nice lady.”

“Nothing.” I eased forward and ascertained that Lord Bledrock was still inside the antiques shop. If I ventured inside, the shopkeeper would attach himself to me with the tenacity of a leech. I risked looking back at him with a steely frown. “I am not going to purchase anything today, okay? Not a robe, a scarf, or anything else you intend to offer me. I may decide to come back another time and let you show me everything you have to sell. I may buy enough robes for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.” I held up a finger. “But only if you leave me alone today.”

Crestfallen, he went into his shop. I risked another peek inside the antiques shop. Lord Bledrock was no longer visible. There were no white-haired walruses among those moving in the direction of the corniche. I’d turned away for only a few seconds, and Lord Bledrock was hardly nimble enough to vanish into the crowd. Odd, I thought, as I moved in front of the window and studied the jewelry.

“I have better pieces inside.”

I looked up at the man in the doorway. He had short gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a precise goatee. Like many
of the educated Egyptians I’d met, he had a pronounced British accent. I nodded and followed him into the shop. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were jammed with books, magazines, and haphazard stacks of photographs. Jewelry and small articles made of gold and silver were sprinkled about the room on rickety end tables. What sunlight had found its way through the windows offered little illumination. It was hard to imagine the shop as a profitable business.

“I am Dr. Butros Guindi. Please allow me to offer you a glass of mint tea,” he murmured, gesturing at a round table and three mismatched, uncomfortable-looking chairs. As I sat down, he went to the curtained doorway behind the counter and barked at someone in terse Arabic. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said as he returned. “Girgis will bring us tea in a moment. Are you looking for anything in particular? A necklace or a bracelet? Perfume bottles?”

“I don’t really know,” I said. “A gift for a friend.”

He scratched his chin, then plucked several items from their niches and put them on the table in front of me. “This bracelet was made in the forties for an English lady. The stones are semiprecious, but the craftsmanship is excellent. The filigree is very delicate, and required great skill.” He paused as a boy appeared with two small glasses of tea and set them on the table. “The necklace comes from the Delta region. The amethysts are of good quality. I have these simple chains, too.”

I admired them as we sipped the fragrant sweet tea. “Very nice,” I finally said, “but I’m not sure what it is I’m looking for.”

“That is often a problem.”

“Not a serious one, though.”

“Sometimes it is better not to look for anything.”

“Anything?” I said, frowning.

“If you are not careful, you may not like what you find.”

I had the unnerving feeling that we were not discussing jewelry. I realized he was staring at me with undue intensity, and hastily picked up an ornate gold box. “This is pretty.”

“If one likes that sort of thing. It is a replica of a small jewelry case found in the tomb of a lesser pharaoh’s wife. It was made thirty to forty years ago.”

“Oh.” I put it down and took another sip of tea. “I saw an acquaintance in here a few minutes ago. Does he collect antique jewelry?”

Dr. Guindi gave me a blank look. “A few minutes ago? You are mistaken, dear lady. At noon I had to close the shop and rush home to deal with a plumbing crisis. You are the first person to come in here since I returned.”

“I saw him standing right over there by the counter, talking to you,” I persisted. “Elderly, white hair, ruddy complexion.”

“There was no one here. You saw a reflection in the glass. This gentleman you describe must have been across the walkway in another shop. If you will excuse me, I am expecting an international call.” He took the glass from my hand and stood up. “Please come back another day. Perhaps by then you’ll know what it is you’re seeking.”

He was trying to ease me out the door, but I wasn’t ready to be summarily dismissed. “I must thank Girgis for the tea.” Before Dr. Guindi could protest, I detoured behind the counter and pulled aside the curtain. The back room was small and crowded with cardboard boxes and wooden crates. A worktable was cluttered with small tools and brushes. Another table had a hot plate and the accouterments for making tea. Despite the shadows, I could see that no one was lurking there.

“Girgis has gone to run an errand for me,” the proprietor said as he took my elbow and steered me to the entrance. “I will pass along your regards, Mrs. Malloy.”

I found myself on the cobbled walkway, blinking in the sunlight. I spun around, but a “Closed” sign hung on the door and the owner had vanished. I had taken a few shaky steps when I realized he’d addressed me by name. I mentally replayed our conversation. He’d mentioned his name, but I most decidedly had not offered mine. I was pondering this when Caron stumbled into me.

Clutching my arm, she said, “I saw him again!”

“Saw who, dear?”

“That man who was following Inez and me the other day. The one with the mustache and the scar. He was wearing the same suit and everything!”

“He was shopping.”

“He was following me!”

I glanced around but saw no one that fit his description. “Why do you think he was following you? This is the most convenient shopping area near the hotel. Have you and Inez been staying up half the night reading about that sheik?”

“I am not imagining this,” she said, her forehead lowered ominously. Her eyes were glittering as brightly as the amethysts in the necklace that I’d been shown minutes earlier. “Just forget it, okay? Don’t let my kidnapping or murder spoil your honeymoon. I’m going to the hotel, if you don’t mind. Why don’t you stay and find a T-shirt with camels on it for Peter? He can wear it to my funeral.”

She stomped back toward the corniche. I trailed her at a prudent distance, keeping an eye out for Lord Bledrock and any stray shoppers with mustaches and scars. We continued in silence to the entrance of the Winter Palace and up the curved marble staircase to the lobby. If Ahmed was lurking around, he had enough sense not to attempt to divert either of us. The elevator ride was chilly. Once in the suite, Caron disappeared into her bedroom and slammed the door.

I freshened up and was reading on the balcony when Inez came into the suite, accompanied by Alexander. Blushing, she said, “I ran into him in the elevator, Mrs. Malloy.”

“Literally,” Alexander said with a grin. “She had her nose in a guidebook and nearly ran me down. Rather than file an assault charge, I negotiated for a vodka and tonic. If that’s all right with you, of course …”