Mummy Dearest (16 page)

“Nevine’s boyfriend?” asked Peter.

“No, the man who’s been following us. The one with the scar.”

Inez blinked soberly. “And a mustache. He was wearing jeans and a turtleneck. It was so dark we could barely see across the room, but he was wearing sunglasses. It was unbelievably suspicious. I thought I was going to throw up on somebody’s foot. Caron finally shoved me, and we made it to a back exit.”

“Where,” Caron said, regaining center stage, “we ducked around a corner and crouched behind some garbage bags. That’s when we heard the same door open and footsteps coming in our direction. We were totally paralyzed, but I realized we had to get out of there before the guy got to the corner. We ran along the street, then started turning down alleys. We had to dodge around boxes and piles of concrete bags and rubble. Dogs were barking at us. An old lady yelled at us from an upstairs window. Some men came out of a café and tried to block us. One of them grabbed Inez, and she whacked him.”

“Not really,” Inez said, turning pink. “I just sort of swung at him. He started laughing so hard he let go of me.” She made a fist and looked at it. “No wonder.”

“Was this man with the scar chasing you?” asked Peter.

Caron shrugged. “Somebody was. We caught glimpses of him whenever we looked back. Finally, we got to the edge of town. The only place to go was up a path, so we did. It was a
nightmare. We were tripping and sliding on the loose rocks, and it was too dark to see where we were going. Inez was wheezing so raggedly I thought she was going to pass out. There was nowhere to hide, even though it was so dark we couldn’t see much of anything. It was like we were on a different planet, pursued by a carnivorous beast. Sweat was literally streaming down my face, and my leg muscles were screaming in agony.”

I couldn’t be sure how much she was embellishing the story, since she was more than adept at exaggeration when it served her purpose. “Was it wise to leave the town? Why didn’t you just stop and ask someone for help?”

“As if they all speak English? It’s not a trendy tourist destination, Mother. It’s a grubby little town that probably didn’t have electricity until a year ago and still lacks plumbing. The businesses were closed and the shutters drawn on the ground-level apartments. There were goats in the streets—Egyptian goats, bleating in Arabic.”

Peter leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. If he had the same doubts that I did, he was masking them. “Then what happened?”

“We stayed on the path until we came to a dirt road. We crossed it and dived behind some big rocks to catch our breath. The footsteps stopped, so we knew the man was nearby, listening for us. I bit down on my lip so hard I thought it would start bleeding. I’m sure it will be all swollen tomorrow and I’ll look like a boxer. Inez started hiccuping, but luckily he didn’t seem to hear it. All I could think of was how idiotic it would be if we were murdered because of Inez’s pathetic little spasms.”

The door of the parlor flew open and Salima burst into the room. She was gabbling so loudly and rapidly that it was impossible to understand much of what she was saying. She flung herself around Inez’s neck and then around Caron’s, hugging them so fiercely their eyes bulged. “You’re safe, my darlings!” she shrieked. “I was so worried about you! I’ve been searching everywhere for the last hour. You cannot believe how utterly distraught I’ve been!”
She flung herself onto a chair and wiped her eyes with her shirt cuff. “A drink! I must have a drink or I shall expire from sheer anxiety!” She lapsed into gasps and mutters, some of which seemed to be expressing gratitude to the entire pantheon for the girls’ safe return to the hotel.

While the rest of us stared at her, Peter made a martini and put it in her hand. “How nice of you to drop by at this hour, Miss el-Musafira.”

“Oh, dear,” Salima moaned, “you’re furious at me. You should be. It was all my fault, Mrs. Malloy. Well, technically, it was ninety percent Nevine’s fault, since she was the one who caused the crisis.” She took a sip and fell back. “If you want to throw me off the balcony—and I wouldn’t blame you—please let me finish the martini first. I’ve had a dreadful time this evening.”

“You’re not the only one,” I said coldly.

Salima hastily set down the glass. “Permit me to explain my inexcusable behavior. I assume Caron and Inez have told you why we went to the Sapphire Camel. Once they were safely settled, Nevine and I went to find her boyfriend, who was in the back with some silly slut. A shouting match erupted. Nevine bolted out the back door, and Gamil went after her. So I, naturally, went after them, as did several of the aggrieved’s friends and relatives, some of whom are my relatives as well, although I am loath to admit it. The verbal assaults escalated into a scuffle. One of Nevine’s more emotional brothers threw a punch, and Gamil stumbled and cut his forehead. Blood, hysterics, invectives, and that sort of thing ensued. Nosy neighbors came outside to cheer. The police arrived. Everybody was tripping all over everybody else to get away. Nevine and I managed to pull Gamil up and hustle him away to the emergency clinic. Although the damage was minimal, he was covered with blood. It took forever for the nurse to stitch him up. They were clinging to each other like thistles and declaring eternal devotion when I slipped away and went back to the Camel to look for the girls.” She shrugged, then reached for her martini. “After I
discovered they’d vanished, I went to the pier and ascertained that they had not taken a ferry. I made sure they weren’t at my parents’ house, then ran up and down every street, my heart beating so hard I was nearly blind. On my third or fourth trip to the pier, someone finally said they’d caught a ride on a felucca. I would have called, but I lost my cell phone along the way. I came here as soon as I could.”

“You must be exhausted,” I said, unimpressed.

“I am indeed,” Salima said. “But all that matters is that they are safe now.”

“No thanks to you,” Caron said. “We were almost murdered, if you must know. We were stalked by a psychotic, and nearly kidnapped.”

“And then ravaged,” added Inez, settling her glasses more squarely on her nose so she could stare at Salima. “In a tent in a remote oasis.”

“In Gurna?” Salima raised her eyebrows. “It’s hardly a remote oasis.”

“He would have taken us to one,” Inez said firmly.

“Who?” asked Salima, bewildered.

“The man who’s stalking us,” Caron said. “We spotted him after you abandoned us in that nightclub.”

“I abandoned you? Please, darlings, I left you at a table with Nevine’s girlfriends.”

“Enough!” I barked. “I don’t want to hear any more fanciful tales or excuses from any of you.”

Peter seemed overwhelmed by the presence of unhappy females. “We still haven’t heard the rest of the story,” he said with a slightly daunted smile.

Caron cleared her throat. “So there we were, hiding behind the rocks. Inez’s hiccups finally stopped; otherwise he surely would have found us and plunged his dagger into our hearts. It was so quiet you could have heard a cobra slithering by. We waited for a long time, then decided it was safer to follow the road back to the town than to risk bumping into the man, who might have been somewhere on the path. Just as we were about to stand up, we heard voices.”

“And a curious squeaky noise,” Inez said.

“Which,” Caron continued seamlessly, “I recognized as the sound of a wooden wheel rubbing against the side of a cart. I peeked over the rocks and saw the cart coming along the road from the mountainside. As it came closer, we could see that it was being pulled by a donkey. There were six or seven men walking alongside it, talking in low voices. At least three of them were carrying rifles. It didn’t seem prudent to ask if we could hitch a ride. When they got within about ten feet of us, they stopped. One of them trotted down the road, while the rest lit cigarettes and waited.”

Salima opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “Could you see what was in the cart?” I asked.

Inez shook her head. “There was a tarp tied over it. It must have been heavy, because the poor donkey was puffing.”

“And then?” I prompted them.

“One of the wheels fell off the cart,” Caron said, “I guess because the men were leaning against it. Whatever was under the tarp slid against the side with an awful thump. They got all upset and started hissing and spitting at each other. I don’t know what they were saying, but it probably wasn’t very nice. Finally, some of them lifted the cart and the others got the wheel back in place. The man who’d gone ahead came back, and then they all went down the road.”

“How very peculiar,” said Salima, who’d managed to obtain a tangerine during the narrative and was peeling it with a pensive frown. “That road—if I’m thinking of the correct one—goes around the far edge of town and then north alongside the river for a mile or so. There’s nothing that way except for a few houses.”

I wasn’t as interested in the cart’s destination as I was in my daughter and Inez’s. “Please continue, Caron.”

“We waited for a long time after they were gone, in case that man was across the road. Finally we decided that we couldn’t crouch there forever, so we stayed on the far side of the road as long as we could, then ducked across it
and into the backyard of a house. The robes and scarves were on a clothesline. We pulled them over our clothes and made our way to the pier, staying in the shadows as much as we could. Rather than wait half an hour for the ferry, we gave some guy a hundred pounds to take us across the Nile on his felucca. He seemed to think it was very funny.”

Peter did not. “Was there a chance the cart might have been conveying weapons?”

Inez bent over, coughing convulsively. Caron, who was not renowned for her Florence Nightingale impulses, jumped up and began to thump Inez’s back. Salima went to the mini-bar and grabbed a bottle of water. Peter raised his eyebrows at me, but all I could do was shake my head.

When at last Inez regained control, she sat up, her face red and shiny. “No, just a lot of things like pots and jars. There was enough moonlight for us to see broken pieces scattered in the road. We thought maybe they were made by village craftsmen to be sold at the tourist shops.”

“Why would they be transported at night?” I asked. “Pots and jars, no matter how beautifully crafted, don’t necessitate an armed escort.” I looked at Peter. “Could they have been filled with illegal drugs?”

“It’s possible. I’ll talk to Mahmoud in the morning. If jars broke when the cart tipped, there should be some evidence in the road. Caron and Inez, he may want you two to help him find the precise spot.”

“It was dark and we were lost,” Caron protested. “Besides, we have to pack for the cruise. Salima knows which road it was. She can show Mahmoud.”

“Not tomorrow,” Salima said. “My father and I are going to Cairo to attend a lecture given by one of his old friends from Zurich. We’re taking an early morning flight. I’ll draw a map of the road I believe the girls were on, and they can show it to Chief Inspector el-Habachi.”

“Besides,” I said, “the girls need the opportunity to find the owner of the robes and scarves that they stole and return them, as well as offer a generous payment in apology
for any inconvenience they might have caused. The money will come out of their shopping allowance.”

“I’d rather attend the lecture by the guy from Zurich,” Caron said glumly as she reached for a tangerine. “Even if it’s in Swiss.”

Caron and Inez dragged in just as Peter and I were finishing lunch on the balcony. Inez went into the bedroom, but Caron opted to allow us to appreciate the cataclysmic depth of her indignation.

“That was a waste of time,” she began sourly. “I mean, how could it not be? Chief Inspector el-Habachi kept making us try to reconstruct the way we went after we went out the back door of the hotel. Last night we were too terrified to stand around and read stupid street signs in Arabic—as if we could anyway. The fronts of the buildings look the same. All of the alleys are narrow and cluttered with garbage bags and piles of junk. There are more vicious dogs over there than… I don’t know, puckers of cellulite on Rhonda Maguire’s thighs.”

“Did you return the clothing?”

“Yes, Mother. We apologized, and Bakr translated for us. The lady was kind of annoyed until we gave her fifty pounds. Then she was all friendly and wanted to sell us the robes for another twenty. Like I can see us walking to class in them.” She picked up the remaining french fries on my plate and crammed them in her mouth. “Can we order lunch?”

“Did you locate the road?” asked Peter, trying not to wince as she went after his fries as well.

“I think so,” she said indistinctly. “There were cart marks in the dirt, anyway. Of course they could have been
there for days, or maybe dynasties, but there was one place where it looked as if a lot of men had been scuffling around. There were footprints behind the rocks on the side of the road. Wow, like actual footprints. I had to restrain myself from whooping in delight.”

I put down my wineglass. “Did the police find any evidence of whatever might have been in the cart?”

Her eyes flickered for an instant, and she hesitated. Finding a sudden fascination with the hazy clouds, she said, “Not bullets or packages of heroin, if that’s what you’re implying. There were a few slivers of pottery in the dust. The men must have come back later with flashlights and picked up as much as they could. The chief inspector was pissed off, as if it was our fault. He made us stand there for almost an hour while his men crawled around like gimpy field mice, then had Bakr drive us back here. We only had time for a roll at breakfast.” Her hand fluttered to her forehead. “I’m beginning to feel faint, from either the sun or low blood sugar. Or then again, maybe from the thrill-a-minute experience of being dragged down every stinky alley in that dumb town.”

“I’m sure it must be one of those,” Peter said, although it was obvious from Caron’s expression that he had failed miserably in his feeble attempt at sympathy. “Room service will take at least half an hour. You’ll do better if you go to the restaurant.” He put down his napkin and pushed back his chair. “I think I’ll go to the police station and talk to Mahmoud. He’s likely to be frustrated.”