Mummy Dearest (22 page)

“You called me because the apartment was tidy and you forgot when you last watered my plant?” I said.

“I watered it four or five days ago. There’s no way the soil would still be moist. Somebody was there, and he was methodical as well as neat. Nothing seemed to be missing, but I don’t know where you keep your crown jewels and stock certificates.”

“At Windsor Castle.” I went on to describe the Baron of Rochland, his eligible son, Lady Emerson’s lethal parasol, and the other odd characters, then ended the call without going into the current crisis. I felt as bewildered as Alice
must have when she imprudently stepped through a looking glass. Rather than trying to sort it out, I retreated to the bathroom.

I’d had a most satisfactory soak and was wrapped in the hotel’s luxurious robe when Peter returned. After he called room service for tea and sandwiches, we went out on the balcony.

“What about Buffy?” I asked.

“Still missing,” he said, “and it’s been twenty-four hours. It doesn’t look good. And before you ask, I checked with the American Embassy and they haven’t been able to locate her parents or her group in Rome.”

“Maybe you were talking to the wrong people. Sittermann seems to know everything about her, right down to her home address. Has he been questioned?”

“He’s disappeared. He had his luggage taken ashore at Abu Simbel, but he didn’t take a flight from the airport. If he arranged for a car and driver, he avoided the obligatory military escort back to Luxor. According to Mahmoud, that’s not uncommon. A native driver knows how to go around the checkpoints, and bribery works well. Nobody at the embassy has ever heard of him.”

“What do your colleagues think?”

“I made a call from a safe phone, but I’ll have to wait for a reply.”

“You call them from ‘a safe phone’?” I tried not to giggle. “Is that why we’re sitting out here? Is a bird going to land on the rail with a note tied around its leg? Do you have a decoder ring?”

“I’ve had a decoder ring since I was in second grade, but it’s in a box in the attic in Newport. Shall we discuss something else?”

Abdullah arrived with tea, smiled, and left. I told Peter about Luanne’s assertion that my apartment had been searched. Neither of us was impressed with her self-proclaimed keen power of observation. When I mentioned Lord Bledrock’s invitation, Peter muttered something unpleasant and went into our bedroom to take a nap.

I was reading the amazingly lurid prose in
The Savage Sheik
, trying with no success to picture Buffy describing her captor as “a lustful brute with a devilish twinkle in his steely blue eyes,” when I heard a soft tap on the door. Since everyone else seemed to stroll into the room, I was puzzled as I opened the door.

“Miriam?” I said, then stepped back. “Please come in.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malloy,” she said in a low voice. She glanced over her shoulder, then ducked inside. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you like this. I saw your daughter and her friend in the lobby, and realized you were back. I won’t take very much of your time. I hope you don’t mind dreadfully.”

“No, not at all,” I said. “Come out to the balcony. My husband’s in our room, resting.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing about nervously as we went through the sitting room. “I do so love this view. All the noise and activity below us, and the serenity of the mountains across the Nile. Such a fascinating contrast of modern and ancient, don’t you think? Those barely visible lines along the mountains are paths still used by goat herders today, as they were in the time of the pharaohs three thousand years ago.” She gripped the rail and bent over. “Look, there’s Lord Bledrock and my aunt, having drinks on the terrace. I don’t suppose you have a flowerpot I could chuck at them, do you?” She spun around and put her hand to her mouth, but her eyes were bright. “Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that. Aunt Rose was kind enough to take me in when I was orphaned at a young age. She paid for my basic needs and schooling. I have only the warmest regard for her.”

I made sure my chair was well away from the railing and that I could make it inside in a step. “I’m sure you do, Miriam. The tea is tepid by now. May I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you. I need your advice, Mrs. Malloy. You appear to be quite friendly with Alexander. I’ve discovered… well, that I might be growing just the tiniest bit fond of him, even though he acts as though I’m not worthy of his attention. I haven’t had much experience with men. I
went to a girls’ school and was much too shy to mingle with the boys brought in for dances. I always found a way to serve punch so that I could avoid conversation. I devoted myself to my studies at the university, and spent the holidays with my aunt. She has provided me with wonderful opportunities to travel, but I rarely have any free time. She can be so very demanding, as you must have seen.”

Miriam had uttered more words in the last five minutes than I’d heard from her since we were introduced at Lord Bledrock’s party. Sadly, I was at a loss to come up with any of my own. There had been a tinge of resentment in her voice when she mentioned my purported friendship with Alexander, as if I’d made an effort to enamor him with my womanly wiles.

“Alexander likes to hide out from his father,” I finally said.

She sat down across from me, her hands folded in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles. “How can I persuade him to notice me, Mrs. Malloy? Should I have any hope? I realize I’m not beautiful or clever, but I am capable of intelligent conversation. What do you and he discuss? Temples and tombs? Hieroglyphs? More contemporary subjects such as politics? Art and literature? If only I knew, I could prepare myself.”

“We don’t really talk about much of anything,” I admitted. “He told me a little bit about his family and his youthful escapades. Idle chatter, mostly. I’m afraid he finds his father, Mrs. McHaver, the Misses Portia and Cordelia, and the rest of the group tedious.” I winced as I realized what I’d said. “Not you, of course, but the cocktail parties, bridge games, and lectures.”

“He does seem to go off on his own quite a lot,” Miriam said thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea where he goes?”

“I don’t keep track of his activities. He went with us to the Valley of the Kings one day. My husband invited him.” This wasn’t exactly true, but I wanted to remind her that I was happily married and had no designs on Alexander.
“Other than that, I have no idea what he does when he’s on his own, as you put it.”

She leaned forward, her expression intent. “He’s friendly with your husband?”

“I suppose so.” I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. The balcony had never seemed spacious, but it was shrinking rapidly. I would have squirmed if it had not been unbecoming. “Not drinking buddies or anything like that,” I added. “Alexander has been in Luxor before and was kind enough to offer his expertise, that’s all.”

“Is your husband still looking into real estate opportunities? I’ve noticed that he’s gone quite often.”

“He has obligations to his colleagues. I knew before we came that he would be gone some of the time, which is partly why I brought along the girls.” I’d stumbled onto a safer topic and grasped at it. “You said that you saw them downstairs. What were they doing?”

Miriam smiled wryly. “E-mailing their boyfriends, I suspect. They were in the computer room, sitting so close to each other that no one could catch a glimpse of the monitor. When I was that age, I used to wonder what it would be like to have a boyfriend. The other girls shared their secrets with each other, but no one ever bothered to ask my advice. Why would they? The only date I ever had was dictated by the matron, who arranged for me to attend the school Christmas dance with a boy from Saint Cutthroat’s. He was a big, horrid pig with bad breath and stained teeth. I was miserable the entire time.”

“Hmmm,” I said, wishing that either Peter would rouse himself or the girls would return to the suite.

“What do you know about this young woman named Salima?”

“She studied at Cambridge. Her father is a professor in Cairo and her family lives across the river. She can be overly enthusiastic and opinionated, but that’s not uncommon at her age.” It occurred to me that she and Miriam were likely to be the same age. “That doesn’t excuse her
behavior,” I added. “She took Caron and Inez to a birthday party at her parents’ house and then to a nightclub, where she lost track of them. Peter and I were frantic until they came back to the hotel.”

“I’m sure you were. The nightclubs in Gurna have a terrible reputation for excessive drinking and drugs. The police don’t interfere unless there’s a brawl that spills out into the streets. The girls must have been terrified to be abandoned like that, without a single familiar face in the crowd.”

I bit my lip to stop myself from blurting out the rest of the story. “Well, they were introduced to some local girls, and they thought they saw Samuel Berry. You’ve heard about Buffy?”

“That sort of thing could only happen to someone like her,” Miriam said. “It’s so melodramatic and juvenile. I wouldn’t be surprised if she arranged it beforehand, just to get attention and sympathy. Late last week I heard her and Samuel arguing about the cruise in the restaurant. They were so loud it was impossible not to overhear what was said. He insisted that he couldn’t afford to go, but she was adamant. I lingered over coffee, expecting her to jab him with a fork if she didn’t get her way. It was crass.”

“I’m sure it was,” I said, straining to hear indications that Peter was moving about in the bedroom. I heard snoring.

“So the girls saw Samuel in Gurna on Saturday night,” Miriam went on, as if interviewing me for an article in the society column. “Did they see anyone else they recognized?”

“Not really. I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Miriam, but I need to finish unpacking and send out our dirty laundry. Everything gets so dusty here.”

“But we will see you and your husband tonight, won’t we? Alexander will be there, and—well, I’m hoping you can encourage him to notice me. I’ll be ever so grateful, Mrs. Malloy. Do promise that you’ll come.”

I would have promised her anything short of a dive off the balcony to see her leave. “Yes, we’ll try our best.”

After I’d seen her out into the hallway, I locked the door
and collapsed on the sofa. I was glaring at the door as Caron and Inez came in. They glanced at me, exchanged looks, and fled to their bedroom.

Peter and I arrived at Lord Bledrock’s suite to find the party well under way and the cocktails flowing. Alexander had taken refuge behind the bar, which made me think of Miriam’s sad tale of being a social misfit. He, in contrast, was chatting with Lady Emerson as he poured her a drink. We joined him before Lord Bledrock could get his clutches on me.

Lady Emerson gave us a bleary smile and wafted back into the crowd to pounce on the Fitzwillies. Alexander looked at Peter. “Any news about the girl?”

“No. I spoke to the embassy and the local police officials, who are in constant communication with the military. They’ve searched the villages at the oases, but …”

“It’s a vast area with wadis and valleys,” Alexander said as he handed me a scotch and water. “This will be the second night they have her.”

They continued their muted conversation. I listened with minimal attention as I scanned the room. Mrs. McHaver had staked out her roost on the sofa, her lips drawn in disapproval as though she were presiding over a rowdy session of Parliament. Miriam hovered, as usual. Shannon King and Wallace Laxenby were in their spot near the door to the balcony. Lord Bledrock was seated in a chair near Miss Portia and Miss Cordelia, who were regaling him with one of their jokes. The redness of his complexion implied that the joke was less than decorous. I was surprised to see Jess Delmont, the surly grad student assigned to the dig, standing in a corner, wolfing down canapés. He dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and tie, but he still had an untamed look about him. He reminded me of the physics majors who roamed the campus and were in constant danger of stepping into traffic. Other members of Lord Bledrock’s coterie were present, including the scandalous couple, Penelope and Paunchy. The din of voices and laughter was daunting.

I sucked in a breath as Lord Bledrock spotted me and leaped to his feet. I was trying to edge behind Peter when the door of the suite flew open. Nabil, the head workman at the excavation, stood in the doorway, flapping his hands and shouting in Arabic. Conversations halted as we all turned to stare at him.

At which moment, he fell facedown on the carpet.

“Good heavens!” said Lord Bledrock, gazing at the body sprawled at his feet. “What will these local workmen think of next? What shall we do? It doesn’t seem proper to simply step over him.”

Peter brushed past me, squatted next to Nabil, and felt his neck. “He’s alive, but his breathing is unsteady and his pulse is erratic. Alexander, help me move him to a bed.”

“Now see here, Rosen,” Lord Bledrock began to bluster. “I’m sure he’s a nice enough chap, but I can’t have him sprawled across my bed. What if he were to die there? I wouldn’t feel at all comfortable with that.”

“Let Abdullah deal with it,” Mrs. McHaver pronounced. “They’re probably cousins or in-laws. There’s no call to inconvenience Neville.”

Magritta came in from the balcony and nearly trampled Shannon King in her haste to reach Nabil’s body. She pushed Peter aside and jabbed Nabil’s back with the ferocity of a woodpecker. When he failed to respond, she bent over his face and peered at it. “He needs a doctor,” she announced. “He may have been poisoned.”

“Or he’s drunk,” Miss Portia said, giggling. “Miss Cordelia once passed out at a luncheon given by Lady Maronmont. There she was, her face in the chicken salad, snuffling like a hound. Lady Maronmont was speechless for days afterward.”

“Poisoned?” said Alexander. “With what?”

Magritta stood up. “I should know? Do I look like a toxicologist?”

“He’s your employee,” Shannon said accusingly, “and therefore your responsibility.”

“I’ll call for a doctor.” Alexander went into an adjoining room.

Peter was silent, his face furrowed with indecision. I knew he was resisting the urge to take charge of the scene and thus risk his cover as a businessman. His jaw was clamped so tightly he was endangering his adorable molars. I slipped my hand in his and whispered, “Shouldn’t you call Mahmoud?”