Mummy Dearest (26 page)

I was curled on the sofa, engrossed in the sheik’s sardonic smirk as he recaptured his victim at an oasis for the third or fourth time, when Caron and Inez returned. Inez took immediate refuge in their bedroom.

“I have never been so humiliated in my life!” Caron said, staring at me. “When’s the next flight home? I don’t care if I have to wait all night at the airport. Tell Bakr I’ll be packed and ready to leave in an hour.”

“Because I was in the lobby earlier?” I said. “I didn’t go there to check on you, dear. It’s complicated, but—”

“You could have danced through the lobby with a flower in your navel, for all I care. That Is Not what I’m talking about.”

“Would you care to tell me what you
are
talking about?”

“Just forget it—okay?” She flounced into the bedroom. Seconds later, the bathroom door slammed. Seventeen, going on seven.

Peter showed up just as I was ready to give up on him
and call room service. Neither Caron nor Inez voiced interest in dinner, so Peter and I went across the corniche to the row of cafés alongside the Nile.

Once we’d ordered, I asked him about Nabil.

“Still alive, but in intensive care,” he said, “and his heart attack was brought on by an overdose of a methamphetamine. Mahmoud sent some of his officers to locate the other workmen on the crew and find out if that sort of thing has been going on behind Magritta’s back. It’s a hard job, loading the carriers and hauling up the rocks to be screened. Six days a week, for a meager salary. Most of them sleep in a makeshift camp outside Gurna and only go home to their villages when they have a couple of days off.”

“Maybe the younger men use drugs, but it’s hard to imagine someone like Nabil risking it, or even condoning it.”

Peter waited as our food was served. “Have I eaten today? I don’t remember.”

“Not since breakfast on the boat,” I said, watching him attack the chicken and couscous. I ate a few bites, then gazed at the feluccas as they glided by, their sails catching the last rays as the sun disappeared behind the mountains. The metal ships at the pier had not yet begun to glitter with party lights. The café patrons were muted, too weary from an arduous day of sightseeing to bestir themselves to make idle chatter. Since we were below street level, the noise from the traffic was less bothersome.

When Peter finished and sat back, I said, “Any news about Buffy?”

“Sittermann was right about the information on her passport. She had to show a birth certificate to get the passport, and she has a Social Security number, but her home address is bogus. By tomorrow, we’ll know if she’s ever been enrolled in any of the colleges or universities in California. None of the study-abroad programs in Rome have heard of her.”

“There might be some clues in her suitcases in the hotel basement,” I volunteered virtuously. “Like, say, postcards
that had to have been sent to an address somewhere, and possibly a letter that refers to a hotel in Paris.”

His expression iced over. “And you know this because …?”

A reasonable question. “Shall we have coffee?” I said.

“You went through her suitcases in the basement of the hotel?”

“The ice cream is supposed to be quite good. Why don’t you catch the waiter’s eye? I’d like to see a dessert menu.”

“When did you do this?” He looked away for a moment. “After you went to call Mahmoud. Now why would you think her suitcases were there?” He held up his hand before I could reply. To my relief, the waiter noticed and appeared at the table. He gathered up our dishes, then put menus on the table and waited.

“Pistachio mint,” I said after a moment, “and coffee.”

“Nothing,” growled the love of my life. He looked so perturbed that I was afraid one of us might end up treading water shortly. “Did Samuel tell you this?”

“It was a logical deduction. When Salima showed up and asked about Buffy, I told her. She suggested that we go have a look, but I could have refused. I was only trying to be helpful, Peter. You had to stay in Lord Bledrock’s suite to make sure they didn’t heave the body off the balcony because it was inconveniently located. If we hadn’t gotten locked in, I would have gone back up to the front desk and called you.” And I would have, sooner or later, I thought, avoiding his cold stare.

“Locked in.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Not with evil intent. An employee walked by, saw the padlock, and snapped it closed.”

“That must have been a challenge for the renowned Miss Marple of Farberville. Am I to expect a charge for damages to the door when we check out?”

I laughed gaily. “Heavens no. I may be more curious than the average citizen, but I am opposed to vandalism. There’s no excuse for it, under any circumstances. Those
who destroy private property deserved to be prosecuted and forced to make full reparations. Do you remember when some criminal sprayed an obscenity on the side of the Book Depot? I demanded a full investigation, but the officer—”

“How did you get out?”

His single-mindedness was beginning to exasperate me. However, after noting that his hands were throttling the armrests of the chair, I said, “Sittermann. He must have been following us. We all agreed it was prudent to go up to the lobby before more employees arrived, but while I was calling you, he vanished. I had no idea he was back in Luxor. There’s something very screwy about him, Peter. He could be watching us through binoculars from his hotel room right this minute. I think you should have Mahmoud take him into custody and interrogate him.”

“He’s not staying at the Winter Palace,” Peter said wryly, “nor was he before the cruise. Mahmoud has already queried all the hotels in and around Luxor. He must be holed up in a private residence.”

“Or under a rock. There are a lot of rocks around here, in case you haven’t noticed.” I spooned up a bite of ice cream. “He behaved as if he were staying at the hotel. When he took it upon himself to throw the party in our suite, he arranged for the food and alcohol …” I watched the ice cream dribble back into the dish. “And it’ll be on our bill. He didn’t sign the tab in the bar earlier, either. What an arrogant toad he is.”

“With access to the room where Buffy’s suitcases are stored.”

“He either has a key or knows how to pick locks,” I said. “Not only an arrogant toad, but a sneaky one as well.”

Peter pushed back his chair and put a thick stack of pound notes on the table. “You can order coffee when we get back to the suite. I need to have Mahmoud send someone to stand outside that door in the basement the rest of the night. You might have mentioned this earlier, Claire.”

I followed him to the street. Rather than gallantly offer his arm to assist me, he left me on the curb and dodged cabs
across the corniche. It was, I thought with a sigh, better than being left at the altar.

He was long gone before I emerged from the shower the next morning. He was still sulking, although I had told him in more detail what Salima and I had found in Buffy’s suitcases. He did not appear to care that they were Louis Vuitton. Since he had worn designer diapers at birth, brand names did not impress him.

I left a note for Caron and Inez, who were asleep, and went to the terrace for breakfast. I was watching a small bird table-hopping like a starlet when I felt a poke in the back. Unamused, I glanced up.

“May Miriam and I join you?” asked Mrs. McHaver. “There are no vacant tables at the moment, and I’m having a bit of trouble with my knees. Arthritis is not unexpected at my age, I must admit, but I resent it all the same.” She waited until Miriam pulled out a chair, then sat down. “I’m considering having one of those chairlift machines installed at my home. My ancestors will be howling from their graves, but I think it might be rather fun. Have you any experience with them, Mrs. Malloy?”

I shook my head, too startled to attempt to reply. Miriam sat down next to me and busied herself straightening the sugar packets.

“I used to ride a bicycle when I was a girl,” Mrs. McHaver continued. “I would sail down the hills with gay abandon, letting my braids fly behind me. There was one time I shall never forget. I came around a corner and into a flock of sheep. They scattered, but not quickly enough, and I landed in a ditch. I must have looked a mess when I finally wheeled my broken bicycle home that day.”

“Would madam care for coffee or tea?” asked a waiter.

She raised her eyebrows. “I cannot believe the staff has not yet learned my preference. Tea, you dolt, with milk, and be quick about it!”

“Shall I fetch your breakfast from the buffet?” Miriam asked.

“Yes,” she said, flapping her hand. “Go, go.”

“A nice morning,” I managed to say as Miriam scurried inside.

“A bit chilly now, but it will warm up later by the time we arrive at the Valley of the Kings. You are coming, are you not? I understand you have a van and driver at your disposal. I intended to ride with Neville, but when I called his room to inquire about a time, Alexander said he’d left more than an hour ago. The discovery of the
shabti
has reduced him to schoolboy glee. If this excavation proves to be the tomb of Ramses VIII, the name Bledrock will rival that of Carnarvon in the annals of Egyptological discoveries. You are familiar with Lord Carnarvon, I presume.”

“He financed Howard Carter’s explorations,” I said. I wanted to scurry away in the way Miriam had, although I might have scurried much farther and failed to return. “I saw the photographs in the bar.”

“Some say there was a curse on anyone who disturbed King Tutankhamun’s place of burial. Soon after the tomb was discovered, Carter’s canary was killed by a cobra. Lord Carnarvon died the following year from an infected mosquito bite. At the moment of his death, his dog howled and then fell over dead. The lights in Cairo went out. More than two dozen archeologists who went into the tomb died during the nineteen-twenties. We can only hope there is not such a curse surrounding the tomb of Ramses VIII.”

“You believe all that?”

She pursed her lips and stared at the flowers in the garden. “Do I believe that the Green Lady roams Skipness Castle, or that a ghostly piper appears before weddings at Culzean Castle? That Mary Queen of Scots haunts Borthwick Castle? Or that the Loch Ness monster is an aberration from the prehistoric era? Everything we think we know about ancient Egypt is based on speculation and interpretation. No one can disprove a negative, Mrs. Malloy. You cannot prove for certain that Robert Burns did not show up at my house one winter evening when I was alone. You may
deem it highly improbable, but you cannot offer concrete proof that it never happened.”

I was more in the mood for muesli than metaphysics for breakfast. I excused myself and went inside to the buffet. When I returned, Mrs, McHaver and Miriam were digging into plates of turkey sausages, omelets, and rolls.

After Mrs. McHaver savored the final bite and allowed Miriam to refill her teacup, she said, “It would be most kind of you to include us in your party when you go the Valley of the Kings this morning. We shall meet you in the lobby over here in precisely half an hour. Come along, Miriam; I need you to hand-wash some of my undergarments. The cost of the hotel laundry service is absurdly high, and the women have been known to pilfer whatever catches their fancy.” She snapped her fingers at a waiter, who immediately pulled back her chair. Without a word, she swept by me and went inside.

Caron and Inez were still in bed when I reached the suite. I roused them long enough to ask if they wanted to go on the outing, then sighed as they both buried their heads under their pillows. Since I had no idea when Peter might bother to show up, I decided I might as well allow Bakr to drive me and my inimical breakfast companions to the excavation. I would stay for no more than an hour and be back in time for lunch should Peter make himself available. Odds were not good, but it was our honeymoon, after all.

I succeeded on my third attempt to call Bakr and asked him to pick me up. I hurriedly brushed my teeth, changed into sensible shoes, grabbed a bottle of water, and sprinted down the stairwell with at least forty seconds to spare. Even in the New Winter Palace’s less regal lobby, Mrs. McHaver looked as though she was seated on a throne—or at the head of a tribunal. Miriam was juggling hats, water bottles, a fan, a bulging woven bag, two cameras, and a thermos. Mrs. McHaver was tapping her foot and staring pointedly at a clock above the entrance.

Alexander called my name. I skidded to a halt and waited.

“Are you heading for the Valley?” he asked as he came out of the short hallway that led to the terrace. “My father was in a dither earlier and left while I was shaving. I resigned myself to taking a ferry, but if you’ve booked your vehicle …”

“By all means.” I grabbed his arm. “We’ll make such a jolly group—you, Mrs. McHaver, Miriam, and I. Don’t even think about calling shotgun.”

“Shotgun? You’re armed?”

“Never mind.” I pushed him into a chair next to Miriam and went outside to look for Bakr’s van. It was there, to my relief, so I announced as much and watched Mrs. McHaver thump her way across the lobby. I hadn’t had time to ponder our conversation at breakfast, or even Magritta’s accusations concerning her from the previous night. Placating Peter had taken all of my energy.

Mrs. McHaver made it clear she’d expected a more luxurious mode of transportation, but all I could do was shrug. After she’d been helped into the van, I scrambled into the front seat and we drove away from the hotel.

“Have you heard?” Bakr asked me in a low voice. “Chief Inspector el-Habachi is furious. All of the police officers who were supposed to be off-duty today have been called in and given assignments. Soldiers are already stationed along the road to inspect vehicles and identity papers. The police station is louder than a playground.”

“What’s that?” Mrs. McHaver demanded. “And speak up, young man. It’s very difficult to hear you over all this traffic. Did you say something about soldiers at a playground? Haven’t they anything better to do?” She rapped my shoulder with her cane. “What is he saying, Mrs. Malloy? It makes no sense, no sense at all.”

Bakr cleared his throat. “There has been an accident in the Valley of the Kings. Chief Inspector el-Habachi and Mrs. Malloy’s husband are there now. The head of the national security is on his way from Cairo.”