Mummy Dearest (36 page)

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“If he knew somebody,” Caron said, “it might explain why he disappeared the way he did. He could have thought this person could help overpower the kidnappers, so he went to find him. He shouldn’t have underestimated my mother.”

“Did he know how to find the hotel?” Buffy asked me. “Did you need to stop and ask?”

“Maybe he remembered seeing it earlier,” I said. “It’s on the main street. I’m surprised your kidnappers didn’t choose a place at the edge of town.”

“They’re not rocket scientists. Samuel told you he was going to check the back of the hotel and never returned? Didn’t you get worried?”

“Of course I did,” I said, “but I wasn’t about to go look for him. I went over to the hotel to ask to use the ladies’ room, thinking I might get a better idea about these heavily armed men. The young woman in the lobby gave me the keys and told me which room you were in. The men heard me in the hall and blocked my way, but only for a minute. You told Samuel that they’d threatened to kill you if the police came into the hotel. In all honesty, they seemed more interested in the soccer match on TV than keeping you prisoner. Police could have easily burst into their room and disarmed them.”

Buffy licked her lips. “They must have been confused when you showed up. It would have been different with the police.”

“Or with Samuel? Were they expecting him?”

“How could they have been?” she said. “Well, I have an appointment for a manicure, so I’d better go. Thank you again for rescuing me, Mrs. Malloy.” She left at a brisk clip.

“That was weird,” Caron said. “It sounded like she didn’t want you to rescue her. She wanted Samuel to, and she was mad that he didn’t. I don’t think I’d be picky if I were faced with the prospect of a fat old bedouin in bed with me.” She shivered. “I mean, icky to the extreme.”

Inez nodded. “She didn’t claim she was madly in love with Samuel, just ‘inappropriately attached.’ It was more
like she came with him to Egypt because she was tired of all the lectures in Rome. I would have at least asked where he planned to go before I showed up at the airport with my luggage.”

“Her three Louis Vuitton suitcases,” I said, “and presumably a fourth that she took on the cruise.”

“How do you know about her luggage?” asked Caron. “In the hotel basement, right? No, don’t tell me. I refuse to be an accessory to whatever crime you committed this time. I want to have a clear conscience if Peter asks me about it.”

I suggested that we go down to the restaurant for lunch. Once there, we found a table and ordered from the now-familiar menu. As we were finishing, Magritta loomed over us.

“May I join you?” she asked gruffly.

“Certainly,” I said. “I’m surprised you’re not at the Valley of the Kings.”

“I was earlier, but I came back to visit Nabil’s family. The circumstances of his death caused complications. His body was not released immediately, which put a strain on the Arab rituals. Everything is now proceeding. The body has been wrapped for burial, and the house is crowded with mourners.” She studied the menu for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Jess Delmont, that surly grad student from MacLeod? This is the second day he hasn’t shown up. He knows his ancient history well enough, but he doesn’t like to get his fingernails dirty. He’ll end up being an instructor at some two-bit school, where he’ll talk endlessly about his field experience. He and Shannon King are both armchair archeologists. Or were. I don’t know which is grammatically correct—or politically correct, for that matter.”

“I haven’t seen him,” I said. “Your excavation is still on hold, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I could use him to sort through the last pile of rubble that was brought up before Shannon died.”

“For the
shabti
’s head?” asked Inez. She gave me a frantic look. “I—uh, I don’t think he would have found it there.”

“No,” Magritta said. “It was broken off centuries ago. It’s very rare to find one that’s intact. They’re fragile, and I suspect a lot of them were broken when the priests led the funerary procession to the tomb. The coffins too heavy to be carried on laborers’ shoulders were brought on carts. The coffin had to be lowered and made to fit through the doorway. And there is the problem of the step. Wallace and I both recognized its style as eighteenth dynasty. It’s in close proximity to Tut’s tomb, Horemheb’s at KV57, Tutmosis’s at KV34, Hatshepsut’s at KV20, and the mysterious finds in KV63. All eighteenth dynasty, not twentieth …”

“You don’t think you’ve found the tomb of Ramses VIII?” I asked.

“I did not say that, but I’m not at all confident that we did. I do believe Nabil found the
shabti
at the site and brought it to me at the hotel. He was very agitated, according to another of the workmen who crossed the Nile in the same ferry. However, someone gave him a cigarette tainted with that drug. He never had the opportunity to tell me if he was excited because he found it or upset that he did.” She beckoned to a waiter. “I wonder how the lentil soup is today. I need a hearty lunch before I return to the site to deal with those petty-minded officials from Cairo.”

She and Inez discussed various pharaohs and temples. Caron decided to have dessert and picked at it in morose silence. I sat back and considered what Magritta had said, which fit well with my nascent theory. There were holes in it through which a meteorite could crash. But if I was even partially correct, the meteorite was going to crash very soon.

Bakr was seated in the hall when we came out of the elevator. “Good afternoon,” he said, standing up so quickly he almost lost his balance. “Chief Inspector el-Habachi has ordered me to stay with you until Mr. Rosen arrives from Cairo.”

“You’re our babysitter?” I asked.

“Oh no,” he said. “I am here to… to make certain that
no one disturbs you. There have been some troublesome events in Luxor. Chief Inspector el-Habachi does not think that you are in danger, but he and Mr. Rosen are concerned.”

“This is Mr. Rosen’s idea, isn’t it?”

“I believe he and Chief Inspector el-Habachi communicated this morning,” Bakr said, beginning to squirm. “I will be no bother, I promise. I will stay outside your door, and you will not notice that I’m here.”

“Do you have a gun?” Inez asked him.

“Yes, Miss Inez. I am sure I will not have reason to use it. Mr. Rosen will be back in four hours,
inshallah.
Then I will drive the young ladies to Chief Inspector el-Habachi’s home, where they can enjoy dinner and be entertained with music.”

Giggling, Caron and Inez hustled him down the hall, despite his squeaks, and into the suite. Inez went to fetch a deck of cards, while Caron began explaining the rules of poker. Bakr’s wallet was in more danger than we were.

I went out to the balcony, irritated by Peter’s highhandedness. I had promised to stay in the hotel, after all. I always kept my word, unless a dire emergency required me to hedge just a bit. I hardly considered those peccadilloes worthy of comment.

A squeal of brakes drew my attention to the corniche. A car ran the stoplight and shot past Luxor Temple. Below, a carriage driver jumped down to comfort his swaying horse. Other carriages stopped so their drivers could shout curses at the now long-gone car. A policeman blew his whistle. People came up from the shops below the pier to gawk. I let out a sigh as it became obvious that the horse was not harmed. Eventually, the driver got back in his carriage and flicked the horse’s rump with a whip. The other carriages began to move.

I was leaning on the rail, comparing this minor incident to the chaos that could be created by a herd of camels in a small town, when I saw Lord Bledrock, Mrs. McHaver, and Miriam walking across the terrace to the sidewalk.
Mrs. McHaver carried her cane but was moving at a brisk rate. I expected them to summon a taxi, but they turned in the opposite direction from the temple and continued down the sidewalk. A minute later, Sittermann, who’d been hidden from my view by an umbrella, appeared from the terrace and strolled ever so jauntily in the same direction. He was out of range before I could think of anything to throw at him. He paused for a moment to look up at me and wave.

I recoiled as if he’d pointed a rifle at me. “You insidious, deceitful, slimy worm,” I muttered under my breath, savoring each word. I repeated it several times, but its cathartic effect was minimal. I had no idea who he was or why he was skulking around, irritating almost everyone (not Miss Portia and Miss Cordelia) by posturing as a slick Texan mogul. He’d as much as admitted to me that he wasn’t, but he hadn’t elaborated. How could he, when he was so busy arranging parties in my suite? I tried not to think what Peter’s supervisors at the CIA would do when they examined his expense account. He’d been dispatched to Luxor to assist with anti-terrorism tactics, not to make a down payment on Aswan Dam.

The sound of laughter from behind me interrupted my mental tirade. The poker game was well under way, and Bakr was enjoying it, although I doubted he understood the rules. As far as I had been able to tell, wild cards changed willy-nilly and high hands were often low hands. Or something.

I resumed looking over the rail. On earlier occasions, I had walked in the direction they’d gone, and the only destination of note was the odd little mall. Beyond it were office buildings, banks, a travel agency with faded posters of Paris and London in the window, and clothing and furniture stores that catered to middle-class local shoppers. It seemed likely they were headed to the mall possibly to visit Dr. Butros Guindi, proprietor of his little shop of horrors.

It was a mere block away, a little voice in the back of my mind whispered. It would be crowded with tourists
contemplating water pipes and T-shirts, but not so crowded that I couldn’t keep a prudent distance from my quarries. I’d be there and be back in twenty minutes. If Miriam was trying on scarves and Lord Bledrock was examining silver snuffboxes, while Sittermann bought place mats for the highly theoretical Mrs. Sittermann, I’d be back in ten. A somewhat more pragmatic voice pointed out that I had solemnly vowed not to leave the hotel grounds.

I could not stay on the balcony and weigh my options any longer. If I was correct in certain assumptions, then I would have to find a way to tell Peter and Mahmoud without digging myself into a hole deep enough to bury a pharaoh, his wife, his children—and all his concubines. Tact would be of the essence.

I went into the sitting room. “I’m going to take a bath,” I said. “My back is sore after that drive to and from the oasis yesterday. If Peter calls, take a message. If the message involves him staying in Cairo for another day, start packing. You’ll have to see the pyramids from an airplane.”

Caron, Inez, and even Bakr were too engrossed in the game to respond. I closed the bedroom door, found my sunglasses and a dark blue scarf that I’d bought for Jorgeson’s wife, and turned on the tap in the bathtub. I knew from experience that it would take half an hour for the water to approach the rim. I slipped out the door to the corridor, glanced either way in case Abdullah was lurking, and scampered to the stairwell. When I reached the lobby of the New Winter Palace, the scarf covered my hair and the sunglasses obscured my eyes.

I kept my face lowered until I reached the bookstore. I paused in front of a circular rack of paperbacks while I assessed the situation. The mall was less crowded than I had hoped. Sittermann’s white jacket was not visible. I went into the adjoining shop and looked out the window. The owner did his best to interest me in chains and bracelets, but I continued to the next shop.

I progressed slowly, scanning the interiors of shops across the walkway for the Brits and Sittermann. I was beginning
to think I’d made a mistake and they were all at the travel agency, booking rooms at a resort on the Red Sea, when I arrived at a basket shop near the end of the mall. Dr. Guindi’s antiques shop was directly across from me. The window was as dusty as ever, but through the open doorway I could see Lord Bledrock and Mrs. McHaver, both standing grimly to one side. Miriam, to my consternation, had hold of Dr. Guindi’s jacket lapels and was yelling at him. Her face was so close to his that I could see drops of spittle flying at him like hornets. He shook his head in protest. Miriam slapped him with her free hand, lightly but with enough force to sting. Lord Bledrock said something. Miriam slapped Dr. Guindi again, harder. She still wore a drab, loose-fitting dress and sensible shoes. Her complexion was pale. A lace-trimmed handkerchief was tucked in her cuff. And she was slapping the holy bejeezus out of Dr. Guindi, who had not shown any resistance. If she continued, his head might fly off his neck, I thought numbly. Lord Bledrock would harrumph, then straighten his tie and offer his arm to Mrs. McHaver. Miriam would follow meekly, perhaps using the handkerchief to clean her hands.

A flash of white caught my eye. I forced myself to look away from the carnage-in-progress and saw Sittermann partially concealed behind a stack of colorful tablecloths. He sensed my stare and turned his head. When his gaze met mine, his eyes widened. He was clearly as appalled as I was. He shook his head slightly, touched his forefinger to his lips, and disappeared into the shop behind him.

I looked back at the doorway. Miriam had dropped her grip on Dr. Guindi’s coat and was jabbing him in the chest. He retreated inch by inch. Mrs. McHaver spoke; whatever she said startled Dr. Guindi. I eyed the distance across the walkway. I would be exposed for only a few seconds, and I was cleverly disguised (despite Sittermann’s instant recognition). And what was the worst that would happen if they did spot me? I had every right to be there. All newcomers shopped for souvenirs. I could waggle my fingers at them, smile sweetly, and get myself back to the suite before my
absence was noticed. I could even take a bath. I stared at my watch. In ten minutes, water would begin to dribble onto the bathroom floor. It would seep under the door and into the carpet. It would spread across the bedroom. Once it made it to the sitting room, my goose would be cooked, carved, and ready to be served with chutney and boiled potatoes.

I aligned my sunglasses and prepared to make a dash for the shop next to Dr. Guindi’s. Before I could move, an arm wrapped around my neck and a hand clamped over my mouth. I tried to scream as I was dragged backward across the shop. A curtain fluttered against my arm as my assailant pulled me into a back room. I kicked at his shins and tried to scratch his face. The arm tightened around my neck.