Mummy Dearest (40 page)

“Don’t look at me!” Lord Bledrock huffed. “I may not have paperwork on some of the items in my collection, but I don’t aid terrorists.”

“Nor do I,” said Mrs. McHaver.

“Absolutely not,” Miriam added firmly. “The last thing we want is chaos. The extremists are unreliable, and capable of destroying any remains of a religious nature that contradict their beliefs. The Taliban exploded those priceless temples carved in a mountain.”

Unprepared for this tactical move, Mahmoud looked at me. “It’s possible,” I said, “that you didn’t know for sure with whom you were dealing. Dr. Guindi must have, though. He’s your middleman, isn’t he? I saw the three of you in his shop yesterday. Were you angry because he mentioned a delay in moving the artifacts from the tomb to his storage—where you could arrange to get them out of the country in your trunks and empty scotch cases?”

“He raised the prices,” Mrs. McHaver said, then gulped. “For some jewelry in his shop. He keeps some very nice pieces for his longtime clients. We negotiated a price weeks earlier.”

“Just how do you figure there was a delay?” asked Sittermann, grinning at me over a glass of bourbon.

“Yes,” said Buffy. “You seem to know everything else.”

“Unless she’s stealing the Chief Inspector el-Habachi’s
thunder,” he added. “Then again, he may not be a match for her sleuthing skills, any more than her husband. She casts a big shadow, Rosen. You better watch your step.”

Everyone froze and waited for Peter’s reaction. Wallace moved to a neutral corner, as did Salima and Buffy. Lady Emerson tightened her grip on her parasol. Miriam held her lace hanky to her mouth. Lord Bledrock eased behind Mrs. McHaver’s chair. I must admit I was curious, as well as ambivalent.

Peter nodded. “Sittermann seems bewildered, dear. Please put him out of his misery with an explanation, since he’s unable to see it. I guess there’s truth in the adage that you can’t teach an old”—he paused—“dog new tricks. Some of them need to roll over and drop dead.”

“I believe the word is ‘play,’ Rosen,” Lord Bledrock said. “Play dead.”

“My mistake,” Peter murmured. “Anyone need a drink?”

Disappointed, I continued. “The delay was the result of Buffy’s purported kidnapping. It wasn’t a kidnapping, but merely an opportunity for her to brief her group and make plans.”

“What group?” Buffy asked. “My Triple-A membership lapsed last year, and my college doesn’t have sororities.”

“You’re not in college,” I said, tired of tiptoeing around. “Your group is comprised of those trying to stop El Asad from desecularizing Egypt. Moderates, I assume. I have no idea if they have a fancy name as well. I won’t ask, because if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me.”

Buffy gave me a distinctly un-perky look. “I may anyway.”

“Whoa,” Sittermann said. “She’s …?” He made a vague gesture with his free hand. “Really? Well, I’ve been hornswoggled before, but don’t this take the cake? I was beginning to wonder why I couldn’t get any information about her past beyond a certain point.”

I tried not to look too smug. “Because her identity as bubble-brained Buffy is nothing but a fabrication—an elaborate cover story to allow her to come to Egypt, assess
the situation, and decide what to do. She couldn’t risk a meeting with her group, so she decided to take a much more dramatic route. If I hadn’t seen a picture of her talking to the horsemen, I would have easily fallen for the charade. She dearly hoped Samuel had.”

“This is so fascinating,” Buffy said, her arms crossed. “Like I really wanted to be dragged across a saddle, spend the night in the desert, and get locked in a nasty hotel room, all the time thinking I was going to be murdered. Doesn’t everyone?”

No one seemed able to digest any of this, except for Samuel. His eyes were narrowed and his body tensed. I nudged Peter and pointed, then waited until he’d moved behind Samuel’s chair.

“I won’t argue that point,” I said, “but I doubt you suffered all that much. You’ve known all along who Samuel really is. Your organization must have been keeping track of him for years. I have no idea when you were first assigned to him, but you decided to move on him after you followed him to Rome. Your cover was a bored, blond girl from California. You persuaded him to let you come to Egypt with him, which wasn’t too hard since he realized that you would strengthen his cover story as a casual tourist. To maintain your role, you had to buy designer luggage. Did your supervisors balk at designer clothes as well?”

Salima threw me a kiss. “You are so clever, Mrs. Malloy. I knew it when we first met. I have to admit I was disappointed when you didn’t think to go to the storeroom in the basement, but at least you were amenable to my suggestion—and then put it together so neatly.”

“You were disappointed?” I said, surprised.

“What in heaven’s name is everyone talking about?” demanded Mrs. McHaver. “None of it makes an iota of sense. Why would Buffy have to kill you, Mrs. Malloy?”

“Hush,” Miriam said curtly. “We seem to have stumbled into a colony of ants, although they all have wee cloaks and daggers.”

Lord Bledrock threw up his hands, apparently forgetting
that he, like Mrs. McHaver earlier, had a drink. The gin splashed on Sittermann, who growled and sidled away. “Sorry, old boy, but you have to admit this is a horrendous muddle. If this is going to go on much longer, I’d much prefer to go downstairs to the restaurant and have dinner. I long for the simplicity of a broiled haddock.”

Mahmoud stared at him. “Not just yet, Lord Bledrock. Mrs. Malloy is nearing the end of her explanation. After that, it is possible that no one will be having haddock any time soon.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I said mendaciously. “Let’s return to Buffy and her group with no name. They decided to yank Samuel out of Luxor before anyone else was killed. Buffy did her best to lure him to the hotel in Kharga, where he would be forcibly detained and interrogated. However, he was deeply suspicious of Buffy by this time. His intention was to arrange for her to be killed in a dramatic rescue attempt, with me as his witness. After we arrived, he went off to polish his plan with his group. This is where I muddled up both their schemes by not waiting politely at the café. The people in the hotel—the desk clerk, the two men upstairs, probably even the old man by the entrance—were prepared for Samuel to show up. My arrival simply bewildered them. No one had any idea what to do, so they numbly cooperated. I suppose I should be flattered that no one considered me a likely terrorist. Buffy was equally startled by my appearance, and she did her best to give Samuel the chance to come thundering down the hall to rescue her. It’s rather amazing how a small call of nature can result in the destruction of the best-laid plans.”

“You were going to kill me?” Buffy squeaked at Samuel. “After all that crap I had to put up with? Filthy hotels, cockroaches, moldy fruit? You know something—you weren’t all that spectacular in bed. Guys like you play with guns and explosives in order to compensate for your sexual inadequacies. You should be dragging a cannon behind you.”

“Oooh,” Salima said. “Now that’s really hitting below the belt.”

Miss Portia elbowed Miss Cordelia. “‘Below the belt.’ What a quaint phrase.”

Samuel ignored them. “The drive through the desert has given you hallucinations, Mrs. Malloy. You need to see a doctor—or a shrink. Aren’t you going to accuse me of assassinating Julius Caesar and Attila?”

“I’d like to think not even you could arrange that,” I said. “Shannon’s another matter. You followed her when she left Lord Bledrock’s room, and persuaded her to take a taxi to the Valley of the Kings, probably promising to find a bottle of champagne and go with her. After the taxi driver pulled away from the curb in front of the Old Winter Palace, he picked you up in front of the New Winter Palace. While Shannon either bribed the guard or sweet-talked her way in, you slipped in as well. If she was as drunk as the hotel staff say she was, she couldn’t have made it to the site on her own. There was a problem with the taxi driver, however. He couldn’t be allowed to tell the police he’d taken two people to the Valley that night. The only solution was to kill him as well.”

“I can’t believe this,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “Next Mrs. Malloy will explain how the aliens in my spacecraft can beam me from one spot to another in a nanosecond.”

“I didn’t say you killed the taxi driver. You ordered it done. You must have a great power within El Asad. The leader, perhaps? Did you convert to Islam when you were in college?”

He pounded his fist on the armrest. “No one will dare speak against me.”

Mahmoud shook his head. “You may have intimidated Egyptian nationals, but these foreigners are not so predictable. After Lord Bledrock, Mrs. McHaver, and Miriam have been charged as coconspirators and accessories to four murders, they may discover they know more than they’ve said thus far concerning the source of this new batch of precious artifacts. The British Embassy can’t protect them. The prisons in their country are unpleasant, but the ones here are even more so.”

“And, Father, even if you buy your way out of this,” Alexander said, “you’ll be booted out of the House of Lords and your club. No one will invite you to their pavilions at Ascot. No more shooting weekends and foxhunts. Neville Bledrock, Baron of Rochland, will be smeared in the press. I may renounce the title. You really ought to cooperate. If you’re lucky, you’ll simply be sent home and forbidden to ever come back.”

“It might be time to take more of an interest in the Persians and the Medes,” Miriam said.

Mrs. McHaver gazed at the empty glass on the table. “I’ve always been fond of porcelain from the early Chinese dynasties.”

“Now, wait a minute!” Samuel said. “You’re in this up to your necks.”

“Hardly.” Miriam sniffed, then patted her aunt’s shoulder. “We have no illegal artifacts in our possession; nor, apparently, will we have in the future. I can see you’re tired, Aunt Rose. We should retire to our room. Chief Inspector el-Habachi, we will anticipate a visit at your convenience.”

“No,” Lord Bledrock said, “let’s go to my suite. I’ll have room service bring up some supper. What about you, Alexander? Will we have the pleasure of your company?”

“I don’t have anything to do with this,” he said emphatically. “I’ve warned you for years that you’d get nabbed one of these days. You might compile a list of treasures in your collection to donate to the Cairo Museum. I’m sure they’d be most grateful.”

“Not my mummy,” he blustered. “It’s like a dear old friend. Many a night I’ve sat with him and poured out my troubles. He never contradicts me, or decimates my wine cellar, or gallops across the vegetable garden. The sarcophagi, the scarabs, the necklace from the tomb of Nefertari—all of that can go. I shall never give up my mummy.”

“Neville!” Mrs. McHaver said, rising and clutching his arm, “I had no idea you have a necklace from that tomb. How on earth did you acquire it, you sly dog?”

They went out the door. Miriam sighed, then once again
dutifully followed her aunt. Buffy and Sittermann moved out of the way as Mahmoud ushered Samuel to the hall. Magritta realized she was no longer in custody. She caught Wallace with one hand and a bottle of scotch with the other. Nodding, they left.

Salima flopped across the sofa and said, “Bravo, Mrs. Malloy. A devilishly good denouement, replete with wild accusations, betrayals, cringing and whinging. Surely we shall have a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”

“I want to talk to you, young lady!” Sittermann snapped at Buffy.

“I have a few words for you, too,” she retorted.

They both looked at Peter, who said, “I’m not talking to either of you. I’m fed up with all this childishness. Go away and bug each other’s rooms, or just bug each other. I am on my honeymoon. Good-bye!”

They hesitated, then obediently went away. I stroked Peter’s knee until he stopped quivering with rage. I would never have married a docile man without the courage to stand up for himself, or meekly stand aside unless he chose to do so; nor would he have married a woman with those traits. I was quite proud of his restraint, although I had been a tiny bit worried that Sittermann had pushed his luck too far. I rewarded my husband with a quick kiss, intending to express my admiration in greater detail when we had privacy.

“Get up, Salima,” Alexander said. “If you promise to stop begging for champagne, I’ll buy you a damn bottle of the stuff in the bar.”

“Just one more thing,” I said to Alexander. “I’d like your solemn promise to stop following me and the girls. I won’t demand an apology for your unnecessary roughness in the shop yesterday. However, I am sorry I wasn’t able to scratch my initials on your face.”

“You’re the one who pursued Caron and Inez in Gurna?” Salima said. “How brutish.”

“I will admit I had been keeping an eye on them and on Mrs. Malloy. Rosen had been acting quite suspiciously
since he arrived in Egypt, what with all his abrupt departures and clandestine meetings. It was obvious that he wasn’t involved in any development schemes. As for Gurna, I didn’t follow the girls there. I was following Samuel, for pity’s sake. When they took off running and he went after them, I thought I’d better keep an eye on things. They would have found themselves in serious trouble if they ran into those men with the cart, but luckily they were already hiding from Samuel. He merely observed them from the other side of the road, then left. I made sure they got to the pier. Their attempts to disguise themselves was highly amusing. I think they’ve learned a few tricks from Claire.”

“And yesterday?” I asked.

“I knew what my father and his cronies were up to. I don’t think they would have hurt you, but Dr. Guindi has no scruples. I didn’t want you to end up in the basement beneath the room at the back of his shop.”

Peter grimaced. “You seem well informed. MI6, isn’t it?”

“Oh, good god,” Salima said. “Bond, James Bond. Are you packing a loaded ballpoint pen and a gold cigarette lighter that doubles as a tear gas cannister? Are you going to take the elevator to the lobby, or scale down the side of the hotel?”

“Don’t get smarmy with me, Miss Interpol,” he countered.