Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (33 page)

“Actually I do,” she said. “Graham was a good man in his own way, but a bit of a philanderer, as I told you before. One tires of that. Still, there were enough times when I had him to myself.” She sighed as though recalling happier times. “We traveled a lot together. He would have liked this safari.” They stopped at the side of the stone hut. Cynthia surveyed the camp until she saw Harry. “
He’s
certainly an interesting man, and very kind.”

“He’s all yours, dearie,” said a voice from behind them. “I pass him on to you.
You
can have leftovers for once.”

Jade and Cynthia both wheeled around. “Bebe!” snapped Cynthia. “What do you mean, sneaking up on us and eavesdropping?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Bebe said, eyeing Cynthia as a snake might watch a mouse before striking. “I was stretching my legs and I heard you mention Harry.” She smiled sweetly, forming small dimples. “But I thought since you’re no longer grieving for Graham, you might as well have him. I’m done with him.”

“What?” shrieked Cynthia before regaining control of her voice. “What do you mean, you’re done with him and I can have him? It’s not as if I . . . want him.”

“Oh, puh-lease, Cynthia,” said Bebe. “I’ve seen you leave his tent and sneak back to your bed. As if I wouldn’t notice. But you don’t need to sneak anymore on my behalf.” She rubbed her outer eye, then brushed her finger across her nose. “I only wanted him for some insurance, in case Graham and I . . .” She let that thought trail off suggestively and examined the other hand. “Jade knows. I don’t need him anymore—or anyone. I’m off the hook.”

Bebe continued her stroll, waving her hand at them over her shoulder. Cynthia stormed off in another direction, and Jade pondered how to keep those two separated that night. A few moments later Harry walked up, rubbing the side of his face, which glared red in the shape of a handprint.

“What in the world got into Cynthia?” he asked.

“Shut up, Harry,” Jade said, and walked away.

 

 

“AND THIS MAJOR Bertram was certain that the woman in the photo was not a Swahili?” asked Finch.

“Positively,” said Sam. He’d gone to the police headquar ters early Monday morning and parked himself by the door in the waiting room, ready to pounce on the inspector first thing. He’d taken the dead man’s picture as well as Lwiza’s and spent his entire Sunday badgering the staff at the Muthaiga and the Norfolk and New Stanley hotels for information. Had Bahdoon applied for a position there? Had anyone seen him with this woman? Sam had discovered from the natives that Bahdoon had been turned away for work at each of those establishments. No one had recognized the woman except at the New Stanley, where she’d stayed in the maids’ quarters.

Finch shifted in his chair and rubbed his hand over his chin. “This does make matters a bit more interesting.” He picked up a folder, opened it, and leafed through the pages, pausing to read a few notations.

“Then you agree with me that this Lwiza could be behind that native’s death and, consequently, Mr. Wheeler’s as well?” asked Sam.

“Hmmm,” said Finch, without looking up.

Sam inhaled through clenched teeth, and Finch closed the folder with a slap. “I will admit,” Finch said, “that this case has its peculiarities. And his lordship’s identification of the native in question is certainly helpful. Bahdoon, you said. And he is a Somali.” He leaned back in his chair. “Frankly, Mr. Featherstone, I’d find this more interesting if this Lwiza was a Somali, too. Then there would be a connection, you see.”

A constable knocked on the door. Finch called him in and was handed a folded sheet of paper. Finch read it, frowned, and stuffed it into his suit coat’s inner pocket. “It seems we have had a curious event in the Indian district that you might want to know about. We’ve found where your man Bahdoon was staying. He had a room in the back of Navrang Chopra’s shop. Mr. Chopra recognized the photo that my lads took around to the shops and houses. He’s quite put out that the man is dead. He owed him rent. He’s even more put out with us that we confiscated Bahdoon’s effects.”

Finch held up the paper. “This,” he said, “is the list of those effects.” He proceeded to read down the list. “A leather pocketbook, rather worn, possibly stolen. No identification. Containing five American dollars and eight rupees. Hmm,” he added, “we shall have to run that against any theft reports. Also one brown paper parcel, contents of which are six biscuits and one very dried bit of bread. A frayed khaki shirt, and that completes the list.” Finch put the paper into the folder and pushed the folder aside.

“Really nothing much there to go on,” Finch said. “The man was unemployed, took to pickpocketing, probably from that acting troop, and Wheeler’s death was a robbery gone bad.”

“And what about the datura seeds mixed in his alcohol flask?” asked Sam. “According to my sources, that is a tradition in Abyssinia.”

“And in India as well,” said Finch. “The Kali cult has used that as a murder weapon. Possibly he got some from the Indian district to screw up his courage. Took too much. But,” he added quickly as Sam made another teeth-gritting gasp, “I do agree that this Lwiza is a suspicious person. If she’s passing herself along on false identity, then she needs to be brought to book. I shall send a telegram to Moshi and tell the officer there to watch for the safari’s return. He can apprehend her at the station.”

“Mind if I wait to hear their reply?” asked Sam. “They may have some news of their own.” Since Finch planned to send a wire, there was no need for his.
One less thing to rile Jade.

“Be my guest. I shall even ask for an immediate reply.”

Finch wrote out a missive and sent one of the constables to the telegraph office with orders to wait for the reply and bring it right away. Half an hour later, the constable returned bearing a message, but not the one Sam wanted to hear.

“Sorry, Inspector, but the message never got as far as Ta veta. Seems some of the wildlife took it into their heads to butt down one of the telegraph poles. Snapped the line. But they promised to transmit the rest of the way once it was mended. Should only take a few days.”

Sam muttered a curse under his breath and felt his stomach stab at him. This worry over Jade’s safety was eating him inside. He got up and extended his hand to Finch.

“Thank you for your time, Inspector. If you find out anything else, please leave word with Lord Dunbury for me.”

“Oh? And why not with you?”

“Because I’m taking the next train down to Voi and then on to Moshi.”

CHAPTER 21

—The Traveler

MONDAY MORNING JADE TAILED A SILENT TROOP. NEITHER BUDENDORFER nor Brown tried any practical jokes, and McAvy didn’t pester Harry about a bwana’s role. No one even grumbled aloud. That fact alone gave Jade cause for concern. Lack of sleep coupled with the more strenuous walk had taken a toll on the actors.

Jade blamed more than the closely cramped quarters for her own rough night. A leopard had patrolled around the hut. She’d heard it chuff near the door, and once something large had brushed the window shutters. But no one else had heard it, thanks to the tree hyraxes. They called all during the night, their high, piercing notes sounding like a woman crying out in pain or horror.

Kilimanjaro exacted another price with the increased altitude. Even the porters didn’t carry on their usual banter or sing their marching songs. When they woke early Monday, the two porters who’d joined them the previous evening were gone. They’d urged their comrades to come with them, but the other hired Chagga men had stayed, whether from loyalty or fear or because they wanted their pay, they didn’t say. But the mood of the runaways had been infectious. The renewed sensation of being followed made the hairs of Jade’s neck and arms prickle.

Early into their walk, they’d startled a herd of elands. Their large dun-colored bodies and flapping dewlaps soon blended into the mists over the high heath. Papery-petaled anemone bloomed among the rocks and grasses along with tall, spiky red-hot pokers. A fragrant lemon scent rose as her boots crushed some everlasting leaves. The combined scene should have called to Jade’s heart, to her sense of Africa’s beauty, but Kilimanjaro laid a cold hand on her. All she felt was a bone-numbing chill that had nothing to do with the outside air.

As if to emphasize this caution, the ancient mountain allowed them to see only the distant, smaller Mawenzi Peak to their right. He kept his highest seat, Kibo, veiled in cloud and mist. He seemed to be telling them that their search was in vain unless he granted an audience. Jade motioned for Jelani to join her. She needed the sound of intelligent human speech.

Jelani seemed to read her mind. “The mountain hides from us today.”

“That will make bwana Julian unhappy,” said Jade, keeping her voice low. “He wants to film the peak from the saddle.”

Jelani glanced at her through half-lowered lids. “Is that all he wants?” he asked.

Jade put her finger to her lips to caution silence. Voices carried far in the cool air. “Are you warm enough? You only have sandals and socks on your feet. And why aren’t you wearing that extra shirt I gave you?” Jelani shrugged, a typical teenager’s reply to a nagging parent’s query.
Well, he won’t be in the glacier line, so he should be all right
. But the altitude concerned her as well. “How is your head?”

Jelani smiled. It wasn’t the boyish grin she fondly remembered, but his newer, more mature and serene half smile. “I am fine, Simba Jike. It is
you
that I am worried about. There is something that follows you.”

Jade started and nearly tripped over a rock. When she looked to see what had caught her boot toe, she spied another nail amongst the rocks. “Harry,” she called. Harry called a halt and went back to join her. “Is there another supply box cracking up?”

Harry took the nail in his hands and nodded. “There must be. Damn!”

Harry let everyone rest for fifteen minutes and passed around one of the spare canteens to the porters. “We get into some ravines ahead,” he said as he urged them up. “Lots of loose lava chunks hidden in the heath, too, so watch your step.”

Jade waited for the rest to precede her so that she could again guard the rear. Jelani and Biscuit moved up the column behind Muturi. As she stood aside, Jade scanned the lower slope for any sign of movement in the feathery heath: a sound, a grunt, the scuttle of dislodged gravel.

Nothing. Only an eerie silence. She surveyed the upper slope, noting a few odd-looking trees that wore their dead leaves like shaggy shirts on the trunks. They rose out of the damp ravines, their trunks black as though they’d sprung from the volcanic rock. In form they reminded Jade of the huge sa guaro cactus that dominated the southern Arizona desert, except these carried a spray of lance-shaped leaves at the end of branching limbs, as though some large fork had been speared into a salad. On the ground, more white everlastings lent a splash of brightness.

If it’s that leopard following us, he’s going to run out of trees to ambush us from. If it’s a Chagga . . .
She again looked behind her.
Anything could hide in some of these ravines.

After a while, they turned west to work their way around a large knoll.

“We should be going up, not sideways,” said McAvy. It was the first time any of the actors had spoken beyond a simple gasp or groan.

“Patience,” counseled Harry. “Unless you want to try your hand at going over that outcrop, I suggest we continue around it. Besides, the view is splendid this way.”

Harry was right. They were well above the tree line. Before them lay the entire vista of the wide plains south of Kilimanjaro. It staggered Jade to realize how high they’d climbed. By the time they’d crossed the second stream on narrow wooden planks, their director shouted out, “My stars! I need some footage of this. Morris, break out the cameras.”

No one groused as Julian ordered a halt and the cameras set up. They all found some agreeable rock to plop themselves on to rest while Brown ground out the film.

“I need some action here,” Julian said. “Hall, Cynthia, Murdock, Wells, McAvy, I need you in this, the valiant explorers climbing up to find a glorious fortune and fulfill your destiny. Morris, put a sling on Wells. He’s supposed to be shot in the arm.”

Julian ordered everyone to get into character and pushed Harry, Jade, and Lwiza out of the way. He sent Budendorfer across the ravine with one camera to film the advance and left Brown to follow from behind. “McAvy, get in front,” Julian ordered. “You’re the big bwana here.” He grabbed Jelani by his shirtsleeve. “You, boy. Carry one of those crates.”

Jelani folded his arms and stood his ground.

“Jelani’s not paid on this job,” said Jade. “He’s here as my friend, so I don’t think you can order him to tote anything.”