Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (4 page)

“What about the rest of the equipment?” asked Madeline.

Jade shook her head. “Hascombe’s seen to that. I know there are cameras and film cases and one box of blanks. I have no idea what else we’re toting. It’s a good thing there’s a rail line as far as Moshi, because we couldn’t feed the porters what it would take to haul this stuff.”

“I’m sure Harry knows what he’s doing,” said Madeline to no one in particular. Jade arched her eyebrows.

“Oh, stop fussing about the safari,” said Beverly. She patted her short curls, the color of early morning sunlight. “Introduce us.”

Jade approached the nearest cluster of Americans and politely cleared her throat. They turned to her and one of the gentlemen smiled broadly.

“Ah, Miss del Cameron. Glad you could join us. You look ravishing.” The speaker was a tall man with brown hair and a square jaw. He resembled a well-chiseled heroic statue.

“Thank you, Mr. Hall. Sorry to intrude,” Jade said. She directed her apology in particular to a young, voluptuous, dark-haired woman who had frowned when Jade joined them. The woman’s low-cut, ivory silk dress did little to conceal her attributes, and Jade remembered overhearing that she’d been hired as a body double in certain scenes. “I’d like to introduce my friends,” said Jade. “They’re very eager to meet all of you.”

“Of course, but none of that ‘mister’ stuff. I’m Conrad to my friends. Hope you’ll be one of them, since you are one of our great white hunters, protecting us in the wilds.”

Jade smiled. “Then you must call me Jade. Or just scream. I generally answer to both.”

A willowy, auburn-haired woman with clear hazel eyes twisted her cardinal red lips into a wry smile. “Faster to the latter, I hope.” She held out a well-manicured hand to Beverly. “I’m Cynthia Porter. I play an intrepid explorer’s devoted wife in this picture.”

Beverly shook the woman’s hand as Jade continued the introductions. “This is Lord Avery Dunbury’s wife.”

“Please call me Beverly,” she said.

“And this lady,” Jade said, indicating Madeline, “is Mrs. Thompson. Madeline is also an author with two adventure books in print and another recently sold.”

“
Stalking Death
and
Ivory Blood
,” added Maddy. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Mr. Hall extended his hand to Madeline and Beverly in turn. “Conrad Hall,” he said. “I’m the intrepid explorer that Cynthia mentioned. At least when we shoot the present-day scenes. I’m also supposed to be some emperor from the past.” He laughed. “Don’t ask me to explain, though. I’m miserable when it comes to history.”

“This is Pearl Zagar,” Jade said, indicating the voluptuous beauty. “And Henry Wells,” she finished, nodding to a younger man with blue eyes and sandy blond hair parted in the middle. Unlike Mr. Hall’s block-shaped chin, Mr. Wells’ jutted out in a rounded bulb.

“Call me Hank,” he said.

“And this gentleman is the producer, Mr. Graham Wheeler.” Wheeler nodded, then looked around the room, his expression concerned and impatient. From the corner of her eye, Jade spied Harry Hascombe coming out of the bar and heading in their direction. The last thing she wanted was to risk a confrontation between Harry and Sam, who, despite avowals to the contrary, would love to punch Harry in the face. “If you’ll excuse me then, I have someone else to attend to.” Jade slipped away and arrived beside Sam’s group just as Maddy began her appeal to the producer and Bev inquired about the picture’s plot.

“Ah, Jade,” said Avery, “I do hope you didn’t encourage Beverly to abandon us to become an actress. She’s always been rather keen on the idea. I nearly kept her at home tonight.”

“I don’t believe you and little Alice are in any danger,” said Jade with a chuckle.

Avery set his half-empty glass on a nearby tray and smoothed back his fair hair. “Still, I think I shall just go over and make certain.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Neville as he spied Maddy trying to engage Wheeler in conversation.

Jade watched them join their wives before turning back to Sam. “I
am
very glad you came tonight, Sam. I’m sorry I presumed it was for selfish gain. Forgive me?”

“Only if you dance with me.”

The band hired for this evening’s affair had just finished a set of three fast songs and broke into a slow waltz. Sam had trouble moving his right leg with its heavy wooden prosthesis as rapidly as was required for a fox-trot or two-step, but he managed waltzes well enough. Jade let him lead her onto the dance floor. His ungloved right hand rested lightly just below her shoulder, his touch barely perceptible through her dress and the pocket handkerchief he held to protect the fabric. Jade felt her skin tingle and wished he’d hold her tighter.

She studied his angular face marked by a prominent nose that grew directly from his brow. It was punctuated by a thin brown mustache. A pair of coffee brown, nearly black eyes drew attention away from the nose and lent balance to his features. His brown hair, close-cropped at the sides, was longer on top and fell from a side part over his right brow. Jade compared it to the actors’ faces and decided Sam’s was the better by far. While not classic like Mr. Hall’s or pretty like the Adonis-faced Mr. Wells’, Sam’s lean, chiseled features bore the stamp of intelligence, honor, and character, which made him far more handsome to her. His eyes especially, which reminded Jade of an African night, could transform his features from boyish devilry to those of a warrior. Looking into them now made her arms tremble ever so slightly.

She felt the need for conversation. She thought of two or three topics and rejected them all. Talking of the safari would create tension between them; she already knew about his work with Neville on the coffee washer and that he hadn’t flown his plane but once since he’d run low on fuel two weeks ago. Until the local petrol shortage improved, he was grounded. “I hope Mr. Wheeler makes you an offer on your picture,” she said finally. “It would save you an expensive trip home.”

“I’ll go back to the States soon anyway,” he said. “It’s an election year. You should come with me, since women have the vote now.”

Jade was about to comment when the sound of breaking glass and cracking wood startled everyone. “What in thunder was that?”

“Sounds like it came from the other room.”

They ran from the ballroom into the reception room in time to see Cissy Estes sitting on the floor, her rear end in the rum punch bowl. The serving table’s thin legs had snapped and splayed under her weight when she fell backwards onto it, spilling the bowl as well as several dozen glass punch cups. Cissy blinked stupidly at the gathering crowd, her right hand still holding her glass.

“I shall complain to the management,” she slurred. “The floor is wet.”

Most of the guests laughed at her, but the two cameramen, Lloyd Brown and Steve Budendorfer, tried to haul her to her feet. The woman probably only weighed one hundred and fifteen pounds wet, but both these men were slightly built and she was a deadweight. Her shoes kept slipping on the spilled punch, making her legs sprawl at odd angles.

“I should help, I suppose,” said Sam. “Can’t leave her like that.” He hadn’t gone two steps when Harry Hascombe grabbed Cissy by one arm, yanked her to her feet, then toted her off to a settee to recover.

“Well, that was certainly exciting,” said Beverly, as she and the others joined Jade and Sam. The rest of the crowd dispersed, most going into the ballroom.

“Did you convince Mr. Wheeler to buy your books for a picture?” Jade asked Madeline.

She shook her head. “He was very polite but I don’t think he’s interested. He’s having enough difficulty just getting one movie filmed in Africa and he doesn’t want to try a second. But I didn’t speak with him for very long. He seemed rather concerned about Miss Malta and went to look for her.”

“We’ve been talking to the actors instead,” said Beverly. “Their picture sounds wonderful, doesn’t it, Avery?”

“Certainly dramatic enough. It’s all based on some legend of King Solomon’s son, Menelik, and—”

Avery’s account was interrupted by a piercing scream. A woman ran into the room from the back door, her expensive gown streaked with blood.

“That’s Miss Malta!” exclaimed Madeline as the actress collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The crowd surged forward and surrounded her, shouting incoherently. Jade pushed past them towards the door and the dark grounds beyond.

“Whatever happened occurred outside,” she said as her friends followed.

“A leopard attack?” suggested Beverly.

Jade didn’t reply. She hadn’t heard any screams or snarls from a big cat, and the actress didn’t appear to be hurt. At least, she hadn’t seen any cuts or scratches on the woman’s face or arms.

The answer lay sprawled on the grass, thirty yards from the door. A man in full evening dress lay on his side, his hands still wrapped tightly around a native’s neck. The African was alive, though barely. Before they could get to him, he pulled a knife from the other body and plunged it into his own naked and horribly scratched chest. The native’s breath caught in one choking gasp before his head fell back, his dead eyes staring into eternity.

Madeline screamed and buried her face in Neville’s shirt. He put his arms around his wife as the others stared horrified at the scene.

“My stars!” Neville exclaimed. “What just happened? Who is that?”

Sam knelt beside the first man and checked his throat for a pulse. Jade stepped to the other side and looked down at the man’s face. “It’s Graham Wheeler. He’s dead.”

Avery pulled Beverly closer in a protective embrace. “I guess that means he won’t be buying Sam’s motion picture.”

CHAPTER 3

—The Traveler

SAM STOOD BESIDE JADE AND NEVILLE AS THEY GUARDED THE BODIES, keeping the crowd back with repeated cautions and mild threats. Avery telephoned the Nairobi police and rejoined them. Harry followed hot on his heels.

“Someone is on the way,” said Avery. “At first they told me to ring up the Parklands police station. Said it was closer. Puh!” he scoffed. “I informed them that those chaps are not equipped to handle anything more than a loose dog or a possible prowler. After I repeated the word ‘murder’ several times, I got someone’s attention.”

“How is Miss Malta?” asked Jade.

“I just left her,” said Harry. “She appears to have recovered from her faint.”

“Bev and Madeline are attending her,” added Avery, “in one of the ladies’ parlors.”

“Did any of you see what happened?” asked Harry.

“Only the last part,” said Sam, “when this man”—he pointed to the African—“stabbed himself.”

“Bloody hell!” swore Harry.

They heard the sound of several motorcars coming up the long drive on the opposite side of the Muthaiga Club. “Harry, maybe you’d better go out front to meet them and bring them here,” suggested Jade.

Harry agreed and sprinted around the building to avoid the congestion of people. In a few minutes she heard him return the same way. This time a small crowd followed them, having spotted the police. Snippets of “terrible mess,” “blasted natives,” and “you will protect us” mingled with Harry’s oaths. Finally a commanding voice ordered everyone back inside. Jade recognized that voice.

The group rounded the corner, Harry in the lead, the inspector second, and two constables trailing. “This way, Inspector,” said Harry. He’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned his dinner jacket.

Inspector Finch stopped abruptly when he spotted Jade, and a constable plowed right into his back.

“Inspector Finch,” said Jade. “Thank you for making such haste.”

Finch recovered himself and strode forward. “Why am I not surprised to see you involved in this, Miss del Cameron?” He turned his head towards Sam. “And Featherstone, too. Ah, Thompson. And I believe you’re Lord Dunbury, aren’t you?”

Avery made a slight bow. “If we are through with the introductions, Inspector, may I suggest that you see to the problem at hand?”

Finch forced a thin smile. “Indeed. Tell me what happened.” He bent to examine the bodies.

Avery, Neville, and Harry all looked to Jade and Sam to explain. Sam stepped forward after Jade shrugged and pointed to him. “We didn’t witness everything, Inspector,” he said. “We were inside and heard a scream. A woman, an actress, ran into the room. Her dress appeared to have blood on it. She fainted and Miss del Cameron and I went outside to see if her attacker was still in the area. We found this man, Mr. Graham Wheeler, lying just as you see him.” He pointed to the other man. “The native wasn’t dead, although his position suggested he’d been choked to the point of it. He pulled that knife from Mr. Wheeler’s chest and plunged it into his own before we could stop him.”

“And this actress you spoke of, where is she now?”