Mummy Dearest: A Claire Malloy Mystery

by Joan Hess

  “It’s nine o’clock,” Inez said.

  “But I’ve been up for hours and hours,” Salima said. “Butter and marmalade, and also a few turkey sausages.”

  Inez obligingly trooped back inside.

  Caron went trolling for sympathy. “We have to stay at the hotel all day,” she said to Salima. “We can’t even go across the street and look at the shops there.”

  “You poor, deprived creature.” Salima gave me a facetiously stern look. “Can’t you see how her fingers are itching to caress a price tag? What about the local economy? Think of all the shop owners’ children who will go to bed tonight with growling bellies. What if all tourists felt this way?”

  I tossed my napkin at her. “Your brow is beading with compassion and your nose beginning to run with pathos. Maybe this will help.”

  She laughed and tossed the napkin back to me. A waiter set a coffee cup in front of her and glided away. “He used to date my cousin,” she said in a low voice. “He wouldn’t dare report me to hotel security. I do think it’s best for me to avoid the lobby for a while. That pompous twit of a manager has the preposterous idea that I was involved in a breach of security in the hotel’s basement a few nights ago. Can you imagine such a ridiculous thing? I, renowned lecturer at Cairo University, noted expert on mummified animals, am not a master criminal.”

  “Why would you be in the basement?” Caron asked. She glanced at me. “You were both there, weren’t you? I don’t even want to know why.”

  “Probably not,” I said.

  Inez returned with a plate for Salima. I was about to fetch one for myself when Alexander leaned over my shoulder and refilled my coffee cup. “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “You’re all looking lovely. Mrs. Malloy, allow me to wait upon you. Rolls? A freshly made omelet with herbs and cheese? Something more typical of Egyptian breakfast fare? Whatever madam wishes, she shall have.”

  “Won’t you join us?” I said. It was a formality, since he was already taking a chair from a nearby table. “Did everyone make it home safely last night?”

  “A party?” Salima scowled ferociously. “How could there be a party if I was not invited?”

  “No one was invited.” I went into the buffet and gazed without interest at the spread. I took a croissant and a few spoonfuls of things, then went back to the table. “Did it occur to any of you that you waltzed off without Wallace?” I asked Alexander.

  “Did we?” Alexander rubbed his forehead. “I don’t recall seeing the chap. Was he there?”

  Caron gave him a disapproving look. “Until three in the morning, when he stumbled into our room and fell across the bed. Inez and I put him out in the hall. I guess Abdullah found him and did something with him.”

  “How curious,” said Alexander. He tore my croissant in half and began to butter it. “Magritta usually keeps track of him, but she’s been distracted since the discovery of the shabti. When we went to the Valley yesterday, she was in a foul mood because of the forced delay while the bureaucrats from Cairo pick through boxes of chips and slivers of pottery. That grad student—Jess, I think—didn’t show up, although there really isn’t anything he or the crew can do until they get official approval to continue.”

  “He wasn’t in my suite last night,” I said.

  Alexander took the remainder of the croissant. “Magritta has to socialize with her financial backers, but Jess doesn’t. I suspect he prefers the cheap restaurants and nightclubs, where he’ll run into other American students if he’s lucky. He doesn’t seem to be terribly interested in the pharaonic era.”

  “Will he have to stay now?” asked Inez, looking as though she might apply for the position if it became available. “Will MacLeod College continue to sponsor the concession without Dr. King?”

  “I should think so,” Salima said. “A week ago, maybe not. Shannon was clearly the driving force, badgering people such as my father and Mrs. McHaver for money, writing journal reports about the progress. She reminded me of a rabid fan on the sidelines of a football match when her team was losing. Badly.” She stopped to pour the last of the coffee into her cup. “The uncovering of the step was promising, but there was no strong indication that there might be a tomb remaining to be found. The shabti is something altogether different. Quite a coincidence, appearing at a time when MacLeod might have been weighing the possibility of giving up its concession. I do believe we need more coffee if we’re going to stay here.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Alexander said, rising. “I look forward to seeing you lovely ladies in the future. Good day.”

  Salima banged down her cup. “What an egotistical cad he is! He didn’t say one word to me. This chair could have been empty, for all he noticed.” She slumped back and stuck out her lower lip. Her expression reminded me of a balky camel.

  “Mother,” Caron said, “there’s something we have to tell you.”

  “In private,” Inez added. “Upstairs would be better.”

  “In case you start yelling or something. You probably will.”

  “Fine,” I said. I couldn’t imagine what they could have done of such astonishing magnitude that I would explode. I hadn’t been with them night and day, but I trusted them not to sneak out of the hotel at night. They weren’t always as candid and straightforward as I would have liked. However, I wasn’t exactly an exemplary role model.

  “I adore secrets,” Salima said. “If I can’t come upstairs, I shall have no choice but to fling myself in the Nile to be mauled by crocodiles. Could you sleep at night knowing you were responsible? Didn’t I take you to the most expensive shops and get you discounts? Didn’t I make up all sorts of lurid stories about human sacrifices in the name of Ra and Osiris? Does my heartfelt affection mean nothing to you?”

  “You can come,” Caron said. “You’ll probably yell at us, too.”

  Salima refused to go through the lobby to the elevator, so we climbed the stairs. Abdullah was in the suite, restocking the bar with bottles and cans of soda.

  “Coffee or tea, Sitt?” he asked. When I shook my head, he left without strewing any pearls of wisdom.

  I sat down on the sofa. “Well?”

  Caron gave Inez a panicky look, then took a deep breath. “It sort of goes back to when I told you our room was searched,” she began.

  “Ah!” Salima said. “That explains it. I think I’ll call room service for champagne and orange juice. We must celebrate with a mimosa.” The rest of us gaped at her. “Or not,” she continued airily. “It was just a suggestion. Even I think it’s too early for a martini, although I have been up for several hours and it must be the cocktail hour in Hong Kong by now.”

  “What’s going on?” I pointed at Inez. “See if you can find a better place to start.”

  Inez took off her glasses and cleaned them on the hem of her T-shirt. “The night we went to Salima’s house for the birthday party. We told you about the nightclub in the hotel and that man who was after us.”

  “He really was,” Caron said, slathering on sincerity with such fervor that I knew the story was going to be ludicrous, “and we really were scared.”

  I turned back to Inez. “Continue.”

  “And all the stuff about how he chased us—”

  “—down dark alleys, where rabid dogs snarled at us,” said Caron, “and we had to fight to escape street thugs who would have dragged us into an empty building and tortured us until we passed out from the pain.”

  Inez frowned at her. “Or something like that. So we hid behind some rocks next to the road. It’s just that after the donkey cart and those men stopped, then went on down the hill… we sort of didn’t mention that we found something.” She looked so miserable that I almost wanted to give her a hug, but I wasn’t sure I might lose my resolve and strangle both her and Caron.

  “A little blue Egyptian figurine?” chirped Salima.

  “How do you know?” muttered Caron.

  “A wild guess, darling. I have an uncanny knack for such things.”

&n
bsp; I was now in the mood to strangle all three of them and ask Abdullah to dispose of the bodies in a way that would not sully the hotel’s reputation. “Could you please explain for my benefit?” I said coldly. “Without any interruptions? This is worse than a cable show with commercials every three minutes. That’s not to imply we’ve had three minutes thus far. Salima, I will put you out in the hall and hold the door closed if necessary.”

  Salima flopped into a chair, opened her mouth, then thought better of it and began to inspect her fingernails.

  “Yeah, a figurine,” Caron said. “We thought it was just another trinket for tourists. They’re for sale at all the shops and kiosks near the sites. It had some hieroglyphs on it that made it different. We kept trying to research them on the Internet, but we didn’t get anywhere.”

  “Inez wasn’t e-mailing her parents all that time?”

  “I e-mailed them a few times,” Inez said, gulping. “I told them what we did each day, but that was about it. I didn’t mention the stalker because I knew my mother would get hysterical and call the American Embassy. My brother rents all these movies about terrorists trying to blow up New York City and Los Angeles.”

  “May I assume this figurine was a shabti?” I asked carefully.

  “Yeah,” Caron said. “The one we found was faded blue. The head had been broken off.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it to Peter and me?”

  “Or me?” chirped Salima.

  “I don’t know. It was kinda cool to have found it the way we did. We didn’t think it was worth anything.”

  “A souvenir of that night,” Inez said. “When we got back to school, we could tell the story and then show it as proof. It wasn’t made out of plastic and it looked really old.”

  I stared at Salima. “Is this the shabti that was found at the excavation?”

  “There is only one way to be sure of that.” She stood up and gestured to the girls. “Let’s knock up Lord Bledrock.”

  “What?” Caron gasped.

  “I beg your pardon. That’s Brit speak for tapping on his door to ascertain if he’s awake. You Yanks have some very peculiar obsessions concerning sexual conduct. Come along. We don’t want to miss him.”

  Caron, Inez, and I trailed her to the far end of the hall, then waited as she knocked him up (so to speak). He came to the door in a bathrobe, his hair damp and droplets of toothpaste foam dotting his mustache.

  “Good morning,” he said, his eyes darting from one to another of us. “I say, have I forgotten something? It’s possible that last night we agreed upon a time to engage in some activity, but I must admit I have no memory of it. I wish I could say I’ve forgotten that uncouth woman who kept flinging herself on me while her husband slapped me on the back as if I were choking on a bit of gristle. I fear they shall haunt my dreams for years. Do tell me if they mentioned when they’re leaving Luxor.”

  “Nothing like that, you silly old thing,” Salima said, laughing. “Hmm, how nice and clean you smell, and you’re all rosy from your bath. If we didn’t have witnesses, I would be tempted to shove you into the room and tear off your robe.”

  He twinkled at her. “Miss el-Musafira, my dear girl. Shall I send them away?”

  “Ask her what she wants,” came Alexander’s voice from inside the room. “Start with a shilling.”

  I nudged Salima out of the doorway and said, “I hope we’re not disturbing you, Lord Bledrock. My daughter and her friend didn’t have a chance to see the shabti. They’re both terribly interested in Egyptian antiquities.”

  “Yeah,” Caron said without enthusiasm. “Terribly interested.”

  Lord Bledrock made an effort to regain his composure. “Certainly. Bring them in. You can wait here with Alexander while I get dressed; then I’ll open the safe. I’m always delighted when young people show an interest in Egyptology. My son doesn’t even recall when he saw his first mummy. It was an insignificant pharaoh’s wife, I admit, but all the same …” He went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  Alexander opened a newspaper. “Making your round of morning calls? I don’t believe we have a silver tray by the door, but you can leave your cards on the table.”

  “We came by to show the shabti to the girls,” I said mildly.

  “Of course you did.” He turned to the next page.

  “What’s wrong with you?” demanded Salima. “Half an hour ago you were oozing charm like a cheap gigolo. Now you’re all snooty, as if we’ve broken some unspoken rule of etiquette by daring to invade your personal space! Would you prefer that we wait in the hall? We’ll leave it up to you to explain that to your father.”

  Worried that Caron and Inez might start applauding, I said, “Why don’t you let your father know that we’ll be down in my room until he’s ready for company? Come along, girls.”

  “What, what?” Lord Bledrock said as he came out of the bedroom, now dressed in a suit and a pale blue tie. “Please, Claire, do sit here on the sofa. Would you care to have a cup of tea? Room service will be here any moment. Little Salima, how you’ve blossomed. Even when you were a child, you had striking dark eyes and delicate features. I knew you’d turn out to be a fine filly.”

  Salima gave Alexander a sly smile. “Lord Bledrock, you are too kind. Do you think we could have a peek at the shabti?”

  “I took it out of the safe in my bedroom closet.” He opened a small wooden box and drew back a piece of flannel. “Isn’t it remarkable? Ramses VIII was the seventh pharaoh of the twentieth dynasty. Almost nothing is known about him, and his reign lasted no more that two years at the most. All we have is an inscription at Medinet Habu. But now it seems we may have found his tomb. Just imagine if no tomb robbers ever stumbled across it and it’s as it was more than four thousand years ago. The sarcophagi, the jewelry, the coffin, the mask—and the mummy!” He thrust the box into Caron’s hand and turned away, his shoulders heaving.

  “Good heavens, Father,” Alexander said reproachfully. “Don’t make a spectacle of yourself in front of the ladies and Miss el-Musafira. When it comes down to it, a mummy’s just a pile of old bones wrapped in rotting linen.”

  Caron and Inez were staring at the headless shabti. Caron looked up at me and nodded. Salima took the box from Caron and moved nearer the window to study it more closely. “Magnificent,” Salima murmured. “The cartouche is well defined. The prenomen is Akhenamon, so it really must be from the tomb of Ramses VIII. I’m amazed the Supreme Council of Antiquities has allowed you to keep it in your possession. Has anyone arrived from the Cairo Museum?”

  Lord Bledrock blew his nose. “They’re descending like jackals, slobbering to get their hands on this precious treasure. Had so many not been aware of its discovery, it might have found a safer home. A much safer home.”

  “In a castle in Kent?” I suggested.

  “Who can say?” He took the box from Salima and reverently replaced the flannel before closing the lid. “I must tuck him back in the safe. Only I know the combination, which I set myself, but if something were to happen to me, hotel security has a master code. The chaps from Cairo will be here this afternoon to take possession. I long for the good old days, when benefactors were rewarded for their investment.”

  Salima arched her eyebrows. “When benefactors carried off whatever they could stuff in their pockets? Lord Carnarvon and his friends looted King Tut’s tomb. So many priceless pieces are now in foreign museums or in the lairs of private collectors, pieces that are key to the Egyptian heritage.”

  “Balderdash!” Lord Bledrock said. “You know as well as I that this may well end up in a cardboard box in the basement of the Cairo Museum. If people can’t take proper care of their heritage, they don’t deserve to have one!” He stomped into his bedroom and slammed the door.

  “Now look what you’ve gone and done,” chided Alexander. “You could have cajoled him into making a nice donation to your little exhibit at the museum, perhaps enough to buy some glass cleaner to polish those smudgy display cases.”<
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  Salima hissed something at him in Arabic, and he replied. Aware that they were not exchanging compliments, I dragged Caron and Inez out of the room. “Your language book doesn’t cover everything, does it?” I asked Inez.

  “I don’t think we need a translation,” she said.

  “I wish they’d stop behaving like adolescents,” Caron said as I unlocked the door. “Now do you believe someone searched our room? If you’d listened to us the first time, instead of making rude remarks, I would have told you what was missing.”

  “I asked you at the time, and you said nothing,” I pointed out. “You can’t claim candor in retrospect.”

  She rolled her eyes and grimaced for my benefit. “So what are we going to do all day? Watch nature shows on TV? Play cards? Throw furniture off the balcony and bet on how high it bounces?”

  I was still annoyed that they hadn’t mentioned the shabti before we went on the cruise. Now they’d clearly decided on their excuse, fine-tuned it, and would stick to it no matter what I said. I couldn’t ground them. I could send them to their room, but they probably would hang out there all afternoon in any case.

  The best I could come up with was a petty display of maternal authority. “Go get your room picked up,” I said. “Put away the clean clothes, make a pile of dirty clothes to be laundered, and organize what you’ve bought. I’m going to sit on the balcony and read. Don’t even think about slipping out through your room to go down to the lobby. When the mood strikes, I’ll be in to assess your progress.”

  Caron nodded. “Okay, and we’re really sorry we didn’t tell you and Peter about the shabti. We didn’t think it was valuable, so we wrapped it in tissue paper and put it in a drawer with our other souvenirs.”

  “That’s the truth, Mrs. Malloy,” Inez said, her eyes blinking solemnly.

  I gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. “If that was an apology, I accept it. Now get busy with your clothes.”