Mummy Dearest: A Claire Malloy Mystery

by Joan Hess

  I found a mystery novel and made myself comfortable on the balcony, but I was unable to concentrate on the tidy English village and the obliging suspects who dropped by for tea. I closed my eyes and envisioned shabtis on a chessboard, moving from square to square as I considered possibilities and combinations. There were too many hands rearranging the blue playing pieces, I thought glumly. I knew I was being manipulated as well. Sittermann seemed to be a grand master, but he was not the only one involved in what was an increasingly nasty situation.

  Peter wouldn’t be back until five. I considered calling Mahmoud, but it seemed likely that he had written me off as a reckless busybody with an overly active imagination. Which was not an unreasonable opinion, I admitted as I wandered into the girls’ bedroom. There was a marginal improvement in the decor, although several crumpled pairs of shorts and filthy socks were in the middle of the floor. Inez was on the bed, reading The Savage Sheik, her toes curled and her expression glazed. Caron was peeling the price tag off the sole of a sandal.

  “I’m going to call room service for coffee and rolls,” I said. “Would you like anything?” Neither of them looked up. I went back into the sitting room and placed the order, adding some pastries. When Abdullah came into the suite, I asked him to carry the tray to the balcony.

  “A very nice day, Sitt,” he murmured.

  “You’re exuding disapproval,” I said to him. “Is it because I appear to keep having parties while my husband is gone?”

  “It is not for me to offer judgment. I do not always understand the way of American women. If this is the way they choose to behave, then they should do so. I have seen some of the television shows. America is very different from Egypt.”

  “I can’t argue with that. Do you have daughters, Abdullah? Did they stay at home behind the shutters until you chose husbands for them?”

  “Few families are that traditional these days, Sitt Malloy. One of my daughters is a nurse in Alexandria, and another does secretarial duties for Lady Emerson. The youngest is in Paris, studying art history and hoping to work at a museum when she completes her degree.”

  “I’m impressed that you were able to pay for their educations,” I said.

  “I have always been a frugal man. Is there anything else you would like?”

  I wanted him to sit down and tell me more about his life, but I suspected I’d have more luck trying to chat with the pot of fig jam on the tray. “Yes, I’d like to ask you something else. It’s not personal, I promise. Did the police find the taxi driver who took Dr. King to the Valley of the Kings?”

  “Yes, but he was unable to answer their questions.”

  “Why not, Abdullah? He didn’t do something to her, did he?”

  Abdullah hesitated. “They found Sobny in his taxi behind an abandoned house several miles from Luxor. His throat had been slashed. Usually one hears rumors of men boasting or spending more money than they should, but there has been not one word about this crime. Those who have been known to do such things in the past have been questioned by the police and released. It is very curious. People are nervous, afraid to speak about it.”

  “Was he robbed?” I asked, trying not to shudder.

  “He had American money in his pocket, more than two hundred dollars. The police also found Dr. King’s room key, which had slipped between the seats.” Abdullah bowed slightly. “I will spend the rest of today cleaning the carpet and floor in the hall. It appears that beverages were spilled last night. There is an unpleasant smell.”

  I followed him to the door and locked it behind him. It was comforting to know I had a bodyguard outside the room, even if he was as ancient as the colossi protecting the temple at Abu Simbel. I went to the balcony and peered down. This side of the hotel was highly visible from the terrace, the sidewalk, and the corniche. Scaling it with ropes and hooks would work only in a mindless action movie.

  I took a few deep breaths, poured myself a cup of coffee, and dedicated myself to the dastardly deeds of the vicar’s wife, whose pen was as dangerous as her tongue. Caron and Inez joined me and finished the pastries. Inez offered to teach me how to play poker, and I reluctantly agreed.

  I’d lost all of my dried figs and was down to a single date when the telephone rang. “Don’t touch that date,” I said as I went into the sitting room and answered the phone, dearly hoping it was not Peter with an infinitely reasonable explanation why he was stuck in Cairo for another month.

  “Mrs. Malloy?” cooed a voice. “This is Buffy. I’m not disturbing you, am I? Now that I’ve had time to rest and get all clean, I realize that I was hideously ungrateful yesterday. I should have been slobbering all over you like a lost puppy, but I was too upset to think straight. Could I come and apologize in person?”

  “You’re not going to slobber all over me, are you?”

  “Good heavens, no,” she said, laughing. “I went to one of the shops by the hotel and bought you a gift. It’s not nearly adequate to pay you back for everything you did for me, but those men took my purse and I don’t have any credit cards. Maybe when I get back to Rome, American Express will have my replacement card and I can find something extra special for you. If you give me your home address, I’ll mail it to you.”

  “We’ll discuss that later. Yes, you may come to the suite. Be careful when you get off the elevator; the floor may be damp.”

  I told the girls about the call. Caron went to comb her hair, but Inez sat back and said, “You didn’t tell us much about what happened to her. Are you sure she wasn’t taken to the camp of a sheik with a volatile temper and blazing eyes? Maybe she’s afraid to admit she was drawn to his animal passion and they made love on silken cushions beneath a sky of glittering diamonds.”

  “I’m sorry to say she slept on a flea-ridden blanket the first night, and was then locked in a dingy hotel room the size of a closet. When are you going to finish that infernal book? Your mother’s going to blame me if you come home with all these fantasies. As you’re so fond of pointing out, she already has reservations about me.”

  “When I read Gone With the Wind, my father claimed my accent was so syrupy that he couldn’t understand half of what I said.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Vicarious thrills. What’s so fascinating about the sheik is that I’m pretty sure he’s not truly an Arab. His complexion is lighter, and he buys cases of imported wine and plays operas on a gramophone. The English lady doesn’t realize that’s why she’s in love with him. It’s actually very racist. Back when the book was written, it was unthinkable that any civilized woman could get hot and bothered over someone from an inferior race.”

  “So why is he pretending to be an Arab?” I asked.

  “I don’t know yet. What’s more, I don’t think she’s really the daughter of a duke or whatever she keeps saying. She’s pretending, too. It’d be a lot better if they were honest with each other, but if they were, it would be a very short book.”

  “And therefore nobody would have bought it and the author would have faded into obscurity, along with a lot of other authors. What a ghastly thought.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Buffy handed me a small cloth pouch with a drawstring. “I wish I could have bought you perfume or jewelry. The American Express lady in Cairo said they’d cover the hotel bill, but they can’t advance much cash. I’m going to have to charge everything to the room until I get a new card.”

  I poured a silver chain and tiny charm out of the bag. “Very nice,” I said.

  “It’s an ankh, the hieroglyph for ‘life.’ The guy at the shop said it’s a symbolic depiction of genitalia, but he was being snide. It doesn’t have anything to do with Christianity, even though it looks like a weird cross.”

  I handed it to Inez, who said, “I should get some of these to give to my cousins. My brother’s getting a cockroach I caught in our room. I’m going to tell him it’s a scarab.”

  “It’s dead,” Caron said. “Wrap it in toilet paper and tell him it was mummified.”

  Buffy winc
ed. “I’m sure he’ll love it. Anyway, Mrs. Malloy, I do want to thank you for everything you did yesterday. I don’t know why you risked your life for me, but I am so unbelievably grateful. Those horrible men were going to take me to an oasis way out in the desert. They probably knew some fat old bedouin who’d buy me for a sex slave. Nobody would have ever heard from me again.”

  “The men spoke English?” I said.

  “No. I mean, I don’t think they did. I overheard one of them say something about Oasis al-Farafra. Samuel made me go there with him after we arrived in Egypt. It was awful, nothing but mud-brick huts and springs with sulphur water. The bus from Cairo took ten hours. Ten long, sweltering hours with people who hadn’t bathed in weeks.”

  “You seemed to be reluctant to leave Samuel behind at Kharga,” I said, trying to sound casual. “That was thoughtful of you, since I was under the impression the two of you weren’t the happiest of traveling companions. Didn’t he warn you about his plans when you first met in Rome?”

  “Sort of, but I didn’t pay much attention. I was so bored in Rome with all the lectures and guided tours. It’s not like we were a bunch of high school kids”—she winked at Caron and Inez—“who’d get into trouble if we explored on our own. We actually had a curfew, if you can imagine. Once, when we were supposed to have a private audience with the Pope, I was so hungover that I slept till noon. I thought Miss Ripley was going to have a total meltdown and send me home. It’s not like I’m Catholic, for pity’s sake.”

  “It sounds like a fabulous program,” I said. “What’s the name of the college?”

  Buffy picked up the chain and ankh and put them back in the cloth bag. “A small private school in California. Nobody’s ever heard of it. Oh, and you said something about Sausalito. I made a really dumb mistake on my passport application and mixed up the house numbers. My mother’s been married four times. My father was her second, and I use that name. She hardly knows what her last name is anymore. She’ll have a new one before I get home. I just hope this husband is older than me. The last kept getting carded when we went out to dinner.” She gazed at me like a puppy pleading for a kindly pat on the head. “My shrink says I have a problem relating to men, that I get inappropriately attached. I guess that explains why I was upset yesterday about Samuel. He hasn’t come back yet. Chief Inspector el-Habachi told me that the police over there searched the entire town. Did he say anything to you about knowing someone who lives or works there? Could he have recognized someone on the street?”

  “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 cras
h 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.