Phantoms of the Pharaoh (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 4)

by Jason Blacker

  "By God, Art, we've found it!" he exclaimed.

  The room below was full of gold vessels, chalices, bowls and all sorts of artifacts and sculptures. The gold shimmered and jewels twinkled red and green from the lantern light. Leith Walker had not lied. There was enough jewelry and gold in that room to make all three of them millionaires many times over.

  Four

  Frances and Florence took the elevator down to the main floor. They were both dressed simply but elegantly. They each had on a long summer dress with patterned flowers. Frances' flowers were yellow and Florence's were pink. The large dining room at The Palace Hotel was across the large foyer from the reception desk. It was just about six in the evening when Frances and Florence stood by the maître d'hôtel's desk, and waited for him to return from showing other guests to their tables.

  The maître d' returned with quick and short steps and smiled at them with a closed mouth. He had over his left forearm a white cloth napkin, and he was dressed in a black tuxedo. His thinning black hair was combed backwards across his head with the help of pomade. He wore a bushy but well manicured black mustache. His skin was much paler than many other Egyptians, and in fact he might have been mistaken for a European under other circumstances.

  "Welcome, ladies," he said, as if they were his first and only guests. "I am Paser and I will be your maître d' for the evening. If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to call upon me. Just the two of you?"

  Frances nodded.

  "Please follow me," said Paser, as he swept the dining room with his right arm before walking towards the far side of the room. At a set of large bay windows he stopped behind the far chair of what was a two chair setting. Paser pulled the chair out and helped slide it in as Frances sat down. With perfect timing, he managed to get behind the opposite chair just as Florence was sitting down. He then stood in front of the table between the two of them.

  "Ammon will be your waiter for this evening. Our special tonight is poached haddock in a lemon and white wine sauce accompanied by garlic buttered mashed potatoes and pan seared asparagus."

  "Sounds wonderful," said Frances.

  Florence nodded, and Paser bowed and then left just as quickly as he had after seating the couple before them. Frances had a wonderful view of the entire dining room. She surveyed the room and found it mostly empty.

  In the middle of the room sat the larger couple she had seen earlier in the day from the boat. A couple of tables from them and closer to Frances and Florence were the military man and his companion. They were not talking to one another at the moment, but the larger couple were in animated but hushed conversation.

  There was a line of people starting to gather by the entrance to the dining room. Paser was not perturbed by this. He had come to intimately know the ebb and flow of customers as they came for lunch and dinner throughout the week. It would be busy for him until about six thirty at which time the torrent, if you could even call it that, of customers would trickle to stragglers.

  Paser had worked for this hotel for twenty-five years, and he took pride in his position as maître d'. He knew everything about service and dining. He had started after all as the dishwasher and worked his way up through busboy, waiter, head waiter and then finally to maître d', the highest honor, and the position he had held for five years now.

  Paser was extremely slow to anger and anxiety. Serving had been his passion, and he had come to excel at it with an almost military perfection.

  Frances watched him show a lone gentleman to his seat at a table just behind Florence. He was a tall, and slender man with a gaunt face that was clean shaven. He wore a brown suit with a matching fedora, which he took off and placed in the chair opposite. He faced Frances but took no interest in her. He appeared to be in his early sixties though the heavy bruised bags under his eyes made him look much older.

  Frances watched him as he unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. He steepled his fingers in front of him and rested his chin on top of them. He closed his eyes and drifted off into deep thought. Out of the corner of her eye, Frances noticed movement and looked over to find a waiter standing at the edge of the table dressed in black pants and a black shirt with a white apron around his waist. He was smiling broadly at her.

  "Good evening, ladies," he said, "my name is Ammon and I'll be your waiter for this evening."

  Ammon handed them each a leather-bound menu.

  "Good evening, Ammon," said Frances.

  Ammon smiled at her and then turned and smiled at Florence as she greeted him by his first name.

  "I'm sure Paser told you about our special this evening?" he asked.

  Frances and Florence nodded.

  "It is exceptionally good. If you can't decide on anything else, I don't believe you'll go wrong with the haddock."

  Ammon looked at them for a moment. He was a slim man of average height with black shiny hair that was parted on the left. It was kept short around his dark brown face and his eyebrows met like two black worms kissing at the bridge of his nose. His face made him look younger than his mid-thirties, primarily because it was fatter than the rest of him. He had a large mole in the middle of his left cheek.

  "While the two of you are deciding on dinner, may I get any drinks for you?"

  "I think I might like to try the Pinot Grigio," said Frances.

  "An excellent choice," answered Ammon, beaming at her.

  "In that case," said Florence, "I'll have a glass too."

  "Why don't we make it a half liter then," said Frances, looking at her friend. Florence nodded, and Frances looked up at Ammon and nodded at him.

  "A half liter of Pinot Grigio then," replied Ammon, and with that he walked off.

  The restaurant was starting to fill up slowly but steadily. Paser was getting his exercise in his clipped and regimented walk.

  Another couple was seated behind the tall man with the fedora. The older woman looked like she could be the grandmother of the younger one. There was at least thirty, but perhaps even forty or more years between them. Her place was set for a left handed person. The older woman had a severe face etched with more lines and wrinkles than one would expect. Her lips were razor thin and her eyes seemed constantly wet as if they were floating in a puddle. Her hair was dyed poorly and tinted red.

  The young woman didn't look at the older woman much except to address her directly, and that wasn't often. They spoke in soft whispers when they spoke at all which wasn't often. The older woman kept looking around as if she was expecting company but it never came.

  The younger woman was a waif, she was slim and plain featured and wore clothing more suited for someone of her grandmother's age. Her hair was mousy brown and straight and fell around her face in a pageboy. She was almost a younger carbon copy of the older woman. She had the same thin lips and wet eyes. Frances didn't pay much attention to the two of them, they had a way of merging into the background. Quite unremarkable and unnoticeable.

  She did notice the larger man who had previously sat down with the larger woman get up and come over to the young woman and her grandmother. He nodded at them and apologized for intruding.

  "I hope you won't mind if I say that you remind me of someone," said the large man to the older woman. She didn't smile at him, but held his gaze.

  "You look like someone I used to know."

  "What's your name?" asked the grandmother.

  "Albert, Albert Warrant."

  The grandmother shook her head.

  "Sorry," she said, "but that doesn't ring a bell."

  "What's your name if you don't mind me being so forward?"

  "Really," said the grandmother, "that is quite rude of you, I don't know you at all."

  "I do apologize," he said and got ready to turn around.

  "It's Mrs. Orpha Bendled," she said and offered him her hand with a small smile. He shook her hand, and bowed at the both of them.

  "Sorry again for intruding. I must be mistaken," he said.

  "That's
quite all right," said Orpha, and the large man named Albert returned to his table and his dinner companion.

  "The restaurant is getting quite busy," said Frances.

  "Is it?" said Florence, turning to look around. "So it is, and I think we have the best seat in the house."

  Florence turned back around to look at her friend, and then she looked outside through the windows of the dining room. There was a modest patio in front with some tables and chairs and umbrellas, but for some reason it was not being used tonight. Frances kept an eye on Paser, he was intriguing to her. He was very particular and regimented in everything he did. He had just finished showing another single gentleman to his table at the opposite diagonal end to where Frances and Florence sat. He was of average height with black wavy hair and clean shaven. He seemed quite pleasant, he smiled easily and showed straight white teeth. He had a strong jaw and good looks. He wore blue pants and pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below the elbows. His pants were held up by dark blue suspenders. Frances could almost hear him when he spoke, his voice was loud and carried well.

  Another man who had been seated a few minutes before this handsome man looked over at him with clear revulsion on his face. He was tall and slender but with a small pregnant belly. He had the ashen face of a smoker and deep lines from his nose to the corners of his mouth that turned his mouth down. His nose was large and beaked and he had a high forehead with a mess of curly brown hair. He took a long white cigarette out of a gold cigarette case and lit it with a matching gold lighter. He looked over at the handsome man with contempt, but the handsome man was studying the menu and didn't notice. He blew smoke absentmindedly out through his nose and then placed the cigarette in the ashtray and with great exaggeration he put the napkin on his lap. He then looked towards window where the man with the fedora sat. He nodded at the other man, but Frances didn't see if the man with the fedora nodded back.

  Ammon came by with two glasses and the carafe of wine. He poured some for Lady Marmalade which she swirled, sniffed and tasted. It was to her liking so Ammon poured them each a half glass. Frances raised her glass to her friend.

  "To good friends, good food, good wine and shared joys," she said.

  Florence raised her glass and they clinked together.

  "Thank you Fran, this is such a treat. To us, may we continue to enjoy each other's company for years to come."

  "Cheers," said Frances, and they both sipped the wine from their glasses.

  "Hmm, that is good. Perfect choice," said Florence.

  "What do you think you'll have to eat?" asked Frances.

  Florence looked down at the menu which contained a variety of meats including duck, chicken, seafood and beef.

  "I like the sounds of the haddock Paser mentioned. I think I'll stick with that," she said.

  Frances nodded.

  "Me too."

  Ammon returned after delivering drinks to some other patrons.

  "Do you know what you'd like?" he asked, looking at Frances.

  "I think I'll go with the haddock that you and Paser mentioned."

  Ammon smiled at her and wrote her order down on his pad of paper with his short pencil.

  "And for you?"

  He looked at Florence.

  "The same. The haddock sounds wonderful," said Florence.

  Ammon smiled at her.

  "You won't be disappointed," he said.

  After he had made another mark on his pad, he picked up the menus and left them.

  "So," said Frances, "tomorrow we have an early start at eight in the morning. Thankfully the bus leaves right outside our hotel so we don't have far to go."

  "How long do you estimate the bus ride will be to Cairo?"

  "I think the brochure suggested it would be about three hours. We have lunch in Cairo at around eleven thirty if I recall, and then at one o'clock we leave by bus again for the pyramids."

  "Sounds marvelous," said Florence. "I can't wait. Did I tell you that I had just recently bought an Argus camera so that I can take some pictures of this trip to refer back to?"

  Frances shook her head.

  "Oh yes, and I think I really like it. It seems quite simple to use. I've already taken a few pictures of my garden and flowers. I can't wait to see how they turn out."

  "Sounds wonderful. You must show it to me when we get back up to the room."

  Florence nodded.

  "You won't believe how small it is," she said. "Technology nowadays is simply astounding. It's only the size of a small brick if you can believe it."

  "You don't say," said Frances. "Was it expensive?"

  "Not too bad. A bit of a splurge but I think it will be well worth it."

  "I'd love to take a look at the pictures once you've had them processed. Perhaps I'll come up to Puddle's End for Christmas. Do you think you'll have them done by then?"

  "Oh, I should certainly hope so. I'd love to have you round for Christmas, if Declan wouldn't mind?"

  Frances smiled at her friend.

  "No, I don't think he'd mind at all. I think he and Everard wouldn't mind some time alone for a change, instead of having me hovering around them every moment of every day."

  Frances laughed out loud, as did Florence.

  "Well, then that's what we'll do," said Florence.

  "Lovely. I hope you brought enough film then."

  "I believe so. I have three rolls with me."

  "That should be enough. One hundred and eight pictures divide by the four weeks we're here is what? You were better at mathematics than I was," said Frances.

  Florence looked off and up towards the ceiling as she tried to do the division.

  "Um, that's twenty-seven pictures per week, or... just under four per day. That doesn't seem like very much on a daily basis does it?"

  "Oh, I don't know, Flo. It should be enough, we'll just have to be choosy. Though I'm sure there will be days when not many pictures are needed."

  Florence nodded, but inside she was wondering if she should have brought an extra roll or two. Perhaps one roll per week would have been better, but there was nothing she could do about it now. As Frances said, she'd have to be choosy.

  "Now I don't want you pouting the whole trip through Egypt, Mahulda," said the older, severe looking woman.

  She was looking sternly at the young woman in front of her. Mahulda looked up tentatively at her.

  "But I don't think it's a good idea, what we're doing here," she answered.

  "We can talk about that later," said the older woman, "we are here to have a good time and to take a look around Egypt and the pyramids. That's the end of it."

  The young woman sighed and looked out the window.

  "Listen, young lady," said the older woman tersely, "if you really want us to get into trouble then you should continue to look and behave upset. Honestly, my dear, we are on a holiday and you should act the part. We don't need to draw any further suspicion to ourselves now do we?"

  Mahulda looked at the older woman.

  "I suppose you're right grandmother, but this whole thing just makes me a little nervous."

  "I know it does, but nerves will not help us now. We need to carry on with the rest of the trip, and you'll see, it will all work out in the end."

  Mahulda nodded, and they stopped talking for a while. Florence noticed that Frances seemed a bit distracted.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  Frances looked away from the older woman and her granddaughter and smiled at Florence.

  "Sorry, Flo," she said. "I can't help but to be curious about all the other guests here. It appears that young woman behind you is here with her grandmother. I can't help but to wonder why she isn't here with her parents or husband or fiancé."

  "Oh dear, Fran, you aren't suspecting them of something are you?"

  Frances chuckled and shook her head.

  "No, I'm just curious that's all. I wonder what brings them here. Much like everyone else. Especially the three single men who seem to be eat
ing alone."

  "Maybe they're waiting for their wives."

  Frances shook her head.

  "No, I don't think so. They've all ordered. I'd think they'd rather wait for their wives if they weren't eating alone."

  "Then perhaps they just happen to be businessmen here on business."

  Frances nodded.

  "I think that's probably it."

  "Well, I imagine some of them who are here might be going to Cairo tomorrow and you can ask them then, why they were eating alone or what their reason for being here is."

  Florence grinned at Frances. Frances slapped her playfully on the wrist.

  "You're silly, Flo, I'm just being curious that's all. People interest me."

  "Because you think they're up to something nefarious," teased Florence.

  Frances chuckled again.

  "You know me too well. No, that's not what I'm always thinking. But having helped with dozens of murder cases, I guess I've just become more observant and curious about people and their motives."

  "Can't their motives just be something as simple as being in Alexandria for a holiday."

  "Yes, they can, Flo, yes they can."

  Ammon came by and placed a white plate in front of both Frances and Florence. The Haddock was fresh and steaming and the lemon wafted to their noses and incited their gastric juices. The mashed potatoes smelled of garlic and warmth and the asparagus was a shockingly bright green. Ammon took the carafe and refilled their wine glasses, emptying the carafe in the process.

  "Please enjoy your meal," he said. "Is their anything else I can get for you?"

  There was nothing else they needed, so Ammon left, carrying the empty carafe with him. He and the other waiters were in and out of the kitchen carrying plates of food for the diners. The dining room was about two thirds full. Frances took the pepper and salt shakers and dusted her food with them. Florence did the same. She took a bite of the haddock.

  "Absolutely delicious," she said.

  "Should be," said Frances, "I think I heard that it's fresh every day."