by Steve Bryant
“There is more to come,” Mohammed Bey said to James. “It was the custom of Egyptian royalty to be entombed with artifacts to make them comfortable in their journey through the underworld. Queen Siti’s tomb contained a lavish array of furniture, clothing, food, and drink. For her journey to America, we have brought a small sample to keep her from feeling homesick: her sword, her amulets, her figurine of Anubis, her ceremonial clothing, and carved alabaster perfume jars. Her attendants are bringing them as we speak.”
Two of the porters returned to the salon with a packing crate from the truck. They pried its lid off with a crowbar, to a shriek of nails, and the four then rummaged through the straw packing material. Abasi smiled as his hand emerged displaying a sword. One of the others smiled as he removed the jackal-headed statue of Anubis, the god of mummification and the afterlife, and rainbows danced when the jewelry came out. James watched as the guards arranged the queen’s possessions on the hotel bed, should she have need of any of them.
“She must have been very special,” said James. He had seen many Egyptian artifacts the summer he and his parents spent in Cairo, but he did not recall any more beautiful.
Mohammed Bey nodded. “Queen Siti sat on the throne for nineteen years,” he said, “as a wife to a pharaoh, as a mother to princes, and as a queen to an empire. She excelled at diplomacy and was fierce, alongside her husband, in smiting enemies. But it was her beauty and her unique talent that established her popularity. She had a voice to rival that of the gods. She could spread the word of the heroes of ancient Egypt in what are now called ballads.”
According to the plan, the businessmen in the red fezzes would soon convene in the restaurant to discuss security, education, finances, and a trade of exhibits between the Brooklyn Museum and the Cairo Museum. The larger men were to stay behind to guard the queen and her possessions.
“Our enemies are many and clever,” said Mohammed Bey. “Grave robbers have been the curse of Egypt for six thousand years. Some seek to disrespect our ancestors; others seek only the gold and valuables. The Fascist governments that now pose a threat are merely blips on the long timeline of history.”
He removed from his suit pocket an embossed leather wallet to offer James a gratuity for his services.
James waved off the gesture. “No, please, sir,” he said. “She wouldn’t like it. It’s an honor to be of help. If you need anything else, please ask for me. I’ll be here all night. I’ll be here every night.”
At this point, James was hardly worried about anyone robbing the queen and her minions. He was more worried about the questions Walter Quinn might ask. Ever since Howard Carter had discovered King Tutankhamun in 1922, mummies had been front-page news. Four men in fezzes couldn’t help but arouse Mr. Quinn’s curiosity. Keeping Queen Siti out of the newspapers was not going to be easy.
Chapter Six
Here Comes the Bride
“This is so exciting,” the girl said in the elevator. “I’ve never even seen a Broadway play. I played Juliet in Romeo and Juliet when I was still in high school. That was by William Shakespeare. I was in Hay Fever the next year, at the community college. That was by Noel Coward. Whew. How high does this elevator go?”
Her name was Dixie Ann Fields. She was nineteen years old, and this was her first trip to New York City. She had come by train, all the way from Little Rock, Arkansas. James was worried she might not be ready for the Broadway stage.
“Are you auditioning for Mina or Lucy?” he asked. Although he had found the Bram Stoker novel tedious, spun out in a succession of wordy letters and diary entries, James loved the Bela Lugosi movie and its characters. When James had first seen the movie at the Roxy with his father, he was only six years old, and it simultaneously terrified and delighted him. At his enthusiastic urging, his dad took him back to see the movie three weekends in a row. James understood that both roles in the Dracula play were important parts.
“Oh, Lucy!” Miss Fields said. “She dies when Dracula first bites her. Then she comes back as a vampire herself. It’s so exciting. Can you imagine? A vampire!”
James couldn’t have said why, but he felt uneasy as he handed the young actress over to Victor Lesley. Perhaps it was the way the lamps cast tall, ominous shadows on the high walls. Perhaps it was the way Mr. Lesley looked her over, like a vampire sizing up its prey. Perhaps it was because she seemed so young.
“Welcome, my dear,” said Mr. Lesley. “Charming, charming.”
The actor rubbed his hands together.
“I think we may be toasting the signing of a contract before the night is out,” he said. “I can take it from here, Ace.”
Back in the Grand Lobby, hoping to discuss his misgivings with Mr. Nash but not certain what to say, James instead found himself intercepted by Walter Quinn. Mr. Quinn was wearing his usual beige trench coat, and a camera with a flash attachment dangled from a brown leather strap around his neck. He seemed to be pressing for an audience. “A word, Jimmy, me boy,” Mr. Quinn said.
“Hi, Mr. Quinn. New camera?”
“A Kodak Retina, the latest in modern photography, complete with auxiliary flash attachment and independent light meter. The perfect tools for your roving society photographer.”
“Nice,” said James. “But are you certain this is the right night? I didn’t know we were expecting a ‘society’ event this evening.”
“We could discuss the society of four wealthy-looking Egyptians,” Mr. Quinn said. “It was hard not to miss those red fezzes. What might they be doing here? But, to answer your question, and I hope you will be equally forthcoming with me, I am expecting a wedding party. The Bridal Suite has been booked for weeks, and the lovely couple is expected momentarily.”
“Celebrities?” James asked. Mr. Nash had mentioned newlyweds, but newlyweds seldom attracted Mr. Quinn’s interest. Privately, James wondered if this wedding couple constituted the “romance” Miss Charles had predicted.
“Of a sort,” said Mr. Quinn. “The lovely bride, born one Irma Tauber, is a very wealthy matron of German persuasion. Any ties she may have to the Nazi regime are unknown, though I would lay seven to five on which way she blows. She has been married three times before, and all three of her husbands died of what we shall call mysterious causes. The new groom, Number Four, is Rupert Doyle Grimm, who built his empire on his ability to find black crude buried beneath Texas. The new Frau Grimm fell in love with his Teddy Roosevelt mustache, his sporty waistcoats, and his seventy-five oil wells.”
The revolving door spun, spilling into the Grand Lobby the most preposterous of sights. It was Roderick, the most likely bellhop to be embarrassed under the circumstances. He carried a small basket from which he was tossing bright red rose petals onto the floor. He grimaced as Walter Quinn’s flashbulb froze him for posterity in a photo.
The door continued to revolve, and next came the happy couple. Frau Grimm entered on surprisingly long legs sheathed in black leggings. Her black limbs extruded from what James guessed to be her honeymoon dress. She wore long white gloves as well and a fur cloak with so many layers of capes and capelets that she seemed almost humpbacked. Her smile was a wide slit in an otherwise passable face, and her cheeks seemed puffy. Her hair was dull black and sculpted into a bun atop her head.
Rupert Grimm was a portly man, so preposterously round that James felt he could roll him down a hill. He reminded James of the cartoon characters he saw in animated features at the Paramount on Saturdays. Mr. Grimm wore a plaid vest beneath his topcoat, and he was puffing on a huge cigar lodged below his gray mustache. He gazed thoughtfully at the painting of Thaddeus McGrave.
Acknowledging the flashbulbs, Frau Grimm wrapped a gloved arm around her new husband and smiled widely for the shot. Mr. Grimm merely fumed.
Mr. Nash rushed to greet them. With a flick of his wrist, he signaled James to join him, a gesture that rated a jealous scowl from Roderick. The other bellhops materialized, laden with the luggage.
“Frau Grimm, welcome on
ce again,” said Mr. Nash. “Your suite awaits you, and we wish you every happiness. Mr. Grimm, welcome to McGrave’s. This young lad with me is James Alexander Elliott. He will attend your every need.”
James attempted to look professional, but it was difficult given that Frau Grimm inhabited an invisible cloud of perfume. Was it a potent scent from Paris procured to make her alluring to her new husband, or was its purpose to mask some unpleasant smell? Somewhere beneath that sickeningly sweet scent, James could have sworn he detected the smell of spoiled meat.
“What a sweet little man you are,” said Frau Grimm. “Look at that darling little cap you have on. I could simply eat you up. Isn’t he adorable, Rupert?”
Mr. Grimm harrumphed and continued to puff on his cigar. He appeared to be a man who wanted to retire to the privacy of his room. It was then that he gulped loudly, blinked, and rubbed his eyes. Color rushed from his face, as though he had seen a ghost. He pointed a shaking finger toward the Boneyard Club entrance.
James quickly observed that Mr. Grimm had seen not one but two ghosts. It was the Beaumonts drifting into the lobby from the Boneyard Club for a breather. They always faded a little when tired.
“We’ve been dancing for two hours straight, darling,” said Mr. Beaumont to his wife. “Where did that fellow learn to play the piano like that?”
“I’ve never felt so light on my feet,” said Mrs. Beaumont.
“There, now,” said Frau Grimm to her new husband as the Beaumonts floated past. “Didn’t I say you would love this hotel?”
On the journey to the Bridal Suite, which the wedding party and the bellhops accomplished without any unscheduled elevator stops, James noticed that Frau Grimm walked with a peculiar gait, as though she had the legs of a marionette. Her new husband, by contrast, simply sort of waddled. Such an odd combination, James thought, like a reversed Jack Spratt and his wife.
“We’re splitting the tips,” Roderick whispered to James as the bellhops distributed the luggage. “No favorites getting too much of the pie.”
Frau Grimm required seven large bags and a trunk, while her husband brought only one small overnight bag.
“Pity,” said James, holding his ground. “I quite like pie.”
Although Roderick occasionally attempted to bully James, he had done so physically only once. Shortly after James’s arrival at McGrave’s, Roderick had thrown an arm around James’s neck in what might have gone on to become a half nelson. But James’s training in self-defense, limited to an afternoon’s lesson from his mom, had included one jujitsu throw, a trick of leverage that caused Roderick to flip over James’s shoulder and land like a sack of flour on the floor. James looked down to behold Roderick blinking distractedly, as though he were observing those little birds that cartoon characters see when they suffer a blow to the head. Eventually, to the surprise of James and the other bellhops looking on, a loud whoosh emanated from Roderick as he regained his breath.
“Whoa, sport,” he said looking up to James. “It’s lucky for you that I tripped.”
James was pleased that Roderick never tried any further rough stuff after that. There were far more dangerous threats to contend with at McGrave’s.
The Bridal Suite was a spacious lodging whose décor appealed more to the brides than to the grooms who occupied it. Although a wide sofa and a pair of plush chairs defined a seating area, the central focus of the main honeymoon chamber was the immense pink bed with its heart-shaped headboard. Pink light bulbs surrounded the mirror over the vanity in the lavish bathroom, and curtains of pink chiffon like clouds of cotton candy adorned windows through which the lights of the New York City skyline sparkled, a stunning view from forty floors up. Standing most prominent in the view was the Empire State Building, the world’s tallest skyscraper, though no giant gorillas had scaled it since the 1933 movie.
“Do reward these young men, Rupert,” his new wife ordered. “So sweet of them to move us in at this unfashionable hour. It isn’t even midnight yet.”
The bellhops huddled before Mr. Grimm, who seemed to glower at them over the glowing ash of his cigar.
“And you, my darling little man,” Frau Grimm pointed a white-gloved finger at James. “We shall require refreshments schnell. Please bring champagne, a nice Riesling Brut, I think, along with an assortment of breads, cheeses, chocolates, strawberries, and apricots. My husband’s last meal should be a romantic farrago, yes?”
“Last?” said James.
“For tonight, liebchen. Before he sleeps.”
James acknowledged the order but couldn’t help thinking Frau Grimm had the widest mouth he had ever seen. Plus those puffy cheeks!
“One more thing,” Frau Grimm added.
“Yes?”
“A jar of flies.”
“Flies?”
“Flies! One jar. Alive. Buzzing. Do not disappoint.”
James took a step backward, then turned to leave the suite, his strange request in hand. This is McGrave’s, he thought, where one expects the unexpected. But what in the world is she going to do with flies?
Chapter Seven
Deadly Darling
Chef Anatole tapped the Mason jar lightly with a metal soupspoon. He and James were hunched over the jar in the hotel kitchen. A nearby bread warmer radiated heat from its red-glowing elements.
At first none of the black specks in the jar stirred. Chef Anatole tapped again. “Awake, my beauties.”
The flies had been frozen. They were on hand in the bowels of the kitchen’s freezer compartment for use by a Romanian prince, an occasional guest who traveled, to James’s horror, with a pet tarantula. Flies in New York City in December were not easy to come by, and this seemed the only hope.
“It’s the wrong season,” James had said when he broached the situation. “Bugs are a summer problem.”
“Not necessarily,” Chef Anatole responded. “This very morning I flattened a spider with a rolling pin.”
James blinked. “A spider?”
“Big,” said the chef. “And fast. The third one I saw this week. Something must be going on in spider-land, yes?”
James shivered. He would have to check his room for new web activity. Few things spooked him as much as walking into a dark room and feeling the tickle of invisible strands against his face.
Amazingly, at another tap of the spoon, one of the little flies in the jar seemed to twitch.
“Sacré bleu!” said the chef.
Within the next thirty seconds, most of the others stirred, awkwardly at first, and a couple actually took wing within the glass jar. There were little holes in the metal lid so they could breathe. James smiled as they bopped against the walls of the container.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call this buzzing,” said the chef. “Merely a nice little hum, yes?”
James’s cart was laden with the requested spread of cheeses, chocolates, champagne, and fruit when he knocked on the Bridal Suite’s door. He had lingered in the wine cellar long enough to find a nice bottle from Germany, hoping to please the bride of the hour. Meanwhile the little Mason jar, now happily abuzz, stood on its own silver tray.
Mr. Grimm himself, gloriously attired in black-and-white striped pajamas, opened the door to invite James in. Frau Grimm, wrapped in a pink robe over her nightdress and propped against a hillock of pillows on the vast bed, beckoned to him with a gloved hand.
“Liebchen,” she said. “Come, stay with us a spell. Share these delicacies you have brought us.”
Was it his imagination, or had her smile grown even wider? James thought it peculiar that she was still wearing her long white gloves, even in bed. He shivered. He had no desire to share any more time than necessary with these strange newlyweds. And their flies.
“Oooh!” she said as she spied the jar on the cart. “You brought them!”
Although Frau Grimm implored him to stay, James made his escape on the plea of pressing duties elsewhere, and the elevator could not have
descended fast enough. He felt like speaking to Mr. Clancy about having an overdrive mode installed for quick getaways.
At his post in the Grand Lobby, Mr. Nash seemed to take an opposite view. “James!” he said. “Back already? I thought you would have spent more time with the Grimms. In fact, I hoped you would have.”
He cast a furtive glance at the great clock, whose hands were both about to point straight to the XII. Something seemed to be worrying him.
“Mr. and Mrs. Grimm are a rather unusual couple,” James said. “Even for McGrave’s. Is there something about them I should know?”
“Anything unusual about them? No, nothing special. Nothing to be concerned about. I suppose I might have mentioned that Frau Grimm is known in some circles—mind you, this is but gossip—as the Black Widow. It’s something to do with her having lost so many husbands already, under mysterious circumstances. Who knows? Perhaps this marriage will work out better for her. We can hope.”
James still wondered what in the world Frau Grimm wanted with flies. Could any guest tonight be stranger?
“What of your VIP?” James remembered. “Did he cancel?”
“I wish he had, Jim, boy, but no. That party is due at midnight, any moment now. That’s why I hoped you might have lingered with the Grimms. It’s also why you need to get away from the desk now. Perhaps you could duck into the Boneyard Club or sit over there with Dr. Otto. It’s bad enough for the older bellhops to see what’s coming. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to.”
James understood that he should heed the warning immediately, but he was also full of questions. As he moved away, Mr. Nash’s eyes once again rose to the giant clock, his fingertips dancing nervously on the desktop.
“James, welcome,” Dr. Otto said when the boy approached him. “Please, join me, be seated. It is going to be a long night. It seems, for the first time in a while, my services will be required. Why, it’s been days.”