Death on Tour

by Janice Hamrick

  Annoyed with my own suspicious mind, I replaced all the items, stolen or not, into the bag and zipped it. I’d leave it on the bus tomorrow, I told myself sternly, and be done with it. No more thinking about death or smuggling. I lay back on the bed and began thinking about smuggling and death.

  After an interminable time, the blow-dryer ceased and blessed silence reigned. I looked at the clock. It would be only 11:30 a.m. back in Austin. Just about time for lunch. I wondered if my ex-husband, Mike, would be meeting his new fiancée back at their downtown condo for a bite and a quickie.

  “You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you?” asked Kyla, emerging from the bathroom.

  “Not at all,” I denied quickly and guiltily.

  “I can always tell. You get this little pinched look around the lips. Sort of like sucking on a lemon, but less attractive.”

  I gave a groan. “I hate them both so much.”

  “And rightly so. But you swore you weren’t going to think about them on this trip.”

  “No, I swore I wouldn’t talk about them on this trip,” I corrected, rising to my feet. It was time to put on the one dressy outfit I’d brought, a flowing black skirt that could be reversed into a flowing black-and-white patterned skirt. Tonight I chose the matching black knit top with the scoop neck. The next night I could go with the white.

  Kyla sprayed hairspray on her hair, then slid a pale yellow sleeveless dress over her head and gave herself the once over in the mirror.

  I frowned at her, suddenly feeling completely frumpy. “I thought we’d agreed that we shouldn’t show our arms and shoulders here?”

  Kyla looked surprised. “Well, that doesn’t apply in the hotels. They’re used to international guests here.” She looked at my skirt and blouse with a critical eye. “Don’t worry about it. You look very nice. A little conservative maybe, but very nice.”

  I sighed internally. This explained why Kyla’s suitcase weighed almost twenty pounds more than my own. And why no one would be mistaking us for sisters this evening. More like a socialite and her plain assistant, I thought with a flash of amusement. She slipped on a pair of matching yellow sandals that showed off her frosted pink toenails.

  We returned to the main building to meet the others, walking along a little path that ran through the hotel grounds, past lush grass, palms, and flowers. Directly ahead we could still see the pyramids, now lit with spotlights from below and the moon above. The moon seemed to float directly over the ancient blunted capstone, almost brushing the top. Overhead, the stars were beginning to grow bright in the clear dry air, undiminished by the glow of the hotel.

  Instead of Anni, the tour director, Mohammad, met us in the lobby as he had done at the airport. He was a big man, almost as bulky as DJ and just as dark skinned with very white teeth. He wore a houndstooth jacket, which had to be hot even in the cooling air of the Egyptian evening. I suspected he kept it on to hide the sweat stains under his arms. I wondered what his day had been like and what had happened to Millie’s body. Had he spent the afternoon making arrangements to ship her back to the United States? Had he been the one to make the call to her family? But tonight he seemed completely at ease, the perfect tour host, which was probably the best way to handle the whole ugly situation. Heartless maybe, but there was no point in having what was, after all, just an accident ruin the trip for everyone else. Just an accident, I repeated to myself, trying to push the journal entry out of my mind. Had Millie ever talked to him about smuggling?

  “Up the stairs and to the right,” he greeted us with a warm smile. “We are having a drink before we go in to dinner.”

  We walked up a long, beautiful stairway to the elegant bar area, complete with intricately carved wood, domed ceilings, and immense chandeliers. The chairs were oversized, overstuffed, and very comfortable. The whole atmosphere was exotic, a fascinating blend of oriental and Arabic motifs that discreetly but firmly underlined how far we were from home.

  The Carpenters were already present in one corner, Lydia puffing away on a cigarette, holding her own little ashtray in her left hand. Smoke or no smoke, they were already our favorite people on the trip, so we plopped down in squashy chairs close to them.

  “How’s your niece feeling?” asked Kyla.

  Ben snorted. “Bloody awful. She’s heaving out of both ends, if you get my drift.”

  Australians. Gotta love ’em. The poor girl would never show her face again if she could have heard that.

  Anni overheard and joined us, looking concerned. “Jane is still sick? I will give you some powders. They are better than anything you can get from a doctor. Put one packet in a bottle of water and have her drink the whole thing.”

  From a little purse slung over her shoulder, she pulled a handful of mysterious paper packets with Arabic instructions printed on them.

  Ben gave them the same dubious look he would have given a pouch of possum innards from a faith healer in a revival tent, but then shrugged. “I’ll just run these back to her room, then, shall I?”

  “Oh, bring my blue sweater when you come back, love,” Lydia called after him as he started down the stairs.

  Charlie and Yvonne de Vance sat on a nearby sofa, holding hands. I considered them. Even in the soft, flattering light of the chandeliers, they looked about a hundred years old, but I had to admit they got around well enough. I thought I’d overheard them saying they were on their honeymoon. Second honeymoon, I assumed, although at their age it might be the third or fourth. They were certainly snuggling like a pair of teenagers.

  The Peterson family encircled a separate table, the boys going through a bowl of nuts like a pair of rabid squirrels. Susan and Tom both looked tired, but Tom caught my eye and gave me a thumbs up.

  A waiter with a silver tray appeared with fluted glasses filled with an orange and pink fruit drink and handed them to Kyla and me. Either a daiquiri or a smoothie, I thought, and took a suspicious taste, wondering if the ice was safe here. Smoothie. The Egyptians in general frowned on alcohol, although it was readily available in the tourist hotels. Just as well, I thought, resigned. As tired as I was, a cocktail would have me asleep on my feet. Kyla, however, took a single sip and gestured the waiter back.

  “Could you bring me a gin and tonic?” she asked.

  “Certainly, madam,” he said and glided off.

  “You should have one too,” she said firmly. “Make it two!” she called after him.

  I grimaced. “You know I don’t drink that crap.”

  “You can pour it in your fruity thing. Give it a kick.”

  Kyla drank the first gin and tonic like water and became extremely cheerful. Without asking, she confiscated mine, which had probably been her plan all along.

  The other guests began trickling in. Alan Stratton arrived, saw Kyla and possibly me, and slid into the nearest chair. He looked a bit grim around the edges, I thought, suddenly curious.

  “Hello,” said Kyla warmly.

  She sat up in her chair a little, which showed her figure to full advantage. I wondered whether it was calculated or not, then felt a little ashamed for thinking catty thoughts. Kyla had always liked the boys, and they’d always returned the favor and why not? She made flirting effortless and fun, which was probably exactly what it was supposed to be. The presence of an unattached attractive male on a tour was an unexpected bonus as far as she was concerned.

  “I heard some news,” he said in a low voice, watching both of us intently. “The police have learned that Millie Owens was murdered.”

  We both froze. I felt my jaw drop a little and made an effort to close my mouth.

  “What?” asked Kyla at last. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I assure you I am. The police are already down in the lobby.”

  “I thought she fell,” I said in a small voice.

  “Apparently not.”

  Had Millie been right about a smuggler after all? And the police were here? I suddenly remembered I still had her blue WorldPal bag inside my
room and felt very guilty and a little afraid. What if the police searched my room and found it? The red notebook had Millie’s name on the front page. And they’d think I’d stolen it and all those other things as well. How would I possibly explain it? I felt a little panicky.

  “How do you know all this?” Kyla was asking.

  For some reason, Alan did not take his eyes from my face. “I stopped at the front desk on my way here and saw the police arriving, so I asked Mohammad.”

  I pictured myself running back to my room and tossing the bag in the nearest garbage can. Going back to my room right now would be the most suspicious thing I could possibly do. I was just going to have to brave it and hope that they either didn’t notice it or didn’t search the rooms.

  “I thought Millie broke her neck?” Kyla was nothing if not persistent.

  “They think that she was stabbed in the back of the neck. She died so quickly there was no blood to speak of.”

  I gave a little shiver, picturing again the way Millie sprawled in the sand.

  Kyla shook her head in disbelief. “My God, it could have been any of us then. Anyone who got separated from the crowd for a few minutes. Did the bastards steal her purse?”

  “No. Her purse was under her body. It didn’t appear to be touched, so it doesn’t look like it was a robbery.”

  “But then why kill her?” I asked.

  Alan shrugged. “That’s what the police are trying to learn.”

  “Well, it’s very tragic and all, especially for Millie, but I don’t see what the police are doing here at the hotel,” said Kyla with a touch of asperity. “Tempting though it might have been, it’s not like any of us stabbed her.”

  Appalled, I checked the level of her glass. Sure enough, she was halfway through that second gin and tonic and apparently the first one had kicked in.

  Alan looked bemused. “Tempting?”

  “Oh, come on. She was a first-class pill. You’ve been here the whole trip, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. The nonstop talking, the snooping, the unending string of complaints about every single thing. I don’t see why we should pretend we liked her just because she’s dead.” Kyla took another sip and another breath. “And I’ll tell you something else…”

  I cut her off before she could. “So what are the police going to do?”

  He shrugged. “As far as I can tell, they’re here to collect her things from her room and they want to ask us all once more if we saw anything. Mohammad was trying to dissuade them from interrupting our dinner. He seemed to think they’d already covered all that on site.”

  “Which they certainly did,” agreed Kyla. “That took forever. I know we didn’t get as much time at Saqqara as we should have.”

  And there was more. Kyla gets talkative when she’s drinking. “I imagine they want to keep this as quiet as possible. It’s the last thing the Egyptians need—a tourist murdered at the pyramids. If you want to know what I think,” she went on, merging seamlessly into what I could tell was going to be a long rant.

  I was so relieved the police weren’t going to search all our rooms that I didn’t even try to stop her. But if they were here to collect Millie’s things, that meant there was no way I was going to be able to return the bag. I was sure Anni or Achmed the driver searched the bus pretty thoroughly after we got off each day, but maybe I could find a way to stuff it down between a couple of seats. But what if someone saw me? Maybe I should just dump it in the trash somewhere. After all, the items had already been stolen and so were already lost to their owners. But no, that was just being weasely. I suddenly became aware that Kyla and Alan were both staring at me. I could feel my face turning red.

  “What in the world are you thinking about?” asked Kyla, grinning. “You look so miserable.”

  “Nothing. Well, no, not really. I was just wondering why Millie and not someone else.” I said the first thing that popped into my head.

  Alan raised his eyebrows. “That is actually a very good question.”

  We stared at each other until Kyla broke the mood.

  “Da da dum,” she sang in a deep voice. “Dramatic music, cue camera three.” We now stared at her. “Oh come on. You two are so serious. I’m not heartless, and I admit that it’s terrible and scary and whatever, but the police can handle it, I’m sure. Probably some wacko terrorist or a disgruntled vendor or the curse of the mummy. The point is, it’s over. We’re safe and it’s dinner time and I’m starving. When are we going to eat?”

  This last question she called to the group in general, and one of the waiters took note and scurried off. Kyla turned her brilliant blue gaze on Alan and leaned forward ever so slightly. The clingy fabric of her dress succumbed to gravity in a most provocative way.

  “So how did you end up on this tour alone, Alan?” she asked.

  And there it was. What I’d been wondering for two days, speculating a variety of increasingly unlikely scenarios, and trying to figure out how I could find out, and Kyla just asked.

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “I was supposed to be here with my wife,” he said quietly. “We made the reservations for this tour almost a year ago. She always loved having something to look forward to. But she died in a car crash six months ago.” He stopped for a moment, looking down at his hands. “By the time I remembered the trip at all, it was really too late to cancel, and I had some time on my hands. I just figured I’d do this one last thing we’d planned.”

  Kyla gently laid her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

  He put his hand over hers. “Not at all.”

  The moment lasted only a … well, a moment. But it was there.

  When the waiter announced that our tables were ready, we all trooped dutifully through the ornate keyhole doorway to the restaurant, Kyla beside Alan, and me trailing behind, thinking hard. Maybe I did need a drink after all. The shock of learning that Millie’s death had not been accidental must be making me paranoid, because what else could explain why something sounded just a trifle false about Alan’s touching story.

  * * *

  After dinner, half the group trickled away to their beds while the other half headed purposefully downstairs to the beautiful Sultan Lounge across from the lobby. I joined Kyla and Alan, who were talking and laughing with Ben and Lydia Carpenter. Kyla gave me a half-rueful smile, and pulled me into the circle. I bumped her shoulder with mine and felt a little better.

  In the lounge, a low hum of conversation and the clinking of ice in glasses filled the air. Windows hung with slender strings of golden beads stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a magnificent view of the pyramids. A huge bar with an exotic golden canopy sat in the center of the room and along the walls, blue and gold chairs clustered around small low tables. The bar was crowded, but Kyla spotted a free table in a corner and pounced. I took a quick look. Four chairs. This was my cue.

  “I think I’ll go back to the room,” I announced.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Kyla. “Alan can find you another chair. Look, there’s a free one at that table over there.”

  Alan obediently started across the room, but I called him back.

  “No, please don’t bother. I really am tired and I want to get packed since we’re leaving tomorrow.” I smiled at them all. “Good night.”

  With their good nights ringing in my ears, I slipped away, crossed the brightly lit lobby, and escaped into the darkness outside with a sense of relief. I was feeling disappointed and didn’t think I could have hidden it for much longer. Petty, I suppose, but Kyla and I should have been laughing together about the amateurish belly dancers or about the whirling dervish who had fallen off the stage after tripping over Chris Peterson’s size 14 sneaker. I was dying to talk to her about snooty Kathy Morrison, who had managed to offend the waiter by speaking very loudly with an Egyptian accent when she ordered her food. And what about ditzy Fiona and Flora, who had apparently become lost on the way into the lounge and had to be escorted
in by a grim-looking Mohammad. But instead of laughing with me over drinks or on our balcony, she was flirting and having fun with Alan. Which, if I were honest, brought up my second big problem. I wouldn’t have minded being separated from Kyla if I were the one chatting with Alan. I kicked a pebble on the path and watched it skitter through the shadows.

  The wind had subsided to a gentle breeze, leaving the air cool and clear. Overhead, a full moon rode in a cloudless sky far above the glow from the city in the distance. To the south, strategic lights revealed the golden stone of the pyramid. By contrast, the grounds between the old hotel and the new wing seemed dark and mysterious. The asphalt path was lit by lamps at regular intervals, but their little pools of white light barely made a dent in the darkness. The date palms and shrubs rustled lightly and suddenly I felt just a little nervous. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. The grounds were walled, and I knew armed guards stood at the gates some distance away, although I could not see them. I quickened my pace, though, hurrying quietly along the path, my flats making only the softest patter against the pavement.

  I heard a man’s voice as I rounded a bend near the pool, and because the voice was so strained and yet so obviously trying to keep quiet, I slowed and paused to listen.

  “How could you? How could you?” whoever it was demanded angrily.

  A brief pause and then, “You may have ruined everything. Of course they are asking questions! Of course. And they are not stupid. What am I supposed to do now? They will be watching us. We must cancel the whole thing.”

  There was another pause. The voice, even at that low pitch, seemed vaguely familiar and I was trying to figure out where I’d heard it. Obviously he was talking on a phone, since I could hear only his side.

  “Yes, all of it. You must stop. We can possibly try again in August. Or even next year.”

  A longer pause this time. “You wouldn’t. You can’t. Look, it is not too late to back out. No?” After a long pause, his long sigh escaped into the air like a punctured balloon. “You are right. I can’t stop you. But it is very risky. For all of us. Fine. We will talk tomorrow.”