He returned with the drinks just as the music was starting up. Handing me my beer, he said, “I don’t dance. In case you were wanting to.”
“Nope. Besides, you’re old enough to be my father,” I responded. “I wouldn’t want you to break a hip.”
“Ow! That was cold. And untrue. Very untrue. Maybe I will dance. Do you want to dance?”
“No, thank you. I don’t dance with geezers.”
Half-amused, half-annoyed, he was just opening his mouth to protest when Charlie de Vance tottered over. He was looking particularly snappy in red suspenders and a matching red bow tie.
“Dance, missy? My wife lets me loose on the single ladies before she’ll dance with me, and I can’t pass up a chance like that, now can I?”
“Yes, I’d love to,” I said instantly. I turned to Jerry. “Here, hold my beer, will you? And don’t spit in it.”
Charlie looked a little shocked and kept glancing back at Jerry as he led me to the floor. “You don’t think he would really spit in it, do you?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” I reassured him. “But I’d just told him I didn’t dance with older men.” He looked at me enquiringly, and I added, “I didn’t say anything about older gentlemen.”
He laughed at that. “You’re a smart one.”
We began swaying back and forth to the music. He held me very stiffly and correctly at arm’s length, and I saw Yvonne wink at me as we slowly crept by.
“Now be honest, Charlie,” I said. “Did you want to dance or were you performing a social rescue?”
He grinned sheepishly up at me. “Bit of both maybe. But it’s no chore on my part.”
As the song ended, he led me to where Yvonne waited, and I sat beside her.
“I’ll get your drink back, shall I?” asked Charlie, and slipped away.
Yvonne patted my hand. “Dreadful interference on my part. But I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to talk to that man for as long as you did. Besides he had the look of someone on the verge of drunkenness. I definitely noticed him swaying.”
“It was very nice of you. And Charlie.”
“Yes, Charlie’s very special.” Her expression softened a moment, but then she tapped my arm smartly. “So, did you find out anything of interest?” she said with a gleam in her eye.
I suddenly had the feeling that, without knowing it, I’d become her own personal private detective. Or her pawn. I wasn’t sure I liked how easily she had manipulated me, but I had to give her credit for intelligence and determination.
“I know what he told me,” I said slowly. “It sounded true, but that doesn’t make it true.”
She nodded. “Good. The minute you realize that anyone could be lying, you have an edge.”
“He said this trip is a bribe to his daughter to make up for something unpleasant he did or is doing to her mother.”
“And you believed him?”
“I did. It was pretty unflattering to himself. He had no reason to lie about it. It doesn’t mean it’s his only reason for being here, but it rang true.”
“Well, we’ll keep him in mind, but I think we can safely move him to the back burner.” She clicked her tongue. “And he was my best suspect, too. It’s always easy to believe the worst about the unpleasant ones, isn’t it? So, we move on. What about your Mr. Stratton?”
“Alan?” I asked uneasily. Her question made me realize how much I didn’t want to suspect him.
Her expression told me she knew what I was thinking. So much for the fabled ice princess look that Jerry seemed to think I had. “There’s certainly more to him than meets the eye. A single man, alone on a trip like this, especially at his age. Have you noticed how he manages to talk with everyone and yet not really join any group?”
I had noticed, but I hadn’t thought much about it. Even now I could see him in conversation with DJ and Nimmi. DJ was leaning forward eagerly, moving his hands as he talked. Beside him, Nimmi sat upright, fastidious and delicate, like a little cat next to a Saint Bernard.
We sat in silence for a moment.
“I wish I knew what was going on,” I said finally. “But I don’t know what I can do about it.”
She gave the smallest of shrugs. “Murder is the business of every human being. We all can and should do whatever is possible. For you and me, that might be just the smallest task of keeping our ears open.” She smiled and patted my hand. “Find out what you can, but don’t let it spoil your trip. And now, I see Charlie coming this way. I’d prefer not to speak about this in front of him. It upsets him.”
“Of course. He’s a very thoughtful man.”
“Do you know, I’ve been in love with him since high school?”
“You missed a lot of time together.”
“Not wasted time, though. We each had lovely lives. And I doubt we would have been good for each other any earlier. I was too driven. But it’s very good to be together at the end.”
Charlie returned with the drinks, glancing over his shoulder to where Jerry was trying to talk to Kyla. She looked like she was smelling something bad. Charlie said, “I got you a fresh beer. No sense in taking chances.”
Thursday, Valley of the Kings
Travel through the desert wasteland to the Valley of the Kings, final resting place of the pharaohs of Egypt. Here you will walk the dry white hills and descend deep into the mysteries hidden for countless ages beneath the desert floor. Visit the famous tomb of the boy king Tutankhamen and see the final resting place of Thutmose III. Then on to the Valley of the Queens where the royal wives and children were buried. After lunch, visit the world famous alabaster shop and finish your day at Deir el-Bahari, the enduring temple of Queen Hatshepsut, the only queen to claim the title of pharaoh in Egypt’s long history.
—WorldPal pamphlet
Chapter 11
TOMBS AND TROUBLES
I stopped at the front desk the first thing in the morning. We were now docked at Luxor, our final destination. A few people loitered in the lobby, waiting for the bell that signaled breakfast. Fiona and Flora stood nearby, peering through the doorway into the next cruise liner and whispering together. I took a quick peek between their fuzzy little heads to see what was so interesting, but didn’t notice anything except another gold and crystal lobby. The Nile Lotus was the closest tour boat to the shore, indication that we weren’t going anywhere that day.
I turned to the desk clerk.
“Good morning, madam,” she said in perfect English. “May I help you?”
“Yes, the safe in my room isn’t working. It isn’t staying closed, and I’d like to leave some things in it.”
“I am so sorry, madam. We will repair it as soon as possible. What is your room number, please?”
“211. Is there any way it could be fixed before eight-thirty? That’s when we’re leaving.”
“I will ask, but our handyman does not come on duty until that time. I am very sorry.”
I nodded. The breakfast bell rang and people began streaming down the steps. Kyla appeared, wearing white linen pants with a lime sleeveless shell and matching lime flats. White linen. Pressed. She’d sent a sack of things to the ship’s laundry service the day we arrived on board, but I hadn’t seen what was in it. Her hair was pulled into an elegant twist, fastened with a silver filigreed clasp. I glanced down at my jeans, sneakers, and oversized oxford shirt. Another day of Beauty and the Frump. Pointless to get angry.
She joined me. “Can they fix it?”
“Unlikely. She said they’d try, but I don’t think there will be time before we leave.”
“Well, be sure to take your passport with you. And the plane tickets. Oh, and that necklace. I don’t care what you say, I know that thing is worth a fortune. And what about your iPod?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said sarcastically, pausing to let Fiona and Flora precede us down the steps. Never get between two old ladies and their chow was my motto. Besides, this way if they fell, they wouldn’t take me down with them.
At bre
akfast time, the dining room was brighter and less formal. The buffet was set up at one side of the room, loaded with an amazing variety of fruits, cereals, rolls, and pastries. Steaming silver serving dishes contained eggs, sausages, bacon, and oatmeal. Once again, a chef stood behind a set of gas burners, ready to cook an omelet to order. Several people waited in line in front of giant silver urns of coffee and hot water, looking sleepy. The room was filled with the sound of voices and the clinking of flatware on china.
I started to limit myself to a couple of crusty rolls, then changed my mind and loaded up with a little bit of everything. Screw my weight, I thought, I’m on vacation. I balanced a glass of juice on one unoccupied inch of space on the rim of my plate and joined the group at one of our three tables. DJ, Nimmi, Keith, and Dawn were already well into breakfast and greeted us enthusiastically. Ben and Lydia were finished and still sipping coffee. To my surprise, their niece, Jane, was present, listlessly picking apart a roll. She looked miserable.
Kyla took the seat beside me and set her plate down. It contained a single croissant and piece of pineapple. I took a sip of my juice and then started in on my cheese and bacon omelet. It was marvelous. Kyla cast a disapproving eye over my breakfast, half disdainful, half jealous. I needed a distraction before she could start in on its nutritional value.
“Are you going to come with us today?” I asked brightly, turning to Jane, who was sitting to my right.
Instead of answering, Jane shot a nervous look at Lydia, who pursed her lips thoughtfully.
“You know, there’s no reason you shouldn’t. It might do you good to get off the ship,” Lydia said.
Was it my imagination, or did Jane give a little shiver? It might just have been the illness, but she looked almost frightened. Why should she be scared to get on a tour bus, escorted by a tour guide, tour group, and armed guard, to visit the Valley of the Kings, one of the most public and busy tourist destinations in the world?
“I just don’t feel up to it,” she said finally. “I think I’ll just stay here and read. I can go on the deck and get some fresh air if I feel like it later.”
“It’s a shame that you’ve missed so much of the trip,” said Nimmi sympathetically. “Perhaps you should let DJ take a look at you. He is a very good doctor. Very good. And he would not mind at all.”
Nimmi was busy cutting up several sausages as she spoke, and it looked as though she had already put away a pile of scrambled eggs and a cup of oatmeal. How in the world did she stay so tiny? Just then, DJ reached his fork and speared three or four pieces from her plate and popped them into his mouth. Ah.
“Yes, I would be happy to review your medicines. What are they giving you? Antibiotics? Those might be making you feel bad, you know,” he said.
“That’s very nice of you,” said Jane, “but really, I’m fine. Just a little weak still. I’m sure I’ll be able to go out tomorrow. The doctors said to expect I’d be tired.”
“Ah, well, then, I’m sure you are right. But let me know if you start to feel worse. I am glad to help. Very glad.”
“You know, you absolutely have to come back some other time to see everything you’ve missed,” said Keith. “Nothing in the world compares to Egypt. Nothing. In fact, this is my third visit, and second time to take this same tour.”
Everyone turned to him in surprise. Other than his brief impassioned outburst at the Temple of Horus, it was the first time Keith had volunteered anything more than a quiet good morning. And he’d been to Egypt three times? Very interesting, although I was wondering why anyone would do the same tour more than once. Surely there were other things to do in Egypt.
As if reading my thoughts, he said, “You see something new every visit. I had a different guide last time, and let me tell you, Anni is better by far. Much more knowledgeable, and better organized. Last time we had a British man named Raymond. I’m pretty sure he was reciting from a guidebook half the time, and just making up things the rest.” He shook his head. “Friendly, though. And he did know where all the bars were.” He smiled at the memory.
Dawn lifted one perfectly waxed eyebrow above icy eyes. “Yes, do tell us more about your honeymoon with your first wife. I’m sure we’re all fascinated.”
Keith froze and then went beet red. For a moment, an awful silence descended on the table, and then DJ exploded into a loud guffaw and slapped Keith on the back.
“Oh man, you have done it now. Run. Run while you can,” he shouted. Heads at other tables turned in our direction.
We all howled with laughter, even Dawn, although I wasn’t convinced she was as amused as the rest of us. And it was a good cue to leave to get ready for the day. But I couldn’t help glancing back at the table where Jane still sat with Ben and Lydia. Their heads were together and they were talking earnestly. And they were not smiling.
* * *
To my surprise, the repairman was in our room when we popped up after breakfast. He was just closing the door to the closet.
“Ah, good morning,” he said cheerfully. “I have just fixed the safe. It was only the backup battery. Sometimes they go out.”
“Fabulous,” said Kyla.
“Thank you very much,” I added.
We hastily filled the tiny space with our passports and valuables—including the necklace—and then ran back to join the group in the lobby. For once, everyone appeared more or less on time, even Flora and Fiona.
The drive to the Valley of the Kings took less than an hour. On the way, we saw the house that Howard Carter built during the years that he was excavating the tomb of King Tut, a sand-colored building on a hill, its domes and arched windows making it look very exotic. A couple of stunted trees stood near the walls, monuments to someone’s stubborn efforts with a watering can. No other vegetation could be seen anywhere in the relentless barrenness. I knew the British used to, and in fact still did, abandon Egypt in the summer months when the desert heat became unbearable. Even now, in late March, the temperatures were already rising and reflecting off the rock. Someone local must be keeping the trees alive.
I was almost beside myself with excitement as the white hills rose up on either side of us until they became low cliffs. Holes and doors dotted the chalky white rock, evidence of unlikely habitation in that parched land. Were they storage caves or dwellings, I wondered, nose pressed almost onto the glass of my window. Inside the bus, a faint air-conditioned breeze streamed over us, laden with the smell of upholstery and rubber and bus. Our insulated little world, traveling in our tourist bubble to the unimaginable past of pharaohs and mummies and death.
Or not. The bubble part was real enough, but the Valley of the Kings was firmly anchored in the twenty-first century. A huge parking lot, already half filled with tour buses, guarded the entrance of the valley; it was followed closely by a large modern visitor center, complete with queues of fat, sunburned German tourists and the usual phalanx of vendors with their depressingly vast and cheap assortment of crap. The same crap we’d seen at every single monument we’d visited. If it weren’t impossible, I’d have bet the same twenty or thirty vendors were tearing down their stalls each day and scampering ahead of our bus to set up again at our next stop.
We disembarked and formed our own queue behind Hello Kitty, winding our way nonstop through the center. The walls were lined with timelines and photographs of archaeological digs. Charlie tried to pause to read about what we were to see, but the rest of us pressed forward, eager to see the tombs for ourselves. I did notice with some malevolent pleasure that Kathy had bright red shoulders under her most unsuitable tank top. She must have been sunning herself on the top deck of the Nile Lotus yesterday afternoon for hours to have obtained that particular shade of scarlet.
On the other side of the center, we boarded tiny trams, the kind you see at very small carnivals. Puffing, they hauled us up a fairly steep narrow road to the mouth of the high valley that held the tombs of the pharaohs. Ahead, a naturally pyramid-shaped mountain rose into the deep blue sky, and all ar
ound cliffs shot up out of the white dusty ground, becoming steeper and higher the farther we went.
We hopped off and Anni handed out colorful tickets good for three tombs.
“Only three?” asked Jerry Morrison in disbelief.
“We don’t have time for more than that,” said Anni with a smile. “Remember, we go from here to lunch and then to the alabaster factory. Now, if you all will follow me, I will show you which are the most interesting tombs, and then we will meet back here to take the tram to the buses. Everyone look at your watches. Two hours. Meet here at noon. All right?”
Jerry and his daughter instantly veered off to the left, scorning to stay with a tour group. Kathy was still limping just a little.
“Good riddance,” muttered Ben. “Maybe they’ll fall in a pit.”
“Ben!” said Lydia, automatically reproving.
The rest of us obediently followed as Anni pointed out the most famous tombs. KV 17, the tomb of Seti I, who built the great temple at Abydos. KV 11, Ramses III, Egypt’s last great pharaoh. And of course, KV 62—Tutankhamen, the boy king whose tomb was the archaeological find of the century and the inspiration for dozens of movies about curses and mummies.
“I know you will all want to see this tomb, but it is really not very impressive. There is nothing left inside. It is very small and empty,” said Anni, without much hope.
I wondered if she really thought she could persuade us. We would all wait however long it took to see the most famous tomb in the world. No matter how unimpressive or disappointing, we had not come all this way to walk past the location of Howard Carter’s triumph, the place where hidden treasure beyond our imaginings had been discovered, and where a mummy’s curse had its beginnings. Almost in unison, our entire group stampeded down the dusty path to the entrance to Tut’s tomb.
Twenty minutes later, we were back on the path. “We should have listened to her,” said Kyla. “Pretty lame.”
Death on Tour Page 16