Death on Tour

by Janice Hamrick

  The colossi looked like they had been smashed to the ground by a giant child and then put back together like Humpty Dumpty. Which is basically what had happened. An earthquake in the second century AD had destroyed much of the temple complex, and the river and stone-pilfering pharaohs had done the rest. Now, all that remained were the broken seventy-five-foot seated giants, reassembled by modern hands and standing silent guard over a barren sweep of rubble.

  I walked slowly away from the group to get a better view. To my surprise, Alan joined me. I didn’t move. It would have taken too much energy to walk away from him. We stood looking at the giants. Or I looked at them. He seemed to be concentrating on me. I don’t know why that made me just a bit happy. There was just something about the man. I tried reminding myself that he had very likely been the attacker who knocked me over the head. Maybe my necklace was in his pocket right now.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

  “Fine. Maybe a little headachy.”

  “I think they might have looked better left unrestored,” he said. “Like the broken colossus at Abu Simbel.”

  I made an effort to be polite. “Maybe. I admit I would like to have heard the ruins moaning when the wind passed over them, the way they used to. That must have been extremely creepy. But you wouldn’t be able to tell just how huge they were. Even patched together, they are pretty impressive.”

  “‘Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair,’” he quoted.

  “Ozymandias, King of Kings,” I supplied, surprised.

  He turned to me suddenly and took my hands in his. “Jocelyn, listen. I … I need to tell you something. And to apologize.”

  His hands were large and warm. I looked down at them, making no move to withdraw my own. He was close enough that I could smell the scent of his soap on his skin and feel the heat from his body. I lifted my eyes to his, questioning.

  “I’m … damn it. This is harder than I thought.” He took a deep breath and started again. “Look, I’m not exactly who I said I was.”

  I yanked my hands away. “Well, duh. You sneak around, you talk to the police, you speak Arabic. Is your real name even Alan?”

  “Yes! Yes it is,” he gasped.

  “Are you married?” This was important.

  “No! I’ve never been married.”

  “No dead wife who planned this trip?”

  He had the grace to look ashamed. “No. That was just to explain being alone.”

  “Financial analyst?”

  “Not really. I sometimes balance my checkbook,” he added hopefully.

  I ignored this. “Was anything you’ve told me true?”

  He opened his mouth, and then hesitated. Across the parking lot, Anni was waving the Hello Kitty umbrella and the rest of the group was slowly moving toward the bus. Mohammad stood alone at the edge of the parking lot. He appeared to be staring straight at Alan and me, and for some reason that made me uneasy.

  “There’s not really time now. Can we talk later?”

  It was my turn to hesitate. I finally said, “What is the point? You’ve done nothing but lie to me, and after tomorrow I’ll never see you again, so what difference does it make?” I could feel the bitter disappointment of that statement filling my mouth like vinegar. I swallowed it down. “And whatever it is you have to say, tell me why I should believe you now.”

  He looked stricken, but he didn’t answer. I turned and joined the others. A part of me hoped he would follow, that he would stop me and beg me to listen, but he just stood there, and when he finally got on the bus, he sat in a different seat.

  * * *

  We stopped next at Deir el-Bahari, the great temple built by Queen Hatshepsut. Carved directly into the face of the mountain, the temple looked as though it had been created from a single great block of white stone. Three separate levels of courtyards, protected by striking columns, were connected by a massive ramped stairway that gently climbed from the valley floor. Compared to the other mortuary complexes we had seen so far, this one looked more like a queen’s court instead of a temple dedicated to death.

  The parking lot was already crowded with tourists, and we could see a school bus unloading a large group of children. The most interesting field trip I ever took as a child was to the capital building in Austin. These children casually dropped by the greatest monuments in the world. I wondered if they fully appreciated it. Watching two boys scuffle with each other, I decided probably not.

  Anni kept us on the bus for several minutes, providing a brief, insightful history into the reign of Egypt’s only female pharaoh and describing what we would see. I didn’t hear a word. I was busy concentrating on not turning around to see what Alan was doing, while also trying to figure out why Mohammad had left the bus and was standing outside talking on his cell phone. He paced up and down making sharp little gestures with his free hand and occasionally glancing up at the bus windows. I wasn’t sure if he could see us or not through the tinted glass, but it made me want to duck down.

  Kyla, who never even pretended to listen to Anni’s lectures, noticed too. “I wonder what he’s up to?” she mused. “I don’t even know why he’s on this trip. He never does anything useful.”

  “I think Anni must have told him to ride herd on Fiona and Flora,” I answered in a low tone. “He’s been following them around lately.”

  “Hmmph,” she made an unladylike sound through her nose. “Well, if he can keep them to the schedule, more power to him. But I still think he’s got something going on the side. I mean look at him. Stomping around, all upset.”

  Anni finally opened the doors and led us out.

  “Hat-Ship-Suit!” she shouted after the Peterson boys as they bounced down the steps like super balls. “You pronounce it Hat-Ship-Suit! Not Happen-shit! Wait!” But they ignored her and raced ahead.

  The Egyptians had cleverly placed barriers in strategic locations to ensure that everyone arriving from the parking lot had to pass a long row of stalls. With the exception of DJ, who hurried forward and began haggling for all he was worth, we no longer lingered to look or even bothered to be polite in our refusals. One persistent young man pushed a handful of wooden beads under Kyla’s nose and a fistful of postcards into mine.

  “Get out of my way or I will fucking kill you,” Kyla snapped.

  Whether he spoke English or not, her meaning translated remarkably well, and he dropped back with a little squeak.

  I nodded to her appreciatively. “Very nice.”

  She flashed me a brief smile, then quickly turned steely eyes on the next vendor, who melted away. “Remember how concerned we were to blend in and be respectful of a different culture?”

  “You mean three or four days ago? Yes, I remember. But man, they beat it out of you quick.”

  “They’d do so much better if they got out of our faces. I’d like to have thirty seconds to look without getting hammered by offers, although DJ doesn’t seem to mind.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “If he’s not smuggling stuff, then what the hell is he doing? Buying all that crap is odd.”

  “At this point, I’d think it odd if he didn’t buy something,” I answered.

  “So what did Alan say to you back at the colossal thingies?” she asked, giving me a sidelong glance.

  “Colossi of Memnon,” I corrected automatically. I thought about it, then shrugged. “He admitted he’s been lying about almost everything. Nothing we didn’t already know.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He didn’t have time. And I told him I didn’t care anyway. I mean, what difference does it make?” Even I could hear the pain in my voice. It was too much to hope she hadn’t noticed.

  “I think it matters,” she said carefully. “I was there when he found you on the stairs, you know. I’ve never seen anyone so upset. He practically went berserk, ordering people around, standing guard over you. He was frantic.”

  Her words ignited a tiny glow of hope in my chest, but I quickly squashed down the feeli
ng. “Well, that doesn’t mean much, does it? He would have been that way no matter who got attacked.”

  “I don’t think so. You’ve been pretty busy trying not to look at him, but anyone else can see the way he looks at you.”

  I didn’t answer. We started up the first long flight of steps, the white stone brilliant in the morning light.

  Kyla went on. “I don’t know why he’s been pretending to be someone he’s not, but there might be a good reason. It wouldn’t kill you to hear what it is.”

  * * *

  I fought against her reasoning all the way through Hatshepsut’s temple, which I did not appreciate properly through a combination of headache and preoccupation. It annoyed me to think that Kyla might be right about something, but in the end I decided I should probably take her advice—which meant I was going to have to start by apologizing to Alan for my rudeness. And after that, if he would listen, I needed to tell him about all the things I knew. Whatever else he was or wasn’t, Alan Stratton was not involved in the murders. I’d finally figured out what had bothered me earlier. If he suspected me of being involved, that could only mean that he wasn’t involved himself. And if I didn’t try to talk with him, I would hate myself forever. The tour was coming to an end. I’d never see him again. Did I really want to leave without knowing what he wanted to tell me?

  We had a couple of hours on the ship before our evening excursion. Kyla decided to lie out on the sundeck with a book, which gave me a chance to look for Alan without having to hear her mock me.

  Of course I couldn’t find him. He was not in the lounge, not in the gift shop, not on the sundeck. Frustrated, I was just crossing the lobby when I saw Anni.

  She smiled, radiant and welcoming as always. She actually looked pleased to see me, when she had to have been glad to have a few minutes to herself. I did not know how she did it.

  “Hello, Jocelyn. Do you need something?”

  “No, no. Not really. Well, yes. Do you know where Alan is?”

  Her face retained its usual serene expression, but I thought her eyes held a knowing glint. “Perhaps he is resting in his room.” She opened the little notebook she carried and scanned down a page. “Room 207.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I started for the big curving staircase, and then hesitated, wondering if I should call first. But the lobby seemed too public.

  Anni just smiled, as though reading my thoughts. “Why don’t you just tap on his door? I’m sure he would be delighted.”

  I gave her an embarrassed grin, then, taking a deep breath, I started up the stairs. I found his room and knocked quickly, before I could change my mind.

  The pause, although probably only a couple of seconds, seemed an eternity. I had just decided he must be out when the door opened.

  His hair was damp, as though he’d just stepped out of the shower, and he had on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, probably thrown on to answer the door. His feet were bare and his eyes looked particularly green.

  I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out.

  He rose to the occasion. “Come in. I’m really glad to see you.”

  He took armfuls of clothes off the chairs by the big picture window and dumped them in a crumpled heap on the unused second bed. We stood and looked at each other.

  “I wanted to apologize…”

  “I’m really sorry…”

  We both spoke at the same time and then he laughed. “I know it should be ladies first, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to explain.”

  I nodded.

  “I own WorldPal Tours,” he said.

  “What?” I stared at him, my mouth hanging open a little in surprise. Not what I expected, but suddenly his questions, his involvement with the police, his odd comings and goings clicked into place.

  He nodded. “I started it ten years ago. I had a lot of experience traveling, and when I got out of school, my partner and I got the idea that we could arrange tours better than most travel agents and that we could provide local knowledge and service by hiring local guides. It worked out surprisingly well. We found a niche, a step above budget tours but still reasonably priced, and we’ve done pretty well.

  “Three or four times a year, I go on one of the tours myself as a guest, just to see how things are going. Usually I don’t find anything out of the ordinary at all. Oh, I might notice that too much time is spent on the bus one day, so I’ll tweak the schedule for the group. Or one of the hotels has gone downhill, so I’ll scout out a suitable replacement. I rely heavily on the local guides that I hire and things are usually pretty smooth. Until recently.”

  “Millie’s death,” I said at once.

  “Well, yes, but even before that. A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail from Anni, saying that she didn’t know how or what exactly but she thought the tour was being used as a cover for illegal activities.”

  “Smuggling!” I said. “I think it’s smuggling.”

  He smiled at me, his eyes warm. “Exactly. But smuggling what? The most obvious thing here in Egypt is ancient artifacts. In the past, tomb robbing was practically a national sport. But these days, that’s not so easy. The government guards the archaeological sites and really monitors imports and exports. However, the only thing more valuable in Egypt than antiquities are tourists. They smooth the way for tourists in every way possible. So, if you were able to use a tour group as a cover, the smuggling part of it just got a lot easier. I decided I needed to come see for myself.”

  “But if Anni was suspicious, that means this has been going on for a while.”

  “Yes. Which points to one of my employees.”

  “Mohammad.”

  “The obvious candidate, but not the only one. He hires people too, to check out hotels, to make arrangements. To be honest, it could have been anyone with access to the trip itinerary and connections to someone who could appear as an ordinary tourist. An American, for instance.”

  “Or an Australian,” I said slowly.

  “True,” he agreed. “I did some background checks on everyone on this tour. No phony names or addresses, no criminal records. As far as I could tell, we are all who we say we are. Except me, of course,” he added with a grin.

  “So you signed up for the tour as a regular tourist.”

  “Yes, I figured if I just stayed in the background, kept my eyes open, I’d be able to spot something,” he said. “And then the second morning, one of the guests, my guests, is murdered. And I didn’t see a thing. To be honest, I feel responsible. I knew something was going on.” He looked down at his hands. “I should have been able to prevent it.”

  I wanted to throw my arms around him, but I settled for patting his shoulder awkwardly.

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “There’s no way you could have known that would happen. There was never any reason to think it would turn to violence, right?”

  “No, I suppose not. But then there was a second murder. Even though the victim wasn’t part of our tour, we were there. And it was the same method used on Millie. Too much of a coincidence. And now you’ve been attacked.” He put his hand over mine. “Twice. I just don’t understand it all. And to be honest, I haven’t really learned anything more than I knew before all this started. Except that I’m sure now that Mohammad is involved in some way. His coming along is definitely not part of his job.”

  He didn’t seem to notice he was holding my hand. It was now harder to concentrate on what I was saying.

  “I’ve learned some things,” I managed. “I don’t know what they mean, but not everyone on this trip is who they seem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the Carpenters.”

  He looked surprised. “What about them? They’re great.”

  “I know. They are. They’re just about my favorite people on this trip. The thing is, they arrived at the airport just a little after Kyla and I did. We were just heading for the car when they came into the baggage claim area, and I know this is going to sound crazy, but the g
irl who is with them, their niece? She is not the same girl who arrived in Cairo with them.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What? That doesn’t make any sense at all. Who else could she possibly be?”

  “I have no idea. I can’t even begin to imagine what is going on.”

  “She’s been ill. Are you sure she doesn’t just look different because she’s been losing weight?”

  “No. I’m completely sure. If you look carefully, you’ll see it too. The clothes she’s wearing are too big for her. Not loose, like she’s lost weight, but really too big as though they belong to someone else. Probably the girl I saw in the airport. And this girl isn’t sick—she’s terrified. I mean, she might be sick too, it’s hard to tell, but that’s not the reason she’s spent most of the trip hiding in her hotel room. And Ben and Lydia are afraid too. You should have seen them at Abu Simbel when we found the body.”

  “I think everyone was pretty scared then,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but not of the police. Most of us were just afraid of being detained again. Jane actually crouched down on the seat of the bus, hiding.” I gave a little shrug. “I know it’s crazy. You don’t have to believe me.”

  He smiled then, a nice smile, full of warmth and genuine friendliness. “I didn’t mean it that way. I believe you. I guess I just don’t want to believe anything bad about Ben and Lydia. I was trying to think of other explanations.”

  “I know. I feel the same way.”

  “So what else have you noticed? I think you make a much better detective than I do.”

  “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” I dashed out of the cabin and down the passage to my room. I yanked my suitcase from the closet and found the little blue WorldPal bag, Millie’s bag, stuffed in the bottom.

  When I got back to Alan’s cabin, a bellhop with a linen-covered tray was just leaving. He greeted me and held the door, then departed. Alan beckoned me back to the little table by the window. Outside, the sun sparkled on the Nile, and a felucca glided gracefully over the surface a few hundred feet away. On the table sat two icy beers and a bowl of mixed nuts. My face must have lit up, because he laughed.