Murder at the Mena House

by Erica Ruth Neubauer

  “I am a revolutionary at heart. I am here to meet with my fellow countrymen to find a way to free our great country.” His polished voice began to drone as his story dragged on.

  And on.

  As I listened to him further, it occurred to me that Amon’s tale sounded more like a practiced recital than anything else. For a man who claimed to be a revolutionary, he sounded remarkably dispassionate. Those willing to die for a cause were normally lit from within by it, but Amon could have been discussing the weather. So, what was his endgame with this sordid tale?

  Perhaps I had been wrong to be suspicious of his intentions—he seemed entirely disinterested in the hotel gossip.

  At the end of his recitation, he gave me what he probably assumed was a very winning smile, and I feigned one in return. I decided to change the subject to a more neutral one. “How are you finding the hotel, Amon?” It took some restraint to keep myself from asking whether he had heard about the murder, but I wanted to see if he would offer the topic himself.

  “It is luxury itself, is it not? The king himself often attends garden parties on this very terrace. And now, you must try some of this Jawafa bil-Laban.” He gestured to the creamy orange drink on the overladen tray before us. “It is very refreshing. I think you call the fruit a ‘guava’ in your language.”

  “One would think it is your language, too, Amon. You speak it flawlessly.” I reluctantly sampled the drink and had to admit that it was quite tasty. Cool, creamy, and refreshing, the drink had a calming effect on my still-nervous stomach. It disappeared quickly.

  Amon paused for a moment, then recovered. “I have studied it for many years.”

  I watched in mild disgust as he continued sampling various pastries, slathering them with butter and honey. Despite his impeccable dress, I noticed that he had failed to put on cuff links, and his shirt cuffs flapped slightly beneath his coat sleeve. I wondered what had happened to the eye-catching pair he had worn several nights before.

  “You’ll forgive me. I missed breakfast,” he said around a mouthful of food.

  “Not at all.” I suddenly felt uncharitable for my annoyance. I hated to be hungry.

  “And are you currently married, Mrs. Wunderly? A woman so attractive as yourself . . .” His voice trailed off as he eyed my naked ring finger.

  “I am widowed.” My voice was clipped and an angry flush crept up my neck. I hated his eyes on me, assessing my availability, looking me over as if I were a prize mare and he was deciding whether I was worth his investment. It was too similar to how Grant had regarded me when we first met. If Amon Samara was in the same category as my deceased husband, he didn’t deserve any part of my story or another second of my time. “And I really must be heading back to my rooms. My aunt will be looking for me.”

  It wasn’t true, but I had no intention of continuing this discussion.

  “So soon, Mrs. Wunderly? Just when we were getting acquainted.” His lower lip jutted out in a slight pout, which I found immensely off-putting. I wondered if this act worked on other women. I decided it must, as ladies of all ages around the garden were eyeing him like a fresh slab of meat at the butcher shop during rationing.

  “I’m afraid I must.” I rose and retrieved my book, nearly lost under the plates on the table. “I’m not quite used to the heat yet, and I’m developing a bit of a headache.” I felt like leaving it at that, but forced myself to remember my manners. “Thank you for the conversation and the drink. I’m sure we’ll chat again soon.” I doubted I could hide from him for the entirety of our stay as I had begun to hope—he would no doubt force another conversation with me.

  As I left, I noticed some ladies preparing to move in on my vacated seat—Amon Samara wouldn’t be without company for long.

  In my haste to leave, I had missed the chance to ask whether he knew Anna Stainton. I kicked myself, but there was no way I was turning back. I would have to find out later whether he had heard about her murder.

  Or what he knew.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I was feeling far too restless to stay in my rooms, so I decided to head for the pool. The day had become well and truly hot while I was on the terrace. Sitting in the shade of an umbrella with a book and taking occasional dips in the water to cool off sounded like an excellent distraction. My mind kept circling around the fact that I was a murder suspect, and I couldn’t stop seeing Anna’s lifeless body whenever I closed my eyes. I optimistically thought a swim might wash the images away.

  I headed back to my rooms, hoping the police were finished violating them with their search. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pair of room keys, instead of the one. Realizing what I held, I gasped out loud, and then immediately checked the hallway to make sure I hadn’t been seen or heard.

  I was alone.

  I had completely forgotten about pocketing the key to Anna’s room. I felt relief course through me that the inspector hadn’t had me searched—if he had, I would surely have been carted off to jail.

  It was too late to give the key to the colonel as I had planned. And now that I was a suspect, it would look suspicious if I tried to give it to him. I quickly decided the best course of action was to hide the thing—but secreting it anywhere in my room was not the wisest plan, especially if the police decided to give my rooms another go.

  I stared at my door for a moment, and then turned to the hallway. A potted palm sat inconspicuously halfway down the corridor. I considered it and decided it would make an excellent hiding spot for the pilfered key. I checked the corridors again—several times, in fact—and once I was sure I wouldn’t be seen, I hid the key under a thin layer of dirt in a corner of the ceramic pot.

  Breathing a small sigh of relief, I continued into my rooms. The police hadn’t been destructive in their search, but I could tell that my clothes and personal items had been rifled through. I took a minute to straighten things up, hoping it would lessen the feeling of violation. That done, I pulled out my bathing costume. It was a modest navy blue wool affair, but it hugged my curves well and completely covered my back down to the tops of my thighs. I had been pleased with the find during my shopping excursion before we left.

  But that pleasure was lessened as I changed into it and found myself glancing around the room. I knew the police officers had gone, but that didn’t stop me from feeling that the room was no longer my own and that I would find someone standing behind me. I wondered if I should request a move, but ultimately I decided to stay put. Changing rooms would only give the police a reason to look more closely at me.

  I added a loose-fitting pair of white pants and a lemon-yellow blouse as a cover-up, changed into some low-heeled sandals and headed poolside. I made it to the door before I remembered I also needed to grab my swimming cap.

  As I came into the pool area, I paused to survey the area. A white stucco building ran crosswise to the pool, and a long row of marble columns before it cast shade toward where I stood. There was a small row of changing cabins—I hadn’t been sure if it was best to change in my room or if changing space was provided, but it looked as though either was an option. White lounge chairs were crowded all around the pool, colorful bathing costumes and striped umbrellas dotting the scene, the smell of tanning oil heavy in the warm air. Most of the lounge chairs were already occupied, either by bodies or with the towels and personal effects of the numerous tourists splashing in the water—I obviously wasn’t the only one looking for a cooling swim. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I spied an empty chair next to a couple that appeared close to my own age. The woman was lying in the sunlight, but the empty chair next to her had the benefit of an umbrella, so I headed in their direction.

  “Is this chair taken?”

  They both looked up and smiled easily.

  “No, not at all! Please join us.” The young woman gestured to the free chair. I had intended to drag the chair and umbrella away to find a quiet spot to read, but I could hardly do so now, without seeming rude. I smiled, put my book down, and read
justed the chair so it was more fully in the shade of the red-striped umbrella.

  They introduced themselves as Deanna and Charlie Parks. Deanna was bareheaded, and wearing the absolute latest in bathing costumes: a striped navy blue and white number, showing entirely more skin than I was comfortable with displaying. Instead of avoiding the sun, she appeared to be reveling in it, and I wondered how she could bake in the open without becoming a lobster. In fact, her long, shapely legs were already a pleasing golden brown.

  “Jane,” I replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Deanna said, and Charlie cheerfully smiled his agreement. The young couple seemed completely at ease with themselves and with one another. Within moments, I felt the same sense of serenity easing into my bones, despite the horrific events of the morning.

  Charlie was tall and lanky, but even though he was thin, he was muscular. In fact, something about his build reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place who, like a word on the tip of your tongue you can’t quite bring to mind. His long face was topped with sandy brown hair that stood up slightly at the back in a small plume I found endearing. His hand went to it and smoothed it down frequently, although it never did anything but pop right back up.

  “Where are you both from?” I could have turned to my book and ignored them altogether, but I was curious about this pair.

  Deanna explained that she was originally from Iowa, and that Charlie was from the South, although he came from a military family that moved around a lot. Mississippi was merely the last place his family had landed before he left home. It explained why he didn’t have the Southern drawl one would otherwise expect.

  “But now we consider ourselves citizens of the world,” he pronounced with a grand sweep of his hand.

  Deanna rolled her eyes, but gave him an affectionate smile. “We’re in vaudeville.” Deanna pushed up onto her elbows as she explained. “The last place we played was in New York State, but we’d like to hit the other coast when we get back. Stick to the warm air and sunshine.” She heaved a happy sigh and tipped her face back to the sun.

  I didn’t know much about vaudeville actors, although my father had taken me to see a show when I was a teenager. It was billed as a family-friendly matinee; otherwise, I’m sure my aunt would have forbidden my exposure to such racy entertainment. As it was, my father had never repeated the outing, despite my begging to go again.

  “What act do you do?” I asked.

  “Charlie’s sort of a jack-of-all-trades. Some acting, comedy, and card tricks . . .” Deanna trailed off and shot a look toward Charlie. He shifted in his seat a moment, but his easy smile burst forth again.

  “And Deanna here started out in the chorus, but now she is the mystical snake charmer.” Charlie wiggled his fingers dramatically. “She’s brilliant—really knows her onions.” They gazed at each other with secret smiles.

  Deanna glanced over at me. “Sorry. We’re on our honeymoon.”

  “And how!” Charlie’s eyes gleamed.

  “Congratulations! That’s wonderful.” The sentiment was entirely heartfelt. They not only seemed well suited to each other, they also appeared to enjoy each other’s company.

  Although I couldn’t help but wonder how a pair of vaudeville actors could not only afford a trip to Egypt, but stay in luxury accommodations as well.

  I found myself studying Deanna. She had thick honey blond hair, but she wore it long and pinned up. It surprised me, since short hair was all the rage, and she appeared so otherwise avant-garde. She saw me looking at the bun pinned at her neck and smiled.

  “It’s for the stage. You really need nice, long hair to get done up for the act. Otherwise, I’d have to wear a wig, and I just can’t stand ’em. They make my head itch.” She scratched at her scalp as she said it. “So I just keep it long.” She shrugged. “Besides, Charlie thinks it’s copacetic.”

  Charlie wiggled his eyebrows at her lasciviously, and we both laughed. He had a face for comedy—I imagined it worked well for him in his act.

  “Have you been here long? I’m embarrassed to say I don’t remember seeing you before today.”

  “We’ve been here about a week already,” Charlie said. “But we’ve been doing a lot of day trips with a local tour guide . . . a dragoman, they call ’em. He’s great. Speaks six different languages, if you can believe it.” That would explain why I hadn’t run into them during the day, but I couldn’t imagine that this fun-loving couple would miss out on time in the bar.

  On the other hand, they were on their honeymoon. I decided not to press the issue.

  “I’m not surprised you didn’t see us.” Deanna laughed. “I doubt anyone saw anything besides Anna last night. I’m sorry she’s dead, obviously, but that dress was something else.” I couldn’t help but agree. Then I grimaced as I remembered that I was a suspect in that murder. I probably needed to be careful about what I said to other guests.

  Charlie lowered his voice. “We heard about the murder from the staff. I managed to convince our waiter to give us the goods.”

  “The police haven’t talked to us yet, but I’m sure they will. They’re probably talking to everyone who’s staying here.” Deanna lit a cigarette and gave a wave with her hand. “Whenever they get to us. Unfortunately, we won’t have anything to tell them.”

  “It’s too bad, really,” Charlie said mournfully. “I could do with some excitement.”

  Deanna laughed and playfully swatted his arm. “Stop. Like this trip with me isn’t excitement enough.”

  Charlie grinned back at her.

  “Did you know Anna?” I felt it was safe to ask the question, since they had opened the topic.

  Charlie gave a little shrug. “I saw her at the card tables. I gotta say, she was no dope. She was giving some of the best players a run for their dough.” This surprised me, since I had assumed Anna was all looks and little substance. And I never would have imagined her playing cards—and winning, no less.

  “I never met her. I just know what Charlie told me about her. And, of course, I saw her around the bar—you couldn’t help it.” Deanna gave a mischievous grin. “Good thing I wasn’t looking for some male company, because Anna was working every one of them.” I couldn’t help but return her smile.

  I was enjoying their easy exchange. They seemed not only like they were very much in love, but they also had fun with one another. I couldn’t imagine a marriage like that, mostly because my own had been such a far cry from what I had initially hoped for. My parents had had an easy affection for each other, built on love and respect, and I’d hoped for much of the same in my own marriage. Instead, my days as a married woman had been about mere survival. But then my thoughts drifted to Redvers and the easy patter we seemed to share. He seemed the type of man who knew how to enjoy himself. With a shake of my head, I quickly returned to the conversation at hand.

  The rest of the afternoon with Charlie and Deanna passed swiftly. At one point, she and I took a dip in the water—it was not as cool as I had hoped it would be, but it was still refreshing. When I finally parted from them, it felt as if we had known each other for years.

  I completely forgot to recall who Charlie reminded me of.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Aunt Millie stopped by my room after teatime to check on me, but after hearing the news that I now appeared to be a suspect instead of a mere witness, she quickly made her excuses and hurried off. I heaved a sigh. This probably meant I would be on my own for dinner as well, but I wasn’t entirely upset about the prospect.

  Deanna had invited me to join them at dinner, but I promised that we would have dinner another night instead. It had been a lovely afternoon, but after finding a body, a police interrogation, and then several hours chatting with new friends, I was utterly exhausted. I needed some time to myself to process the day.

  I decided to take dinner alone on my own small balcony. I stopped by the front desk to make the arrangements and headed back to my rooms.

  I spen
t a long part of the evening staring into space, replaying the events of the day. I wondered if the police were making any progress in their investigation and heaved a sigh as I realized that they weren’t going to share that information with me.

  My dinner was delivered as promised, and I ate it at the small wooden table overlooking the extensive garden. But even the delicious meal and the lovely breeze couldn’t keep my thoughts from the murder. I went over everything I knew about Anna repeatedly, but I still could not conceive of a motive for her killing. The best I could imagine was a jealous lover; although it seemed unlikely that someone had become so infatuated with her that he would be driven to murder. She had only been in Egypt for a few weeks.

  Could someone have followed her from home? I shook my head. It was a possibility, but I hadn’t noticed anyone lurking about, and with Anna gone, I had no easy way of finding out.

  All in all, it was unlikely that I would be able to come up with any answers.

  It had already been dark for some time, so I changed into my light cotton nightgown and tried to sleep. I tossed and turned and spent several more hours staring at the ceiling, unable to stop the parade of thoughts in my head.

  The key. I had actually stolen—no, borrowed—the key to Anna’s room. I punched at the soft pillow beneath my head, making virtually no difference at all, and put my head back on it. I worried that the hiding place would be discovered. Did the staff water those plants regularly? It might wash the dirt away, leaving the key shining brightly against all that dark soil. That would certainly get the police involved. Then I began to wonder what the police had found in Anna’s room during their search.

  Or what they had missed.

  I finally decided that if my brain wouldn’t let me sleep, the least I could do was put the pilfered key to good use.

  * * *

  I waited until the last sounds outside died away and the hotel felt entirely still. Truthfully, I didn’t have long to wait as the wee hours of the morning had already crept up on me.