He looked vaguely amused. “Not unless you consider the British crown a collector.”
“Aha!” I crowed. “I knew you were some kind of government agent.” I paused. “Wait. Why does the British government want the artifacts?”
“It’s less a matter of Britain wanting to own them, and more a matter of trying to avoid an international incident. Egypt is still a country under British protection, and too many of these artifacts are turning up in the hands of private collectors or museums in other countries. If Britain isn’t going to have them, they would prefer no one outside Egypt have them, either.”
I gave that some thought. “Why are you finally telling me this?”
“It was only a matter of time before you figured it out on your own. Your snooping appears to have no bounds.”
I ignored the dig. “Why all the secrecy?”
“It’s often safer for certain factions of the government to claim more . . . everyday jobs as their chosen profession.”
“Hmm.” I pursed my lips as I considered him. I knew he wasn’t giving me the full story yet, but I was gratified that my initial assessment of Redvers was correct—he was not the type of man content to shuffle paperwork behind a desk.
Redvers gave me a long look. “I think you need to confront your aunt. Find out what she knows.”
I put my coffee down and sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I made a concerted effort to find my aunt, but there wasn’t any trace of her. I felt a tiny prickle of relief that the awkward conversation I needed to have with Millie would be postponed. For the moment, at least. I would have to confront her sooner rather than later.
After a full circuit of the hotel, I returned to the breakfast room, where I found Charlie and Deanna, instead.
“Join us!” Charlie waved me to an empty chair, and I sank into it, grateful to have found some friendly faces.
“Jane, have you been to the Cairo market yet?” Deanna asked.
“I haven’t had the chance.”
“You must go with me this morning. I want to pick up a few more souvenirs for our friends back home.”
“She really is a killer in those markets.” Charlie gazed at Deanna with a fond smile. “She can haggle them down to practically nothing.” Deanna waved a dismissive hand, but smiled just the same. I paused at Charlie’s use of words, but shook it off just as quickly.
“That sounds lovely. I haven’t even thought about taking anything home yet.” I wanted to pick up a few trinkets for my father, and since both Millie and Inspector Hamadi seemed to be occupied elsewhere, I assured myself there was no harm in taking a quick trip into town.
“You’ll love it. You can find anything there.” Deanna smothered a yawn and waved down a waiter.
I smiled at her. “Late night?”
She grinned. “Every night is a late night.”
“You may as well bring us another pot.” Deanna lifted the now-empty silver carafe and passed it to the waiter who had answered her beckon. “And another cup for our friend here.”
“Aren’t you eating?” I realized Deanna had nothing in front of her, and Charlie was working his way through a full plate.
Deanna grimaced. “Oh, no. I never eat before early afternoon. The thought makes my stomach turn. A cup of coffee always sets me up.” She pulled a slim silver cigarette case from her bag and waved it a bit. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” I had never picked up the habit, but I didn’t mind others indulging, as long as there was enough air circulating.
Deanna lit her cigarette and gave it a draw. “And how was the rest of your night?” She gave me a sly grin as Charlie rolled his eyes.
I gave a quick shake of my head, and Deanna’s eyes narrowed as she studied me for a long moment. I shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t want to discuss what had happened between Redvers and me after the party.
“Well, he sure is something. If it wasn’t for my Charlie, I might give you a run for your money.”
Charlie rolled his eyes again and grinned good-naturedly. I could tell he wasn’t in the least bit concerned.
Deanna waved her cigarette at me. “I’m just kidding, of course. And I know Mr. Redvers isn’t yours.” She grinned slyly. “So you’ve said. But you haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”
My eyes widened as I searched for some way to respond.
Charlie took pity on me and changed the subject. “I hear someone bumped off Samara last night.” That was all it took for a quick turn in conversation and we fell into a lengthy discussion of how Samara had met his demise.
* * *
After they finished their breakfast, Charlie ambled off and Deanna and I headed toward the sleek convertible the pair had rented for their stay. It seemed such an extravagance that my eyebrows nearly popped up at the sight, but I managed to keep my face neutral as I settled into the passenger seat. The top was down, and I wished for a head scarf—my hair would be a mess once we reached downtown.
“I’ll try to take it easy on you.” Deanna shot me a sideways look. “With the roads here being what they are, we can’t go that fast, anyway.”
Deanna seemed at home in a fast car, but she was true to her word and kept her speed to a minimum. It seemed impossible to do otherwise, as we spent the entire drive dodging bicycles, camels, horses, the odd man on foot, large potholes, and donkey-pulled carts heavily laden with crops. After a particularly close call, I found my hand gripping the door and forced it to relax. Deanna was proving a very competent driver.
We found an open space along one of the wide boulevards and Deanna nimbly pulled our car in. A young boy on the sidewalk stared longingly at the shiny black finish, and Deanna offered him a few shillings to keep an eye on it for us. She handed him several coins, which quickly disappeared into his brown robe, and showed him a few more.
“You’ll get the rest when we come back and our car is still here, all right?”
He nodded eagerly and hopped onto the hood, crossing his arms and steeling his nut-brown face into a glare. Deanna and I shared a smile and set off.
Soon the wide boulevards gave way to narrow streets crowded with natives and tourists alike. Deanna appeared to know precisely where she was going, and I struggled to keep up with her long legs as she moved easily through the crowd.
The crush of bodies increased the closer we came to the market. Vendors pushed brightly colored cloths and gold pitchers at us, calling out practiced phrases as we passed. “Here, pretty lady, good price” was a popular cry. A multitude of scents wafted through—cooking and animals, perfumes and unwashed bodies—all mingled together. I appreciated when we passed the vendors selling spices in large barrels, the bright colors and pleasant aromas overwhelming everything else. We passed a small storefront selling fruit, the sidewalk overwhelmed by precariously stacked oranges and barrels of dates, crates full of bananas crowded next to fruits I couldn’t identify. The hat maker shop sat directly next door, round metal stands steaming as a worker deftly pressed the felt into circles. Red seemed to be the most popular choice for the tarbooshes, but there were other colors as well, pinks and blues and browns. Rickety wooden overhangs provided some shade to the shoppers perusing the goods that spilled from dark and narrow shops. The scene seemed to extend for miles.
“What is it you’re looking for, Deanna?” I raised my voice above the storekeepers calling out their wares. The noise was deafening, and it was difficult to ignore the aggressive sales tactics.
Deanna somehow managed to breeze through it all, and I realized the hawkers were not pressing her nearly as hard as the other tourists. I wondered if they recognized her from other trips.
“A few more bracelets and things for my act. They have the most beautiful pieces here, if you know where to look.” She gave an ominous look to a man aggressively waving a galabieh and he backed off to the shade of his store.
“You’re quite good at that.” I would have to practice my own cutting gla
re.
“I’ve been here a few times.” She gave an easy shrug. “Whenever Charlie does well at the tables, I get a cut so I can come shopping. It’s part of our deal.”
We had started walking again, and I stuck close to her side. The calls were redoubled, but less items were pushed under my nose.
“Has he always been good at cards?” I didn’t know how else to ask about Charlie’s seemingly excellent luck at the tables.
Deanna paused and studied my face for a moment. She nodded once as though she had come to a conclusion about me. “He has a gift with sleight of hand. It’s why we generally try to keep quiet about what we do back home. It keeps people from putting it together.”
So my assumption that Charlie was working the tables with a magician’s touch was correct. I found I wasn’t nearly as outraged as I thought I might be. Although I did think it would be dangerous for them if they were found out.
“How does he keep from being caught?”
“He makes sure to lose every now and again. We were run out of town a few times, before he figured out a system that works. It’s how we can afford this trip, honestly.” She stopped to look at a few linens, and the crowd changed paths to flow around us instead of with us.
“Did he know Amon Samara well?” I asked.
Deanna paused and gave the question some thought. “I don’t have a lot of girlfriends, Jane. It’s hard to trust people.”
I nodded. I generally found the same to be true.
“But I trust you.” She dropped her voice and I leaned in to hear her over the busy street. “Amon approached Charlie with this wild scheme. He wanted Charlie to partner with him on running the tables. Charlie just laughed at him. Why would Charlie partner with someone and split the winnings when he was doing just fine on his own?”
“Why would Samara even ask? That’s a strange proposition.”
“It seemed Mr. Samara was angry that Charlie was sweeping the winnings every night. Whatever deal Samara had going on at the tables, Charlie was ruining it for him.” She shook her head at the shopkeeper who had been hovering nearby and we moved on. “My guess is Samara’s ‘offer’ was more of a threat, and Charlie didn’t want me to worry.”
“Oh, dear.” I could easily see the implications. Charlie had a motive.
Deanna tugged at her earlobe. “Exactly. I’m worried that Charlie will be arrested if it gets out about Amon’s ‘offer.’ He’s already been questioned a few times by that terrible inspector.”
My mouth twisted, and she gave a laugh. “I can see you’re a fan of his as well.”
“Let’s just say, we’ll never be the best of friends,” I said.
Deanna smiled, but it quickly faded. She turned to me, eyes earnest. “Charlie didn’t kill anyone. He really didn’t have any reason to. Like I said, we’ve been doing just fine. And Samara was mad, but so what? People have been mad at us before.”
I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. Her face relaxed and we continued on.
I figured this was as good a time as any to ask whether Charlie knew Anna as well. “Did the police question you about Anna Stainton’s death?”
“They talked to both of us. I guess they saw someone that night with Anna that looked a bit like my Charlie.” She laughed. “But he worked the tables that night while I watched, and then we went to bed.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s our honeymoon, you remember.”
I smiled back at her, relieved that they both had an alibi for the night, even if it was only one another. As Deanna said, I didn’t have many girlfriends. It was nice to think I might have found one.
We pressed on, Deanna finally settling on some large and intricate earrings, as well as a bagful of bangles and gold bracelets. “The audiences back home love the Orient,” she said. “I try to look as exotic as I can.”
“I’m not sure how you pull it off with that blond hair of yours.”
Deanna laughed and ran a hand over her long braid. “I manage to make it work.”
We passed several stalls selling local clothing, but Deanna shook her head at each one, finally giving her approval at a tiny stall tucked between two spice merchants down a narrow side street. The quality was a step above the others we had seen, and I wondered how Deanna knew about the place. The shopkeeper obviously recognized her, so she was able to negotiate a good deal for me. I purchased several galabiehs, one in a midnight blue and another in a cherry red, deciding they would make comfortable robes back home. I also bought a men’s version in a neutral tan for my father. I wasn’t sure he would ever wear it, but he would appreciate the authenticity. I decided I would also pick up a tarboosh for him.
We stopped at several more stalls, but I found myself tiring, the noise and sales pressure overwhelming my senses. I said as much to Deanna, and she admitted that a drink and a cigarette would set her up nicely. We escaped the main thoroughfare, chasing down several alleys, before stumbling on a small café. We settled ourselves in at a tiny table on the sidewalk and chatted while we enjoyed the shade and some cooling drinks.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. I purchased the red tarboosh and an ornate wooden box. Beyond that, I was content to follow Deanna and watch her negotiate prices with sellers. She could give classes on the art of haggling, and the shopkeepers seemed to realize immediately that Deanna was not going to be an easy-spending customer.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had so thoroughly enjoyed the company of someone close to my own age, and I hoped Deanna was sincere when she said we would keep in touch. Especially since I felt fairly certain neither she nor her husband was a cold-blooded killer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The following morning, I began the hunt for my elusive aunt Millie right after breakfast. I circumnavigated the hotel several times, stopping just short of tromping out over the eighteen holes of the golf course. She was most likely there, but I was unwilling to fight both the heat and the small projectiles. I could only manage one or the other at a time.
I finally managed to track her down just before lunch. Millie was at a table in the dining room, but Lillian and a sulking Marie accompanied her. I didn’t ask, but if I had to make a wager, I would guess Marie’s sour face was due to the number of gentlemen that had danced with Lillian during the party. A quick glance at Lillian confirmed that she was blissfully unaware of any trouble she had caused.
Knowing what I needed to ask my aunt, I didn’t even approach the table. I doubted I could sit quietly through the luncheon small talk, so I asked to be seated at a small table out of their line of sight. I would try my hand again, either at afternoon tea or dinner.
I needed to find Millie alone.
I was also keeping an eye out for Inspector Hamadi. He hadn’t checked in on me lately, and I was expecting another interrogation, even though he was occupied with the latest murder. I had one thing working in my favor with the police: I had stolen the incriminating paperwork, and without it, they wouldn’t know I had a motive for killing Amon.
Unless Redvers sold me down the river. My stomach dropped at the thought. If Hamadi came after me for Samara’s murder, it would be reasonable to assume Redvers had done just that. I closed my eyes and hoped he liked me well enough to keep me from the noose.
It was teatime when I managed to find my aunt Millie unaccompanied. The girls had returned to the golf course, and Millie was relaxing on the terrace when I approached her. The afternoon sun had already turned the temperature up to somewhere around baking.
“Should Lillian be out in this heat?” I wouldn’t ordinarily use the word “fragile” when referring to Lillian, but her illness had taken a toll. She looked better during the party, but it was hard to say whether that was the alcohol or a sign of actual improvement. I was relatively healthy, and the heat knocked me down on a nearly daily basis.
“She’s doing much better, and she spent nearly all of yesterday resting,” Millie said. “It was most likely something she ate. And I think it would take the entire British A
rmy to keep her off the course any longer. Besides, Marie is with her, and she’s only doing nine holes this afternoon.”
Something had clicked together for me when I found the birth certificate and now I blurted it out.
“Is Lillian your daughter, Millie?”
Millie carefully set her cup down and glanced at me before fixing her gaze on something in the distance. I was certain she wasn’t actually looking at anything.
“Why would you ask that?” Millie’s voice was quiet.
I sighed. “I found some papers in Amon’s room. One of them was a birth certificate, and it listed you as the mother of a baby girl. Given how attached you’ve become to Lillian, I just thought . . .” I trailed off at the sheen of tears in her eyes.
Millie blinked them back and cleared her throat. I had never seen her cry before, and it was unsettling to see it now.
“It’s rather a long story, Jane. And I’m afraid I’m going to need something stronger than tea in order to tell it.”
I nodded and waited quietly while she flagged down a waiter. She ordered a double whiskey, neat, rather than her usual cocktail. I poured myself a cup of tea from the now-abandoned pot. As a mere spectator, I didn’t need anything nearly as strong.
We sat with our own thoughts until the waiter returned with Millie’s drink. She cleared her throat again.
“You know your uncle Nigel and I were happy.” Millie finally looked at me and I nodded. “But he was also absent quite often for his job. With the treasury, you know. We took a long trip to England one year, and I hoped the travel would allow us to spend time together, rekindle our marriage. Instead, I found myself alone in a foreign country.”
Millie took a long drink of her whiskey. It would have left me sputtering, but she didn’t even blink.
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