Death on Tour (17 page)
“Oh, she came out of it smelling like a rose. I think the only things I walked away with were my clothes, my clubs, and my stamp collection. Not that that isn’t worth a pretty penny. Sue Anne never understood stamps,” he added with a touch of bitterness. “No, she got the house and my Social Security checks, and I got Yvonne. When you think of it, I’m a kept man now.”
He leaned over to nuzzle Yvonne, who nuzzled back. I looked away quickly.
“I’ve got plenty for the both of us,” said Yvonne with quiet satisfaction. “I was a criminal defense lawyer for twenty years, before I moved into corporate takeovers. You know,” she added to Charlie, “if your kids would start speaking to you again, I think we’d be completely happy.”
Appalled, I decided it was time to change the subject. “Criminal law? You must have run into your share of interesting cases.”
“Oh my, yes. So many horrible people, most of them. But they paid through the nose for my assistance. I was quite good, you know,” she added.
I considered and then decided there was no harm in asking. “What do you think about the two murders that we’ve had?”
Charlie looked blank. “Two?” he asked, puzzled.
Yvonne gave me a sharp glance. “I’ve been wondering about that myself. Dawn told me about the shopkeeper at Abu Simbel when you all got back. Too much of a coincidence, is that what you are thinking?”
I nodded.
“I tell you what I’ve noticed. Not everyone on this trip is exactly what they say they are. Take Jerry Morrison. He says he’s a real estate attorney out in California, and maybe he is, but he is mighty nervous about something that’s going on back there. I thought he was going to have apoplexy when he found out there was no Internet available on the ship. And talk to his daughter. She says he pulled this trip out of thin air only a week ago and insisted she come with him. Sounds like someone needed to get himself out of Dodge in a hurry.”
“All the way to Egypt?”
She shrugged. “Not a bad place to hide. It’s not easy to get around in this country if you’re not on a tour. And the tour itself provides plenty of protection. Armed guard on the bus, people around all the time. Plus, I’m pretty sure this was one of the places his daughter really wanted to see. And he needed a pretty big carrot to get her to miss a week of classes. She mentioned it wasn’t even her spring break.”
So she had. But Jerry on the lam from shady connections back home? Although pleasant to contemplate, it seemed pretty farfetched to me. Moreover, I couldn’t see any connection with the murders.
“You’re thinking that doesn’t have anything to do with anything.” Yvonne smiled at me. “Probably doesn’t, but you never know. You never know what small thing might turn out to be important. I spent my career making connections among seemingly unrelated things. You can’t believe some of the information I gathered when I was working with my criminals … I mean, clients. Background stuff, details that didn’t have much to do with the case at hand, but which turned out to give me an edge when I was building the defense. You have to pay attention to the things that don’t make sense.”
Which meant I should be on high alert right now. Nevertheless, I excused myself and escaped below as quickly as I could.
Wake to find your ship has arrived on the shores of the ancient city of Edfu. After a leisurely breakfast, board a horse-drawn carriage for the drive through town to the Temple of Horus, where a magnificent black stone statue of the falcon god guards the gates. Built during the reign of Cleopatra only 2,000 years ago, the temple is young by Egyptian standards and in almost perfect condition. Return to your ship to continue your cruise down the Nile. Spend the afternoon on the sundeck, sipping drinks and watching white-clad farmers working their fields as they have done for millennia.
—WorldPal pamphlet
During the night while we slept, the
Nile Lotus
churned its way downstream sixty-five miles to the desert town of Edfu. Our wake-up call split the air and our eardrums at some ungodly hour, and Kyla and I dressed wordlessly and staggered down two flights of stairs to the dining room, looking and feeling a lot like zombies, only less alive. Three cups of coffee at breakfast revived us to an extent, enough anyway for Kyla to glare at me over the steam and say, “I’m never going on a tour again. Never.”
“Fine.”
“Really,” she said. “Never.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” I answered.
“No, I really mean it. No one should have to wake up this early on vacation.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I answered.
She glared at me, annoyed. My third cup of coffee was kicking in, and I was starting to feel better. I eyed the buffet with growing interest, watching a cook in a crisp white jacket expertly flip an omelet from a skillet onto a plate and hand it to a woman with a smile.
“You don’t care.”
“Nope. Want an omelet?”
She followed my gaze. “Sure, what the hell. Bring me a bagel, too.”
The rest of the group appeared in twos and threes in varying states of alertness. Anni arrived looking refreshed and happy. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to win my bet with Kyla. If Anni hadn’t had a nervous breakdown or an explosion by this time, after two plane rides and two murders, she wasn’t going to have any trouble with the next few days. I had a good feeling. Nothing else could possibly go wrong and, besides that, nothing that had gone wrong over the past few days was any of my business. I would turn Millie’s bag over to Anni on our last day, and she could dole out the stolen items as she saw fit. And I would concentrate on relaxing and enjoying the rest of the trip.
We met in the lobby a half hour later. The early morning air was clear and surprisingly cool as we disembarked. The ship moored at a dock right beside the shore, and we had only to walk across a short gangway to reach the bank. The smell of horse sweat and stale urine wafted to us on the light breeze, strong and acrid in the crisp, bright air. At least twenty black carriages waited patiently along the landing, some with awnings, some open to the sky, all pulled by small dusty horses wearing blinders.
“Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick,” swore Jerry, taking one brief whiff and slapping a hand over his nose and mouth. “What a freaking shithole.”
Yvonne de Vance pursed her lips and gave him a cold stare from haughty eyes. Lydia Carpenter stepped around him as though avoiding a particularly foul dog deposit on the sidewalk. He noticed and gave her a mocking smile. I looked around. Ben and Lydia were here, once again flanking their niece Jane like bodyguards. I did not know what to make of it at all, but I gave a mental shrug and told myself it was none of my business. Which only had the effect of making it even more interesting. Maybe I could get Kyla to chat with Ben and Lydia later, since they had been avoiding my gaze since Abu Simbel.
I looked at the horses carefully—I’d read many travelers’ tales on the tourist Web sites bemoaning the treatment of the Edfu carriage horses. To my relief, the animals, although scrawny and ungroomed, did not appear to be either starving or mistreated. Anni arrived, spoke to the lead driver, and then herded us into an orderly line.
“Do not tip your driver until you get back here,” she warned. “He will wait for you while we tour the temple. And remember, the fee has already been paid. If you do wish to tip, you can give him two pounds. If he takes your picture, you can add a little more, but do not give more than five pounds. The drivers compare tips with each other and brag if they get a large tip. This causes some of them to start demanding money of their passengers.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “They are becoming very rude, and they sometimes frighten the tourists.”
It sounded exactly as though she was describing the bears at Yosemite. Don’t feed the animals, they might bite. And conversely, she made us sound like a nervous herd of cattle on the plains, looking for an excuse to stampede.
When our turn came, Kyla and I hopped into a dilapidated black carriage pulled by an unenthusiastic white nag, which left Alan paired with Jerry Morrison. According to Jerry, Kathy’s ankle had swollen up like a balloon, and she hadn’t even made it down to breakfast. Jerry appeared alone, looking a little lost as he realized that the rest of us were looking away just like kids avoiding the teacher’s eye in the hopes of not being selected for a question. He had not made himself pleasant to a single person on the tour—and didn’t look as though he was going to start now. I could see the two men eyeing each other with dislike as we drove away.
Our driver cheerfully pointed out the sights on the short drive through town and up the hill to the temple. We had to lean forward to see because the carriage had a protective awning, complete with a red fringe. The tune of “Surrey with a Fringe on Top” kept running through my head in a most aggravating way. And why should I suffer alone?
I hummed a few bars under my breath. Kyla whipped around on me like a Doberman on a housebreaker.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Tell me you did not do that,” she moaned.
I hummed a little more, just to ensure she wouldn’t be able to get it out of her head, and then leaned back, content.
Edfu as a town teetered on a very fine edge between prosperity and devastation. Most of the tiny shops that we slowly clip-clopped past were humble indeed, and the atmosphere in general was run-down and somewhat desperate. Still, men were out and about, sitting and smoking in small cafés or talking with animated hand gestures and laughing, and the shops were open, which was a good sign. The recent decrease in tourism had hit towns like Edfu very hard, but they were surviving in spite of it all. And then too, the morning was beautiful, and we were in the mood to be pleased with everything.
“You never see any women sitting and eating in the cafés,” said Kyla thoughtfully.
“Probably because that’s where the men are.”
“So are they not allowed, or are they just smart?”
We giggled.
Our driver parked the carriage in a long row of covered stalls, which reminded me of a SONIC drive-in, minus the teenage girls on Rollerblades swooping by with trays of tater tots and limeades. Although cool right now, later in the season the heat would be unbearable on the asphalt, and it was comforting to know that horses and drivers had shade at least. Our driver hopped down with the agility of a boy and offered a hand to assist us from the carriage, his smile revealing several missing teeth. We joined the others around Hello Kitty, and walked past the inevitable line of stalls to the temple.
One of the more enterprising young entrepreneurs jumped out in front of Kyla and me.
“Hello, pretty ladies!”
Kyla ignored him and kept her eyes straight ahead, while I tried to look away. He waved his hands as though checking to see if we were blind. I couldn’t help grinning, which was a huge mistake.
Encouraged and elated, he began walking backward in front of us, slowing us down, but not enough to get by. The rest of the group streamed past us heartlessly.
“I have many fine things in my shop, beautiful things for beautiful ladies,” he announced.
“We can’t stop now,” I said. “We have to stay with our group.”
“No, no, it will not take any time at all. You can easily meet up with your group,” he said persuasively, stumbling a little as he continued backward.
“No, we can’t,” said Kyla shortly.
He got another idea. “On your way back, then. On your way back, you will stop in my shop. I will make you a very good bargain. A beautiful bargain for a beautiful lady.”
Kyla just snorted, an unladylike sound reminiscent of a camel. I would have to find out how she did that.
“At least tell me your name. Tell me your name, pretty lady.”
With an evil sidelong glance at me, she answered, “Jocelyn,” and pushed past him with a burst of speed.
I scurried to catch up, cheeks red, listening to his shouts of “Jocelyn, Jocelyn, come back!”
“Good one,” I admitted to her, as she burst out laughing.
It is a sad truth that repetition dulls appreciation. What had been mesmerizing at Giza, fascinating at Aswan, and interesting at Abu Simbel had finally become monotonous at Edfu. The huge walls, covered by magnificent carvings that we had never seen before, seemed disconcertingly familiar. The height and the massive weight of the rocks were old hat. Entering a courtyard, we did perk up a bit at the black stone statue of Horus, the falcon god, wearing the crown of Egypt. Not large by Egyptian standards, it stood only six or eight feet tall, but we had seen nothing like it before, and it presented a good photo opportunity. We took turns standing in front of it, obligingly handing cameras back and forth to get pictures.
Alan joined us, speaking to me for the first time since Abu Simbel. “Here, give me your cameras and I’ll take the two of you,” he offered.
Well, it wasn’t romantic, but at least it was something. And we didn’t have many pictures with the two of us, so we handed over the cameras and posed. After making the obligatory rabbit ears behind my head and posing for two snaps, Kyla bounced forward and claimed the cameras.
“Now you stand there with Jocelyn,” she ordered.
Alan obligingly traded places with her. Kyla took a step back as if she was having trouble getting us both in the picture. “Move a little closer together,” she called.
We each took a step at the same time and bumped together. Alan laughed and threw his arm around my shoulders, and Kyla snapped the picture. For one second I leaned my head against his shoulder. And then I caught myself and stepped away smoothly with a smile and a word of thanks. Was it my imagination or did he seem just a little disappointed? I knew I was. I could still feel the pressure of his arm on mine.
He looked as though he were about to say something, when Charlie de Vance made a kind of hooting noise like an owl caught in a blender. “Yoohoo! Mr. Stratton. Alan! You remember how to work our camera. Would you mind?”
Alan gave me an amused glance under his lashes and then turned with a smile to help.
