Death on Tour (19 page)
“What happened to you?” she asked with a sharp glance. “Why are you running? You’re not late. And whoa—you look green.” She eyed me with the beginnings of concern.
“Haggling is much worse than I thought,” I said. I tried to make it sound light, but my voice trembled a little.
“My God, what happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. And I’ll tell you later. Or I’ll try. I’m not really sure what happened.”
Kyla started to grill me, but just then Anni walked by, counting under her breath. Her headscarf today was a deep blue, framing her face and making her large eyes seem darker than ever.
“Where are Fiona and Flora?” she asked me. “You’re the last one back. Did you see them in any of the shops?”
“No, but I didn’t really look.” I decided not to admit they could have been lying on the pavement on fire, and I wouldn’t have seen them on my dash out of that shop.
She sighed. “Well, the rest of you start back to the ship. I will try to find them. Remember what I said about tipping.”
* * *
In our cabin before lunch, I flopped down on the bed and told Kyla how the men had surrounded me and demanded fifty thousand pounds before just handing me a necklace. I still felt a little sick inside when I thought of how frightened I’d been.
She looked at me skeptically. “Those guys are pretty aggressive. It’s too bad there were so many of them, but are you sure they asked for fifty thousand pounds? Are you sure it wasn’t fifty? There’s nothing in any of those shops worth fifty thousand.”
Instead of arguing, I pulled the necklace from my purse and handed it to her. Her eyes widened.
“Dear God, this is gorgeous. No way did they just give it to you.” She carried it to the window spread out over both hands and turned it in the sunlight. It was so beautiful it almost glowed.
“They did, though,” I answered, closing my eyes. “But not before scaring the living daylights out of me.”
“But it looks real, not like most of that cheap crap in those stalls. It has to be worth a fortune.”
“Maybe it’s just a really good fake.”
“Even so, it has to be worth a lot more than nothing. I mean, it’s absolutely fantastic.” She held it up to the light from the window, admiring it.
“I can’t explain it. I don’t even know what happened. Maybe the head guy was sorry his thugs had scared me and just gave it to me by way of apology,” I speculated doubtfully. “You know, so I wouldn’t cause a big fuss with the tour company or the police. I imagine they’d get into a lot of trouble if anyone found out they’d been scaring the tourists.”
“Well, that’s true at least. They’d probably get closed down altogether. Still, you’d think they would have given you some postcards or a plastic pyramid or something and not this pretty little thing. Can I borrow it?”
“No!” I snapped. “I’m going to wear it with my galabia tomorrow night.”
“Ooh, that will look fabulous.”
Dinner that night was another all-you-can-eat buffet featuring a giant roast, some unidentified fish, and heaping cauldrons of spaghetti. Definitely something for everyone. Even though I was trying to eat moderately, I still ended up with far too much on my plate. Everyone was present except Kathy, who was still playing the invalid card and eating in her room, and Alan. I was more disappointed by his absence than I wanted to admit.
After dinner, Kyla and I decided to join the group for drinks in the ship’s lounge. Anni had promised some form of entertainment, and since the ship was chugging along in the middle of the Nile, we did not have many other options. I wore my black skirt with the white shirt tonight. Kyla, however, chose a hot pink silky top with a low neckline over black and pink flowered capri pants and matching pink flats. She’d pulled her hair up in a French twist, and little strands escaped and curled about her face artistically. At this point in the trip, I’d almost given up being jealous and was now trying to figure out how she had managed to fit so many outfits in her suitcase. I ran a brush through my hair, applied a pink lipstick, and decided that would just have to do.
The ship’s lounge was located on the same main level as the lobby, a large room, spanning almost a third of the length of the ship. A ten-by-ten-foot square of wood parquet, floating like an island in an ocean of blue carpet, formed a small dance floor in the middle of the room. At the far end, toward the ship’s bow, stood a bar manned by two crewmen in white jackets, who were busily handing out weak drinks to a small line of tourists. All around the edges of the room, attractive chairs and sofas were arranged in large horseshoes so tour groups could sit together comfortably. The design was an odd marriage of luxury hotel and airport boarding area.
And the place was packed. All of the horseshoes were occupied, mostly with strangers traveling with other tour groups. It took me a minute to spot our little group sitting on the right near the dance floor. I was actually pleased to see them, familiar faces who would welcome me and obligingly scoot down to make room on the couch. I started for them, but Kyla had other plans.
“Bar,” she said, steering me forward. I waved at Nimmi as we shot past.
When we reached the front of the line, I waited while Kyla requested a cosmopolitan and then provided the bartender step-by-step instructions to make what was probably the strongest drink he had ever seen. The splash of cranberry juice that she requested was barely enough to turn the vodka pink. She took a sip.
“Perfect. Or almost. The vodka’s not really cold enough, but it will do. Want one?”
“No, thanks. I want to remain conscious. Heineken, please.” I had seen the small green bottles on a shelf behind the bar, and I didn’t have to worry about tainted ice when drinking bottled beer.
“Make it two,” said a voice behind me, and I gave a little jump.
Alan Stratton had walked up behind us while we were watching the drink being made. He gave me a smile. Well, he probably gave us both a smile, but I pretended it was for me. At least I was included somehow. There was just something about the man. Whenever he stood within twenty feet of me, I was unable to remember my suspicions about him and could only stare at him dumbly with my tongue hanging out. Or worse, make inane conversation. I did it now.
“How did you like Edfu?” I asked, taking a sip of my beer.
“Very impressive,” he answered. He reached past me to accept the beer from the bartender. “I have to admit I know almost nothing about it. Never heard of it before this trip.”
“Me, too! I’m going to have a lot of research to do when I get back.”
Kyla snorted into her cosmo. “Research. Dear God, you are such a nerd.”
I flushed a little, then shrugged. Of course she was right.
Alan just laughed. “Glad I’m not the only one. I want to find out more, too.”
“You know, to my shame, I think the most fascinating part was the carriage ride through town. The slow pace, seeing the people at their everyday activities, hearing the hooves on the cobbles. It gave a taste of what it must have been like back in the twenties when Howard Carter and the rest were seeing all these ruins for the first time.”
“That’s exactly it!” answered Alan. “The ride going up to the temple—you’re right, it really seemed straight out of another era. I wonder if that could be done at other locations.”
Kyla looked at the two of us. “Probably, but why the hell would you want to? The tour is short enough as it is. Why waste time being hauled around by some poor horse?”
He looked a little deflated. “I suppose you’re right.”
“No she’s not,” I said. “I think it would be great. Have a sort of Howard Carter tour. Get some of those old 1920s Bentleys or whatever kind of cool cars they had back then at some of the sites and use camels or horses at others. The transportation could be as much a part of the experience as the actual monuments.”
Drinks in hand, we strolled back to where the group was sitting. An instrumental version of “Friends in Low Places” provided a surreal soundtrack for the scene. Alan and I glanced at each other.
“Who knew Garth Brooks was big in Egypt?” he asked with a grin.
“Who knew Garth Brooks had already been turned into elevator music?”
“Who knew the two of you were so boring that this is your idea of conversation?” said Kyla, looking around. “Come on, where’s the entertainment?”
“Right here.” Anni walked up behind Kyla while her back was turned. She thrust a potato and a handful of rope at me and then another at Alan. “I have trouble with knots. Could you tie the rope to the potatoes? Everyone,” she lifted her voice and beckoned to the group, “come along. We’re going to play a little game.”
Within a few moments, the entire group stood in two teams around the tiny dance floor. Alan and I each held a rope at waist level and attempted to swing a potato between our legs to whack other potatoes across the floor. If and when the potato crossed the line, we were to hand the rope off to a teammate and continue the relay. It was harder than it looked, because potatoes don’t roll in a straight line, nor is it easy to aim one hanging on a rope, particularly when it has to go between your legs. We were laughing before we started.
One last blow and my potato finally rolled across the line, beating Alan’s by several feet. I handed the rope to Chris Peterson, who was almost hopping up and down with excitement, and went to look for my Heineken. The bottle was warm, so I returned to the bar for another. Looking back, I saw Chris’s potato swing far too high and catch DJ in what politeness would call the upper thigh. He doubled over, only to be met with screams of laughter from his own side and yells to Chris to keep going from the other. I giggled and leaned against the bar to watch, pleased that such a simple child’s game could work so well with a relatively sophisticated group of world travelers.
To my annoyance, Jerry Morrison stalked over and demanded a scotch and soda. He was dressed in Ralph Lauren khakis and a pressed white shirt, open at the collar to reveal a thick gold chain nestled like a snake in the forest of hair at his throat. Tonight, his hair was slicked back from his forehead, revealing just a touch of gray at the temples. He acknowledged my presence with a frown, his sharp little eyes taking in my beer and boobs at the same time.
“Stupid game.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s pretty fun if you give it a try.” I tried to maintain a pleasant expression and started edging away.
“You’d think for as much as this trip cost, they’d provide some real entertainment. Oh, come on!” this to the bartender. “Put some scotch in it! Here, give me that.” He snatched the bottle from the startled man’s hands, sloshed some soda from the glass into the sink and poured scotch until the glass overflowed.
“Pathetic,” he muttered, wiping at the wet glass with a handful of napkins and taking a big gulp.
He caught me staring. “I know. You think I’m an asshole. I don’t care.”
I lifted my eyebrows in a judgmental, steely sort of expression that usually caused the teenage recipients to stop whatever they were doing and slink off. Jerry just grinned and took another swig.
“Did you know I’m a lawyer? In LA. Made full partner at thirty. Now I own my own firm. Clients coming out the wazoo, just lining up to consult me, and I charge ’em five hundred bucks an hour.”
“Nice,” I said, because he expected it. I was trying to envision clients coming out his wazoo. Not a good image, no matter what a wazoo was.
“You and your sister are nice-looking women,” he said, pursing his lips as he tracked Kyla, who was now swinging the potato and laughing. “And that one really knows how to shake it. You should take some lessons from her.”
My jaw dropped just a little, but I recovered quickly. “How many of those have you had?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He gave a shout of laughter. “Finally! Damn, it’s hard to get a rise out of you. You’ve got that ice princess thing down pat. Can never tell what you’re thinking.”
I stared, not sure whether to laugh or stalk off. Or hit him.
“See? Even now, you probably want to hit me, but you’re just staring like a fish. You ever think about going into law? You’d be great at negotiations. Or poker.”
I took a deep breath, then a drink of my beer. “Is this what you do? Prod people to see their reactions?”
“It amuses me,” he admitted. “And God knows I need some of that on this snooze cruise.”
I thought about what Yvonne had said about him and decided there was no harm in doing a little prodding of my own. “Why did you come on this tour, anyway?” I asked. “You don’t seem like a tour kind of guy.” I carefully kept my tone neutral.
“What kind of guy do I seem like?” he said in a pseudo sexy voice, leaning toward me. Then, catching my look, he threw up his hands, slopping scotch onto my shoes. “Okay, okay. Don’t slap me.”
He took another sip. The Rolex on his wrist gleamed in the light. “No, this really isn’t my thing. Egypt. Tours. Smelly old ladies. Jeez, what a nightmare.”
“So?”
He narrowed his beady little eyes. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Probably not.”
He grinned appreciatively. “There’s a load of crap. Bet you could keep a secret better than most people. But you’re too smart to make a blind promise. I like that.”
He looked around, as if noticing for the first time the steady stream of passengers lining up at the bar just behind us. He took my arm just behind the elbow, a macho gesture I particularly hate, and led me several paces away. I jerked my arm away, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
“This might surprise you, but I’m divorced,” he said with a little ironic gleam in his eye.
“No!” I replied, suddenly amused. I still distrusted him, of course, but apparently there was quite a bit more to Jerry than I’d originally thought. I hadn’t anticipated the sense of humor for one thing.
“Twice. And willing to go for number three. Just say the word.” He leered at me suggestively.
“My God, you’re an ass!” I blurted out.
He seemed almost pleased. “I know! And I hear that more often than you might think. Anyway, I’ve done something that, in retrospect, perhaps wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, so I decided this trip might help.”
