Death on Tour (25 page)

I was pleased to note that I wasn’t the only one. Flora and Fiona hardly counted, since they’d looked bad the first day and had gone downhill since, but Tom Peterson had a small stain on his shirt, and Susan looked just as rumpled as I did. Yvonne de Vance looked fine in her expensive Chico’s travel collection with its dark colors and unsquashable synthetic fabrics, but Charlie looked as though he’d pulled his clothes from the bottom of a damp laundry basket. I relaxed.

A little to my surprise, Alan claimed the seat directly in front of me and Kyla. He had not been present in the lobby, and he looked as though he had not slept well. His eyes were red and he was paler than usual. I wondered if I looked as bad and decided that he wouldn’t appreciate any remarks on it.

Kyla took one look at him and said, “God, you look like crap. What did you do last night?”

He stared at her coldly. “A touch of the Mummy’s Revenge, if you must know.”

She wrinkled her straight little nose. “Say no more. Please. God, I hope it’s not contagious.”

“Your compassion does you credit,” he said with an ironic glance at me. I looked away. Let him try his damn jokes on someone he didn’t suspect of smuggling and murder. And someone who didn’t suspect him of the same thing. Something about that thought made me pause. There was a flaw in my reasoning, but with my head aching, I couldn’t quite work out what it was.

Like the ancient Egyptians, we crossed the Nile from east to west, a deeply symbolic journey. Of course, they had ferried across in tiny rocking boats, constantly on the lookout for crocodiles and floating hazards instead of riding in a massive luxury coach over an asphalt bridge. Nevertheless, I could feel the power of the journey. Crossing the Nile to the west, toward the setting sun, was a journey toward death and the afterlife, the reason they built almost all their massive necropolises, tombs, and temples on the western shore. The eastern side was for living.

This morning, however, the sun was hovering low over the eastern horizon, casting a rosy bronze glow on the smooth surface of the water. In the deep blue of the western sky, three rainbow-hued hot-air balloons hung in the still air like beads on a necklace.

We passed a few tiny houses made of mud bricks and straw. Several had small donkeys standing sleepily in pens or tethered by a rope to an acacia tree. The scene had not changed for a thousand years.

“Look, there are children playing by that ruined little house,” said Kathy Morrison.

We all turned to look. Anni smiled and took the microphone. “Those houses are not ruins. They are occupied family dwellings.”

“But there’s no roof,” said Lydia Carpenter. And indeed, from the raised bed of the road, we could clearly see the naked tops of the walls.

“Egyptians build their homes as they can afford the materials. I have been told many times by my clients how strange this seems to visitors from other countries, but you must remember that this is the desert. It does not rain here, nor does it snow. A roof is not required. Those taking the balloon ride sometimes pass over these houses and can see families inside sleeping.”

The bus pulled into a small parking lot, and we caught a glimpse of the fabled Colossi of Memnon, two enormous statues guarding the entrance to the mortuary temple of Amenhotep III. We disembarked, most of us moving fairly slowly, the exception being Chris and David Peterson, who ran ahead, took a single look at the massive statues before us, and darted off, apparently to look for rocks to chuck at each other. I longed for that kind of energy. Every step I took sent a dull ache through my head.

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 feeling. “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.