Death on Tour (8 page)

“I heard some news,” he said in a low voice, watching both of us intently. “The police have learned that Millie Owens was murdered.”

We both froze. I felt my jaw drop a little and made an effort to close my mouth.

“What?” asked Kyla at last. “You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you I am. The police are already down in the lobby.”

“I thought she fell,” I said in a small voice.

“Apparently not.”

Had Millie been right about a smuggler after all? And the police were here? I suddenly remembered I still had her blue WorldPal bag inside my room and felt very guilty and a little afraid. What if the police searched my room and found it? The red notebook had Millie’s name on the front page. And they’d think I’d stolen it and all those other things as well. How would I possibly explain it? I felt a little panicky.

“How do you know all this?” Kyla was asking.

For some reason, Alan did not take his eyes from my face. “I stopped at the front desk on my way here and saw the police arriving, so I asked Mohammad.”

I pictured myself running back to my room and tossing the bag in the nearest garbage can. Going back to my room right now would be the most suspicious thing I could possibly do. I was just going to have to brave it and hope that they either didn’t notice it or didn’t search the rooms.

“I thought Millie broke her neck?” Kyla was nothing if not persistent.

“They think that she was stabbed in the back of the neck. She died so quickly there was no blood to speak of.”

I gave a little shiver, picturing again the way Millie sprawled in the sand.

Kyla shook her head in disbelief. “My God, it could have been any of us then. Anyone who got separated from the crowd for a few minutes. Did the bastards steal her purse?”

“No. Her purse was under her body. It didn’t appear to be touched, so it doesn’t look like it was a robbery.”

“But then why kill her?” I asked.

Alan shrugged. “That’s what the police are trying to learn.”

“Well, it’s very tragic and all, especially for Millie, but I don’t see what the police are doing here at the hotel,” said Kyla with a touch of asperity. “Tempting though it might have been, it’s not like any of us stabbed her.”

Appalled, I checked the level of her glass. Sure enough, she was halfway through that second gin and tonic and apparently the first one had kicked in.

Alan looked bemused. “Tempting?”

“Oh, come on. She was a first-class pill. You’ve been here the whole trip, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. The nonstop talking, the snooping, the unending string of complaints about every single thing. I don’t see why we should pretend we liked her just because she’s dead.” Kyla took another sip and another breath. “And I’ll tell you something else…”

I cut her off before she could. “So what are the police going to do?”

He shrugged. “As far as I can tell, they’re here to collect her things from her room and they want to ask us all once more if we saw anything. Mohammad was trying to dissuade them from interrupting our dinner. He seemed to think they’d already covered all that on site.”

“Which they certainly did,” agreed Kyla. “That took forever. I know we didn’t get as much time at Saqqara as we should have.”

And there was more. Kyla gets talkative when she’s drinking. “I imagine they want to keep this as quiet as possible. It’s the last thing the Egyptians need—a tourist murdered at the pyramids. If you want to know what I think,” she went on, merging seamlessly into what I could tell was going to be a long rant.

I was so relieved the police weren’t going to search all our rooms that I didn’t even try to stop her. But if they were here to collect Millie’s things, that meant there was no way I was going to be able to return the bag. I was sure Anni or Achmed the driver searched the bus pretty thoroughly after we got off each day, but maybe I could find a way to stuff it down between a couple of seats. But what if someone saw me? Maybe I should just dump it in the trash somewhere. After all, the items had already been stolen and so were already lost to their owners. But no, that was just being weasely. I suddenly became aware that Kyla and Alan were both staring at me. I could feel my face turning red.

“What in the world are you thinking about?” asked Kyla, grinning. “You look so miserable.”

“Nothing. Well, no, not really. I was just wondering why Millie and not someone else.” I said the first thing that popped into my head.

Alan raised his eyebrows. “That is actually a very good question.”

We stared at each other until Kyla broke the mood.

“Da da dum,” she sang in a deep voice. “Dramatic music, cue camera three.” We now stared at her. “Oh come on. You two are so serious. I’m not heartless, and I admit that it’s terrible and scary and whatever, but the police can handle it, I’m sure. Probably some wacko terrorist or a disgruntled vendor or the curse of the mummy. The point is, it’s over. We’re safe and it’s dinner time and I’m starving. When are we going to eat?”

This last question she called to the group in general, and one of the waiters took note and scurried off. Kyla turned her brilliant blue gaze on Alan and leaned forward ever so slightly. The clingy fabric of her dress succumbed to gravity in a most provocative way.

“So how did you end up on this tour alone, Alan?” she asked.

And there it was. What I’d been wondering for two days, speculating a variety of increasingly unlikely scenarios, and trying to figure out how I could find out, and Kyla just asked.

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I was supposed to be here with my wife,” he said quietly. “We made the reservations for this tour almost a year ago. She always loved having something to look forward to. But she died in a car crash six months ago.” He stopped for a moment, looking down at his hands. “By the time I remembered the trip at all, it was really too late to cancel, and I had some time on my hands. I just figured I’d do this one last thing we’d planned.”

Kyla gently laid her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

He put his hand over hers. “Not at all.”

The moment lasted only a … well, a moment. But it was there.

When the waiter announced that our tables were ready, we all trooped dutifully through the ornate keyhole doorway to the restaurant, Kyla beside Alan, and me trailing behind, thinking hard. Maybe I did need a drink after all. The shock of learning that Millie’s death had not been accidental must be making me paranoid, because what else could explain why something sounded just a trifle false about Alan’s touching story.

*   *   *

After dinner, half the group trickled away to their beds while the other half headed purposefully downstairs to the beautiful Sultan Lounge across from the lobby. I joined Kyla and Alan, who were talking and laughing with Ben and Lydia Carpenter. Kyla gave me a half-rueful smile, and pulled me into the circle. I bumped her shoulder with mine and felt a little better.

In the lounge, a low hum of conversation and the clinking of ice in glasses filled the air. Windows hung with slender strings of golden beads stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a magnificent view of the pyramids. A huge bar with an exotic golden canopy sat in the center of the room and along the walls, blue and gold chairs clustered around small low tables. The bar was crowded, but Kyla spotted a free table in a corner and pounced. I took a quick look. Four chairs. This was my cue.

“I think I’ll go back to the room,” I announced.

“Don’t be silly,” said Kyla. “Alan can find you another chair. Look, there’s a free one at that table over there.”

Alan obediently started across the room, but I called him back.

“No, please don’t bother. I really am tired and I want to get packed since we’re leaving tomorrow.” I smiled at them all. “Good night.”

With their good nights ringing in my ears, I slipped away, crossed the brightly lit lobby, and escaped into the darkness outside with a sense of relief. I was feeling disappointed and didn’t think I could have hidden it for much longer. Petty, I suppose, but Kyla and I should have been laughing together about the amateurish belly dancers or about the whirling dervish who had fallen off the stage after tripping over Chris Peterson’s size 14 sneaker. I was dying to talk to her about snooty Kathy Morrison, who had managed to offend the waiter by speaking very loudly with an Egyptian accent when she ordered her food. And what about ditzy Fiona and Flora, who had apparently become lost on the way into the lounge and had to be escorted in by a grim-looking Mohammad. But instead of laughing with me over drinks or on our balcony, she was flirting and having fun with Alan. Which, if I were honest, brought up my second big problem. I wouldn’t have minded being separated from Kyla if I were the one chatting with Alan. I kicked a pebble on the path and watched it skitter through the shadows.

The wind had subsided to a gentle breeze, leaving the air cool and clear. Overhead, a full moon rode in a cloudless sky far above the glow from the city in the distance. To the south, strategic lights revealed the golden stone of the pyramid. By contrast, the grounds between the old hotel and the new wing seemed dark and mysterious. The asphalt path was lit by lamps at regular intervals, but their little pools of white light barely made a dent in the darkness. The date palms and shrubs rustled lightly and suddenly I felt just a little nervous. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. The grounds were walled, and I knew armed guards stood at the gates some distance away, although I could not see them. I quickened my pace, though, hurrying quietly along the path, my flats making only the softest patter against the pavement.

I heard a man’s voice as I rounded a bend near the pool, and because the voice was so strained and yet so obviously trying to keep quiet, I slowed and paused to listen.

“How could you? How could you?” whoever it was demanded angrily.

A brief pause and then, “You may have ruined everything. Of course they are asking questions! Of course. And they are not stupid. What am I supposed to do now? They will be watching us. We must cancel the whole thing.”

There was another pause. The voice, even at that low pitch, seemed vaguely familiar and I was trying to figure out where I’d heard it. Obviously he was talking on a phone, since I could hear only his side.

“Yes, all of it. You must stop. We can possibly try again in August. Or even next year.”

A longer pause this time. “You wouldn’t. You can’t. Look, it is not too late to back out. No?” After a long pause, his long sigh escaped into the air like a punctured balloon. “You are right. I can’t stop you. But it is very risky. For all of us. Fine. We will talk tomorrow.”

I heard a sharp snap of a cell phone being closed. Not wanting to be caught listening, I quickly started walking again. And just in time. A man stepped out of the bushes a few yards away. A big man, although in the dim light, I couldn’t see his face. He gave a start when he saw me, then turned quickly and hurried away down a side path.

I walked on toward my room, wondering about what I’d overheard. The words themselves could have applied to any number of things, although the urgent tone seemed to give them added meaning. I wished I could place the low voice. Could the speaker have been Mohammad? I stewed about it for a long time before finally deciding I would probably never know.

*   *   *

Sometime later, Kyla slipped into the room, looking somewhat disgruntled and slightly tipsy. I was already in my pajamas, snuggled under the blankets and rereading my Egyptian guidebook for the hundredth time. Now that I had been to Giza and seen the pyramids for myself, everything I read meant much more to me. And tomorrow we would be traveling to Aswan, and I wanted to be prepared for that as well. In the back of my mind, I was already mapping out a lesson plan for my students, who would be completely unappreciative.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” I said.

“Everyone was tired,” she said, kicking off her heels. One flew across the room and smacked into the closet door with a thump. “What do you think about Alan Stratton?”

“He seems very nice,” I answered, keeping my voice expressionless.

“Nice?” she snorted. “What a word. Nice and single, maybe. Nice and hot. Nice and…”

“Okay, I get it. You like him.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” She pulled her dress over her head, laid it on the bed, and began carefully folding the shimmery yellow material. “He’s certainly interesting though. I just can’t tell what he thinks about me.”

“I thought you two were hitting it off.”

“He just seemed more polite than interested, if you know what I mean.” She sounded puzzled.

I didn’t answer. I was torn between surprise and satisfaction. I couldn’t remember the last time an attractive man, single or not, hadn’t been under Kyla’s spell within thirty seconds of meeting her. For an instant I let myself wonder what he thought about me.

“Maybe he’s just got a stick up his ass. Or maybe he’s gay,” she mused.

“He’s not gay. He was married,” I protested.

“So he says.”

Time to change the subject. “Never mind about that. Guess what I overheard in the garden.”

I told her about the telephone conversation. She lifted her eyebrows.

“Hmm, well it doesn’t sound like much, even if it was Mohammad.”

“Doesn’t it sound like he’s got something going on? Something not quite legal? But what could it be?”

“Oh, who knows? He’s probably fencing stolen camels or something. Does it matter? We won’t be seeing him again anyway—they told us he stays in Cairo while Anni takes the groups south. And you still don’t even know it was Mohammad. It was probably one of the hotel employees.”

She vanished into the bathroom, and I closed my book and turned off my bedside light. She was probably right. I’d never find out what that conversation had been about. I thought of telling her about Millie’s bag, but decided that could wait. I still needed to figure out how to return the stolen things without being accused of stealing them myself. As I drifted off, one last thought occurred to me—hotel employee or not, the conversation had been in English.