The Puzzle of Piri Reis (17 page)

I studied him closely. "I had the feeling you two
don't get along too well"

His eyes blazed. "You got that right."

"In fact, I heard that she was milking your uncle dry"

He pressed his lips together, and his eyes narrowed.
"I don't know who told you that but they weren't too
far off. Father finally had to put a stop to it but Lamia
kept after him."

"You mean he cut off her financial support?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, no. Father would never do
that. He was often mean and vindictive but he kept her
allowance going. He just cut out the extras"

"What kind of allowance?"

"Five thousand a month"

I whistled softly.

He continued, his tone brusque. "She claims she can't
get by on that. Well, she can. I do and she can too"

I struggled to hide my surprise at his sudden revelation. "That's quite a sum."

Through clenched teeth, he added, "She's always
blown her money. Never been responsible."

Remembering how much he lost at the tracks, I
wanted to say "And you are," but I suppressed the impulse. "You see her often?"

"No. Once a month maybe. It's just as well. We
don't get along"

It didn't take a Dick Tracy to figure that out. "Does
she have a career, a job, anything like that?"

"No, she lives on the money Father gives her." He
chewed on his bottom lip a moment. "Maybe I shouldn't
mention it because she is my cousin, but I think she
might somehow be mixed up in the drug scene"

I played dumb. "Oh? How's that?"

A frown played over his colorless face. "Hard to say.
There've been several late-night-when I say late, I
mean two or three o'clock in the morning-calls for
her. Once I ran into her on the River Walk. She was
walking away from three or four of those long-haired
street people-you know the kind that makes your
stomach turn when you see them-dirty and greasy"
He shivered. "They were glassy-eyed and slurred their
words when they talked."

"What did she say?"

"She laughed it off. Said they were asking for a
handout" He paused. "I know this might sound callous, but one positive thing came from Father's
death."

"Oh?"

A derisive smile tightened his lips. "Yeah. As soon as the will is probated, I don't figure we'll ever see her
again."

"Splitsville, huh?"

His smile broadened. "Big time."

I gestured to the two prints on the wall between the
bookcases. "What do you know about those prints?"

"Egyptian puzzles. Like I told you"

"Puzzles?"

"Yeah. From some tomb. He told me the name but
it's slipped my mind. Some sort of hieratic writing
from an obscure dynasty, Father said."

I didn't mention it but that was essentially the same
thing Leo Cob had told me. I studied the puzzles, still
struggling to remember what was so familiar about
them. Suddenly, I saw what had been nagging at me.
"If I remember right, he told Leo Cobb if he wanted
the Piri Reis, he had to deal with these printings first"

Ted frowned. "I didn't know that."

"Well, your uncle did."

We studied the prints. "Any idea what he meant?"

Print Number One

Print Number Two

Ted shook his head. "Not a one. There's nothing
there. Like I said before, I took them apart. Nothing."

I glanced at him. "When I was talking to Edna, she
said your father enjoyed puzzles."

Ted chuckled. "He loved them"

"Okay, now, let me get this straight. First, your father told you the map was located in the den. Right?"

'Yeah.

I held up another finger. "And second, according to
Cobb, your father told him to get the Piri Reis he had
to deal with these prints on the wall"

He lifted an eyebrow. "So?"

"So, Edna thinks the map might not even be in the
den. She suggested that when your father told you it
was located in the den, he was just trying to throw you
off. That make sense?"

Ted shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised. He liked
to confuse people. All I know is that those prints are
Egyptian puzzles-in some sort of obscure hieroglyphics is what he told me"

I studied them a moment longer, noticing a peculiar
curiosity. I decided to play the devil's advocate. "How
do you know that? Because he told you?"

"Yeah.

"Could he have lied to you about them? Maybe he
told you that to simply stop you from asking questions."

With a sheepish grin, he replied, "I guess, but why
would he do that?"

I chuckled. "Like I said, just to shut you up. To confuse you. Take a look at this." I pointed to a symbol in
the first line, a four-pointed star. "I'm no expert. All I
know about Egypt is that it has sand and mummies. Now, I might be wrong, but I've never seen a star like
that associated with ancient Egypt. Maybe it is. I don't
know, but it's enough to make me wonder. And, a second thing is that I thought hieroglyphics was picture
writing. This looks like an alphabet to me," I said,
falling back on my years as an English teacher.

Ted frowned while I pulled out my note cards and
looked around the den for the telephone. "Let's find
out," I announced, picking up the receiver.

"What do you mean?"

Punching in the number of the Wingate Museum of
Art from my note card, I explained, "I've never even
heard of an Egyptian puzzle, have you?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Not until these"

The number rang. "So, let's see if George Moffit at
the museum can put us in touch with an Egyptologist
who can verify the fact that these printings could be
puzzles."

Moffit gave me the name and number of the curator
of Egyptian culture at the Claritin Museum of Cultural History in Dallas. I dialed the number. Five minutes later, I hung up and turned to Ted Odom. "He said
somebody's pulling our leg, and the joker's name is
Bernard Julius Odom."

Ted stared at me wide-eyed.

I explained. "To the best of the curator's knowledge,
the puzzles enjoyed by the Egyptian royalty were word
puzzles, not written ones like this."

Ted stared at me in disbelief. "Then what are these?"
He took another step closer to the prints.

"It's obvious the map isn't hidden in the prints.
From what Cobb said, I think the prints hold the secret
to the location of the map. They are nothing more than
puzzles your father made up" I had an idea, but I kept
it to myself. I'd find out if my idea was right when I got
back to my room.

His frown deepened. "You really think so?"

We moved closer to the two prints.

Print Number One

Print Number Two

I pointed out the star in the first line.

Ted grunted. "I never paid any attention to it before."

"That's what your father counted on." I chuckled.
"That's why he told everyone it was script from an obscure dynasty."

At that moment, my cell phone rang.

I didn't recognize the voice. "Boudreaux?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"That ain't important. You still looking for that map?"

I suppressed the sudden burst of excitement exploding through my veins. In a casual voice I said, "Yeah."

"If you are, come alone to room 223 at the Cattleman's Hotel next to the Alamo."

Before I could ask any questions, the caller hung
up. Hastily I dialed star sixty-nine. A pay phone.

Ted frowned.

Stroking my chin thoughtfully, I considered the call.
The only thing I hated worse than puzzles were blind
calls. And this was one if I'd ever heard one. When
you followed up on them, and you had to, you had no
idea what you were walking into.

"So, what was that all about?"

I was suddenly aware of Ted staring at me. "Huh?
Oh" I shook my head. "I don't know for certain. Some
joker says he knows where the map is."

Ted's eyes grew wide. "Where?"

"He didn't say. He wants me to come to the Cattleman's Hotel"

He spun on his heel. "Let's go then"

"Alone"

Ted froze. "What?"

"That's what he said." I studied him a moment. "I
don't think there's anything to this but I can't afford
not to follow it up" I started for the door. "I'll stay in
touch" I paused. "Oh. Do me a favor."

"Whatever."

"Make a copy of those prints and send them to my
hotel. I want to work on them tonight."

The Cattleman's was one of the oldest hotels in San
Antonio, appropriately named for the innumerable cattle barons and trail hands who frequented the establishment during the 1860s and 70s. And it had its
requisite resident ghost, Ginny Mae, a chambermaid
who, after a hundred and fifty-plus years, continued to
look after rooms on the second and third floors.

Located across a narrow street from the Alamo, the
white stucco building boasted wrought-iron balconies
on all four floors except the first.

Jack pulled around the corner into the narrow street
and parked in a loading zone. I hopped out. "Give me ten minutes. If I'm not back, come looking for me. Remember. Room 223."

He licked his lips nervously. "It sounds like some
kind of setup to me, Tony"