The Serpent's Daughter (4 page)

Where in the name of St. Peter’s fishing pole is she?
Jade paced in the lobby, occasionally dodging another guest. She looked at her pocket watch for the seventh time.
4:40.
Mother was never late. To her, punctuality was a mark of good breeding. Jade remembered when her mother hosted the Lady’s Art Society dinner for the establishment of a traveling library. Women who arrived “fashionably late” were greeted graciously and sat down to whatever courses of the dinner were left. Even her father joked that he wished his wife was in charge of the seasons so spring would never be tardy.

“Pardon me,” Jade asked the clerk, “but are you certain there are no messages for me?”

“No, miss. Did you look in your room? Perhaps Mrs. del Cameron left a note there.”

“She didn’t.”

“Perhaps it fell to the floor?”

Jade tried a different tack. “Did you see my mother leave with anyone today? I know she planned to meet with a Mrs. Bennington, but I don’t know if she had any appointments afterward.”

“I’m sorry, Miss del Cameron. I can’t say that I did.”

“Then can you be so good as to tell me if the Benningtons are registered here? Perhaps they know where my mother went.”

The clerk consulted his books. “They were here, but Mr. Bennington checked out for himself and his aunt around midmorning. I believe they were taking the steamship back to Spain.”

Jade returned to the room she and her mother shared to look once more for any message.
If this is Mother’s idea of disciplining me for being ten minutes late …
Jade hadn’t intended to get lost in the souk.
Blasted convoluted streets.
Of course, the two hours she had spent watching the snake charmers, jugglers, and other entertainers hadn’t helped.

Jade looked on and under the bed, beneath the desk, in the waste can, in the powder room, anywhere a note might have conceivably been left or dropped. Nothing. The room appeared as immaculately as before; no sign of haste. Even her old notebook, the one she’d used in East Africa on her first trip to western Tsavo, the wild territory east of Mt. Kilimanjaro, was aligned precisely with the edge of the end table instead of on her bed where she’d tossed it.

Mother must have put it back, but where is she?
That’s when Jade noticed her mother’s blue and white dress hanging neatly behind the door.
Of course. She went touring.
With the Benningtons gone, her mother would have had time to see some of the sights and she’d never wear a morning dress to someplace dusty.

Jade opened the chifforobe to see what was missing, in hopes it would give her some clue as to where Inez went. Unfortunately, Jade hadn’t paid much attention last evening when her mother hung her dresses. Maybe her shoes would give some insight. She knew her mother had a pair of practical, ankle-high walking boots. She stooped to look at the remaining shoes more closely and saw the crumpled note on the floor.

Please join us at the Europa Hotel at eleven, and we can tour Azilah.
The note was in a woman’s hand and signed with a first name in a close scrawl. Jade moved to a window and held the paper to the light to read it better. The ink on the signature was smudged but looked like “Libby.”
So she went to
Azilah with the Tremaines
. Jade chuckled as she imagined her mother’s consternation. She must have expected to be back by now or she’d have left a message for Jade.
I’m not going to let her hear the end of this for a while. Mother, you’re late. Do you know how rude that is?
Well, maybe she wouldn’t go
that
far, but it did promise to be fun.

Jade pocketed the note and headed for the terrace where they’d breakfasted. She chose a seat near the front walk where she’d have a clear view of her mother when she returned. In the meantime, she’d enjoy a cup of coffee. That was a pleasure she didn’t care to postpone any longer.

She was into her second cup when she spotted the Tremaines strolling up to the door. Jade called to them. “Mrs. Tremaine. How did you enjoy Azilah? Where is my mother?”

Libby Tremaine looked as though she’d bitten into a lemon when she saw Jade. “Miss del Cameron. I have
no
idea what you’re talking about. Walter and I went to the Caves of Hercules.”

“My mother didn’t go with you? She received a note from you asking her to join you in a tour of Azilah.”

“You’re mistaken, Miss del Cameron,” said Mr. Tremaine. “My wife just told you that we went to the Caves of Hercules. We went alone. Wherever your mother went, it wasn’t with us.”

CHAPTER 2

—The Traveler

JADE, RENDERED MOMENTARILY SPEECHLESS, sat blinking stupidly like an owl dazed by one of her photographic night flashes.

“Why did you think she came with us?” asked Mr. Tremaine.

The question jarred Jade back to rational speech. “Um, your wife’s note.”

“
I
didn’t leave any note for your mother.”

“Isn’t this your signature?” Jade held out the paper.

Libby snatched it from Jade’s hand and scrutinized it. “That’s not my handwriting. More like a lot of hokum.” She flung the note back to Jade. “Maybe your mother is playing a trick on you, teaching you a lesson for being so rude this morning.”

Jade didn’t answer, her mind too busy turning over the fact that her highly disciplined, notoriously prompt mother was missing. The question was, Where? Had she gone to Azilah, anyway, or was she lost in the twisted streets of Tangier?

“I don’t understand about the note, but I’m sure she’s all right,” said Mr. Tremaine. “She didn’t strike me as being gaga.”

“I beg your pardon. My mother isn’t
what
?”

“Gaga. You know, someone crazy or silly. Gee, I thought you were an American. No offense meant to your mother.”

Libby appeared to wilt of a sudden and fanned herself. “Walter, I’m all in. Take me inside.”

“Of course, darling. Poor bunny.” Mr. Tremaine hastened to clasp his wife’s arm. “Good luck, Miss del Cameron.”

Jade watched them go inside and wondered about Libby’s sudden case of fatigue. Was she avoiding any more questions? The girl didn’t seem very outraged to find someone had forged her name, even as a prank. If this was Libby’s idea of a joke, then Jade would kick her across the Straits of Gibralter once she’d located her mother.

Maybe her mother thought she’d missed the Tremaines and decided to go on to Azilah herself. How would she get there?
A donkey?
Definitely not. Mother was an expert rider, but she wouldn’t ride unless someone hired out good horses. A motorcar? Jade had seen a few, mainly near the ambassadors’ residences, but she wondered how her mother would hire one since she didn’t speak any Arabic and her French was horrid at best. No, she probably went with someone. But who?

Jade studied the note’s signature again. The letter
L
was relatively clear, but her assumption that it was Mrs. Tremaine’s first name appeared to be false. She shoved the note into her skirt’s side pocket. Heaven knew how many of the other passengers her mother had made alliances with on the voyage. Her best hope lay with tracking down her mother’s transportation. Jade jumped up and ran inside to ask the clerk. “Pardon me, where can I hire an automobile?” The clerk gave her two names as well as directions to their homes. Jade wrote these in her newest notebook and thanked the man. “If my mother returns before I do, please tell her to wait in our room for me.” Then she hurried out the door and spotted the Kennicots, walking with Patrido de Portillo.

“Hello,” Jade called, and noticed Chloe Kennicot stiffen. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she did have a tendency to open her mouth first and think about consequences later.

“Good afternoon, Miss del Cameron,” said Woodard Kennicot. Mr. de Portillo bowed formally.

“Good afternoon,” said Jade. “I’m looking for my mother. Would you happen to know where she is?”

“I saw your mother sometime after breakfast,” said Mr. Kennicot. “I’m not certain exactly, but it was not noontime yet. She appeared to be waiting for someone.”

“Did you speak with her?” asked Jade. The minister shook his head.

“I’m certain she’s perfectly all right, Miss del Cameron,” said Mr. de Portillo. “I saw her with a native guide. I heard him say something in French.” He paused for a moment. “
La ferry
or something to that effect.”

“Laferriere,” said Jade. “Madame Laferriere is one of the names the hotel clerk gave to me. She has a motorcar for hire.”

“Well, then,” said Mr. Kennicot, “it appears your charming mother went touring with one of our other passengers. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“No, probably not.” Jade took a deep breath and tried to convince her heart to stop racing. “Thank you all very much. You’ve been most kind.” She consulted the directions given to her by the clerk and headed toward the
medina
, the old walled part of Tangier cornered by the great Kasbah.

The narrow streets never went straight for very long, a pattern aimed at confusing enemies. Jade didn’t doubt it. It certainly confused her. Even with the directions she got lost twice. It was after the second retracing of her steps that she had the feeling she was being followed. She turned several times to sneak a look back, but couldn’t pick out anyone in particular either time. The Westerners, in their straw boater hats and ivory linen suits and dresses, all looked alike, and the native Moroccans blended into a sea of white. She decided it was her imagination and continued on.

Finally she turned onto the Rue de la Petite Maison and found Madame Laferriere’s address. Like most of the buildings, the pale pink mud-brick walls were crumbling with no obvious attempts at recent repair. A heavy wooden door, its paint blistered and peeling, guarded the entryway, a small latticework at the top allowing the inner occupants to look out with relative anonymity. Unlike the other buildings in the vicinity, a narrow alley bordered one side. Jade glanced within and saw a battered motorcar. Confident that she’d found the correct house, she knocked at the door and waited. The sensation of being watched returned and made her skin prickle, but when she looked around, she saw no one. She knocked again.

“Hallo?” The voice from the other side of the grating was a woman’s. Jade could only make out her eyes behind the latticework at the top.

“Madame Laferriere?” inquired Jade.

“I am looking to find my mother,” Jade said, continuing in French. “A Spanish-looking lady. I believe she and her friends came here to hire a car from you.”

The door opened a few inches and Madame poked her head into the crevice. Jade caught a glimpse of brown eyes and a long, thin nose with a mole on one side. Although she was possibly a woman of middle age, her skin didn’t look as if she had spent years baking in the sun.

“Yes, my car was rented by a man today. He said he was taking two ladies to view Azilah. But they have come back. The car is here.” She pointed towards the alleyway. Three Arab men passed by, having what sounded like a heated discussion. Several more followed behind. None of them paid any attention to Jade, an unveiled Nazarene woman.

Maybe they just returned, she thought. She knew if her mother was now waiting at the hotel, no amount of explaining was going to be adequate, but Jade could face that.
As long as she’s all right
. “How long ago did they return with your car?”

“Two hours ago, at least.”

“Two hours!”
Then where the tarnation is Mother?
“Did both ladies come back?”

Madame shrugged.

“Do you know the man’s name? The one who hired your car?”

“What do I care for his name? He had money.”

“What did he look like? Did you see the ladies?”

“He looked like any man. He said he was going to Azilah. The car, it comes back. The ladies did not?
Voilà
,” she pronounced, as though Jade were a simpleton to not figure it out. “Perchance the ladies stayed there. Now, do not disturb me unless you have more to offer to me than air.” Madame Laferriere waved Jade off and shut the door.

“Wait. I’ll pay you.” The door opened a crack. Jade rummaged through her canvas bag for her wallet. The door opened wider and Madame Laferriere stuck out a hand, palm up. Jade peeled off several francs and handed them over. Madame Laferriere did not look terribly impressed. Jade added two more. All the while her mind struggled with her dilemma. Should she go back and seek help from the authorities or go on searching on her own? Tangier was such an international city that no one seemed to be in charge. Besides, it might take hours to get an audience with the American consulate, and Jade didn’t want to wait hours.

“The man may have been English, perhaps American. I cannot tell. He spoke French but not as well as you do.”

“Young? Old? Tall? Short?” Jade added another franc.

“Not old. About your height. I did not pay much attention. If you want, then hire my car and go there yourself.”

Jade’s exasperation rose. She wanted to push her way inside, throttle the woman, and demand answers. That’s when she made her decision. With no other information to hand over to either the French or the Spanish authorities, there was little they could or would do. She could see it now. The American diplomat would say she needed to see the French since a French woman owned the car and Azilah was French territory. The French would say she should see the Spanish since her mother was traveling next to Spain, and both would pass Jade back over to the Americans again.

“I want to hire your car.”