Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (30 page)

Avery stood up and joined Sam. “I’m sure that’s sterling logic, Sam, but I think there’s another explanation.”

“Of course,” said Beverly. “That girl likely bought that armband from a trader. And even if she is from Abyssinia,” she added quickly when Sam opened his mouth to protest, “she’s probably just someone Wheeler hired to help with authenticity.”

“Right,” agreed Avery. “Think about it, Sam. Why would some girl leave the empress’s court just to wreak havoc on a movie? It makes no sense. It’s a coincidence. It has to be.”

“Coincidence,” echoed Sam flatly, his disbelief and disappointment evident.

Avery immediately changed tactics. “I do see what you’re saying, Sam. And I must admit it is a bit of a stretch to think there’s no connection. But isn’t it more likely that she was hired by Wheeler when he did his research?”

“And she waited until they were all in Nairobi to kill him?” asked Sam. “Why not kill him then? You’ve assumed Wheeler hired her in Abyssinia. Remember, they had some American maid to begin with. One who suddenly took ill, no less.”

“But why would she kill him?” asked Neville. “I still don’t understand the motive.”

“And we have no connection between that murderer and this Lwiza,” added Madeline.

Sam ran a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair. “I’ll admit, it’s all very sketchy, but let me try to explain my gut feeling. Wheeler wants to make a film about this Menelik and his supposed treasure. He goes to Abyssinia to research the legend. This woman who calls herself Lwiza hears about him. She makes her way to Nairobi and, after the regularly hired maid
conveniently
gets ill, agrees to work for him. She wants to stop this safari. So she finds someone to kill Wheeler. Who better than a recently fired African with no papers?”

“But why?” asked Beverly.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe there’s more to this legend than we know. A grain of truth. Maybe she’s out to protect the secret.”

“Or the treasure,” said Madeline. She blushed when the others stared at her. “Well, it could be.”

Avery turned to his guest as he filled his pipe. “What do you think, Tony? You’re the expert among us. Ever hear of this legend of Menelik’s treasure?”

“Yes, but not from court,” said Major Bertram. “Any stories
I
heard came from some outlying chieftain, drunk and boasting around the campfire. Outlandish yarns supposedly passed on from one of Menelik’s generals. Of course, with each telling, there was more gold and more slaves, enough to have stopped up several volcanoes. What is most important, however, is that this king was buried with Solomon’s regalia, all signs of power. Regalia that would restore the kingdom’s glory: a scepter, a certain ring, and a crown.”

“Then why,” asked Neville, “haven’t the Abyssinians looked for it?”

“Good question,” said Major Bertram. “If you were to ask anyone in court about it, which I did, they would either laugh at you or ignore you as an uncouth foreigner, depending on whom you asked. That would suggest it’s all a myth. Menelik the Second
did
make the pilgrimage but he had no luck. Interestingly, I did hear a version from one old priest that finding the regalia would happen only at the start of the end days.”

“So when someone finds it, the world ends?” asked Beverly.

“No. Finding it too soon wouldn’t force God’s hand, but it would destroy the promise of restoring the kingdom’s glory. The tomb should not be found
until
the start of the end days.”

Sam paced back and forth across the room. “Well, someone on that safari is willing to kill to find that treasure now.”

“Sam,” scolded Avery, “if it were Beverly out there, I’d be frantic, too. But you’ll wear yourself down, man. Sit!”

“Surely after you tell Inspector Finch what you know, he’ll do something,” said Neville.

Sam grunted and resumed his pacing. “You forget. Tomorrow is Sunday. Finch will be off for the day, and you can be certain that none of his subordinates will pass along any message. The train won’t even be running.”

“I know,” said Madeline. “You could fly out there and warn her.”

“No fuel,” said Sam and Avery simultaneously.

“I don’t quite understand,” said Major Bertram. “Is this young lady in some sort of predicament? I understood you to say there’s a man in charge. Surely he’ll protect her.”

Sam wheeled in midstep, pivoting on his wooden leg. “Major Bertram, you have no idea what she’s capable of. Why, just before she left, she actually charged a lion. Rode her motorcycle straight for him like she was chasing off the neighborhood tomcat.”

“Oh, dear. I see,” said Bertram.

Madeline’s face blanched. “I didn’t know about that. Did you know?” she asked, turning to Beverly.

Beverly shook her head, her lips pursed. “She always was too brave for her own good. Even during the war. Always the first one to volunteer for the more dangerous ambulance runs.”

Avery tapped out his pipe ashes and hung his pipe in a nearby stand. “Sam,” he said, rising, “you won’t rest easy until you know you’ve warned her properly. And you probably won’t trust our friend Finch to see to it. So I suggest you compose a telegram and send it to Moshi. Tell them to deliver it posthaste to their camp. Someone will know where they are.”

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. “I will. As soon as the blasted telegraph office opens Monday morning. Then I’ll see Finch before I take the train to Moshi and find her.”

“That’s the spirit, Sam,” said Neville. He clapped his friend on the back. “With any luck, they’ll still be somewhere at the base.”

 

 

JADE COLLAPSED ON her cot fully clothed, keeping even her boots on her feet. Her edict to pack only the essentials followed by her explanation of what she considered essential had gone over about as well as she’d expected.

“A change of clothing if needed, good socks, your canteen full of water, your hat, a jacket. That’s essential. Any female hygiene items you need. That’s essential. Face paint, filmy sleepwear, woolly half slippers, those are
not
essential. So pull those items out and pack them in a crate for storage.”

“Why do I have to carry any gear?” demanded Cynthia. “I thought that’s what I was paying all those natives to do.”

“All those natives will be carrying food, cooking equipment, cameras, film, ammunition, tents, blankets, not to mention all those movie props
and
walking farther than you will have to travel tomorrow. We’re going up over two thousand feet in elevation. Another three thousand the next day. You’ll find it will get much colder at night. Pack your thermals and your coat in the box to be left at the first hut. Lwiza and I will help you.”

“No, she won’t,” grumbled Cynthia.

“What?” Jade asked.

Cynthia stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Bebe demands all her time to begin with. Always having her carry and fetch for her. Pearl, too. After that, Rex is constantly using her to get those two prima donnas ready in their historical scenes. Apparently my simple safari matron role doesn’t warrant any special attention.” She sniffed. “Between the lot of them, I hardly get any use of her time. And for some reason, I think she’s avoiding me.”

“Did you say something to offend her?” asked Jade.

“Certainly not!” snapped Cynthia. “Not that I should be expected to beg anyone I’m paying. If she doesn’t want to help me, so be it.”

“I’ll help you repack.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve been able to take care of myself in uncivilized areas before.”

“Oh?” Jade raised her eyebrows in an expression of obvious interest. “Where?”

“Here and there,” she said, not meeting Jade’s eyes. “I’ve camped a lot.” With that, she hurried off to her room and Jade offered her assistance to the other women.

Pearl declined Jade’s offer with a lazy smile. “I’m already packed,” she said. “I heard Rex giving the order to Harry two days ago, you see. Besides, my previous job required enough traveling that I’ve learned to keep everything stowed to begin with. So,” she added with a low purr, “I can occupy myself otherwise this evening.”

At least those two understand responsibility
. Jade found Lwiza also had her meager possessions ready to go, which was good, considering Bebe’s room looked like it had been the scene of either a tornado or a bargain sale booth at a street fair. Bebe issued one order after another while Lwiza, Jade observed, calmly ignored most of them and set to work quietly and methodically sorting and packing. After checking with Jelani and Muturi, Jade picked up Biscuit and collapsed in her tent to write in her notebook.

Only then did she remember Rehema’s pouch, principally because it was presently an uncomfortable lump biting into her spine. With a groan, Jade hauled herself off her cot and pulled the pouch from under her blanket. She relit her lantern and set it on the box that served as a nightstand.

“Let’s see what we have in here.”

Jade opened a clean handkerchief and spread it on the bed. Then she spilled the contents onto the kerchief. The main item that caught her attention was the lady’s compact. Jade picked it up and examined it. “POM” and “Bloom” were painted onto the lid in gold along with part of a heart. The rest was badly scratched and unreadable. There were no initials inscribed anywhere.

She pushed the little lip to release the catch. The color was a soft red. Jade couldn’t recall seeing this on any one actress in particular. As far as she knew, they all wore it. She’d given their boxes only a cursory look in Nairobi, enough to see that no one was smuggling anything.
It should be easy enough to ask around and see whom it belongs to.

But only if the compact was stolen, she reminded herself. Not if it had been given to Rehema in return for something. What then? Would the previous owner admit it?

Jade set the compact aside and fingered the remaining items. As she expected, there was a small drop spindle for spinning fibers, a needle fashioned from a thin bone, and a pretty stone polished by a stream. Jade felt a pang of sympathy at such simple treasures and a life lost. She started to put them back into the bag when she noticed all the black seeds on the handkerchief. If her memory wasn’t mistaken, they looked a lot like the seeds of jimsonweed that plagued sections of her family’s New Mexico ranch back home in the States.

Jimsonweed was just a common name for datura, and it went a long way towards explaining how Rehema had fulfilled the first part of her curse.

CHAPTER 19

—The Traveler

WHEN FUNDIKIRA RAPPED AT JADE’S TENT POLE TO SIGNIFY HER turn for the dawn watch, she was already awake and ready. Harry met her at the cook fire, a banked heap of glowing coals, and handed her a mug of coffee. He looked particularly pleased with himself, a broad smile on his scruffy face. Neither of them really expected the Chagga to attack them, but a show of readiness was still good diplomacy in case a few were watching. Only the bravest would risk the trails at night, when leopards prowled the forest tracts and foraging elephants were easily startled.

Jade took her position at the northeastern edge of the camp, with Harry at the opposite side. Biscuit padded up to her and yawned, exposing large, slightly yellow canines and plenty of tongue. She stroked his head and felt his warmth as he wound about her legs. Then his head jerked to one side and he chirped. Without looking, Jade knew who had attracted his attention.

“Go to Jelani, Biscuit,” she whispered. Biscuit gave her one final rub, then strolled to where the Kikuyu youth had taken it upon himself to keep watch from the south.

Another sound, that of booted feet, reached Jade’s ears. She turned and spied Cynthia, her arms hugging herself against the predawn chill. The woman walked quickly, head down, towards the old farmhouse where she slept. But the direction she came from didn’t match a nocturnal visit to the privy. Jade wondered whose tent she’d been sharing. But she saw no dimly glowing lamps and heard no other sounds to give her a hint.
None of your business anyway.

She gave her eyes and ears the job of sensing danger and turned her mind over to the problem of Rehema and the poisoned seeds. Jade had witnessed the Muthaiga attack and the suicide at the end. That native had obviously been out of his mind. His actions had matched those of the cursed Chagga woman. Both had clawed at their skin, eyes glazing over. And the woman had staggered like a drunk. Jade had witnessed a sheep do something similar when it had eaten some jimsonweed on the ranch. While she couldn’t be sure of the Nairobi man, at least the Chagga woman’s death was caused by datura poisoning. The seeds in Rehema’s pouch confirmed it. Jade didn’t hold much with coincidences. This stretched the realm of credulity. So who was the connection? Someone in their party had to be involved. But who and why?