Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [130]
“A gang,” I murmured. “How annoying. I much prefer dealing with individual criminals.”
“How can you all speak so coolly?” Maryam’s eyes moved from one of us to the other. She was sitting quite close to her father, in a posture that would have prompted most men to put a comforting arm round her shoulders. Sethos had not done so, but he seemed more at ease with her. She had acquitted herself well that afternoon, remounting Melusine (who had behaved like a lamb all the way home) and making light of her aches and pains. Being thumped down onto a hard saddle, with an arm like a steel vise gripping one round the ribs, leaves bruises in sensitive areas.
“That is just Mother’s little way,” Nefret explained lightly. “She expects all of us to demonstrate a stiff upper lip. Maryam, are you certain you can’t think of anyone who means you harm? I don’t want to pry into your private affairs, but—”
“The answer is no,” Maryam said. Her eyes locked with those of Nefret. “If you would like me to relate my experiences of the past two years in detail . . .”
“No,” Sethos said harshly.
“No,” I agreed. “We are looking for a common denominator, a motive that would also explain the vindictiveness against Daoud and Selim. Maryam has not even been in Egypt for the past . . .”
There it was again, darting like a shadow into my head and out of it again. The others took advantage of my silence to go on with the discussion. It didn’t get very far, even with David making suggestions as to how to rearrange the facts we had—or thought we had. One such “pattern” eliminated possible accidents, but we were still left with a series of apparently unconnected occurrences which could not be dismissed so easily: the Veiled Hathor, the theft of the jewelry, the murder of Martinelli, and the deliberate damage to the boat—which, as Emerson optimistically pointed out, might have been aimed at someone other than Daoud. Another pattern eliminated the theft and murder as an unrelated, coincidental criminal act; still another would remove Hathor from the equation, supposing her to have been motivated by what David delicately referred to as personal feelings.
Ramses did not like this pattern. He had taken to pacing again. “We can’t eliminate her or Martinelli,” he declared vehemently. “Neither of those theories makes more sense than any other. There has to be a connection. We haven’t found it yet, that’s all.”
“Well, I sure don’t see it,” Cyrus declared. “All right with you, Amelia, if we call it quits for now?”
“Yes, run along. If you think of anything we have overlooked, make a note of it.”
“We’ve got everything in that list except the finger I cut on a piece of paper,” Cyrus said.
He was mistaken—as was I. We had overlooked one “peculiar incident,” which would prove to be the key to the entire mystery. If my more astute Readers have spotted it, allow me to deflate their self-esteem by pointing out that they are sitting at ease reading this journal—not trying to deal with four active children, an unpredictable brother-in-law, an archaeological dig, and a thousand household chores. Not to mention Emerson.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
As they walked along the shadowy path to their house, the leaves of poinsettias and mimosa stirred, rustling as if they were conversing in some unknown language. Rather like the twins, Ramses thought.
The Great Cat of Re marched ahead of them, taking the lead as cats will without regard to their convenience. Every now and then he would stop without warning and stare into the shadows. Sometimes the stare was followed by a sudden leap and a frantic rustle of activity in the shrubbery; sometimes he just sat there until they stumbled over him.
“We need more lights here,” Nefret said, catching hold of his arm.
“Or a better-trained cat. Damn it, he’s got something. I hope it isn’t a snake.”
“They’re all tucked up in their little holes for the night,” Nefret said. “Don’t bother yelling at him, Ramses, he’ll ignore you with magnificent disdain.”
“Stop