Death on Tour - Janice Hamrick [23]
I frowned at her, suddenly feeling completely frumpy. “I thought we’d agreed that we shouldn’t show our arms and shoulders here?”
Kyla looked surprised. “Well, that doesn’t apply in the hotels. They’re used to international guests here.” She looked at my skirt and blouse with a critical eye. “Don’t worry about it. You look very nice. A little conservative maybe, but very nice.”
I sighed internally. This explained why Kyla’s suitcase weighed almost twenty pounds more than my own. And why no one would be mistaking us for sisters this evening. More like a socialite and her plain assistant, I thought with a flash of amusement. She slipped on a pair of matching yellow sandals that showed off her frosted pink toenails.
We returned to the main building to meet the others, walking along a little path that ran through the hotel grounds, past lush grass, palms, and flowers. Directly ahead we could still see the pyramids, now lit with spotlights from below and the moon above. The moon seemed to float directly over the ancient blunted capstone, almost brushing the top. Overhead, the stars were beginning to grow bright in the clear dry air, undiminished by the glow of the hotel.
Instead of Anni, the tour director, Mohammad, met us in the lobby as he had done at the airport. He was a big man, almost as bulky as DJ and just as dark skinned with very white teeth. He wore a houndstooth jacket, which had to be hot even in the cooling air of the Egyptian evening. I suspected he kept it on to hide the sweat stains under his arms. I wondered what his day had been like and what had happened to Millie’s body. Had he spent the afternoon making arrangements to ship her back to the United States? Had he been the one to make the call to her family? But tonight he seemed completely at ease, the perfect tour host, which was probably the best way to handle the whole ugly situation. Heartless maybe, but there was no point in having what was, after all, just an accident ruin the trip for everyone else. Just an accident, I repeated to myself, trying to push the journal entry out of my mind. Had Millie ever talked to him about smuggling?
“Up the stairs and to the right,” he greeted us with a warm smile. “We are having a drink before we go in to dinner.”
We walked up a long, beautiful stairway to the elegant bar area, complete with intricately carved wood, domed ceilings, and immense chandeliers. The chairs were oversized, overstuffed, and very comfortable. The whole atmosphere was exotic, a fascinating blend of oriental and Arabic motifs that discreetly but firmly underlined how far we were from home.
The Carpenters were already present in one corner, Lydia puffing away on a cigarette, holding her own little ashtray in her left hand. Smoke or no smoke, they were already our favorite people on the trip, so we plopped down in squashy chairs close to them.
“How’s your niece feeling?” asked Kyla.
Ben snorted. “Bloody awful. She’s heaving out of both ends, if you get my drift.”
Australians. Gotta love ’em. The poor girl would never show her face again if she could have heard that.
Anni overheard and joined us, looking concerned. “Jane is still sick? I will give you some powders. They are better than anything you can get from a doctor. Put one packet in a bottle of water and have her drink the whole thing.”
From a little purse slung over her shoulder, she pulled a handful of mysterious paper packets with Arabic instructions printed on them.
Ben gave them the same dubious look he would have given a pouch of possum innards from a faith healer in a revival tent, but then shrugged. “I’ll just run these back to her room, then, shall I?”
“Oh, bring my blue sweater when you come back, love,” Lydia called after him as he started down the stairs.
Charlie and Yvonne de Vance sat on a nearby sofa, holding hands. I considered them. Even in the soft, flattering light of the chandeliers, they looked about a hundred years old, but I had to admit they got around