Death on Tour - Janice Hamrick [29]
I glanced up at him. He looked good, even in the sickly glow of the fluorescent lighting, which made his eyes more gray than green. His lashes were the same light brown color as his hair.
“So what do you think?” he asked, tipping his head to where Yvonne was slamming the mallet down with impressive force. The fact that she missed the reed altogether did not deter her in the least.
“Very interesting,” I lied. Certainly not as interesting as talking with him. I glanced around to see where Kyla was, but she was not paying any attention to us.
“Really?” He lifted his eyebrows.
“No.”
He laughed out loud, causing the Peterson boys to turn around eagerly. Susan pinched an arm with each hand and forcefully turned them back to the demonstration.
“Sorry, boys,” he said under his breath. He grinned at me. “So I guess you won’t be making some sales guy happy today.”
“Unlikely. Although actually, I might buy a little one, just to have something to show my students. It would be nice to find something that didn’t look so…” I searched for the word.
“Hideous?” he supplied helpfully.
“I was going to say modern, but hideous works too. The colors seem too bright.”
“To be fair, I think this may be the way the paints looked on the real deal when everything was new. We’re so used to seeing everything faded by three thousand years of sun and wind that bright colors seem fake.”
I considered. “So you’re claiming that ancient Egypt looked like Munchkinland in the pre-Dorothy era?”
“No, that is not what I am saying. I … oh, never mind.” He suddenly realized I was messing with him and gave me a look that made me laugh.
Pleased with each other, we moved a little to the side, viewing the pictures that lined the walls. His shoulder brushed mine as we walked, and I wondered if it was on purpose. I gave him a sidelong glance to check, but he was still focused on the papyrus paintings. A little disappointed, I dutifully directed my attention to the wall.
Alan stopped in front of a particularly large papyrus depicting hundreds of small figures floating around a very large cobalt blue scarab. “I bet that would look good in your living room,” he said.
“It would certainly complement the overall dung-beetle theme I’ve got going on,” I agreed.
He had no chance to respond. A skillful saleswoman stepped between us and began extolling the virtues of the paintings to me, pointing out a large ornate scroll positioned prominently on the wall.
I shook my head. “It is very beautiful, but too expensive.”
She instantly snatched a smaller framed picture from the wall and waved it. “This one is very good, very elegant, and quite affordable,” she said in lovely accented English.
I caught a flash of blue and gold. “I’m sure, but there’s no way I can get a framed picture back home without breaking it.” I smiled to show there were no hard feelings and tried to edge away.
“Ah no, but look! We use only the finest unbreakable glass in our frames.”
I caught Alan’s eye as she rapped on the picture with her knuckles and then actually hurled it to the ground. He almost doubled over in silent laughter. Right then, I decided that I would buy whatever it was bouncing off the carpet, just so I could remember this moment.
* * *
The Cairo airport was a madhouse when we arrived for our flight to Aswan. Several tour buses pulled up to the curb at the same time and coughed up their occupants onto the pavement in front of the domestic terminal. Afraid of being swept away in the ebb and flow of humanity, we clutched our carry-ons and followed the bright pink Hello Kitty