Death on Tour - Janice Hamrick [4]
“Of course we have met, but it is difficult to learn so many names at once,” she said with a smile.
“Jocelyn Shore,” I told her.
She smiled and glanced from me to Kyla. “And are you twins?”
I didn’t dare look at Kyla, although I could sense the sudden arctic chill coming from her direction.
“No. Actually we’re not even sisters. We’re first cousins.”
“Really? Well, the family resemblance is striking. You are both beautiful girls.”
I gave a polite smile, feeling my face redden a little. It always puzzled me how people could say such extraordinarily embarrassing and personal things right to your face without a hint of self-consciousness. And Nimmi was not nearly old enough to get away with calling me a girl.
DJ broke in. “I was just telling Keith and Dawn that I’d examined the body.”
Nimmi gave a delicate shudder. “So tragic.”
I glanced at the other couple. I didn’t know much about the Kims yet, other than they were from Seattle and either one or both of them worked in a lab researching food additives. I liked the way they held hands whenever possible, and kept their eyes on each other when it wasn’t. I suspected they had not been married very long.
Another half hour slipped away and the group attitude changed subtly from horrified shock to annoyed boredom. I’ve noticed it often, the development of a group personality, completely independent of the personalities of any of the members. I saw it in my classes. Somehow one period of world history became fascinating and enjoyable, while the next was complete agony and I struggled to keep the kids awake. A group of adults is the same. After only a few hours together, we’d already gelled into a single entity with its own needs and agenda. Looking around, I could see that while any one of us would claim we were filled with concern and sorrow, the group as a whole was tired and bored and wanted to get on with the day. After all, we had only a week in Egypt, and no one was exactly brokenhearted that Millie Owens wouldn’t be monopolizing our guide’s attention, snooping through bags that didn’t belong to her, and asking the most painfully brainless questions ever asked in the history of human speech. The group was ready to move on.
At last, Anni rejoined us, looking appropriately somber and concerned. She did a quick head count in Arabic under her breath.
“Where are Flora and Fiona? Does anyone see them?” she asked.
We gave a collective sigh and glanced around unenthusiastically. The ditz duo had never yet been on time for a rendezvous. During our meet and greet yesterday, they’d said they were sisters, but they didn’t look alike at all. Flora had short gray hair, cropped like a man’s on the sides, but with a ridiculous fluffy puff on top. She had a way of staring through her glasses as though they were fogged, and she couldn’t focus very well. Fiona was tall and thin, with impossibly black wispy hair, worn long and untamed as God intended. Unlikely bits of it stood at attention at different times, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. Her glasses were racy cat’s-eye horn-rims, her hands large and clawlike. I admit I’d searched surreptitiously for a hint of an Adam’s apple when we’d first met.
DJ spotted them at last near a police officer on a camel. Both camel and officer appeared to be watching them somewhat incredulously. They were looking at a map, which was flapping in the wind, and gesturing to each other wildly. DJ shouted at them and waved Hello Kitty, while Anni hurried forward to retrieve them.
They rejoined the group all in a dither. “We couldn’t find you. We were afraid you’d left,” said Fiona breathlessly.
“Yes, we were hiding behind the big pink umbrella,” said Kyla under her breath.
“Well, we are all here now,” said Anni.