Death on Tour - Janice Hamrick [58]
When our turn came, Kyla and I hopped into a dilapidated black carriage pulled by an unenthusiastic white nag, which left Alan paired with Jerry Morrison. According to Jerry, Kathy’s ankle had swollen up like a balloon, and she hadn’t even made it down to breakfast. Jerry appeared alone, looking a little lost as he realized that the rest of us were looking away just like kids avoiding the teacher’s eye in the hopes of not being selected for a question. He had not made himself pleasant to a single person on the tour—and didn’t look as though he was going to start now. I could see the two men eyeing each other with dislike as we drove away.
Our driver cheerfully pointed out the sights on the short drive through town and up the hill to the temple. We had to lean forward to see because the carriage had a protective awning, complete with a red fringe. The tune of “Surrey with a Fringe on Top” kept running through my head in a most aggravating way. And why should I suffer alone?
I hummed a few bars under my breath. Kyla whipped around on me like a Doberman on a housebreaker.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. Tell me you did not do that,” she moaned.
I hummed a little more, just to ensure she wouldn’t be able to get it out of her head, and then leaned back, content.
Edfu as a town teetered on a very fine edge between prosperity and devastation. Most of the tiny shops that we slowly clip-clopped past were humble indeed, and the atmosphere in general was run-down and somewhat desperate. Still, men were out and about, sitting and smoking in small cafés or talking with animated hand gestures and laughing, and the shops were open, which was a good sign. The recent decrease in tourism had hit towns like Edfu very hard, but they were surviving in spite of it all. And then too, the morning was beautiful, and we were in the mood to be pleased with everything.
“You never see any women sitting and eating in the cafés,” said Kyla thoughtfully.
“Probably because that’s where the men are.”
“So are they not allowed, or are they just smart?”
We giggled.
Our driver parked the carriage in a long row of covered stalls, which reminded me of a SONIC drive-in, minus the teenage girls on Rollerblades swooping by with trays of tater tots and limeades. Although cool right now, later in the season the heat would be unbearable on the asphalt, and it was comforting to know that horses and drivers had shade at least. Our driver hopped down with the agility of a boy and offered a hand to assist us from the carriage, his smile revealing several missing teeth. We joined the others around Hello Kitty, and walked past the inevitable line of stalls to the temple.
One of the more enterprising young entrepreneurs jumped out in front of Kyla and me.
“Hello, pretty ladies!”
Kyla ignored him and kept her eyes straight ahead, while I tried to look away. He waved his hands as though checking to see if we were blind. I couldn’t help grinning, which was a huge mistake.
Encouraged and elated, he began walking backward in front of us, slowing us down, but not enough to get by. The rest of the group streamed past us heartlessly.
“I have many fine things in my shop, beautiful things for beautiful ladies,” he announced.
“We can’t stop now,” I said. “We have to stay with our group.”
“No, no, it will not take any time at all. You can easily meet up with your group,” he said persuasively, stumbling a little as he continued backward.
“No, we can’t,” said Kyla shortly.
He got another idea. “On your way back, then. On your way back, you will stop in my shop. I will make you a very good bargain. A beautiful bargain for a beautiful lady.”
Kyla just snorted, an unladylike sound reminiscent of a camel. I would have to find out how she did that.
“At least tell me your name. Tell me your name, pretty lady.”
With an evil sidelong glance at me, she answered, “Jocelyn,” and pushed past him with a burst of speed.
I scurried to catch up, cheeks