Death on Tour - Janice Hamrick [61]
“Of course they’re senile,” Dawn said, apparently glad to find something on which she could agree with her husband. “Classic dementia. Look how they’re always confused and always late. They never seem to know what’s going on. How they were able to make arrangements for this trip is beyond me. I suspect a young relative handled everything for them. I know Fiona has a son—we were talking about him at dinner. I wish I could give him a piece of my mind. Those two should not be on the loose in a foreign country. What if they wandered off?”
Probably exactly what the son was longing to find out, I thought cynically. And with the possible exception of Dawn Kim, I think we were all right with him on that.
“They seem to be handling it, overall,” I said weakly.
“Exactly what I tell her,” said Keith. “Senile or not, they are doing fine and you should leave them alone.”
“I was a nurse for fifteen years,” she explained to me. “And I can tell you they’re not fine. Have you smelled them? Urine! On Flora, at least.”
I had gone to considerable trouble not to get within smelling distance of either one of them, and now I was going to redouble my efforts.
“That’s terrible,” I said truthfully.
“Something needs to be done about it.” She looked from her husband to me as if expecting us to march off and take action. I made my escape quickly.
* * *
On the walk back to the carriages, I steeled myself and decided enough was enough. I couldn’t possibly leave Egypt without trying to haggle for something in a shop. I had a large, smelly wad of Egyptian pounds in my purse, and I was determined to spend it on something. Accordingly, I slowed down. The boy who had walked backward for us was nowhere to be seen. I was a little disappointed, because I thought that kind of initiative should be rewarded, but I tried to decide from a distance which little stall looked the most promising. As far as I could tell, they were all identical, with racks of postcards and brightly colored dresses swaying in the gentle, cool breeze.
“What are you doing?” Kyla asked, slowing with me.
“I want to buy something.”
“You’re kidding. What could you possibly want here?”
“Nothing. I just want to try it.”
“You should wait and let DJ help you. They’ll eat you alive.”
I grinned. “I know. I’ll make some guy extremely happy and come away with a total piece of crap. I just want to try.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t bear to witness the carnage. I’ll meet you back at the parking lot. Remember we only have fifteen minutes.”
“Plenty of time for me to get ripped off,” I said, as we started toward the shops.
We were immediately besieged.
“Hey, pretty lady! What’s your name? You are very beautiful. What’s your name?”
The hawkers were relentless. “Pretty ladies, you sisters!” called one. “Pretty sisters. I would pay five hundred camels just to gaze on your beauty. No, one thousand camels!”
Kyla stiffened, threw me a malevolent glance, and dashed away, although I wasn’t sure whether it was the reference to sisters or camels that ticked her off the most. Either way, this guy had won me over. I moved toward his stall.
However, just then another shopkeeper, a young man with a missing front tooth, jumped out and waved frantically at me. “No, no! That’s the wrong place. You should come in here. Pretty lady from Utah. In here!”
I hesitated. Utah again. What the hell was it with Egyptians and Utah? I shook my head and gestured to indicate that I was going with the guy who thought I was worth five hundred camels. However, to my surprise, camel boy had lost his smile and was backing away from me into his stall. He waved his hand as though to shoo me away. The man with the tooth, or rather, without the tooth, beckoned me again. I took a hesitant step into his stall, quickly glancing around at the racks of t-shirts, the scarves, the revolving stands of postcards. Surely there was something in here that I could haggle for.
But before I could choose