Death on Tour - Janice Hamrick [83]
I shook my head and was immediately sorry. “Not really. I think whoever it was must have been waiting in the shadows behind the gift shop, which would at least rule out Alan.”
“Alan? You’re kidding, right? He was completely freaking out.”
“Who found me?” I asked her.
“Well, he did. He sounded the alarm and started ordering everyone around. He got the crew to call a doctor and search the ship, and he refused to leave your side. He was…” she paused, searching for the word. “He was distraught. I think he really likes you.”
I wanted to believe her. “He was the first on the scene. Maybe he was the cause of the scene. What better way to clear himself of suspicion than to sound the alarm. He could have had the necklace in his pocket.”
“You’re insane. He’s a nice guy. And I’m telling you, he was panicked.”
“Maybe he hit me harder than he intended. Okay, okay.” I held up my hands as she started protesting. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. He might not have stolen my necklace, but there is something very odd about that man.”
I thought about mentioning Alan’s suspicions of her, but then decided against it. For one thing, she might not be as amused as I was, and for another I just didn’t have the energy to tease her.
I got up slowly and dressed. My headache settled into a dull heaviness, and mostly I mourned my missing necklace. As much as I’d adored it before, now that it was gone, it was ten times more desirable. I felt as aggrieved as if I’d spent every cent I had on it and not as though it had been handed to me in a trinket shop in an Egyptian bazaar.
Kyla hovered at my elbow as I made my way down the flight of stairs to the ship’s lobby. My head gave a little throb with every step, but I decided it wasn’t too bad overall. Half our group was already present, and the other half was slowly streaming in.
“I can’t believe you’re up already,” said DJ heartily and much too loudly. I winced a little. “Your head must be as hard as a rock.”
“You can’t possibly be going on the tour this morning,” said Nimmi, critically running her eyes over my pale face. “You don’t look at all well.”
Just what a girl loves to hear. I always wondered why people think it’s okay to tell someone they look like crap. If they were feeling bad, it certainly did not make them feel better. And if they were feeling fine, what a slap. I suppose it was a backhanded way of expressing concern.
“Of course I’m going,” I said firmly.
Flora and Fiona toddled in together. Flora’s shirt was on inside out.
“How are you feeling today, sweetie?” asked Fiona.
“Fine, thank you,” I answered as cheerfully as possible.
“I’m so glad to hear it. Dreadful thing. Just dreadful.”
They wandered off toward the ladies’ room, and I overheard Flora asking, “Has she been ill?”
Kyla caught my gaze and rolled her eyes. I suppressed a giggle.
* * *
Our last full day for sightseeing had come at last. Somehow it seemed like a very long time since we had stepped off the plane in Cairo, excited and happy. Tomorrow we would pack up and fly back to Cairo, then spend an afternoon in the bazaar before catching our flight back to the States. Today, however, was the true grand finale. Deir el-Bahari and Karnak. The words themselves echoed in the mind like a single violin string plucked in an empty hall.
We walked up the steep ramp from the dock to the street above and climbed on board our bus. As always, Achmed waited for us beside the open door, eager to offer a smile or a steadying hand. The group, or most of us anyway, displayed various stages of travel fatigue. Kyla still looked perfect. The ship’s laundry must have starched even her jeans, and she looked as fresh and crisp as the day we’d started. I’d yet to see her wear the same outfit twice. On the other hand, my jeans were on their third wearing and my t-shirt had the deep wrinkles that only come from days of being rolled and squashed in the bottom of a suitcase. I wore my light blue windbreaker more to hide the state of my shirt than to ward off the chill of the morning air.