Page 67 of The Stolen Queen
The cabbie stared at them in the rearview mirror before nudging the gear shift into drive. “You wives of archaeologists?”
“No,” answered Charlotte. “Why would you think that?”
“All the foreign archaeologists stay at the Winter Palace. When their wives visit, they stay there as well.”
Annie couldn’t help herself. “She’s not a wife, sheisan archaeologist. A curator for the Met Museum’s Egyptian collection, in fact. In New York City.”
Charlotte gave Annie a curt shake of the head.
“Ah, I see. Good for you, then.” The driver didn’t speak for the rest of the trip.
Annie settled into her seat, amazed she was over five thousand miles from New York. Her queasiness began to wear off as a dry wind blew through the open windows. They passed fields green with clover before entering the city, situated alongside the eastern edge of the Nile. Somewhere nearby was the Valley of the Kings, where King Tut was discovered.
“Thank you for agreeing to let me stay,” she said. “I’m ready to help out.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything. I may dump you at the airport tomorrow. And I’m not sure you’re qualified to do much of anything.” Charlotte fiddled with the crank for the window. “Do I remember you telling me you cleaned toilets before working for Diana Vreeland?”
“I worked as a maid, yes. But I’ve been taking care of myself and my mother for the past decade or so. She’s—ill.” It wasn’t exactly untrue.
Charlotte looked at Annie square in the face for the first time since they’d landed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She’s better now. Which is why I’m ready to try new things.” Likefind whoever stole the Cerulean Queen and clear her name, and Billy’s. But Annie didn’t say that part out loud.
“As I said. We’ll see how it goes.”
The Winter Palace, located right on the Nile, exuded a nineteenth-century charm and was where Agatha Christie pennedDeath on the Nile, according to Annie’s guidebook. The hotel’s cavernous lobby looked out onto a beautifully manicured garden and a large pool.
A woman wearing a headscarf and a badge that read “Fatima” welcomed them from behind the check-in desk. “How may I help you?”
“I’m checking in, and we’ll need another room as well.” Charlotte gave their names and handed over their passports. The clerk checked the hotel registry and studied the documentation, taking her time leafing through Charlotte’s passport and then Annie’s, comparing their faces against the photographs. Annie could feel her eyelids getting heavy, and wanted nothing more than to take a long nap.
“You are from New York?” asked Fatima.
Charlotte nodded, and Fatima made a note in the registry.
“What do you do there?”
“I work at the Met Museum, Annie was recently employed there.”
“Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” said Charlotte. “Seeing the sights.”
“How lovely. We have many sights to see. Have you been to Egypt before?” The clerk didn’t seem to understand that the last thing they were interested in was chitchat.
“Yes, many years ago,” answered Charlotte.
Finally, they were handed two sets of keys for adjoining rooms, and the bellman rushed over to take their bags.
“Enjoy your stay,” said the clerk. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please reach out.”
Charlotte gave Annie a room key and told her to get some rest. Outside Annie’s window, the Nile lazed by on the other side of a street where old cars whizzed by donkeys pulling carts. On the sidewalk, a pack of skinny dogs sat panting in the midday heat under a palm tree. The air was suddenly filled with a rhythmic chanting, which Annie assumed must be the call to prayer. The guidebook had said to expect it five times a day, that observant Muslims would head to the nearest mosque or roll out a small rug at the sound of the call.
She had no sooner lain down on the lumpy bed and closed her eyes than she heard a very soft click, like someone was closing a door very carefully. Annie looked out the peephole of her door just in time to catch Charlotte walking by. She opened her hotel room door and stuck her head out into the hallway. “Charlotte?”
Charlotte jumped at the sound of Annie’s voice, and her face was red when she turned around. She was obviously trying to ditch her. While every fiber of Annie’s being wished to go back and crawl under the sheets to sleep off the fog of jet lag, if she didn’t tag along, the only view of Egypt Annie would get was of the inside of her own hotel room. If she was going to clear her name, she’d have to make the effort.
“I’ll come with you,” she said brightly.