Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) (31 page)

“I don’t know what one is, either, but they think you do and, what’s more, they think you have the one they want,” he growled. “And they kept hitting me to get me to tell them where it was. Is.”

I glared at Stackville. “I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about. What golden canopic jar? Which golden canopic jar? What in the world is a canopic jar? Whatever it is, I don’t have it, and if you’d asked me instead of burgling my rooms, I’d have told you so.”

Stackville only glared back at me.

Bartholomew groaned some more, probably because Dr. Weatherfield was working on his leg. I glanced at him for a mere second, discovered the doctor had scissored his pants leg off at the thigh so he could get at the wound, and quickly glanced away again. I didn’t care to see any more of Mr. Bartholomew than I had to.

A shaky voice said, “I think I know what they’re talking about.”

We all turned to stare in amazement at Harold, who was white as table salt and looking shaky. “Do you remember that golden urn I bought at the souk when we were shopping in Cairo?”

“Um . . . Oh, yes! I remember now. But you called it an urn.”

“Evidently, the correct term for such a thing is a canopic jar,” whispered Harold, who clearly didn’t take the notion of shooting people, even if only in the leg, lightly.

“Well, for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t anyone tell us that?” I turned on Stackville once more. “You idiots! Even I’d known what you were after, I wasn’t the one who had the thing. It was Harold who had it!”

“They thought he bought it for you,” said Sam. I was sorry the doctor hadn’t seen to his cuts and bruises first and left Bartholomew to fester, but I guess doctors have to abide by some kind of code, so he tended to the more grievously wounded party first.

“But they searched my room before he even bought the thing!”

“They were looking for a place to hide it once they got it. That’s what these fellows do, you know. They have innocent tourists smuggle things back to England in their luggage.”

“Good grief. You’re truly a villainous trio, aren’t you?” I glared at Stackville, Bartholomew and Futrelle. Neither Stackville nor Futrelle seemed the least little bit ashamed of himself. Bartholomew was too busy being in pain to glance at me. I heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Harold bought that thing for Del, not for me,” I said, disgusted with pretty much all men at that moment. “For heaven’s sake, what would I do with a golden canopic jar? Put it in the china cabinet? Maybe Aunt Vi could use it as a gravy boat. Besides that, if they were going to hide it in my luggage, why didn’t they just leave us alone after Harold bought it?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess their plans changed. You two didn’t stay in Egypt long enough to suit their purposes. They’d have had stashed a lot of other stolen artifacts with you if you’d done what you’d said you were going to do and taken the Nile cruise. Then, when you scooted out of Egypt before they were prepared for your departure, they wanted to get the canopic jar back.”

“Why didn’t they search Harold’s room, then? He was the one who bought the stupid thing.”

“They thought you were brother and sister, and that you were both rich and that Harold had bought it for you because you were grieving.”

“I am grieving. And Harold’s no more my brother than you are.
And why didn’t they search Harold’s room after they didn’t find the stupid thing in mine?”

“They didn’t have time because you two left Egypt too soon.”

Then I noticed that things had come to a standstill in the Turkish police office and that everyone was staring at me. Oops. Guess I’d said too much. How typical of me.

“You aren’t brother and sister?” DCI Miller asked.

“We thought it would be better to pretend we were brother and sister so people wouldn’t get the wrong idea,” I said, feeling stupid.

“Let me see if I have this right,” said DCI Miller in an icy voice. “You recently lost your husband, and now you’re traveling to foreign parts with a man unrelated to you?”

“They’re just friends,” Sam said grouchily. “Have been for years. Nothing’s going on between them.”

“I have never heard of such a thing in my life.” DCI Miller said. I could tell he was dreadfully offended by our breach of what he considered etiquette.

As for me, I’d taken about all I aimed to take from the snippy copper. For the second time that day, I let rip at DCI Miller. “You have absolutely nothing to say about anything Harold or I do, and you can keep your antiquated opinions to yourself! We saved the day, let me remind you, and you have your cursed gang of cursed antiquities thieves. So just stuff that in your pipe and smoke it!

DCI Miller, who looked as if he’d like to use a riding crop on me, turned to Sam. “We need to get that canopic jar back.”

Sam, who appeared rather grumpy with the London copper himself, said, “Well, don’t tell me about it. Ask Harold. He’s the one who has the damned thing.”

Harold said, “I have it in my room. Come by this evening and you can take it with my blessings. But don’t come before nine. I need to recover from this day’s work first.”

We left shortly after that, Sam eschewing the doctor’s offer to see to his bumps and bruises. DCI Miller didn’t speak to me again, which was probably wise of him. None of the Turkish police officials spoke to us once, which was probably wise of them. Ali accompanied Sam, Harold and me back to the Sultanahmet Hotel, where Mr. Ozdemir met us with much hand-wringing and congratulations. I guess word had already got around that we’d perpetrated a daring rescue and captured a gang of sinister European antiquities smugglers.

At the door to my room, Harold gave Ali about a ton and a half of Turkish coins. “For you and your brothers and Ahmet, Ali. We truly appreciate your help.”

If Ali had bowed any lower, his head would have bumped the carpet.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sam was looking pretty dilapidated when we all entered my sitting room. I told him so.

“You look like hell, Sam. You need to have your wounds taken care of before another minute passes.” I turned to Harold. “Do you suppose Doctor Weatherfield has returned to the hotel yet?”

Harold, still ashen and shaky, said, “I don’t know. All I know is that I’m going to my room, and I’m going to lie down. And if you still have that chloral hydrate, you might consider giving it to me as a gift.”

I waved a hand. “It’s all yours.”

“Watch out for that stuff,” said Sam gruffly. “Only take a little bit.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to bathe, take a sip of chloral and lie down. Perhaps later on we can take dinner in the hotel.” Before Sam could object, Harold held up a hand and said, “My treat. We all deserve it, and I won’t allow you to refuse.”

“What’s going to happen to the jar?” I asked, truly interested.

“They can have the cursed thing. I don’t care any longer.”

“Do you suppose they’ll reimburse you for it? You spent a lot of money on that thing.”

“I don’t care. It’s my gift to Egypt, if that’s the way they want to look at it. I’ve lost my taste for Egypt anyhow. I think I’ll get Del a gift from Turkey. They must have lovely treasures in the Grand Bazaar.”

“Oh, good. We didn’t get the opportunity to see the Grand Bazaar yet. Other . . . things intervened.”

“Other things,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Farewell, all. I’ll come to pick you up at seven-thirty, Daisy, and you can either meet us in Daisy’s room or in the dining room, Detective Rotondo. I suppose we’ll have to dine early if we’re to be here at nine when the authorities come to fetch the jar.”

I gave Harold the bottle containing the chloral hydrate
and saw him to the door. The poor fellow was clearly suffering from the day’s events. While I was there, I asked Gaffar, who still stood guard outside my door, if he’d see if Dr. Weatherfield had come back and if so, if he’d be kind enough to come to my room and fix Sam.

Gaffar toddled off, like the good fellow he was, to fetch the doctor, and I closed the door and turned to run my gaze over Sam. “I’m so sorry about all of this Sam. If we’d only know what those villains were after, we could have given them that
wretched jar and it would have been over with.”

“Except the bad guys would have escaped with a rare Egyptian artifact, and that wouldn’t have been good for anybody. Besides, they’d planned to plant more stuff on you. And they might have killed you before the whole thing was over.”

“Good Lord, do you really think so?”

I really didn’t deserve the sour look Sam gave me. “For God’s sake, Daisy, I’m not kidding about those guys being cold-blooded villains.

“But . . .”

“Yes! They’ve killed people before. They were going to kill me, for God’s sake.”

With a heavy sigh, I said, “I guess you’re right. But I’m really sorry they treated you so badly. I sent Gaffar for the doctor, and he’ll get you all fixed up. Then you can go back to your hotel and clean up and come back here for dinner.”

“I don’t need a damned doctor,” Sam snarled. “What I want to know is why you put yourself in danger by coming with the search party today.” He stood and glowered down at me.

“Well, I like that! We save your sorry hide and capture the crooks, and all you can do is scold me for being a party to the action. For your information, Sam Rotondo, I forced Ali to take me. He didn’t want me to come. I made him take me! I wasn’t going to trust the life and health of Billy’s best friend to the hands of strangers.”

Sam ran both hands through his hair, which, I noticed, was splotched with blood in spots. I grimaced. “Did they hit you in the head?”

“For the love of God, Daisy, it doesn’t matter what they did to me. Do you realize you could have been hurt in that melee today? Dammit, you could have been killed!”

“Well, I wasn’t.” I was getting mighty tired of Sam ragging on me about helping to save his life.

“Listen, before he died, Billy asked me to take care of you. Why do you think I came out to this heathen place, anyway? I was trying to take care of you! Even though you seem to do everything in your power to prevent anyone on earth from taking care of you!”

“Darn you, Sam Rotondo, if you aren’t the most aggravating man in the universe, I don’t know who is! Billy would have been proud of me for saving your worthless life, curse it! You were his best friend. He’d have done anything in his power to rescue you, and I was only doing what he’d have done if he’d been here.”

“Damn it, putting yourself in danger isn’t what Billy would have wanted you to do!”

“I wasn’t in danger, curse it! You were the one in danger! Why are you harassing me? For Pete’s sake, everything turned out all right. You don’t have to keep carping at me!”

“Damn it all to hell and back again, you were, too, in danger!”

“I was not! Anyway, why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” Sam roared. “Damn it all, Daisy Majesty, I love you! That’s why I care!”

And we both stood there in the silence that descended upon us like a cloud, staring at each other in utter astonishment.

Fortunately for both of us, a knock came at the door just then. Otherwise, I don’t know what would have happened or how long Sam and I would have gaped at each other, neither of us knowing what to say next.

But . . . Sam loved me? Sam Rotondo, the bane of my existence? Loved me? The bane of his? Good Lord.

I walked to the door rather like an automaton and opened it to find Dr. Weatherfield holding his little black bag and smiling at me. “I understand Detective Rotondo is in your room, Missus Majesty.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice a trifle
hoarse. “He is. Thank you for coming, Doctor.”

“My pleasure. It’s always more satisfying to help a hero than a villain.”

“I’m no hero,” growled Sam.

“Nonsense.” Dr. Weatherfield turned to me. “Missus Majesty, I do believe it’s safe for you to walk about in the hotel unguarded now, so if you wouldn’t mind stepping out for about a half-hour, that would give me time to see to Detective Rotondo’s injuries.”

“Fine. I’ll go look for some postcards at the front desk.” I didn’t glance back as I closed the door, smiled my thanks at Gaffar, and took off down the hall, my mind in a whirl.

Could it have been love that had propelled me to save Sam and driven me nearly mad when I believed he might be in serious trouble? Could there actually be a smidgen of love for the big galoot in my own now-shrunken bosom? I’d always tried to avoid Sam, mainly because he was forever trying to thwart me in my various errands of mercy and so forth. Yet he’d been a true friend to my Billy and, I guess, through Billy, to me. He’d even come to a couple of dog obedience training lessons with Billy and Spike and me.

It had never once, in our entire association, occurred to me that Sam might have a soft spot in his heart for me. Heck, I’d always thought until recently that he didn’t even have a heart, but merely a scab over his liver, as my father used to say of one of his uncles.

As I wandered around the hotel, searching for postcards and not finding any—it was thus I learned that not all hotels are set up in the same way—questions about Sam and me nagged at my brain. In fact the two words together, “Sam and me,” were so incongruous that I had to stop and shake my head every now and then to get them to stay still in there. Anyone watching probably thought I was crazy as a June bug. If they have June bugs in Turkey.