Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 03 - Cairo Caper Read Free Page B

out from under the hem, pushed a too-large pith helmet resting on the tops of her ears higher on her brow. Lank honey-brown hair drooped below the brim to the nape of her neck. She might have trimmed it herself, possibly with pinking shears.
    “Sorry. I was just agreeing with you. She was quite a… lady.”
    “I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.”
    “This place has that effect on me too,” She extended her right hand. “Fiona Feelgood.”
    “Wendy Darlin.” I shook her hand wondering why I’d shared my name with a stranger. Maybe it was the smattering of friendly freckles on the bridge of her nose or her guileless smile. She looked to be in her early forties, small boned, and perky.
    “Are you from the States?”
    She nodded. “I’m traveling alone. Feeling a little nervous today. You notice the crowds in Tahrir Square?”
    “Might not be the best time to be an American tourist.”
    “Oh, but I’m not a tourist.” She carried a large courier’s bag with a leather strap across her chest. A thief could lift her and the bag in one hand.
    “Archaeologist?” I asked.
    “Oh goodness no. I’m an author. Well, I will be. I’m writing Erotica for Dummies.”
    That just about blew me out of my Ferragamo’s. She struck me as a younger version of an old maid schoolteacher. “Do you have training as a sex-therapist?”
    If she blushed any harder it would have been audible.
    “I’m more like a librarian doing sex research.” She paused. “Actually, I am a librarian doing sex research.” She drew herself up to her full four foot eleven, including boots, and set her jaw. “I’m embarking on a new life.”
    She did a little hop-dance crossing her legs and biting her lower lip. “Do you know if there’s a ladies’ room on this floor?”
    Angry voices reached my ears. I peeked out at the lobby. The number of security guards had doubled and they all had their hands on their side arms. That damn Roger, leaving me out here. If I got killed, the first thing on my to-do list as a ghost would be to haunt him.
    The ever-louder street noises didn’t seem to bother Fiona. Maybe she couldn’t hear them under the pith helmet. But she had a pressing problem. “I have to wee-wee. I know there are some restrooms upstairs but the area isn’t well lit and I’m afraid to go alone.”
    Accompanying a stranger, albeit a tiny female, down a dark hallway was not the smartest move. But as she hopped from one foot to the other, and her eyeballs turned yellow, I figured she was legit. Besides, I could use a potty-stop myself. I trailed her up the staircase looking over my shoulder to be sure we weren’t followed. I patted the schlocky ashtrays in my pockets for reassurance.
    Emergency lights, widely spaced along the corridor, provided an eerie yellow glow. Evidently the power had failed in this part of the building. Staring statues and glaring gods lined the walls.
    A room filled with cat mummies caught my attention. Fiona marched ahead, but I was drawn inside. Cats were considered guardians of the underworld and protectors of those in the afterlife. The dried feline bodies caused a wave of sadness to wash over me.
    I moved to the middle of the room where the weight of a stare on my back caused me to spin around. I locked on to the dark eye holes in the head of a long-necked cat mummy standing next to a wooden cat coffin. The plaque under the cat noted it had been entombed with its master, one of Cleopatra’s guards who had been slain protecting her in the early days of her reign. A tear ran down my cheek. I shook my head to break the strange connection I felt with the tiny figure.
    “Wendy!”
    Fiona’s shrill voice snapped me out of my mystic fog. She was standing cross-legged in the doorway, frantically beckoning to me.
    Before I could move, a cat brushed my ankle. I jumped and looked down. No cat there. As crazy as it seemed I swiveled my head toward the cat mummy. I could have sworn it winked. My imagination was