Mummy Dearest by Joan Hess

Author:Joan Hess [Hess, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-03-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

“Good heavens!” said Lord Bledrock, gazing at the body sprawled at his feet. “What will these local workmen think of next? What shall we do? It doesn’t seem proper to simply step over him.”

Peter brushed past me, squatted next to Nabil, and felt his neck. “He’s alive, but his breathing is unsteady and his pulse is erratic. Alexander, help me move him to a bed.”

“Now see here, Rosen,” Lord Bledrock began to bluster. “I’m sure he’s a nice enough chap, but I can’t have him sprawled across my bed. What if he were to die there? I wouldn’t feel at all comfortable with that.”

“Let Abdullah deal with it,” Mrs. McHaver pronounced. “They’re probably cousins or in-laws. There’s no call to inconvenience Neville.”

Magritta came in from the balcony and nearly trampled Shannon King in her haste to reach Nabil’s body. She pushed Peter aside and jabbed Nabil’s back with the ferocity of a woodpecker. When he failed to respond, she bent over his face and peered at it. “He needs a doctor,” she announced. “He may have been poisoned.”

“Or he’s drunk,” Miss Portia said, giggling. “Miss Cordelia once passed out at a luncheon given by Lady Maronmont. There she was, her face in the chicken salad, snuffling like a hound. Lady Maronmont was speechless for days afterward.”

“Poisoned?” said Alexander. “With what?”

Magritta stood up. “I should know? Do I look like a toxicologist?”

“He’s your employee,” Shannon said accusingly, “and therefore your responsibility.”

“I’ll call for a doctor.” Alexander went into an adjoining room.

Peter was silent, his face furrowed with indecision. I knew he was resisting the urge to take charge of the scene and thus risk his cover as a businessman. His jaw was clamped so tightly he was endangering his adorable molars. I slipped my hand in his and whispered, “Shouldn’t you call Mahmoud?”

“No,” he said in an undertone, his lips unmoving. He backed me into a corner and added, “Say that you need to look in on Caron and Inez, then go to the suite. Mahmoud’s number is on a pad by the telephone in our bedroom. If you can’t get through to him, call Bakr.”

“Was Nabil poisoned?” I asked.

“Do I look like a toxicologist?”

“I have no idea, but you’re in danger of looking like a person who’ll be sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

“The lab will run tests,” he said. “Nabil’s color isn’t good, and he has some sort of respiratory difficulty. A heart attack could account for that. Poisoning seems far-fetched. Will you please make the call?”

Despite Lord Bledrock’s assertion that they couldn’t step over the body on the floor, everyone seemed to be finding ways to get to the bar to replenish drinks. Magritta resumed jabbing Nabil’s back, which would be covered with small bruises if he survived. I slipped out the door and hurried down the corridor. I had no more confidence in my ability to make a local call than I did in my ability to make an international one, but Caron or Inez could assist me.

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