Nightmare in Morocco, page 14
He shook his head. “Sorry. I left them back in my room. Do you want me to go up and get them?”
“No, I’ll just get mine.”
Taber rose to accompany her, but Wendell stopped him. “You stay, Taber. I want to talk to you.”
When Noa, keys in hand, returned to the lobby, she stopped to glance into the dining room, but both Wendell and Taber were gone. She looked around for them, but they were nowhere in sight.
The setting sun threw slanted rays against the glass doors of the hotel. The harsh glare caused Noa to shield her eyes. Traffic upon the busy street seemed worse than it had been this afternoon. Sure that the way was clear, Noa hurried across the street to where the bus was parked.
Upon the fifth seat, she discovered Belda’s leather bag. She took a quick glance inside. She still would not put it past Johnny to pilfer a few bills and credit cards. Satisfied that no one had rummaged through its contents, Noa shouldered the bag, locked the bus and stood waiting for the traffic to clear.
The steady stream of cars was interrupted by a short break in traffic. With quick steps, Noa started across the street.
Noa had reached the center of the road when a white car turned the corner and recklessly speeded toward her. Instinctively, Noa jumped back. Breathless from her narrow escape, she raced to get out of the street.
Noa heard the squeal of tires behind her as the car made a sudden lunge to the right. Once again, it headed straight toward her! Noa caught a glimpse of the driver. The sight made her blood freeze in her veins. Behind the wheel bent a dark figure swathed in scarf and hooded burnoose.
Tires spun as wheels scraped the edge of the street. A single scream tore from Noa’s throat as the car jumped the curb and lurched toward her. She took another step backward, stumbling as her heel struck a rough place in the pavement. She was losing her balance, falling. She could see the bright chrome, the dirty edges of hot, spinning wheels only inches away. She would be crushed beneath them!
“Noa!” Taber’s voice rang out harshly. His arms thrust her forward, ahead of him, away from danger. Behind them, Noa heard an angry squeal of tires being turned back across the curb into the road. She got a fleeting glimpse of the car careening in and out of traffic.
Noa clung to Taber. His arms gathered her closer. She was grateful for their strength, knowing her shaking legs would not have supported her.
“Did you see what happened?” she sobbed. “Someone tried to kill me!”
He pulled her even closer. “Did you see who was behind the wheel?”
“No.” Noa thought of the figure swathed in heavy disguise and cried against his shoulder.
“Let’s get you back inside,” he said gently.
A crowd had gathered at the hotel entrance. Inside curious faces pressed against the glass window. Noa heard Taber telling them that it was nothing, a reckless driver had lost control turning the corner and ran up on the curb. No harm done. Noa listened to his calm voice, his careful explanations. Had he believed Noa when she had told him that someone had tried to run her down? Or had he attributed her words to the shock of her close brush with death?
The crowd slowly began dispersing. As they cleared, Noa recognized Moulay Aziz standing in the doorway. He stood very still and rigid, his dark robe blowing with the movement of wind.
Slowly, small, feverishly bright eyes found them. They seemed to look at Taber and her simultaneously as he moved toward them. It was Noa he addressed. “I saw the whole thing,” he said, his English a little more broken than usual. “This…what happened…was no accident. Someone deliberately tried to murder you.” As his glance shifted to Taber, the slightly out of focus eyes seemed to fill with accusation. “I wish to speak with the police.”
“Of course. I’ll go with you. Noa, you just wait here. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
Noa felt the weight of Belda’s purse, which still clung by its wide leather straps to her shoulder. She examined it for damage. The large, white leather purse that had almost cost her her life seemed unscathed by the incident.
A sick, queasy feeling began in Noa’s stomach as she suddenly remembered how Cathy had sent her out there for the purse. Had she used the purse as bait, a lure to get Noa to cross the busy street? Had Cathy been behind the wheel of that car, trying to run her down?
Noa felt a sense of shock. Could the girl hate her that much? The answer was painfully clear. Cathy had always stolen for profit, and now she was willing to kill! Without Noa, Mike’s entire fortune, because Noa had no will, would be legally transferred to her next of kin, to Cathy, to spend on clothes, men, whatever she wanted.
That was what this whole thing had been about all along. Cathy, so greedy and impatient, wanted Mike’s money to spend now. The series of robberies, even the theft of Belda’s jewel were only a sideline, a carefully set up scheme so that when Noa was killed it would look like she had been the victim of some professional jewel thief.
Noa remembered the loosened pillar at the ruins. The “accident” had not been meant for Belda at all, but for her. Someone, maybe Johnny, was helping Cathy. She surely must have an accomplice. But even if she did, even if someone else had been behind the wheel, the planning of Noa’s “accident” could have originated with no one but Cathy. Only Cathy would benefit from Noa’s death!
Chapter Twelve
Usually Noa carried on with her job automatically whether she felt like it or not. She prodded herself to rise, take hold of the overhead luggage rack to steady herself, adjust the microphone and speak. That wasn’t anything she hadn’t done hundreds of time before. But right now she couldn’t bear facing the thirteen people who sat behind her. Rising would mean looking directly at Cathy.
Taber, who could usually be counted on to interpret her needs and to fill in for her, today stared grimly from the window. Although the seat beside her had been empty, he had sat across the aisle. He avoided looking at her and she, too, avoided giving him any obvious attention. Yet she was aware of the frown cut deeply between very dark eyes and the tension in the set of his jaw.
Once more she decided to rise. Once more she remained stiff and immobile. Her mouth felt unnaturally dry and no adequate sentences formed in her mind. She glanced back over her shoulder at the thirteen.
Milton Ward sat rigidly beside Belda, as if he were a general about ready to face battle. Greg, so close to Cathy and the group of the girls in the back, was not, as he usually was, joking with them. Noa’s eyes had skimmed past Cathy to Marie Landos. She did not allow them to return to her niece.
Marie, for the first time since the tour had begun, had relinquished her seat as chairman of the back of the bus to gaze distraughtly from a center window at the clusters of mud houses, the exact color of the rolling terrain. In front of her, Moulay, eyes firmly closed, was meditating. Had they all taken their mood of heaviness and gloom from Taber and her? Or was it simply that no one wanted to return to Fez?
Wendell had been in the dining room when she had gone down at six. He had started at once for Fez, was probably there by now. She envied his enjoying the comfort of the lush hotel scheduled for tonight’s stay.
Eventually Johnny Ramos must have decided to extend his duty as bus driver and became tour guide also. He reached for the microphone and started talking about olive trees and almond trees. He had just replaced the microphone, when hit by another rush of inspiration, scooped it up again. “See up ahead,” Johnny said, with his not quite correct English pronunciation. “A stork is nesting on the minaret.”
As they drew closer, he pulled the bus to a stop so they could observe the high tower, see the stork’s nest square in the center, the bird immobile, as if waiting for them to take pictures. Only Belda complied, snapping a shot from the window.
All during the endless drive back to Fez, Johnny Ramos personally saw to it that the tour was not cheated out of precious information. For this Noa felt grateful and was glad she had not fired him.
They arrived in Fez later than had been scheduled. They settled themselves into the Atlas Hotel, very close to the battered old wall that separated the modern city from the old town.
Noa’s theories now had to be proven. Noa wanted to lose no time going into the medina and checking the fountain for the rock used in the beating of Wendell Carlson. It somehow seemed necessary that she get there before someone else did. By the time she had everyone checked into their rooms and had gone over the details of tomorrow’s tour of the Royal Palace, it had grown very late. The sky showed the first signs of darkness.
The three entrances to the gate of the medina looked even more like large keyholes in the waning light. She crowded past several tourists, who bargained with a man whose arms were strung with bracelets of plated silver, and started following the medina wall. The dimness magnified its corrosion. The layer of stucco that remained was badly cracked and spattered with the dirt of ages. Ahead a decorative tower caught the last rays of sunlight and glimmered a silverish blue.
To quell her fears, Noa walked briskly, and forced her eyes not to dwell on the gaping doorways and windows, especially not on the wide open shops, grown obscure with shadows.
The path narrowed and seemed to become suddenly deserted, except for an old man in a soiled and torn robe, who emitted a mournful wail. The rising and falling of his voice did not sound like the chanting of Moulay on the bus, but it was no doubt a prayer. It grew higher and more pitiful as she caught up with him. Noa had started to slip around him before she noticed his cane and heard above his chanting the tap of it on the cobblestones.
Appalled by his raggedness, his blindness, she shrank against the wall as she passed him. She had started quickly away, when she felt drawn back by a rush of pity at his blind wonderings, the cruel harshness of his life. She stopped, dug in her red tour bag with the golden letters Carlson Rand Tours for the few bills she had at the last minute decided to take along. She took a few reluctant steps back and gave him the money.
The volume of his wail increased, startling her. His white, unseeing eyes made her flinch. A talon hand reached out for her.
The thin, veined fingers of the grasping hand were exactly like the ones in her nightmares! Feeling like a little child again, she couldn’t stop herself from running. Tall buildings on either side seem to close in on her; became narrower. Had she tried she could have touched both sides of them.
Soon Noa reached the steps and below them the winding maze of paths. She had to be careful that she selected the one that led to the fountain. The thought of the open square where light would still filter through, brightened her spirits.
Upon reaching the square, her eyes fell first to Ali Balsam’s store, closed for the night, the huge doors solidly locked and barred. She hesitated, hearing the loud sound of splashing water in the surrounding quietness.
Nervously, she approached the fountain. Awkward fingers removed and replaced several of the loose stones until the sound of footsteps caused her to draw back.
A lone man wearing a shapeless, gray djellaba entered the square. His head was bent, hood dropping forward, concealing his features. He was short and squat of build. This was not a form she recognized. She leaned over and pretended to be drinking, aware of the uneven sound of his step. The skirt of the djellaba dragged against the walkway as he moved by her.
The minute he was out of sight, Noa worked to ease the rock at the base of the column from its setting. Once in her hand she drew in her breath. Even in the diming light, she could make out the darkish stain of Wendell’s blood. She had been right! At least now she had in her possession the weapon. Would it contain Cathy’s fingerprints?
She handled the stone with great care, almost as if it were alive. She must be careful to preserve the fingerprints or any other evidence that the rock might reveal.
Footsteps again. She straightened up quickly and saw that it was only the blind beggar. She had nothing to fear from him. Noa waited, listening to the uncertain clacking of his cane. He started to pass by her, but suddenly stopped, head tilted, blind eyes staring up into the darkening sky. He resumed his chanting, this time more of a pleading prayer to Allah. He knew she was there. Unseeing eyes tried to locate her. Noa made no motion, continued to hold the stone until he started to move on again, then she placed the rock into the tour bag she had brought along for the purpose.
As she straightened up again, her eye caught a glimpse of white from the empty hole where the stone had set. She ran her hand into the opening, feeling the smoothness of cloth. Once in her hand, she determined it was a simple, white handkerchief, but something was wrapped inside it. She carefully unfolded it. Belda’s emerald ring glowed against the white cloth!
Noa gasped. She hadn’t expected to ever see this ring again. He mind leaped for answers. Cathy must have been afraid of being caught with the jewel on her, so she had just stuffed the precious ring behind the rock she had then put back in the column of the fountain. Even though she was plotting to inherit a fortune upon Noa’s death, Cathy still intended after the investigation had died down, to return for this additional gain!
With shaking fingers Noa took the chain holding the Hand of Fatimah charm from around her neck and threaded the ring unto it. Even in the stifling heat, her fingers were icy cold, barely able to perform the task. She paused a moment to press the jewel tight against her skin and cover it by the folds of her blouse.
This accomplished she lifted the bag and begin walking in the direction of the gate. A figure stepped out into the pathway and blocked her way.
A cold, dead expression filled the enormous spaces of Cathy’s eyes as she faced Noa. Noa gripped the bag tightly. She could not bring herself to move or speak.
*
Resentment the girl had tried to kill her, had very nearly succeeded mixed with a deep sadness, overcoming Noa’s desire to strike out at her. Lines from Mike’s letter arose, “Still, she’s my little girl. I love her.” She could perhaps for Mike…
“I know exactly what you’ve been doing,” Noa said in a level tone. “But I’m willing to forget it and let you go back to New York.”
“I can’t go back to New York!” Cathy’s voice rose irrationally.
Intending to calm her, Noa took a step closer.
“You don’t know anything!” Cathy yelled. She sprinted forward, knocking Noa aside, and began running to the right. She past Ali Balsam’s store and disappeared into the dark maze of small passageways.
Noa had prepared herself for an attack. She had certainly not expected the girl to just run away. Noa entered the square again, paused a moment beside the fountain to collect herself, then entered the alleyway. High buildings and blackened doorways, but no sign of Cathy.
She could be hiding anywhere, just waiting for Noa to enter. With hearing as alert as the blind man’s she had seen, Noa moved forward. “Cathy!”
The darkness was so thick Noa could not see the ground. She felt jolted by the uneven rocks beneath her feet. She should just go back. It would be so easy to become lost in these twisting walkways, just as she had been lost here when Taber had found her.
Noa made certain she kept a straight course. After what seemed like ages, she found herself facing a great, wooden gate that at night was used to close off part of the medina. Memories assailed her, the pain of small fist beating against very high doors; she as a child thinking that safety must surely lie just beyond the locked gates!
Her eyes skimmed the area she had just walked through. She must have passed Cathy concealed somewhere, in one of the arched doorways or behind some still hanging displays. Noa started back the way she had come, eyes more accustomed now to the lack of light.
“Noa!”
Noa whirled back. From this distance Cathy seemed only a shadow, a shade darker than the gate behind her. Noa could not make out her features the insanity, the hatred that they must reveal.
“I thought you’d go back to the hotel,” Cathy said.
Noa stepped closer to her. “I’m not trying to cheat you out of your inheritance. Mike knew I’d be fair with you. I want you to trust him and me.”
She was close enough now to see Cathy’s features. She was surprised by the emotion she read in them. Cathy was staring past her. Noa turned to see what it was that caused such fear. As she did, Cathy darted around her and bolted into the nearest alleyway.
Noa could hardly believe it! Cathy had run away again! No use following her this time, she decided, looking down the winding pathway. She would only get lost herself. She must return the way she had come while she still knew the direction of the fountain. Noa’s feet falling against the rocks seemed to echo in the great stillness. Or was someone walking behind her?
What game was Cathy playing? Was she trying to wear her down, attack Noa when she least expected it?
She stopped and her eyes strained for some movement. When she detected none, she started on again. In her haste the tour bag banged against a stand where old brass pots were stacked. They clanged together as they struck the ground.
The walk back seemed much longer, the steps up and down more laborious. At last she saw the square lit by a single bulb gleaming dimly above the fountain.
Noa stopped for a moment beside the fountain to catch her breath. Not much further now back to the hotel!
Footsteps, steady and heavy, were coming from the path she had just left. Cathy, like last time, must have followed her. Noa dropped the tour bag and prepared herself for whatever was to come.
The form that appeared wore a dark djellaba, but the hood was tossed back and revealed his face to her.
Greg did not look like the boyish college student from New Jersey, but then, of course, he wasn’t. His features exposed by the lone light above the fountain, were singularly cruel. The narrowed eyes reflected the glint from the bulb as he said, “I’ll take the ring.”
