Nightmare in Morocco, page 3
*
When Noa returned to the apartment the following day, her first alarmed impression was that a stranger had slipped in and made herself at home in front of the television set. Another startled glance told her that it was Cathy.
“Hi.” Noa avoided Cathy’s eyes, avoided looking directly at the stiff, bold streaks of platinum that ran through the once soft, pretty brown hair. “So what do you think? I had it streaked and tipped. The hairdresser says it looks real European.”
“I liked it better the way it was,” Noa said, recovering from her speechlessness.
“It was yuk before! This is the real me,” Cathy turned her head this way and that. She was obviously pleased with the mess they had made of her hair. The bold, bleached stripes of blonde would make heads turn here in New York City; Noa dreaded the impact it would have in the Moroccan villages where few light haired tourists were seen, and where many local women still covered their hair and faces with modest veils.
Impulsively, Cathy grasped Noa’s arm. “Come on. I want you to see my new clothes.”
Noa’s chin dropped at the sight of high, spiky heels, a host of skimpy tops and leather miniskirts, a backless cocktail dress, and to top it off, a pile of chunky, garish golden bangle bracelets.
“This is…all?”
“I could have gotten more if you’d given me more money,” Cathy said, an edge of sulkiness creeping into her voice. “At least Mike wasn’t stingy.”
“I gave you over three hundred dollars! You…you didn’t buy any tennis shoes?”
Cathy held up a pair of fragile, strappy sandals. “I got these instead.”
Noa imagined Cathy meeting the rest of the tour with her New Wave hairdo, dressed in a series of wild, impractical outfits. Why, she’d make a laughingstock of them both! In a flush of anger, Noa wondered if that was what Cathy intended.
“These things will have to go back to the store.”
“Why?”
“They aren’t…appropriate. As I tried to explain to you before, Morocco is a very conservative country. Women just don’t dress this way.”
“I’ll dress any way I want!”
“If you make yourself conspicuous, you’ll draw unwelcome attention to yourself.”
“I don’t care! I like my clothes and I like my new hairdo and I’m not going to change the way I look for anyone or anything!”
“I’m afraid you’ll regret it,” Noa said quietly, but even as she spoke the words, Noa realized she herself was far more likely to be sorry.
*
Noa gripped the railing tightly as the ferry began to land. “What’s wrong?” Cathy’s curious eyes observed her from behind lavender sunglasses the exact color of her skin tight blouse. “Did you get seasick?”
“No, I’m fine.” Noa thought of how ridiculous her fear of returning to Morocco would seem to Cathy, how Cathy would scoff at the sense of dread she was feeling right now. To rid herself of the uneasy sensation, which was settling over her like some dire premonition of doom, Noa filled her thoughts with images of Taber.
She thought of the deep red flowers from him, a little wilted from their long wait, discovered on the doorstep of her small, Spanish style home in Algeciras. During the short time Cathy and she were there, Noa had nursed them back to health with sunshine and water. Every time she looked at them, she thought of Taber’s dark hair and eyes.
The local bus took them to Hotel Tangier, one of the tall, white stucco building which overlooked the famous railway and the sea. As soon as they were settled, Cathy disappeared into the hotel gift shop.
Rattan furniture was scattered informally around a huge, brilliantly tiled lobby. Noa looked around for Taber and finally sank down on a couch facing the door so she could watch the assortment of people in business suits, in shorts, in djellabas with drooping hoods.
A young man approached and after tossing a canvas bag unto the chair across from her, stood reading a pamphlet. He looked fresh and clean, all American, like Huck Finn grown up, glad to be on another adventure. His hair, slightly long, was a very light brown and his eyes kept meeting hers and smiling.
“Are you with the Carlson Rand tour?”
“I’m Noa Parker, tour guide.”
“Count on me to ask obvious questions.” He grinned and added, “The emblem on your blouse matches the one on my flight bag.” He stepped closer, extended his hand in a distinctly American way and said, “Greg Corbin, from New Jersey.”
Cathy would like the black, net shirt that exaggerated his shoulders, but fit tightly across thin waist and hips. He seated himself beside her. “My first time out of the States.”
“My niece is from New York,” Noa volunteered, recognizing in Greg’s voice the same faint, Eastern accent as Cathy’s. Noa was glad the nice appearing man, somewhere near Cathy’s age, was joining the tour. Maybe it would make the trip more interesting for her. Any girl would be certain to find him attractive. “She’s going to be on the tour, too.”
“I hope she’s as pretty as you,” Greg replied.
“There’s Cathy now,” Noa said, pretending not to notice the admiring eyes still fastened on her. Noa called to Cathy, motioning her over. “Cathy, this is Greg Corbin. He’ll be joining us on the tour.”
Greg rose and once again extended his hand.
Noa expected Cathy to act giggly and flirtatious, instead she merely mumbled, “Hi.” Noa noticed how she kept her head down, avoiding the young man’s eyes. Noa was puzzled by her actions; she had never believed Cathy to be shy.
“Can I buy you two ladies a cold drink? We can sit out by the pool.”
Noa glanced at Cathy, who seemed unenthused, but willing. They passed through an adjoining room and into a pool area with fragile white tables no one was using.
“What kind of mixed drinks do you have?” Cathy asked the waiter.
“We’ll both have Cokes,” Noa, undaunted by the hateful look Cathy shot toward her, intervened before the waiter could answer.
Greg continued to direct his conversation to Noa. Cathy slipped on her sunglasses, sipped the Coke, and ignored both of them.
As soon as Cathy finished her drink, she pulled back her chair. “See ya,” she said, and, with what seemed an exaggerated sway of the very tight jeans, sauntered away.
Noa was a little embarrassed by her rudeness, but Greg seemed un-offended. He pulled his chair a little closer. “So would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I hear the food’s good here at the hotel.”
“Me?”
Greg grinned. “Why not? You’re not married, are you?” Surprise made Noa look at him closely for the first time. The laugh lines that crinkled about blue green eyes told her that he was older than she had first believed; definitely more her age than Cathy’s. Noa had been so busy playing matchmaker that she hadn’t realized Greg’s interest was in her. Perhaps she had unknowingly led him to believe she was interested; if so, she would have to discourage him.
“I’m sorry. There’s always so much to do before a new tour.” She rose. “In fact, I should be going “
“I understand,” Greg said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, at the get acquainted meeting.”
“Eight o’clock sharp.” Noa smiled.
Noa went back to her room and was studying tomorrow morning’s itinerary when the hotel phone rang.
“Noa? This is Taber.”
She was relieved and happy to hear his deep voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up tonight.”
“I’ve been on the run most of the day. I’m afraid we’re starting this tour out with a real catastrophe. Of the twenty eight people we had scheduled, fifteen have cancelled out.”
Noa drew in her breath. “How could that be?”
“Our group of retired teachers ate some tainted chicken on their “bon voyage” party. It put most of them in the hospital. They’ll recover, in time, but had to reschedule.”
“Are we going to go ahead with the tour?”
“What else can we do?”
“How many does that leave?”
“I hope you’re not superstitious, Noa. Excluding the guides and bus driver, the addition of your niece Cathy makes a group of thirteen.”
Noa laughed, but deep inside she felt another tinge of foreboding, like a premonition of reoccurring disaster.
“Listen, Noa, we have so much to discuss. If you haven’t eaten yet, why don’t you meet me in the dining room?”
“I was going to skip supper.”
“I could use some company and some consolation!” “Just give me a few minutes to get ready.”
Noa hastily changed into a simple blue cotton dress, pinned her long hair up with a silver clip, and went directly to the dining room. Taber rose quickly when he saw her. The deep maroon jacket made his hair and eyes appear brighter, darker. He was even more handsome than she remembered!
Excitement quickened as his warm hand grasped hers. “I hope you like seafood. I ordered shrimp, the house specialty, for both of us.”
“I wasn’t really planning to have a large dinner…”
“At times like this, food is a great consolation.” A glance at his tall, lean frame caused her to smile. His was certainly not the physique of a man accustomed to drowning his sorrows in food. As if reading her thoughts, he added, “And it’s not as if either of us needs to worry about putting on weight.”
“The trials of the job keeps us fit,” she said lightly. Taber swept a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve spent the entire morning amid the trials you speak of. I’ve had to redo the whole schedule! I believe I must have called every hotel in Morocco, apologizing in four different languages for the change in reservations.” His expression grew serious. “With all the cancellations, this tour is going to be a total loss. Carlson won’t be pleased.”
“We can’t be blamed for an act of fate.”
“Who’s going to tell Carlson that, you or me?”
“He’s not that fierce.”
“Perhaps to you he reveals a different face.”
“I wanted so much for this tour to go well,” Noa confessed.
“How long have you worked for Carlson Rand?”
“It’s been my only interest. I’ve worked in the summer while attending college. Full time since then. My father and Wendell thought of the tour idea together, but Dad’s health was very bad at the time so he never became part of it.”
“I’ve heard all about your father,” Taber said, then added with an ironic smile. “And I suppose you’ve heard all about mine.”
“I only know that he was estranged from the company a short time before his death.”
“Carlson didn’t tell you all the details? I’m glad.” His eyes darkened. “It’s not pretty and it’s not true.”
“What happened between them?”
“Carlson blamed Dad for missing funds.”
Taber said the words casually enough, but Noa did not miss the look of pain, a flash of anger in his eyes. Embezzlement. Such a serious crime. Much worse than Noa had even imagined.
“I entered this job to clear the Rand name,” Taber explained. “Nothing is more important to a Moroccan, or an Englishman, than the family honor.” After a short pause, he added, “I really admire Carlson for hiring me, believing as he does that my father nearly ruined the business. Somehow I feel it’s my responsibility to help him put the tour company back in the same shape it was several years ago.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you know Carlson Rand’s been losing money? That’s why this Moroccan venture is so important. It has to be a success!”
Wendell Carlson had never said anything to Noa about the tour company being in financial trouble. She wanted to pursue it further with Taber, but they were interrupted. Greg Corbin, looking hurt and a little accusing, stood at Noa’s shoulder. “You could have told me you had a dinner date.”
“It’s not an official date, only a business meeting,” Taber replied smoothly, coming to Noa’s rescue.
Greg Corbin brightened. “In that case, mind if I join you?”
“No. Of course not,” Noa carefully hid her disappointment. “Taber, this is Greg Corbin.”
“I recognize the name from our tour list.” He extended a hand to Greg. “Glad you’re joining us, Greg.”
As Greg’s eyes settled on Taber, they became murky, like restless ocean water. Sensing the tension between the two, Noa was glad when the waiter rushed over. “I’ll have whatever they’re having,” Greg said, without looking at him, then to Taber. “Two tour guides?”
“We’re starting a new agenda with Morocco,” Taber answered. “Noa and I are writing the program together.”
“I believe I’ll have a little more tea,” Noa said, her throat suddenly dry. The waiter had disappeared, but to the left of the table, a few steps away, was a large silver teapot. Noa pushed back her chair.
“Here, let me.” Greg started to rise, but Taber got to his feet quickly and, brushing past him, lifted the ornate silver teapot from the tray. He held the spout a great distance from the cup and poured a stream of tea with much flourish, the way Noa had seen the waiters do at the finer cafes. She marveled that he did not spill a drop.
During the meal Taber and Greg talked more to each other than to her. They spoke of the U.S., engineering, and Morocco, in the manner of negotiating enemies trying hard to find common ground. Noa grew more and more silent, resenting the fact that her evening was spoiled by Greg’s intrusion. She was glad when the waiter came with the check.
Taber and Greg reached for the check at the same time, but this time Greg was quicker. “I’ve got it,” he said above Taber protests. As if to impress Noa, Greg continued, “I’m the gatecrasher here. So I insist on paying the bill.”
Greg reached into his suede jacket pocket. Noa saw his face suddenly pale. He moved his hand from pocket to pocket, looking confused and a little embarrassed.
“What’s wrong?”
“My wallet! I’ve been robbed!” For a moment Greg looked stunned, then angry. “I had all my cash in it, over $600.00!”
Chapter Three
“Where did you go after you left your room?” Noa asked Greg. “I came right down here. No, I did stop by the gift shop,” he corrected.
“Was it crowded?”
“Not like it was this afternoon.”
“Did you see anyone suspicious in there?”
“Now that you mention it, I saw one of those Arabs real sneaky looking! You know, the ones who wear those hoods over their heads. He sure looked like a pick pocket, but I know he didn’t get close enough to me to steal my wallet. Besides, Cathy was with me. Surely one of us would have noticed.”
“Cathy was with you?”
“Yes, she saw me from the gift shop window and came in. She wanted my opinion on some earrings. After I left the gift shop, Cathy went back up to her room, and I came down here.”
The mention of Cathy’s name made Noa’s heart settle heavily, just like the silence that fell between them. Mike’s missing coins, the fact that he would never have parted with them, flitted through her mind. The girl had been stealing from Mike, that’s why he had disinherited her! Noa thought of Greg, courteously looking at earrings while Cathy, the person he least suspected, picked his pocket. The thought filled her with a kind of panic.
Noa should never have brought Cathy along! She should have arranged to leave her in Algeciras with friends.
Noa glanced at Taber, who was taking care of the bill. What was she going to do about Cathy now? Her primary allegiance was to her tour group. Perhaps she should search Cathy’s belongings for the money or even confront the girl with her suspicions.
Finally remembering Greg, she turned to him with a flood of questions. “Did you lose your passport? Will the money loss put you in a bind? We could arrange…”
He attempted a grin. “Luckily, that was just my spare cash. All my traveler’s checks for the trip are still in the room. I’m sure glad I left my passport with them.”
Noa’s thoughts once again turned to Cathy so that Greg’s certain, slow paced words startled her. “It couldn’t have been anyone but him.” Eyes, more green than blue, narrowed, stared with anger toward Taber. “You saw the way he brushed against my chair when he went after the tea. I think he picked my pocket! You know, he didn’t have to get up at all. That’s what all these waiters are for. I’ll bet He stole my money!”
Noa’s eyes widened at the preposterousness of Greg’s accusation. “Taber wouldn’t…”
“I think I’ll call security and have him searched.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to accuse him without proof. The best thing to do is talk to the authorities.”
Taber, striding forward, picked up on her last words. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. Noa, I’ll take care of this.” His dark eyes lingered on her before shifting to Greg, “You just come with me and we’ll make a report.” With an angry, sullen look that reminded Noa somehow of Cathy’s, Greg followed Taber.
Noa remained in the dining room. The richness of the tile, the lushness of the plants, had grown as cold as the tea left in her cup. Mike’s death, Cathy, cancellations which made the whole tour unprofitable, and now this robbery! Mike, Cathy, and cancellations she could do nothing about, but concerned about the theft and the effect it might have upon the tour, she decided to make a call to her boss.
Hearing Wendell Carlson’s deep, confident voice, as usual, put her fears in perspective. “There’s pickpockets everywhere, Noa. Carlson Rand didn’t invent them. It’s Corbin’s fault for carrying so much cash. He should know better.” A slight hesitation, “You have the same problem your father always had, you assume too much responsibility. The tour hasn’t even started yet.”
“I have some very bad feelings about this tour.”
“Yes, the cancellations are a blow. You probably don’t like being left with thirteen. Subconscious superstition.”
“I wish that were all it was. What do you know about Taber Rand? I can’t imagine why you would hire your worst enemies’ son.”
