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and hurried away. DJ then walked to another pile, pointed to another piece, and the process started all over.
    “Do you and your sister travel together often?” Alan asked.
    I glanced up at him, surprised to note that his eyes were now on my salesman, rather than on DJ.
    “She’s my cousin, and don’t let her hear you say you thought we were sisters. She doesn’t want to believe we look alike.”
    This was his chance to give me a compliment. Something like, “but you’re so beautiful” or “she should be honored to be compared to you” or even “you shine above her like the stars shine above a streetlight.” Any of those would have been acceptable. But of course he didn’t.
    Instead, he said, “Did you notice anything unusual when we were at Giza?”
    “Apart from the dead body and the police investigation?” I asked without thinking.
    He gave a little smile at that, but went on. “You know what I mean. Just anything you noticed that seemed a little strange. Not anything big—I know you would have said something already if you’d seen anything about the accident. Did you happen to notice anyone strange hanging around Millie? Was she talking to anyone in particular, maybe one of our group…” his voice trailed off.
    I looked at him, puzzled. “What are you saying? Do you think it was more than an accident?”
    He shrugged. “No, of course not. I don’t know what I mean. Never mind.”
    I felt a little deflated. I’d been trying to strike up a conversation with this man for two days now without appearing to be flirting, at least not too obviously, but this wasn’t the conversation I’d had in mind.
    “What do you do for a living?” I asked. It crossed my mind that he might be some sort of policeman or rescue worker, considering the way he’d run to Millie’s side.
    “Oh, I’m a, well, basically I’m a financial analyst,” he stammered. “With a bank. I work at a bank. Wells Fargo.”
    I stared at him, watching the way his eyes slid away from mine like those of a guilty pup confronted with a stained carpet. Whatever else he was, he was not a very good liar. He suddenly focused on something over my right shoulder, and I glanced back to see what had captured his interest. Kyla was bending over a pile of carpets, lifting the corner of the top rug to see one underneath. She looked fabulous, cool and elegant in her open-necked lemon shirt and tan pants. She had a knack of making even the most casual clothing seem sexy, whereas I probably looked and smelled like someone who had been on a camel not too long ago.
    “I’m going to the bus,” I announced, suddenly tired and depressed.
    “I’ll go with you,” he offered with more sincerity in his voice than I would have expected.
    “No, don’t bother,” I said, flatly.
    Surprised, he hesitated, but I hurried off before he could protest, even if he wanted. What the hell was wrong with me? My refusal had been instinctive, a knee-jerk reaction to his lie. I was so tired of hearing lies. But it wouldn’t have hurt me to continue chatting, to maybe flirt a little, to maybe get to know him and figure out what he was hiding. He was interesting and mysterious, and I’d just passed up a chance to spend some private time with him. I was mentally kicking myself before I had gone three paces.
    At the door, I couldn’t help glancing back over my shoulder. To my surprise, Alan was still watching me instead of Kyla. I almost turned back, but just then someone called to him and he looked away. Further back, I could see my creepy salesman had turned his attentions to poor hapless Fiona and was escorting her toward the mysterious back room. I felt a little sorry for her, but not as sorry as I felt for myself. After all, I had only myself to blame.
    *   *   *
    Outside, the afternoon sun was moving toward the western horizon and the winds were dying down. Our driver, Achmed, was standing beside the bus smoking a foul-looking cigarette, but he greeted me