Free A Deadly Cliche by Ellery Adams Page A

information on this man so that by the time you’ve cashed my sizable check, I’ll feel like I’ve known him my whole life,” Olivia directed.
    When the investigator probed her for more explanation, the only response Olivia gave was, “Let’s just say that he’s invited me to make an investment, and before I send him money, I need to learn what kind of man I’d be dealing with.”
    Olivia could tell the PI wasn’t convinced, but he was wise enough not to push the matter. It was an easy, low-risk assignment and would bring in much-needed revenue.
    “I’ll pay you half of your fee up front,” Olivia offered quickly. “But I want your promise that you’ll handle this job yourself. I read about the profiling classes you took and I want your take on this man. No one else’s will suffice.”
    Assurances were given and she was transferred to a secretary who took her credit card number and billing information. Olivia hung up the phone in higher spirits. Hiring the detective had allowed her to regain a sense of control. She folded the letter, tucked it back into its envelope, and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves flanking the stone fireplace.
    After studying the books for several moments, she took down a hardcover called Snow Flower and the Secret Fan and slipped the letter between its pages. Since the novel centered on a series of secret letters written in code on a Japanese fan, Olivia found the book an appropriate hiding place for her troublesome missive.
    She then replenished her empty coffee cup and gave Haviland a kiss on his cool black nose, feeling ready to devote her complete attention to her character’s dilemma. Kamila’s sycophantic aunt had given the young concubine to the pharaoh’s sandal bearer as though she were chattel, when in truth she was an intelligent young woman and a skilled dancer. Told by the other concubines that her only chance to secure a future in the palace was to bear Pharaoh a child, Kamila waited to be called to the king’s bed.
    Olivia had written to the scene where the Living God finally requested Kamila’s presence. She now needed to describe the young woman’s failure to seduce mighty Ramses.
    Kamila had been meticulously prepared for a night of lovemaking with the king. Servants had washed and waxed her, rubbed and oiled her, perfumed her wig, and clothed her in a linen shift so fine that it appeared to have been spun out of filaments of mist.
    One of Pharaoh’s eunuchs came to collect Kamila. The other concubines and lesser wives tittered excitedly as she was led away, but Kamila trembled behind the giant mute as he led her through the cool passageways. Their shadows rippled on the walls and a thousand fears coursed through Kamila’s mind. Would the Living God be gentle or would he pin her down on the sleeping couch, his regal hands encircling her wrists and squeezing, tighter and tighter, as his desire grew? Would her inexperience repulse or delight him? The other girls spoke boldly of Ramses’ skill as an adept lover. Surely the act could not be painful if they wanted to repeat it even after bearing the king a son.
    Ramses was seated on a gilded stool examining a papyrus drawing when Kamila entered the chamber. She prostrated herself before the Lord of the Two Lands but he quickly bade her rise, dismissed the eunuch, and gestured for her to approach his royal person. He was tall and muscular with a firm jaw and a strong nose. His eyes were dark as night in the dim chamber, but he smiled at her kindly and she was finally able to breathe.
    “I have been anxiously awaiting these plans. This is how I shall improve upon the temple of Amun-Re,” he told her, gesturing at the scroll. “Would you like to see?”
    Kamila crept closer to the man, curiosity overwhelming her unease. She forced her gaze from his noble profile to the drawing laid out before him.
    “It is magnificent! The gods will be very pleased!” she declared a trifle too loudly, but Ramses