I stared at him dumbly. “What are you doing here, sir?”
“I brought him.” Farida, my cousin Amaranta, and even Tía Lorena were huddled by two men—whom I’d never seen before—carrying pistols. Both were pointed at my mother, who was busily mopping up her shirt, scowling at my husband.
“I threw lemonade at her,” Whit said by way of explanation.
“Lemonade?” I repeated.
“I thought it would irritate her the most,” Whit said. “Though you ought to be thankful I wasn’t carrying ascalding cup of tea, Lourdes.”
“Why did you have lemonade? Why is my family here? And Farida? And Monsieur Maspero? I’m so confused.” I rubbed my forehead. “I feel as if I’ve missed something critical.”
“Whit wrote me a telegram,” Farida said, “telling me to inform Monsieur Maspero that if he wanted to know the true culprit behind Cleopatra’s missing cache, then he’d better come to Alexandria. So of course, I set off to the department office, and by then, I had developed all of the photos from the auction we attended.” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a thick envelope. “We got here as fast as we could.”
“So I have come,” Monsieur Maspero said. He smiled ruefully. “I didn’t realize that I would be escorting all these very”—he scrunched his brow—“charmantwomen.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. No one living would ever describe Amaranta as charming.
“I had to bring the photographs,” Farida said defensively.
“And I,” Amaranta said coolly, “would not dream of missing seeing Lourdes arrested.”
Tía Lorena coldly stared at her brother’s wife. “Neither would I.”
Whit and I exchanged a look. His seemed to ask,Are you going to tell her about Cayo?To which I mutely replied,Not today.
He nodded in agreement. He smiled at me, slow and tender, as conversation erupted loudly, my aunt yelling at my mother, Amaranta and Farida talking animatedly to Monsieur Maspero, who looked at them dazedly. He had probably never been addressed by two women so forcibly and sternly.
One voice rose above the din.
“This is ridiculous!” Mamá exclaimed. “You have no proof.”
Farida pulled out the photographs from within the envelope and flipped through them before triumphantly holding one up for everyone to see. We all crowded around her to get a better look—save for the two men who still had their weapons trained on my mother.
It was a photo taken on Philae of Mamá sitting alone at a makeshift desk, completely oblivious to someone standing behind her practicing taking pictures with a portable camera. In the picture, Mamá was holding a square-shaped card.
An invitation to Tradesman’s Gate.
Addressed personally to her.
WHIT
Maspero’s men dragged Lourdes to the carriage. Inez stared determinedly in the opposite direction, her jawline tight, but her bottom lip quivered, betraying her grief. Lourdes looked at her daughter, as if willing to impart one last blow, but I moved to block the sight of my wife from her gaze. I wantedmyface to be the last one she saw before being hauled away.
I held out my hand to help her climb inside.
“So gallant,” she said mockingly.
But she clasped my palm, and as she took a step forward, she muttered, “Reach into my front jacket pocket.”
I blinked and did as she asked. My fingers found parchment, rolled tightly and held together by a satin ribbon. I pulled it out and immediately transferred it to my own pocket.
“Is this—” I breathed, my heart pounding wildly. “Why give it to me?”
“Let’s call it Inez’s dowry,” she said. “Look after her.” Lourdes climbed into the carriage and settled onto the plush seat, her guards climbing in after her and settling on the opposite bench. She glared at them before dropping her gaze to her lap.
Monsieur Maspero slammed the door, calling up to the driver, “I will follow in another carriage.” Then he turned to face me, his brows rising slightly. “What did she say to you?”
The roll of parchment burned in my pocket. “Inanities.”
