“My food?” Amaranta wrinkled her nose, looking down at her full plate. “Who would be interested in seeing that?”
“Some people would,” Farida said, laughing. “Or no one, but it’s a great subject to practice on. It won’t suddenly sprout legs and move off the table.”
The two had become good friends during their daily visits to the prisonto check on Abdullah and Tío Ricardo. Amaranta held the camera in her hands and snapped a photo. Then she glanced in my direction, shifted the camera, and quickly took one of me.
“I wasn’t ready,” I protested.
“I know,” Amaranta said coolly. “It will surely be the most unflattering image captured of you.”
Whit let out a huff of laughter while I glared at my cousin from across the table. I contemplated throwing my glass at her, but it would be a waste of perfectly good wine. I sighed and picked up my fork instead, eager to enjoy this last meal with everyone before we all dispersed in different directions.
“Mr. Whit!” Kareem exclaimed.
My husband turned in his chair to face Kareem where he sat on his other side. “Yes?”
“Abdullah bought me three jars of honey,” he said.
“So, he bribed you,” Whit said, laughing. “Did he say that you could never eat the honey found in any tombs?”
Kareem nodded sagely. “I must not consume ancient relics.”
“A wonderful motto to live by,” Whit said, just as sagely.
Kareem frowned. “What’s a motto?”
“It’s an Italian word meaning—” Porter began.
The door opened, and I opened my mouth to order another bottle of wine, but it was not our server. Monsieur Maspero came in, led by a waiter. At the sight of all of us gathered, he flushed. I didn’t have to examine each person closely to know that none of us looked particularly friendly or inviting.
“Oh,” he said. “Pardon. I didn’t realize—”
“What do you want, sir?” I asked coldly. I would never forgive him for what he’d allowed to happen to my uncle and Abdullah.
He shook his head, cheeks red. “Pardon my interruption. I can see that this is a family”—he broke off, brow furrowing in bemusement at Kareem’s cheeky smile—“a family event. I only came by to let you know what has happened with the Lourdes affair.”
A sudden quiet enveloped us. No more forks and knives clatteringagainst plates, no more soft chatter or the sound of Farida’s camera clicking. Whit’s hand tightened on my thigh.
I inhaled deeply, nerves flittering deep in my belly, and said to the waiter, “Please bring an extra chair.”
Monsieur Maspero stood awkwardly by the table, hands tucked deep into his pockets, as the seat was brought in and placed next to Abdullah.
“Lourdes has given up the location of Cleopatra and the cache entombed with her,” Monsieur Maspero began. My eyes flicked directly to Abdullah’s face. Dismay was etched in every groove across his brow. “She made a deal with Sir Evelyn and has since been removed from prison and placed under house arrest, where she will remain for the rest of her life.”
Whit tensed, gripping the handle of his knife. “And how long will that last before she manages to escape?”
“There will be plenty of guards,” Monsieur Maspero said defensively.
“As if she won’t be able to bribe them,” Tío Ricardo said dismissively. “My sister is a master manipulator and could charm a tree.”
“Perhaps a return to prison is in order,” Abdullah added. “There aren’t so many entry points or opportunities to engage her guards in conversation.”
“I tried,” Monsieur Maspero admitted. “But Sir Evelyn insisted the lady have her comforts after revealing what she knew. But do not worry—I will do everything in my power to make sure an escape is impossible.”
Next to me, Whit seethed in silence. Since my mother’s arrest, we had had long conversations about everything that had happened since the day we met—and about long-kept secrets, his role under my uncle’s employment. I knew he was thinking of when he’d overhead Sir Evelyn hiring a spy to observe my uncle’s and Abdullah’s movements. Up until now, we had narrowed it down to who he might have used.
It might have been my father, acting as Mr. Basil Sterling, or Mr. Fincastle in partnership with my own mother. With Sir Evelyn helping Mamá now, it was clear that he had some understanding with my mother and her lover prior to her arrest. They very well could have approached him with their idea to take the excavation site from my uncle and Abdullah. Or maybe it was Sir Evelyn’s plan all along.
We’d never know for sure. What we did know is that Sir Evelyn now had access to one of the greatest historical finds in this century. One look at Whit’s grim expression told me that he had come to the same conclusion.
