Isadora tilted her head. “You are mistaken. It was on the floor, right by the nightstand.” She pointed to said nightstand where the teacup, now empty, stood. “The water dripped right onto it, I’m afraid.”
Then she turned to me and asked, “Well? How did it go?”
To Whit’s credit, when he recounted our adventure at the bank, he didn’t accuse her of warning our mother away from going inside.
“What happens now that we have the address?” Isadora asked.
“We head there directly,” I said. “Now, if possible. Because someone alerted Mamá to our presence earlier, she might take refuge at this address, hiding herself away, thinking she’s safe.”
“Then we are to confront her,” Isadora said, her face pale and miserable. “Today.”
“Before she disappears again,” Whit said.
I reached for her hand, hoping the gesture might give her courage and comfort.
We dressed for the outing; Isadora borrowed a darker-hued dress from me, and I put on my widow disguise. Whit donned a gray shirt, the smudgy color reminding me of one of my charcoal pencils. My stomach rumbled, and I realized it had been hours since I’d last eaten. I looked longingly toward the hotel’s dining room entrance as we exited the lobby. But there was no time—I sensed my mother wouldn’t stay in one place for long.
Whit hired a carriage, and the three of us climbed inside, Isadora and I squished on one side, him on the other. Pressure gathered along my shoulders, and I tried to steady my breathing. The last time I’d seen my mother, she was in a small boat, sailing away from Philae with all of the artifacts I had personally given her for safekeeping.
Those same artifacts would pass through the gate, never to be seen in Egypt again, if we didn’t locate where she had hidden them.
“Are we knocking on the front door?” Isadora asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. “What exactly is the plan?”
“We break in,” Whit and I said at the exact same time.
He shot me a smile, which I ignored, and then addressed Isadora. “If we knock, we alert her to our presence, and she has time to make her escape.”
“Of course,” Isadora said, flushing. “I wasn’t thinking.”
My sister fidgeted in her seat, clasping and unclasping her hands. It occurred to me that she’d be dreading this moment, when I was looking forward it. She had only recently learned of our mother’s involvement, while I had experienced it firsthand. Her composure had completely deserted her.
“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked gently.
“Back home in London, right before Papa and I left for Egypt. She sent us off,” Isadora breathed. “I never thought I’d see herhere. She would pick us up at the docks, like she promised.”
“You said they’re always in each other’s company,” Whit said softly.
I looked at him, furrowing my brow. I hadn’t heard her say such a thing. I was about to object to his pointed question when Isadora beat me to it.
“Of course they don’t spend every waking moment together,” she said, exasperated. “I was trying to make a point about the depth of their commitment.”
Whit flattened his mouth and looked away. He sat the rest of the way in contemplative silence. No one else spoke; I was locked inside my own thoughts, my nerves governing the slam of my pulse against my throat.
I wassoclose to finding her.
While inside her accommodations, we’d find everything needed to complete our case against her. There would be some trail of her trying to fence the relics, addresses and phone numbers of potential buyers, and damning correspondence from her subordinates.
Soon, I’d have the truth about my father and what she did to him.
I hadn’t lost hope that he was alive somewhere in Egypt. Holding on to survival by a thread, locked up somewhere.
If he was alive, I would rescue him.
If he was dead, I would bury him.
Either way, I would know the truth.
The driver pulled up to a plain residence, its only adornment an iron gate that opened up to a narrow path. At the end were steps leading up to an equally plain wooden door. It did not seem like the kind of place my mother would live in. Where was the garden? Potted flowers? She loved all things green, but this place reminded me of the desert. Tawny-colored stone, austere but functional design. There was no elaborate knocker to greet us. Not that we would have used it, but I kept remembering the golden lion we had at home, roaring at anyone who dared to visit. Mamá loved her luxuries. Even on Philae, she insisted on bringing rugs and furniture, mirrors, porcelain washbasins, and the finest bedding made of Egyptian cotton.
