by Diana Renn
“Okay, not dinner. Appetizers. We can go slow.”
“Oh my God, Dad! Forget it! I’m not playing along. And I actually have to go now, because I have a job here. A real job. I’m very, very busy.”
“Zan, wait. Please don’t—”
I hit the End button on the phone. Then I got up and walked over to my mom at the top of the stairwell. She averted her eyes as she took the phone from me.
“Oh, Zan,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he was going to tell you that today. This isn’t the ending I’d hoped for.” She sighed. “Maybe I was wrong to think we could avoid his whole mid-life crisis drama thousands of miles away. We’re all still in crisis. But we’re going to power through this, and we’ll come out stronger on the other side.” She smiled wryly, and reached out to hug me.
I flinched and shrunk away. “Don’t,” I said. “Just. Don’t. Touch. Me.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “Can we at least talk? You might feel better.”
“Jesus, Mom! I don’t want to talk! Why does everyone want to talk all the time? Can’t we just have some quiet for once? And can’t people just leave me alone?” I pushed past her, down the stairwell, and then ran past an astonished-looking Nazif, who was talking with a German family in the hall. I felt a flash of humiliation, feeling his eyes on me, but I couldn’t stop. I stormed into the suite I shared with Mom and slammed the door behind me. Then I slammed the door to my bedroom harder.
Through the thin walls, I heard the Germans murmuring. No doubt they were drafting their TripAdvisor reviews, which would only drag my aunt’s hotel deeper into the mud. Proprietor’s niece has tantrums. Steer clear.
I flung myself onto the bed and wrapped myself up in the covers.
25
I slept heavily that night and woke up, startled, to the call to prayer just before dawn.
I was tempted to go up on the roof again to try to glimpse the family next door, but now that I knew it was Nazif’s family, I felt weird about that. Like a spy.
Instead, I went to my window and peered out through the lattice as the call to prayer ended. A few dark silhouettes made their way down the street in the predawn light. People going to prayer or to work, I guessed. I hoped, anyway. Were any of those shadowy figures Lazar and Vasil? I couldn’t tell.
But Nazif’s story about the Lycian Society meetings haunted me. I really had to find Sage. I had to know if she had the urn, or, if she didn’t, where it had gone.
After breakfast, I hurried to clear away the dishes, then found Nazif at the front desk. “Any phone messages for me?”
“No,” he said. “But a written message came through the mail slot on the door. Your name is on it.” He handed me an envelope.
I studied it. My first name was handwritten in block letters. There was no stamp or postmark.
“They did not send it through the post,” he explained. “Could this be from your friend?”
“It’s probably another setup from Lazar,” I said. Still, my hands shook as I tore open the envelope and took out a piece of lined notebook paper. It was a short, handwritten note, in rounded letters—not unlike the way “Amy Miller” was written in the book. My heart beat faster as I read:
Zan—I have to talk to you. But I can’t come to your aunt’s hotel. Some people are looking for me. Meet me at Café Mozaik today at noon. It is in the middle of the Grand Bazaar. I can explain everything. I don’t want you to think I am a bad person. I think when I tell you my story, you’ll understand. Please come.
Your friend, Sage.
P.S. Please bring the package with you. It’s really, really important.
“Well?” Nazif asked, drummimg his fingers on the countertop. “Is it from her?”
“I think it could be,” I said slowly. “But this reads different from the first note, the one the simit vendor gave me.” And she’d signed it “your friend.” “How far away is the Grand Bazaar?” I asked Nazif.
“Ten, fifteen minutes by taxi,” he said. “Will your mother let you go?”
“I don’t know. If she won’t, I’ll have to find some way to get there.” I was certainly an expert in the art of sneaking off. But Mom was watching me like a hawk, and if I got caught, I’d have zero chance of getting out of the hotel ever again.
Mom interrupted us just then, walking in with a huge cardboard box overflowing with brochures and flyers. “Project time!” she sang out. “I need a display table set up with tourist information in the lobby. Can you believe what a gold mine your aunt’s been sitting on? These things come in the mail and they’ve just been piling up. They’re not doing anyone any good out of sight. And she should totally be contracting with some of these tourist organizations, booking excursions for her guests and taking a cut. Once this is set up, Zan, you’re going to help me make some calls.”
Calls. I’d have phone access. I could try Inspector Lale again. Why wasn’t she calling me back?
Mom set me up with a table and told me to weed out anything for events that had already passed, and to arrange all the other stuff neatly. I set out flyers and brochures for all the amazing things in Turkey that I was probably not going to get to do because we were now hotel workers. Historical tours. Bosphorus river cruises. Balloon excursions in Cappadocia. My hand paused on a brochure for a company called Voyager Balloons, and Judy Clarkson’s words came back to me: A once-in-a-lifetime experience. She’d been so excited about the balloon tour she and Ron would take, and now I could see why. The colorful balloons hung over what looked like a landscape made of soft-serve ice cream.
I was nearly done when I found a stack of maps for the Grand Bazaar. I snatched one up. If I were going to meet Sage at the Grand Bazaar, this would be the perfect way to bring up the topic with Mom. I went to the kitchen, where she and Aunt Jackie were going over grocery lists, and showed her the map and brochure.
“Hey, Mom. Can I take a taxi to the Grand Bazaar?”
She glanced at the brochure and gave a short laugh. “Uh, no. Sorry.”
“Why?”
“Well, the Grand Bazaar is basically a shopping mall. And you are so done with malls.”
I stared at her. “Mom. You have to trust me. I’m not a klepto. And it isn’t a mall.”
“It’s a historical site,” said Aunt Jackie. “And you know, Kitsie, there’s a fantastic spice market right there. I could have her pick up some paprika, which I’m all out of. You could go along with her. I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll be good and stay sitting down.”
“No way,” said Mom. “I know you’re going to research those Cappadocia crimes the moment I leave, and I don’t want you getting all worked up. Besides, Mustafa has three housekeeping candidates coming for interviews today. You should at least meet them.”
“Maybe I can go with Nazif,” I suggested. “Please?”
Mom shook her head. “You do need to see something historical. I know you shouldn’t be so sequestered here. But you can’t take Nazif away from his job. And I can’t let you run off on your own in this city. Now please go take one brochure from each place and we’ll get a database started of tour packagers to contract with.”
God. Mom still didn’t trust me. I stomped back to the brochure table and did as she asked. Nazif, sensing something was wrong, kept his distance. Fuming, I set out brochures for the Topkapi Palace, the Bosphorus river cruises, and the Galata Tower—all the amazing sights I probably would never get to see on this trip. I stared at one brochure about a whirling dervish performance. It showed men wearing white robes and tall white hats. These men were the whirling dervishes, I guessed. Their pictures were almost blurred, showing them spinning around, with their eyes closed and their arms held out wide, one palm turned upward and one turned down. I felt like a whirling dervish myself, spinning in circles, dizzy and lost. In two hours, Sage would be sitting at Café Mozaik in the Grand Bazaar, waiting fo
r me. I had to find a way to get there.
Mom set me up with the database project on the front-desk computer, where I created a spreadsheet of tour operators we could contact about possible group rates for hotel guests. I had just typed in “Voyager Balloons” when the door opened. I jumped a little, half expecting Lazar and Vasil to burst in and half expecting Inspector Lale’s forces.
But it wasn’t either of them. It was the Lobsters.
Milton and Maeve walked in, looking slightly dazed and lugging enormous floral suitcases. I almost didn’t recognize Milton without his Speedo. He was wearing a loose, tropical-print shirt, better suited for Hawaii, and khaki pants. Maeve wore a pale blue warm-up suit and a visor. She also had on a little more makeup than before, and her short, frosted blonde hair looked as if it’d been touched up in a salon.
“Well, well!” cried Milton. “It’s Alexandra the Great! How are you?”
“Good,” I said, coming out from behind the front desk to greet them. “How are you two?”
“Homeless,” said Milton, making a face. “That’s why we’re here.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re looking for a room,” said Maeve. “Lycian Tours put us at the Swissotel, but we had to leave. Bedbugs.” She shivered. “Mr. Tabak offered to transfer us anywhere we wanted. Your aunt’s place sounded cozy, so we thought we’d give it a go.”
My mom came in at that moment and greeted the Lobsters with hugs. “Milton! Maeve!” she exclaimed. “What a wonderful surprise! I can’t wait to hear all about your tour of the Ephesus ruins. Nazif, can you check the reservations page on the computer and see if we have a room available?” She winked at him. Of course there were rooms available—the entire second floor and half of the third were available. But a full-seeming hotel was always more desirable.
Nazif went behind the front desk and began typing away on the computer, playing along with my mom’s act and even scratching his head. “I might be able to move someone,” he said doubtfully.
“Oh, we don’t wish to be a bother,” said Milton. “We’ll look elsewhere.”
“But wait. Nazif, what about the Sultan’s Suite?” Mom asked.
Nazif gave her a strange look. He didn’t seem to be playing along anymore. “It’s usually reserved for corporate groups. For business functions,” he said.
“Well, we don’t have a corporate group at the moment, do we? But we do have Milton and Maeve.” Mom beamed at them and clasped her hands together. “Oh, you’ll absolutely love the Sultan’s Suite. It’s huge and luxurious. You’ll feel like royalty in there.”
Nazif and I exchanged a look. The Sultan’s Suite seemed almost haunted to me, now that I knew all about the secret Lycian Society meetings that had taken place there. It was where Lazar had threatened my uncle over the Karun Treasure urn.
“Are you sure?” Nazif said. “Maybe we should check with Mrs. Yilmaz first.”
“Nazif,” said my mom, through a clenched smile, “these are my friends. They need a room. The room is vacant. Please, let’s just book the room for them.”
“Hold on a second. I’m not paying the sultan’s rate,” said Milton, looking worried. “Exactly how much is this going to run me?”
“Milton’s right,” said Maeve. “It sounds lovely, but if that’s all you’ve got, maybe we should look elsewhere. We’ve got some serious shopping to do today. At the Grand Bazaar. I promised all my children and grandchildren I’d bring home souvenirs, and I’m not going back to Sydney until I’ve seen the place.”
The Grand Bazaar! I perked up and looked at Maeve intently. A plan began to form in my mind.
Milton uttered a little moan, and Mom offered him a chair. “Please charge them regular room rates,” she instructed Nazif.
“But that’s half the—”
“Don’t worry,” she said to him, just under her breath. “If we can show we’ve booked that suite, Berk’s siblings will be impressed. Even at a reduced rate, it brings in a lot of money, and it will look like business travelers are attracted to this place. They don’t have to know the occupants are actually retirees.”
When I realized how badly Mom wanted Milton and Maeve to be happy, and to keep the hotel looking full to help out Aunt Jackie, that’s when I saw my chance, my little bit of leverage. I turned to the Lobsters with my warmest hotel-hostess smile. “So you’re going to the Grand Bazaar? I’ve been dying to go there.”
“We are,” said Maeve. “I’d love to get a young person’s eye on things to help me pick out what I should bring home for my teenage granddaughters. You’re just their size—you could try things on!”
“Wonderful idea!” said Milton. “What do you say? Care to join us?”
“I don’t know. I have to ask,” I said, looking slyly in Mom’s direction.
“All right,” Mom said. “As long as you all stay together. Sometimes Zan needs a watchful eye,” she added quietly to Maeve.
Normally that comment would have pissed me off, but now I didn’t care. I was trembling with excitement. I was going to the Grand Bazaar. Hopefully, I would meet with Sage and get some answers at last.
26
I shivered with excitement as the Lobsters and I walked beneath a large, ornately decorated stone archway: the main gate of the Grand Bazaar! According to my tourist map, it was a labyrinth of squares and corridors, roughly divided into zones—textiles, jewelry, ceramics, clothing, and more. In real life, the bazaar was overwhelming, stretching out in all directions and teeming with shoppers. The vaulted ceilings rose so high it hurt my neck to look up.
“Seems like anything you’d ever want to buy can be found in the Grand Bazaar,” Maeve marveled. “My goodness. Where to start?”
“How about we don’t start,” said Milton. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead and not buy anything here.”
“Oh, don’t be such a yobbo, Milton,” said Maeve. “You act like I’ve got no self-control, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
“Oh, come on,” groaned Milton. “I don’t give a rat’s arse about this stuff. You’re bleeding me dry, Maeve, with all this bloody spending.”
While they bickered, I studied my map carefully and found Café Mozaik. It was a tiny box practically in the center of the Grand Bazaar.
“Milton,” said Maeve. “Wake up. We’re in Turkey. We live in Australia. I’m seventy-one years old, and I’m likely never coming back here, so I intend to enjoy myself. These are unique items. And what we don’t have room for or what we can’t give to the kids as gifts, I can sell online and get some money back.”
“You always say that, Maeve, but it never happens! You’re a right hoarder!”
I checked my watch. I was due to meet Sage in ten minutes. “Maybe you guys could start browsing, and I could pick up some coffees to go, for energy. And I’ll come find you.”
“Oh, no, dear. I’m afraid you might get lost,” said Maeve. “Let’s all stick together.”
“Then let’s start shopping at the heart of the bazaar and work our way outward,” I suggested. That way I could pretend to get lost, and duck into the Café Mozaik to find Sage.
Milton sighed. “Fair enough. Lead the way. Let’s get this over with.”
We ventured a few yards down a corridor, and were instantly followed by men hawking their wares. It was like the Marmaris docks all over again.
“Hello! Bonjour! Excuse me! What language do you speak?”
“Can I offer you some tea?”
“Family! Nice family! Come and see our carpets, nice family!”
“I swear,” said Milton, “if I have to see one more carpet in this country, I am going to go out of my bloody mind.”
“Oh, stop. You’ll do no such thing,” scolded Maeve, who seemed to be perking up now that she was in shopping nirvana. “You’ll buck up and see what there is to see.”
“We’re
in the seventh circle of hell. Or square of hell, I should say,” Milton muttered.
As we walked deeper into the bazaar, I realized that Aunt Jackie was right: this wasn’t a regular mall. There were lots of Turkish crafts, including all types and sizes of nazar boncuus, and textiles galore. Also, there were hustlers everywhere. Drink vendors with those giant cases on their backs, like the one who’d served me in Sultanhamet Square yesterday, pouring juice into cups. We passed stalls selling all kinds of spices, mounds of rich red, yellow, and bright green powders. Some spices were labeled “Aphrodisiacs” and “Turkish Viagra,” which made Maeve blush and Milton chuckle. We also passed some strange things for sale: Jars of leeches. Live chickens and rabbits in cages. Sets of false teeth laid out on silver trays. One vendor shook a whole tray of glass eyeballs at me. I shuddered and hurried on.
But something about the bazaar felt familiar at the same time; not everything about it seemed sinister. There were plenty of regular people like you’d see in any shopping center. Mothers, some in head-to-toe black veils, pushing strollers and gazing at window displays. Little kids, racing around and pushing each other. Teenagers loaded with shopping bags, laughing, talking, and texting. I felt an aching sensation. It was like seeing my old life on display in some parallel universe.
Maeve paused at a pashmina stall to admire some cashmere wraps hanging on a rack.
My eye caught sight of a rack of scarves nearby, and with a start, I noticed that some of them were indigo with little white stars. Exactly like the scarf Sage had worn on the boat! Maybe she’d even bought it here, at this very stall.
Maeve selected five pashminas, and Milton tried to haggle with the vendors. He was fighting a losing battle, turning red now not from sunburn, but from a smoldering rage about being overcharged. I checked my watch again. Five minutes to noon. Realizing this transaction could take a while, I took the opportunity to slip away. The café wasn’t so far.