by Jude Watson
"It took me awhile," Nellie said. "Then I saw little dude's robe on the floor. That was a major hint."
"Wait a second," Dan said furiously. "Little dude?"
"Now, ordinarily I would think that opening a door with an umbrella would be, like, odd. But I've been hanging around with you two, so I figure, why not?" "Bae could be back at any minute," Dan said. "I think we'd better ditch this place and find another hotel."
"Bae Oh owns the hotel, remember?" Amy pointed out. "How are we going to get out of here without being spotted?"
"Simple biology," Dan said with a glance at Nellie's robe. "Protective coloration."
* * *
Bae Oh nodded politely at the man in black. "There was no need to come," he said. "The situation is under control."
"Have you located your nephew?"
"I am close to ascertaining his whereabouts," Bae said. An overnight stay in the Ekat stronghold would get him the information. The grandchildren of Grace Cahill were amateurs. They would break.
"There are too many factors out of our control," the man in black said. But Bae stopped listening. He'd heard a cat yowl. Pets were not allowed at the Hotel Excelsior. Under the cover of his sunglasses, he could pretend to listen to his companion while searching over his shoulder. A family of tourists in white robes was heading toward the pool. They wore hats from the gift shop, a good thing. Profits from the gift shop paid for his vacation in Maui last year. They carried large canvas tote bags. Tourists always packed too much.
A room service cart rumbled by the group. Mrrrrrreowwwwwrrrp!
It was the oddest cat sound he'd ever heard. Unless they had a bag of hamsters in there with it.
The smallest member of the group bent down and spoke into the tote bag. For the first time, Bae noted the footwear. Black high-tops.
The Cahill grandchildren. How did they get out?
Even when agitated, Bae did not believe in making a fuss. He saw hotel security rounding the corner. Dressed in the same white pants and shirts as the waiters, you would never guess their true function. Unless you noticed the tightly packed muscles underneath their shirts and the earpieces in their ears.
All he had to do was lift a finger. Nod in their direction. The man in black was still
talking. He hadn't noticed a thing. It wasn't in Bae's best interest to let the man in black know that the Cahill grandchildren were trying to escape from his hotel. The security men moved toward the group swiftly but quietly. Things would have gone perfectly well if the young girl hadn't been conducting surveillance of her own. She spotted the trio of guards before they'd gone too far. With a quick word, the three turned and started to run.
There was no noise. No one yelled or screamed. The man in black kept talking. Bae watched as the group took off toward the back of the hotel. They paused only briefly to retrieve a large duffel from behind a bush.
Balancing luggage and an angry cat in a bag, they ran. The security detail was only yards behind as the fugitives rounded a corner.
Bae stifled a yawn. He didn't need to see the end of this little chase. He had the best security in Cairo. They would be caught and handled carefully so that guests wouldn't notice. They would be brought to his office. They would be held there. He was in no hurry. Let them sweat.
"I assure you, everything is under control," he told the man in black.
* * *
Skittering on the loose stones of the drive, Amy, Dan, and Nellie flew around the corner. Nellie tried to keep hold of Saladin as well as her canvas carry-on. Amy's backpack bumped against her back, and Dan's sneaker came untied. When he risked a look behind him, the guards were gaining. "We'll never make it," he puffed.
Suddenly, a car peeled out of a parking space. It skidded to a stop in front of them, blocking their path.
A tiny white-haired woman dressed in a loose embroidered white tunic and pants leaned out the window. "How about a lift?" They hesitated.
"Oh, fudge. First things first. Maybe I should introduce myself. I'm Hilary Vale, and I have a message for you. From Grace. Oh, what lovely robes." Pounding footsteps behind them. "Stop right there!" one of the guards yelled. Hilary reached behind and opened the back door. "I don't think this is a time to hesitate, ducklings. Hop in."
CHAPTER 9
Hilary Vale drove through the Cairo traffic with one foot on the gas and one hand on the horn. She accelerated, braked, wrenched the wheel to take advantage of sudden tiny spaces that she could swerve into.
"Get out of my way, you muppet!" she yelled cheerily out the window at anyone who dared to cut her off.
Dan's eyes shone. "She's awesome," he whispered to Amy.
Finally, she skidded off the main road, zoomed through a lovely section, and pulled into a driveway that wound through a garden thick with palms and flowering trees. She jerked the car to a stop in front of a gracious white house.
They got out of the car, feeling a little dizzy from the fast ride and their narrow escape. The house was cool and silent after the noise and heat of the streets. Hilary turned immediately into a small sitting room. It was furnished with rugs and deep sofas covered in chintz. A piano sat in a corner. Shaded china lamps sat on tables, and vases were heaped with masses of blooms.
Hilary opened the shutters. As the sun poured in, Amy could see that the sofa cushions were frayed, and that a table had been placed to disguise a hole in the rug. Shabby but comfortable, a place to flop and read for hours. Her shyness ebbed a little, just being in this room.
"Now, just take off your ... uh, robes, and make yourselves comfortable," Hilary said. "I guess you forgot to pay for them, ducks. Is that why those awful beefy men were chasing you? You poor dears."
"Right," Dan said. "We didn't realize they took robe theft so seriously here."
She put her fingers lightly on Amy's chin and tilted her face to the light. "You look like
Grace," she said. "Cute as a bug!"
"Hey. Check this out," Dan said.
Amy saw that Dan was looking at a silver-framed photograph on the piano. She walked over. It was a black-and-white photograph of two young women in front of the Sphinx. She recognized Grace immediately. Her hair fell to her shoulders, wavy and dark. She wore a white dress and pumps. Her slender, tanned arm was linked with the blond, petite girl at her side.
"Grace was my best friend," Hilary Vale said. She gently picked up the photograph. "We met at boarding school in the US. I was sent there when World War Two started -- my parents stayed in Cairo. Grace was my family for many years, when communication was so difficult during the war. She took me in, even though I was younger and had a funny accent. After the war, I invited her back here to stay on holiday. She loved Egypt." The sadness left her gaze suddenly as Hilary clapped her hands. "But it's time for tiffin! You children get cozy-comfy, and I'll be back."
"What's tiffin?" Dan whispered. "A cat?"
"A snack," Nellie said. "That's always good news." She put down Saladin's carrier and flopped on the flowered couch. "Did Grace ever talk about her?" "I don't remember," Amy said. "I knew she'd been to Egypt, but she didn't talk about it much." Well, she did and she didn't. It was all so vague.
Cairo is a fascinating city. Have you been there, Grace?
Of course, love. Many times. Oh, brrr, look at that cold rain. What do you say we go bake some brownies to cheer ourselves up?
Deflection and disguise. Now Amy realized how often Grace had changed the subject when asked about her travels. Distrust snaked through Amy, tipping her off balance again.
In the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were more photographs. Amy picked up one in a silver frame. Someone had written over the image with a white pen --Us, Luxor, 1952.
Grace was dressed in trousers that looked dusty and a pale shirt with her sleeves rolled up. She was squinting into the sun. Hilary Vale wore a flowered dress and a broad-brimmed hat. It looked as though they were standing in front of some kind of temple. Grace was jokingly making an Egyptian pose, her wrist bent and her hand fl
at.
Just then Hilary came into the room carrying a large tray and set it down on a round polished table by the window. Nellie quickly moved to help her place the platters of pastries and sliced fruit in the center.
"I see you're looking at those old photographs," Hilary said. "Hard to believe I was ever that young, isn't it? Grace came every year and stayed with me. For years and years."
"Every year?" Amy asked.
"She might have missed a few now and then. And of course near the end of her life travel became difficult. She told me about the cancer -- she was very frank. But I was still so shocked when I heard. I never thought anything would defeat Grace." Hilary gestured at the chairs, and they all took their seats. Amy ran her hands along the polished wood of the arms. Maybe Grace had sat in this chair. She wished she could feel closer to Grace, just from thinking that. But she couldn't.
Hilary poured a milky liquid out of a beautiful silver pitcher. "This is called sahlab,"
she said. "They serve it in the cafes all over Egypt. I hope you like it." Amy took a sip of the drink to be polite. It was creamy and sweet, like nothing she'd ever tasted, but she could barely swallow. Her throat felt tight with tears that threatened to spill over if she mentioned Grace's name. "This is amazing food," Nellie said, crumbling a cookie and feeding it to Saladin. "So, you say Grace contacted you before she died. What did she say?" Amy threw Nellie a grateful look. Nellie had seen her shyness and had taken over for now. She could always count on Nellie. Dan was too busy scarfing down lemon cake to notice her.
Hilary smiled and rose. "Yes, let's cut to the chase, as you Americans like to say. Grace sent me a letter and asked me to pass some things along." She went to a small cabinet and opened it. She took out several items and went back to her chair, holding them in her lap. Amy felt an urge to grab them and run away to look at them in private, but she forced herself to take another sip of her drink and stay very still. Hilary placed a book on the table. "First, this is the travel guide to Egypt that Grace used for many years. She wanted you to have it." She pushed it across the table to Amy.
It was a thick book, the cover warped and stained, the pages well thumbed. "Of course it's outdated," Hilary said with a smile. "But things don't change much here." Amy flipped open the book. She saw notations in the margins in Grace's loopy handwriting.
[proofreader's note: it says "Great meal here. 1972 trip."]
Well, that didn't sound too helpful.
"This is her last Christmas card," Hilary said. "There's a message in it for you." She handed the card to Amy. Dan scooted his chair closer so he could see it. The card was from the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Grace had taken them there many times. It was a reproduction of an old painting, the Magi arriving with gifts to the manger.
[proofreader's note: the message is as follows.] Dearest Hilary,
A Merry Christmas and love sent to you and yours. My grandchildren, I believe, will arrive in Cairo soon. It is time for me to collect on the promise you made me long ago. Please pass along this message to my dearest Dan and Amy --Treasures,
Egypt is full of wonderful things. Welcome -- I hope you'll be happy there." [proofreader's note: message continues on next page]
It's a country that still resinates with me, even in my dreams. If only I'd been half the grandmother I should have been, I would have taken you there myself. I only wish I could be there with you as you follow in footsteps I made long ago. Don't forget the art! You can always end with the basics. With all my love, Grace P.S. Mrs. Fenwick send her best to S!
[proofreader's note: end of message]
Amy and Dan looked down at the card. Grace's hand had held the pen and made those lines and loops. She had used a fountain pen, the way she always did for important notes. There was a blob on the end of the "g" in "grandmother." Even though they knew she'd been sick when she wrote it, the handwriting was strong and clear. She had known they would read this after she was dead.
Even the misspelling of resonates made Amy feel woozy, as though her grandmother was just in the next room, writing Christmas cards and calling out, "Bring me some eggnog, will you, sweets? I can't seem to locate my Christmas cheer!"
She had left them a message. After all these weeks of wondering, here it was. Yet, what was
it? It was personal -- she had called them her treasures all the time -- and yet it was impersonal at the same time. She sounded so cheerful, urging them to see Egypt. As though nothing else was going on but sightseeing.
She looked over at Dan. She knew that his expression mirrored her own -- bafflement and hurt. What kind of a final message was this?
Dan reached for the envelope. "The postmark is Nantucket," he said. "From last year." Amy and Dan exchanged a glance. In that glance they left this room, this hot, strange city, and went to a place they knew well. Grace owned a small house in the town of 'Sconset on the island of Nantucket, off the coast of Massachusetts. They remembered blue skies and cottony clouds, air that tasted like salt. Grace grilling corn on the cob and making lime butter. Grace shouting, "Last one in is a boa constrictor!" and the sting of the cold, fresh ocean. "Remember Ye Olde Fenwick?" Dan asked.
Amy smiled. Betsy Fenwick had been their neighbor. Amy no longer remembered which of them had given her that nickname. She came from "one of the oldest families on Beacon Hill" in Boston, which she managed to work into every conversation. She disapproved of Grace, who let her roses run wild and who gardened in old trousers and a Yankees cap.
Mrs. Fenwick disliked cats but saved a particular hatred for Saladin, who for some reason chose Ye Olde Fenwick's garden for his own personal bathroom. Grace said she didn't understand the fuss -- after all, wasn't she saving Betsy Fenwick money on fertilizer? But as it was with all jokes, Mrs. Fenwick didn't get it. She banned Saladin from her garden and insisted that Grace hang a bell on the cat's collar. Saladin had hated that bell. He considered it beneath him.
Am I a cat or a doorbell? he seemed to say.
Amy's smile faded. Remembering Nantucket made her feel even more mixed up. All that time they had! Nothing to do but enjoy summer. All those long afternoons, those evenings watching the sun melt into the ocean... all that opportunity for Grace to turn to them and say,
By the way, you have a birthright. And a burden. I need to fill you in.
'"End with the basics,'" Nellie read. "What does that mean?"
"Whenever she took us on a trip, Grace wouldn't let us read the guidebook first," Dan explained. "We had to look first, then read what someone else had said about it."
Hilary took a small box from her lap and said, "And now for my promise. This has been in a safety deposit box in Cairo for over fifty years. Grace gave me one key. She had the other. Her lawyer brought it just yesterday. A Mr. McIntyre?" "Mr. McIntyre is here in Cairo?" Amy asked.
"Lovely man, if a bit stiff. We went to the bank together and opened up the safety deposit box. Inside was only this box. He told me that you would be arriving in Cairo shortly and I was to open it in front of you. Do you see the seal? I'm supposed to show you that it is unbroken. Now. Let us proceed."
Hilary broke the seal. The lid creaked as she opened the box. There was a small item wrapped in linen. "May I?"
Amy and Dan nodded. Gently, Hilary picked up the object and unwrapped it. Emerald eyes stared at them, ancient and knowing. It was the golden statue of Sakhet.
CHAPTER 10
Hilary sucked in her breath. "Blimey! If this is genuine, it's worth a fortune. Grace,
you're a sly one."
You have no idea, Amy thought.
The only difference was that this statue sat on a beautiful gold pedestal. Amy stared at the goddess. She had been eroded by time, but she was feminine and strong. "She rocks," Nellie said.
"If it's a fake, it's a very good fake," Hilary said. She hesitated. "What is it?" Amy asked.
"Well. On Grace's very first trip to Cairo the one we took together in 1949 she asked me for a favor. For a friend, she said. Did I know an
expert forger, someone who could produce a most perfect fake. And, as a matter of fact, I did. Grace knew that my father -- he was an antiquities dealer -- had fakes made of his most valuable pieces during the war. Just in case the Germans stole them, you see. I gave her the name, and I never heard another thing. So this ... well, it could be a very expert fake. Someone added this cheesy pedestal later on, obviously."
"Obviously," Amy said, blushing. Oops -- she'd thought it was beautiful. Clearly, she had a lot to learn about museum-quality statues.
Amy exchanged a glance with Dan. Grace had made a fake. Could it be that Grace
Had stolen the original Sakhet -- the one found by Howard Carter -- and replaced it with a copy? Bae had told them that the statues were hidden during the war and it took a few years to retrieve them and build a new Ekat stronghold. In the confusion, could Grace have gotten her hands on one? Could this be the original that Howard Carter found? No wonder that with modern analysis techniques they couldn't find a secret compartment!
She looked again at Grace's message to them.
Egypt is full of wonderful things
Amy remembered from her research that when Howard Carter found King Tutankhamen's tomb, he was the first to look in, and when he was asked what he saw, he replied, "Wonderful things." Was Grace quoting Carter to let them know that the Sakhet had once been Carter's?
There was only one way to find out. If there was a secret compartment in this Sakhet, it was the real one. Amy felt a chill travel up her spine, and she shivered. Katherine Cahill could have held this very object. Could have placed a hint inside with her own hands.
"If you need to get it authenticated, I just happen to have an expert in the house," Hilary said.
"That would be me," Theo Cotter said, walking into the room. Amy, Dan, and Nellie looked up with guilty expressions. They knew they'd left him in the lurch at Sennari House. "You know him?" Nellie blurted. Hilary smiled. "A bit."