Page 27

“So do I.” I took a deep breath. “It’s been stolen.”

Mr. Hayes certainly knew how to handle my uncle and his stormy moods. Tío Ricardo reached into his jacket pocket and tossed a handful of coins onto the table before abruptly standing. His chair toppled over, drawing every eye to him as he stomped out of the dining room, the pair of us rushing to follow his quick, long strides. I watched the proud line of his strong back as he led us up to the third floor.

Mr. Hayes dug his hands into his pockets and trailed after my uncle, whistling. By the time we reached the door of my room, Tío Ricardo had calmed down somewhat. It might have been Mr. Hayes’s merry little tune. My uncle held out his hand toward me.

Wordlessly, I rummaged for the brass key in my purse and handed it to him.

He walked in first.

Mr. Hayes stepped aside and gestured toward the open doorway. “After you, Señorita.”

I swept past and stopped at the sight of my uncle moving things around on the desk. He ruffled through papers, sorted through books. Then he turned away, his gaze snagging on the balcony doors. There he stilled, as if trapped by some memory.

“They always had tea the day before leaving for an excavation site,” Mr. Hayes said in an undertone. “Out on the balcony.”

Several emotions hit me all at once. A profound sadness for my uncle, who had lost his sister and close friend. His biggest supporters and believers in his lifelong dream—a career in archaeology. Bitterness because I couldn’t share in that grief, in a memory that so obviously excluded me. And anger toward my parents, wandering the desert, no doubt after some clue pointing them toward another Egyptian mystery.

How could they have been so careless?

They knew, better than anyone, the dangers of the desert. They’d been coming to Egypt for seventeen years. They didn’t take the harsh sands lightly, not with storms constantly brewing, not with the risk of dehydration.

Tío Ricardo wrenched his gaze away and back to me, as if understanding what I was feeling. His attention dropped to my unadorned fingers. A frown ripped through his weathered features, and he began prowling around the room. Mr. Hayes threw himself onto one of the couches and I sat opposite him. He pulled out his flask and took a long sip. He stared into space, capping the bottle absently. It disappeared back into his pocket.

“I think you ought to look on the bright side,” Mr. Hayes said mildly. “The ring isn’t lost anymore.”

“Whitford, use your head,” my uncle said. “You know what Mr. Sterling is like.”

“I do,” Mr. Hayes said coolly. “And now I can go and—”

Tío Ricardo shook his head. “He won’t have it on him.”

My attention turned to the mysterious Mr. Hayes. He’d stretched his long legs, crossing them at the ankles, his head propped up by one of the overly stuffed throw pillows. He was lounging on that sofa as if at any moment someone were going to feed him with a silver spoon.

“The ring will be hidden away somewhere,” Tío Ricardo continued, pulling me from my thoughts.

“It’s not impossible,” Mr. Hayes said idly.

I watched their exchange in silence, partly because I didn’t have anything useful to contribute, and partly because every time I opened my mouth, Mr. Hayes shot me a look of warning. But an idea had just occurred to me, and I thought it was at least worth airing out in the open. “I can make a formal complaint with the police here. If we can have it written down on paper somewhere official that the ring was stolen—”

“Mr. Sterling has many friends with the police. Not to mention the incorrigible Sir Evelyn,” Tío Ricardo said impatiently. “If you showed your face there, you’d only be turned away.”

“And probably followed,” Mr. Hayes added.

“Then what do we do?” I asked.

“We?We?” Tío Ricardo asked in a horrified voice. “There is nowe,my dear niece. You will be leaving Egypt tomorrow.”

My blood ran cold. “You’restillsending me away?”

My uncle faced me, hands on his hips. “You came without permission. I am your legal guardian and I control your money. Whatever you might feel, I’m only thinking of your best interests. I’ll book a train ticket for Alexandria at the earliest opportunity. Most likely it will be tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll expect you to be packed and ready to depart.” He inhaled deeply, the buttons on his starched shirt stretching across his broad frame. “Given your antics, I think it’s best you stay in this room. It’s quite comfortable and the food here is excellent.”

I sat in total silence, a loud ringing in my ear. Was he going tolockme in this suite?

“Inez?” my uncle asked.

“I understood the words you said. But I hardly believe them. Am I to be kept in here like a prisoner?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said, waving his hand airily. “You don’t know the city. You don’t speak the language. I haven’t the time or inclination to act as your tour guide. But I’ll see that you’ll be reasonably entertained.”