Renee set her fork down. “That’s impossible. There was nothing missing when Hank and I went over them together.”
“When was that?” Sam asked.
“When we first discovered there was a problem.”
“They’re not there now.” Sam opened the book wide. “You can see where they were torn out.”
“The burglary,” Hank said. “We couldn’t figure out what was taken. That had to be it.”
“Warren?” Renee leaned back in her chair, looking sick to her stomach. “I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but why can’t he just leave us alone?”
Sam looked up from the book. “Where’d you end up finding it?”
“With the other ledgers,” Hank said. “It was out of order.”
Sam checked his watch and stood, tucking the ledger beneath his arm. “I’d really like to take a closer look at this, but not right now.”
“You’re leaving?” Renee asked.
“We have a few errands to run before dinner tonight. We’ll check in with you later.”
Remi, picking up on Sam’s hint, turned to Renee. “If we get done in time, maybe I’ll swing by and we can visit some more.” She followed Sam out the door. Once they were in the car, she asked, “Why are we rushing out?”
“This,” he said, handing Remi the ledger. “The dates of the missing pages are right around the same time Amal came to work at the site. I want to get a copy of it to Selma. I think we need a fresh eye.”
Remi looked through it while Sam drove. “Please tell me you don’t think Amal’s behind the embezzlement and artifact theft?”
“I have no idea. I’m just pointing out the obvious. After her odd reaction yesterday when she saw us looking for the journal, then the secret meeting at the market, we have to admit Amal is far more involved in this than we thought.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
He glanced over at her as she studied the ledger. “Refuse all you want, Remi. Something is going on with her. Remember when we saw her out at the ruins on our first day? You asked her about it. She denied being there.”
“Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”
“Maybe. But the guy I saw tonight looked an awful lot like the guy who stole Dr. LaBelle’s purse that same day. My suggestion? Watch her closely at dinner tonight. And keep an open mind.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
A small house will hold a hundred friends.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
My mother, Yesmine,” Amal said, smiling at a woman who looked very much like she could have been Amal’s older sister. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Fargo and their friend Professor Lazlo Kemp. The Fargos are the couple who’ve financed the excavation.”
“So glad you could join us,” Yesmine said, smiling at them. “Amal’s told me so much, I feel as if I know you all quite well. Please, come in. My home is your home.”
“A very nice home,” Lazlo said.
Nasha raced in from the kitchen. “You’re here. Wait until you see what I helped make.”
“I can’t wait,” Remi said, wrapping her in a tight hug. As she let go, her gaze caught on the aged-bronze Sator Square sitting on the mantel. “The famed charcoal burner lid,” she said, walking over for a closer look. Slightly bigger than her hand, she marveled at the workmanship. “I hear this is why Dr. LaBelle expanded the search for more Bulla Regia ruins.”
Yesmine beamed. “My daughter’s a very good storyteller.”
“Amal regaled us with stories about this when we were”—Remi checked Amal, saw her worried expression, recalling that she hadn’t told her mother what had happened at the school—“discussing archeology to the kids,” she finished, noting the look of relief in the young woman’s eyes. “It’s a lovely piece.”
Nasha’s eyes sparkled. “It’s a palindrome square. Sator, arepo . . .” She hopped as though skipping rope and suddenly stopped. “I don’t remember the rest.”
Yesmine glanced at the artifact. “My mother found it when she was a girl.”
“Amal tells me there’s supposed to be a curse tied into all of this,” Remi said.
Yesmine laughed. “I’m not so sure about that. Like Amal, my mother was a bit of a storyteller herself. But yes, supposedly a curse that kept others from finding the ancient scroll buried by one of the Vandal kings.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the artifact, then at Remi and Sam. “The curse will bring death to any who try to take the scroll for their own. If I remember, it’s only one of royal blood who can return it without invoking the curse.”
“Which,” Amal said, “I’ve never understood. It can’t just be a Good Samaritan, it has to be a royal Good Samaritan.”
“Were your grandmother still here, she’d tell you that there was always a reason for those oddities in the old tales, even though it might not be obvious to the storyteller.”
“I miss her,” Amal replied as someone knocked at the front door. She walked over to answer it.
“As do I,” Yesmine said as Renee, Hank, José, and Osmond walked in. “My mother had much to do with nurturing Amal’s love of archeology.”
Renee laughed. “Thank goodness or we’d all be out of a job.”
Osmond, his face beaming, handed a bouquet of flowers to Amal.
She thanked him and turned to her mother, saying, “How sweet. Osmond brought you flowers again.”
“Again?” Remi whispered to Sam.
Poor Osmond appeared crestfallen. Nasha tapped Amal on the arm, looking as if she was about to correct her as to who the bouquet was for. But Renee held up two bottles of chilled sparkling water, since neither Amal nor her mother drank alcohol. “We need something to toast with.”
“Perfect,” Yesmine said. “This way. It’s such a nice evening, I thought we’d eat outside.”
Twinkling lights strung across the branches of the nearest olive trees cast a festive glow across the picnic table draped with a white cloth. Amal and her mother brought out plates stacked high with the deep-fried brik triangles, followed by bowls of couscous, spicy chicken, and other Tunisian dishes.
When everyone took a seat, Nasha slipping in between Remi and Amal, Amal’s mother raised her water glass. “To good friends, old and new.”
Sam and Remi raised their glasses. “To good friends,” they said.