Blue Voyage Read online

  “And Aunt Jackie?” I asked. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

  “I feel good that we got her to a hospital,” said Mom. “And I don’t think they’ll bring her to prison. After all, the figurines weren’t in her bag.”

  She didn’t say the rest of her sentence, but I knew we were both thinking it: the figurines were in my bag. Even Mom would probably be let go. This potential prison sentence was mine alone.

  Our door latch clicked, the handle turned, and Inspector Kemal strode into the room. “This is a most unusual circumstance,” he said, spreading documents, a stamp, and an inkpad on the small metal table. “But Inspector Lale has authorized your temporary release.”

  I clapped my hands together and smiled at Mom.

  “Temporary release? What does that mean?” asked Mom. “Were the artifacts fakes?”

  Inspector Kemal stamped a few pages and scrawled his signature on others. “The artifacts have not been authenticated yet. The appraiser will not be available until tomorrow morning. Nor will Inspector Lale, for that matter. She is detained in another town, by an urgent matter. But she will see you two back here, promptly at nine in the morning.” Scrawl, stamp. Stamp, scrawl. “Sign here, please,” he said, passing us a page and indicating blank lines to sign on. “Since your daughter is under eighteen, you must sign, too.”

  “What exactly are we signing?” Mom asked, reluctantly taking the pen he offered. “This is all in Turkish. I have a policy of not signing documents I can’t read.”

  “You are agreeing to a travel restriction,” he said. “Quite simply, you must not leave Dalaman. You may visit your sister in hospital. But you must report back to this station by nine tomorrow morning. Any violation of these terms will result in your arrest.”

  “If it’s so simple, why is it a five-page document? I need a translator.” She hesitated a moment longer, her pen hovering over the paper. “I’m not going be forced to sign some confession,” she grumbled. Then she printed at the bottom of the document:

  I was not given an English translation. I am signing and agreeing only to a temporary release from detention as explained to me by Inspector Kemal Turan.

  She wrote all the terms he’d stated, and only then did she sign on the line. I had to admit that was smart thinking on her part. I would have just signed.

  “I have to confess, your dad told Aunt Jackie to do that when she first moved to Turkey,” Mom explained to me after Inspector Kemal had left with the papers. “Your grandparents had seen this awful movie, Midnight Express, and they were convinced she was going to end up in a Turkish prison somehow. Your dad said that at least writing an explanation like this would buy you time in a court of law. They would have to look into it.”

  I wondered how Grandma and Grandpa would feel if they knew how close Mom and I were to a Turkish prison now. But the next thing we knew, we had our bags again, our passports back, and we were walking out of the Dalaman Police Station. Free—for now.

  We went out to the street, stumbling down the steps in our haste to get out of there. We took deep breaths and relaxed into the warmth of the balmy early evening air.

  “Thank God for that Inspector Lale,” said Mom. “Hey, did you catch that she’s a woman?”

  I nodded. That was unusual here. I’d only seen two policewomen, back in Marmaris.

  “She must have had a heart, seeing we were detained females, and foreigners,” Mom said.

  Honestly, I was scared to meet with this Inspector Lale the next morning. And the release was only temporary. But for now, I’d be grateful, and drink in every moment of freedom. I focused on the feeling of my feet on the ground. The sound of a bird twittering in a nearby palm tree. The put-put-put of a moped passing by. The scent of diesel fumes from a bus. I did not want to be locked up in prison, or even in another holding room again.

  “I really want to get to the hospital,” said Mom, sticking her hand out as if we were in New York City. Three taxis instantly careened toward the curb, pulled up, and began arguing over who would take us.

  “They’re hailing us, not the other way around,” I said.

  “Oh, God,” groaned Mom. “Why does it all have to be so complicated?”

  Footsteps coming down the steps of the police station behind us made me spin around to see who was approaching. “Mom!” I whispered. “Look who’s coming!”

  Mom turned. “It’s Orhan!”

  “Kitsie? Zan?” Orhan broke into a wide grin and jogged over to us. “Merhaba! Hello!”

  “Uh—hi! How, um, odd to see you here.”

  “Odd?” His brow furrowed. “In what way? Why odd?”

  “I mean, it’s nice to see you here. But unexpected. Were you brought into the station for questioning?” Mom guessed.

  He nodded. “The police wished to speak with anyone who was on board the Gulet Yasemin. The other passengers have already left for Ephesus, and the boat has sailed again on a new Blue Voyage. But I came ashore for my exam. And they found me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “You probably know, then. Some figurines were discovered in my daughter’s bag—figurines that she didn’t put there. But she acquired them on the boat. We had to give your name as a potential witness.”

  “It is not a problem. I am happy to help and to share information. But I am concerned you are now involved in this. What exactly has happened?”

  We quickly filled him in on the basics. “But I have to get to the hospital to find my sister,” Mom finished. “If these gentlemen would just let us into a taxi.”

  Orhan said something to the drivers in Turkish.

  “Oh, good,” Mom said to me. “He’ll sort it out.”

  All three drivers got into their cars and drove off.

  Mom stared at Orhan.

  “Come with me,” he said. “I will drive you personally.”

  “Really? Wow. Thank you,” said Mom, as we followed Orhan toward the visitor parking lot. “I’m sure this was not in your plans for this evening.”

  “It is my great pleasure to help,” said Orhan. “I am happy that I live nearby!”

  We came to Orhan’s car, a white Ford Focus. He opened the front and back passenger doors for us with a grand gesture. I slid into the backseat and Mom got into the front.

  The car reeked of some kind of intense cologne, but it was spotless. A blue evil-eye amulet, suspended from a chain, swung from the rearview mirror. I watched the setting sun glance off it and hoped we were right to trust Orhan. So much for Mom’s warning about not telling strange men our itinerary. But at this point, who else could we trust?

  He sighed deeply. “I feel terrible that the three of you had to experience such a thing in my country,” he said, though he only looked at Mom.

  “It’s not your fault,” Mom said. “Airport security was just doing their job. I get that.”

  “But it is embarrassing to me. This is not how Turkey should treat tourists who come here to spend their hard-earned money. They should have taken the figurines and let you go. There was no need to treat you so rudely, or to detain you.” He paused and shook his head. “We should not assume people are criminals.”

  I looked at him in the rearview mirror and something inside me melted. He couldn’t know what those words meant to me. And maybe I had to think about those words before I blamed Sage for everything. I had complicated reasons for snooping and stealing stuff. And Mom and I had just staged an amped-up medical crisis to help Aunt Jackie and her baby. Maybe Sage had her own complicated reasons for doing the things she did, too. Maybe she’d do anything to help her mom, if her mom were seriously sick.

  “Here we are,” said Orhan, pulling up to a hospital. “Shall I go in with you?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Mom said, opening her door. “Thank you so much.”

  “But . . . where will you stay tonight?”

  “We’ll fi
nd someplace,” she said. “Don’t worry about us. Good luck with your exam!” She gave a cheery wave as we got out of his car.

  “Tea sugar and a dream,” I added, following Mom.

  The receptionist spoke enough English to understand Mom’s request to see Aunt Jackie. But Mom didn’t seem to comprehend the receptionist at first.

  “Visiting hours over,” said the receptionist, making an X with her arms. “Tomorrow morning, yes, you come.”

  “But I have to see her now,” Mom insisted. “It’s urgent.”

  “I have doctor’s note here. She is keeping for observation over one night,” said the unsympathetic receptionist, clicking around on her computer.

  “But is she okay?” Mom asked.

  “Did she lose the baby?” I wanted to know, gripping the edge of the counter.

  “I have only this note,” said the receptionist. “I will try to translate. Stable condition. No fetal distress. Keeping for observation. Tomorrow, tomorrow. Now you must go.”

  “Stable condition, at least,” said Mom as we went back outside. “But then why does she have to be kept overnight? That’s what I’d like to know. I feel like what started as a medical drama on our part suddenly got too real.”

  “I really wish we could see her. Even sleeping, just to be sure she’s fine,” I said.

  “I know.” Mom sighed. “But I’m not busting in there and risking getting in trouble. We’ll have to take their word for it, even if it is a translation. And we’d better get busy finding a hotel. I was counting on using Aunt Jackie’s phone, though, since mine’s completely useless here.”

  A horn honked. Farther down the curb was the white Ford Focus. Orhan rolled down his window and waved us over.

  Mom’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “What? He stayed?” she exclaimed.

  “Let’s go,” I said, hefting my backpack.

  “I could not leave you here,” Orhan explained when we got back into the car. “I worried you would have difficulty finding a hotel. I made a few calls for you, but all hotels are booked. High season. This is a problem. There is one Hotel Antalya near here, but not a nice place for ladies.”

  “We’re not too particular,” said Mom. “We’ll go there.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “There have been crimes in that area. I think you do not need more encounters with police, yes? Please, I insist. Come to my home. I will make you as comfortable as I can. You may have the entire upstairs.”

  Mom looked agonized. It was a tempting offer, but scary. How much could we trust him?

  “My mother will be happy to have guests,” he added, as if guessing our concern.

  “Oh!” Mom looked relieved. “You live with your mother?”

  “My mother lives with me,” he said, straightening his shoulders.

  Mom nodded. “All right, then. Thank you. We’ll stay with you. That’s very kind of you.”

  I’d rather have stayed in a hotel myself, but now I realized we were lucky to get this bonus time with Orhan. He’d spent some time on the boat with Sage, when were away seeing the ruins. Maybe he’d noticed something about her that would shed light on what she had done.

  “So did you notice anything weird about Sage when she was on the boat?” I asked Orhan as he pulled back out onto the main road. “Any suspicious behavior?”

  “I cannot say that I did,” he said. “Except for her fast departure.”

  “What about the baklava seller? Do you know where he went after he came to our boat?”

  Orhan smiled at me through the rearview mirror. He had a nice smile, I had to admit. Kind eyes. “You are more thorough an interrogator than the police,” he teased.

  “Sorry. I’m just curious.”

  He laughed. “Not a problem. Yes, I did see the same vendor who came to our boat. He also went to the Anilar after, and then to two other yachts in the cove,” he said. “He did not remain at their boats long. I did not think much of it. These types of vendors are quite common along the coast. But this vendor was different in one way. He had a pile of, how do you say, tarpaulins, I think?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes. Tarpaulins. This looked a little not so typical to me, so I mentioned it to the police.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mom. “The tarps were probably covering up all his stolen or black market artifacts. I hope that couple on the Anilar didn’t get tempted to buy some. On the shore excursion to the ruins, they mentioned they had a little art gallery.”

  “Then I hope the police find them, and warn them,” I said, remembering that detail, too. “If they bought something from him, they could get detained at the airport just like we did!” I shivered. Here were the Clarksons cashing out their retirement, living like free spirits, embracing life after their cancer scare. They didn’t deserve to end up in a Turkish prison either. And they might not be so lucky to have this Inspector Lale let them go.

  Orhan shook his head. “I do not think they bought objects,” he said. “I was fishing, and I saw the vendor. He held up the tray to the two passengers. The couple. They bought pastries and ate them. But then, maybe he wanted to sell only pastry to them, and to get away quickly, because the Anilar’s first mate was standing nearby at the time. With a gun.”

  “A gun!” Mom exclaimed.

  “You mean one of the guards on that boat, right?” I said.

  “No, it was the first mate,” Orhan said. “He was cleaning a gun. Sometimes the first mate acts as a guard on a boat. Especially these days when people have concerns about crime.”

  I frowned, thoroughly confused now. Why would Riza need to act as a guard if the Clarksons had hired Lazar and Vasil to do the job?

  I wanted to ask Orhan, but then he pulled into a gravel driveway of a three-level house that clung to a bluff near the water. Just below was a narrow, rocky beach, where families with small children were gathering up towels and toys, fishermen were hauling in their nets, and the smell of fried food filled the air.

  The house wasn’t grand, it wasn’t a mansion, and it looked a little run-down. But it also seemed cheerful and inviting.

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous,” said Mom, gazing up at the decks, the potted roses, the twisting bougainvillea. “What a location.”

  “Wait, please.” Orhan got out of the car, ran around to the passenger side, and opened both Mom’s door and mine. “Welcome to my home! For now, please, consider it your home as well.”

  Orhan’s mother was a woman in her sixties named Beyza. She wore a pretty green-and-black hijab, or head scarf, concealing all her hair, and simple but elegant clothes: a blue button-down shirt and neatly pressed black trousers. She had a dark mole on her cheek, and a twinkle in her eye. And she was kind to us. I hadn’t felt so welcomed somewhere since the Clarksons made me feel at home on the Anilar. Just like Ron and Judy didn’t treat Sage and me like the trespassers that we were, Beyza didn’t seem to view us as criminal suspects out on furlough. And she really did make us feel as if we were home.

  She showed us to our guest room—a sewing room with a pull-out sofa. It was a humble space, but comfortable and clean, and cozy with thick rugs and piles of pillows on the floor. Bright tapestries hung from the walls. After hours spent in interrogation rooms, I was so grateful to be in a real house.

  After we’d washed up—I’d applied a fresh coat of foundation on my face from the emergency tube I had in my backpack—Beyza insisted we relax in the yard while she and Orhan cooked dinner. Relaxing seemed impossible while we still knew no details about Aunt Jackie’s condition. But we stretched out on lounge chairs and played with four friendly cats, trying to distract ourselves.

  Later, out on the patio, with a view of the sea, Orhan and his mother served up our dinner. Orhan handed each of us a small ceramic pot and instructed us to hold it with the top facing away from us. Then he pulled out a large knife and broke the end off each pot. St
ew oozed out, glistening, onto our plates. It tasted even better than it looked. Orhan and Beyza beamed as we exclaimed how delicious it was.

  Beyza spoke no English, but Orhan translated for her when she expressed curiosity about our conversation. Mostly, though, Orhan and Mom chatted together. They seemed to have a lot to say to each other, suddenly, about where they’d gone to school and how they’d grown up. I wanted to crawl under the table. It was one thing to be friendly with someone who was going out of his way to help us. But it was quite another to be flirting so openly. Which is what it appeared they were doing, even more blatantly than on the boat.

  Every time I stole a glance at Mom, I seemed to recognize her less. Gone was the tensely smiling, über-chipper woman who had stood by Dad’s side in her Talbots outfits. Mom looked . . . relaxed. She laughed openly, deeply, at Orhan’s jokes, and told a few of her own. She even sat differently, seeming to take up more space, one arm draped around the empty chair to her right.

  Beyza brought out a tray with rice pudding and tea. Conversation turned to our Blue Voyage and what we’d enjoyed about it: the cliff tombs and the rock tombs. The warm water. The ruins. And of course, Orhan’s cooking. But as the moon rose up in the sky, and a chill mixed with the evening air, we were reminded of what was in store for us tomorrow.

  Orhan explained the whole situation to Beyza, who nodded, murmuring under her breath, a grave expression on her face. Often that grave expression was directed toward me.

  “Mother asks if you know the names of the guards who bothered you,” Orhan said to me.

  “Lazar and Vasil,” I said.

  Mom frowned. “How do you know that?” she asked. “Did they introduce themselves before they pulled you into the alley? Or after?”

  I froze. I knew their names because the Clarksons had introduced them to me. “Um. Sage mentioned them,” I said at last. “She’d swum out to their boat before.”

  Beyza frowned and said something to Orhan, who nodded.

  “My mother says these are Bulgarian names, not Turkish. She is correct.”