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  “Of course,” said Alice. “We’re at a party. We should be festive.”

  “How’d you hear about our fund-raiser, anyway?” I asked the Clarksons.

  “We saw a flyer when we were touring the neighborhood,” said Judy.

  “And we recognized your aunt’s hotel name, since your mother had mentioned the place that day we all went to the Dalyan ruins. Thought we’d check it out,” said Ron. “We’re always on the lookout for charming boutique hotels and off-the-beaten-path experiences.”

  “Are you staying here, too?” I asked.

  “No, we’re perfectly happy where we’re at. The Inter-Continental,” said Judy. “It’s like home away from home for us. We stay there every time we’re in Turkey. But we’ll certainly tell all our friends about this little hidden gem,” she added warmly.

  “Oh, I hadn’t realized you were repeat travelers to this part of the world,” said Alice.

  “Occasionally. New to the coast and to Cappadocia. But we sure love Istanbul,” said Ron. “Hey, it looks to be a fun party,” he added, surveying the guests still streaming through the front door. No Lazar, no Inspector Lale. “We can’t stay long, on account of our early departure tomorrow, but we’ll be happy to make a donation to the cause.”

  “They’re a bit skimpy on the wine, though.” Judy set down her empty glass. “Is there a full bar?”

  “It’s just wine or beer,” I said, remembering that Mom didn’t want to cause offense by emphasizing alcohol too much; some Muslims, she said, didn’t drink at all. “I can get you a refill, though.” Again I scanned the growing crowd in the lobby. A new worry stabbed me. What if Lazar showed up but Inspector Lale didn’t? I trusted the inspector with information now, but she had a pretty lousy record for returning phone calls in a timely manner. She got distracted a lot by crimes needing her attention. She seemed to have understood that I was serious about needing her to come to this party, but what if something pulled her away tonight, something beyond her control?

  “Oh, no, you don’t need to serve me,” said Judy. “You need to be a hostess. Chat with your friends from the cruise, and I’ll go help myself. Some wine for you, too?”

  “My mom would kill me,” I said. “I’m not allowed to drink.”

  “Your mom’s a wise lady,” said Judy. “And you’ve got plenty of time for all that.”

  As I watched her go to the drinks table, I remembered something I’d really liked about Judy on the cruise: how she didn’t assume the worst about me. I glowed a little. And standing by the stairs near the Blue Voyage guests, I suddenly felt kind of grown-up. Kind of . . . elegant. If I didn’t have a search to try to pull off, I might actually have some fun. This was a whole different kind of party from the usual fund-raisers Mom threw. This party felt so much warmer, and genuinely festive. It wasn’t a bunch of people crammed into stiff clothes, drinking stiff drinks, trying to impress one another.

  Even Aunt Jackie seemed to be enjoying herself as she chatted with guests about the renovations. “We’ll bring the Mavi Konak back to the splendor of its Ottoman days,” I heard her say to a smiling couple.

  Judy came back with her refilled wineglass, and a large glass of pomegranate juice for me. “I hope you like it over ice,” she said. “I always prefer it that way.”

  “Oh, thanks.” I took it gratefully. The evening was warm and the air in the lobby close with the growing crowd of guests.

  Then I remembered that I’d promised Sage I’d bring her some snacks and something to drink. So I excused myself from the cruise guests, grabbed a plate, piled it high with appetizers and my half-finished juice glass—and nearly bumped into a woman in a chic white sheath dress.

  Inspector Lale! Her hair was pulled back in a slick French twist, and she wore long gold earrings and a ton of eye makeup. I hadn’t recognized her at first.

  “Zan!” she exclaimed. “There you are.”

  “I’m so glad you came,” I gushed. I looked behind her and all around. “Are you alone?” I wanted her to be flanked by beefy, legitimate security guys—or real cops.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this. It sounded so important to you that I come. Can we talk somewhere more private? It’s been hard to talk on the phone, hasn’t it.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t take her to my room because Sage was there, and I didn’t want to turn in Sage until I was sure we could get Lazar taken into custody. Still holding the plate of meze and the juice, I led her to the garden. We found a quiet corner by the Byzantine wall, where the splash of a fountain would mask our hushed voices and a row of potted trees hid us from view.

  “I’ve been worried about you,” she said. “You called and left messages, but when I called back I didn’t hear from you for a long time.”

  “I didn’t know if I could trust you,” I admitted. “I thought you might even be working with Lazar. You know, like from the inside. You told us back in Dalaman that his ring used some operatives inside the police force.”

  Inspector Lale looked astonished. Lines appeared in her forehead. “They do, but not me,” she said. “I assure you, I’m working around the clock to apprehend Lazar and his team. All the crimes I was investigating on the coast were potentially related to their vast smuggling network. Which I am trying to bring down. I certainly do not work for them. Whatever made you think that?”

  “I’m sorry,” I added, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s just, all these things happened to me—Lazar sent me two notes pretending to be Sage, and he followed me to the Grand Bazaar—and I never saw any sign of undercover police officers. Nobody ever came to ask me what happened, or to stop Lazar.”

  “Oh, Zan,” she said, sadly. “I’m sorry. I can imagine you were really frightened. I can see why you stopped calling for a while. But you see, I did send police after you called me the first time.”

  “You—you did?”

  “Yes. At least, I thought I did.” Her face hardened. “No one came in to introduce themselves? Or to speak with you in my place?”

  I shook my head.

  She pursed her lips and let out a long breath. “I’m supposed to have a team of three men on the ground here. Three men—that’s all my superiors would give me. But that should have been enough for basic surveillance. However, I just learned this evening that somebody didn’t think it was all that important. I couldn’t even get backup for this party. This is so typical.” Her eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t know what I have to do to earn the respect of my own department.”

  Now I felt ridiculous. Nazif had been right. I should have trusted her all this time, and if I’d just persisted in calling her a bit more, she might have learned earlier that she had no one on the ground here and come back to Istanbul sooner. I’d gotten myself in over my head with this situation, all because I couldn’t trust people.

  “So I get the feeling you’ve been holding back on the phone a bit,” she said. “Tell me, what’s been going on?”

  I took a deep breath and told her about the secret workshop I’d seen on the third floor of the Lycian Society building, taking care to leave Nazif’s name out of it. “I have pictures on the bellboy’s phone, which I sort of borrowed for the expedition,” I explained, unable to meet her stern gaze. “I know it was wrong to climb up there, and to go inside, but—”

  She shook her head. “Wrong, maybe. Dangerous, definitely. But nobody has reported an incident, and I’m certainly not going to press any charges. I will be quite eager to see those photos. Does this bellboy know they are on his phone? And do you think they’re still there?”

  I nodded. “But he didn’t have anything to do with it. Really.”

  She put up a hand. “He will not be in any trouble,” she assured me. “You have my word. Listen, Zan. ” Her face was a bit softer now, but still serious. “You’ve given me some extremely important information. I’ve suspected for some time that there’s a workshop where these
replicas and packing materials are being put together. I’m amazed, and grateful, that you found it. I’ll look into this personally, right away.”

  “I’m glad you came to the party, too,” I said. “My aunt really wants to talk to you. She has a theory about how Uncle Berk died.” Even if Aunt Jackie had the wrong kind of evidence, she had the right idea, to think he’d been murdered. And if I let her plant that seed now in Inspector Lale’s mind, she’d be ready to move fast on the evidence I’d be bringing to her soon enough.

  “Yes, Jackie mentioned something about that,” said Inspector Lale. “Can you find her for me?”

  “Of course,” I said, and we left the private corner of the garden and reentered the noisy lobby. I walked Inspector Lale over to where Aunt Jackie was sitting.

  The inspector and Aunt Jackie went off to my aunt’s apartment down the hall. Meanwhile, I carried the plate and the half-finished glass of juice up to my room, where a grateful Sage took them and dug in. “No Lazar yet,” I said. “But Inspector Lale is here.”

  Sage choked on her appetizer. She looked really scared.

  “It’s okay. We want her here. Once we get the urn, I’ll tell her I’ve found it, and then we’ll look for Lazar. ”

  “She brought backup, right?” asked Sage.

  I shook my head. “She couldn’t get anyone to join her. The men on the force don’t all take her seriously, I guess. But she’s official police, and all she has to do is see Lazar take or even ask about the urn, and she has enough to take him into custody.”

  When I rejoined the cruise guests downstairs, they were comparing notes about what to see and do in Cappadocia. That’s when Nazif came through the front door.

  He was carrying a large box. A thrill ran through me, knowing it contained his beautiful handmade shadow puppets and his screen, which he’d be setting up on our roof tonight. And as for Nazif—oh my God, he looked amazing. He wore a black suit for the occasion and looked somehow put-together and yet slightly, adorably rumpled: he’d missed a button on his white button-down shirt. But his hair was neatly combed back from his face, like an old-fashioned movie star’s. And he turned his dazzling smile to me, like a spotlight, even though I didn’t have a speck of makeup on and was standing by a lamp.

  Then, in an instant, his smile faded. Instinctively, I put my hand to my face. My skin burned. He must have seen something he didn’t like; it was written all over his face. It had been one thing to see my face exposed in the moonlight before, but now he could see my arms. The patches. The continental drift. This had been a stupid idea, thinking I could go around looking natural. I should have covered myself up after all.

  “I have to do something upstairs,” I mumbled, and I turned and ran up the stairs, tripping over the hem of my dress.

  But Nazif followed me. “Wait, Zan!” he said.

  I kept going. He kept following. We were in the stairwell now, approaching the roof. The voices and laughter trickled down to us, as did the sounds of the Turkish band.

  Finally I stopped and whirled around. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. It’s okay. I’m a freak. Now you know. It’s not just my face, it’s my arms, too. And my legs. Eventually it might be all over my body. It’s an autoimmune disorder, okay? I can’t help it. Somehow I got a weird gene. Get over it.”

  “Zan, no! It’s not that. How horrible. I don’t think you are a freak. Not at all,” he continued. “I think you are . . . the opposite of that. An un-freak.”

  We both laughed, a little nervously. Then he reached out and touched my face, softly. Then my arm. Then my other arm. “I do not like this word, ‘freak.’ I stopped and looked at you because you were . . . because . . .” He faltered. “Because your eyes were shining. And you looked so beautiful standing there.”

  I shivered, even though his touch was soft and warm. I felt that magnetic pull of attraction to him, the impulse to fold him into my arms and lean my head on his shoulder. Then I felt sweaty. I looked down at my arms and saw goose bumps, even though I felt overheated.

  I had never fallen for any guy before, not like this. I shook my head, trying to stay focused. No swooning! I scolded myself. I had to get that urn and take it to Inspector Lale, and get Sage out of hiding. Then I could be free to have feelings again.

  I leaned against the wall. I didn’t remember it being at a slight slant. Maybe it was from some earthquake damage in the past.

  Nazif checked his watch. “I must begin my show in five minutes. That means it is time for you to look for the urn.” He handed me a piece of paper listing all the cruise guests’ room numbers, and his ring of keys.

  “Good luck,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss it. I hope your mom and dad love the show.”

  “Thank you. Good luck to you,” he said. “I’m afraid you need it more.” He reached out and stroked my face, the left side. He looked deeply into my eyes, and I looked back into his, unafraid. We stood there for a few moments like that. Then Nazif took a deep breath and let it out in one long, slow sigh. “I want to stay here and look at you all evening. And more.”

  I shivered. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean, you want to look at me more or . . . do more?”

  He hesitated. “Both. Look more.” He looked down. “And do more.” He reached for my hands and held them for a moment, then squeezed them softly and released them. “But it is time for me to go. We have our plan.”

  “I know. The show must go on, right? So. Go.” I gave him a small, playful push on the arm. “I’ll be okay. You know I always land on my feet.” I tried to smile, remembering my rooftop leaps and how he’d laughed in amazement.

  “Yes,” he said. “You do land on your feet.” He held my gaze a moment longer. Then he turned and ran down the hall, disappearing into the stairwell. I stood pressed against the wall, listening to his footsteps spiraling upward and to the pounding of my own heart.

  39

  Sage and I peered down the hall both ways. I felt a dull throbbing in my head, but ignored it. This was no time for a headache. “All clear,” I said. “Room 214 first. Nils and Ingrid.” We went to the stairwell and ran down a flight, ignoring guests who brushed past us. Already I could hear the strains of the oud that signaled the start of Nazif’s performance. He would be doing his show to the accompaniment of an oud player and a hand drummer from the band, he had said. When we stopped hearing the music, we would know that the twenty-minute show was over and that guests might be filtering back down the stairs.

  We scurried down the second-floor hall, unlocked the door to room 214, and got busy. I was glad Sage had insisted on coming to help me. The Norwegians had a ton of luggage. We went through everything, every compartment. We opened armoire doors and closet doors. We found clothes and outdoor gear and basic souvenirs from tourist shops, including a whole bag of evil-eye amulets. Gifts, I guessed. I was tempted to take one, for any protection it might offer me—I never had replaced Orhan’s. But I closed the bag and shut the suitcase. I was no longer a thief.

  “Nothing,” we agreed minutes later.

  “Next room. The Brits,” I said, locking the door behind me. “Room 215.”

  We went through all their things, too, even faster, but found no seahorse urn there, either.

  “That leaves Milton and Maeve,” I said. “Sultan’s Suite. Top floor.” We locked the door to 215 and dashed into the stairwell, where I nearly collided with Orhan, who was balancing a large tray of small glasses filled with tea.

  “Wrong way!” he cried out, as the tray teetered.

  “Sorry!” I said, reaching out to stop it from falling.

  Meanwhile, Sage darted around the corner, out of sight.

  Orhan smiled at me and wiped imaginary sweat off his brow. “Whew. A close call, yes? I need some more hands. And I do not trust that old elevator. Can you please take this up to the roof for me?” He handed
me the tray before I could protest. “I have something in the oven. I am afraid it may burn.” He dashed downstairs, back to the kitchen.

  Sage crept back around the corner. We exchanged an anguished look.

  “Put the tray down. You can deliver it later,” Sage said. “We need every minute.”

  “I can’t leave a tray of drinks on the floor. I don’t want to make Orhan worried and looking for me. I have to go up near the roof garden anyway to get to the Sultan’s Suite. I’ll be fast.” I didn’t want to admit that also a part of me wanted to glimpse Nazif in his element, doing his show.

  “Okay. But hurry.”

  The tray was awkward to carry with all those glasses, but I managed to carry it up to the roof and open the stairwell door. My legs felt heavy and my heart was pounding as I stepped outside. All the glasses on the tray wobbled and made soft clinking sounds.

  Outside, except for the gentle plucking sound of the oud and the rhythmic thud of the drums, a hush had fallen over the rooftop. A spell had been cast. Everyone’s eyes were on Nazif’s show. He was using his handmade puppets. I recognized the bird; it was soaring against a backdrop of the Blue Mosque. A sultan shadow puppet appeared, bowing before the bird, and the bird bowed back. Everyone laughed with delight. I saw Mustafa and Nazif’s mother standing to the side, smiling along with the audience. I didn’t know if Nazif could see them through the screen. I would have to tell him later that his parents had looked so proud.

  I set the tray down on the food table. Much as I wanted to see the show, I had more pressing business. I quickly turned to go, then lost my balance a little and knocked over a vase of flowers on a plant stand. Bending down to right the vase, I wobbled in the high-heeled sandals I’d borrowed from Aunt Jackie. That’s when my mom came striding over to me, a furious look on her face.

  “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you,” Mom whispered, glaring at me.

  “What? God, Mom. No!” I whispered back.

  “You’re acting funny.” She grabbed my arm, then sniffed me. “I don’t smell anything. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t been at the wine.”