Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20 "It worked," Dan said. "That's good, right?" "Right," Amy said. Irina had taken off for Morocco, and they'd seen Theo and Hilary board the plane to Cairo. "Why do you look so bummed?" Nellie asked. "You should be celebrating. You had this great plan— you bought some old papyrus, and Theo copied Katherine's handwriting perfectly. We found the perfect fake statue and drilled the hole. Thanks to our collective brilliance, you just sent your worst enemy on a one-way trip to a wild goose chase. Besides, I'm the one who should be crying. My heart is broken." Nellie waved her spoon, then scooped up another spoonful of yogurt and honey. "Oh, yum."

"Your heart was broken for about five minutes," Amy said. Nellie shrugged. "What, am I supposed to stop eating?" She pointed her spoon at Amy. "Never regret trusting someone. It proves you have a heart. But if he turns out to be a lying worm… I'm not going to waste my time crying. Because I am way too fabulous for that." Amy knew that Nellie was telling her to get over Ian. Could she really borrow some of Nellie's confidence? She never felt fabulous. Some days if she was lucky, she hit the high mark of not bad. "It was a brilliant plan," Dan said. "You knew Irina wouldn't fork over a million dollars." "She doesn't have a million dollars," Amy said. "She was going to double-cross Theo. All she wanted was the lead. And she wanted it so badly she didn't stop to think that it came a little too easily." "That's the fatal flaw of the Lucians," Dan said. "They think they're brilliant." Nellie scooped up the rest of her yogurt and stretched. "I'm taking off for the pool. Suggestion

—try to bypass the adventure highway for today?" "I've been thinking," Dan said as Nellie took off. "I think Grace prepped us for this trip. Remember when she took us to New York for the weekend? We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and spent a bunch of hours in the Egyptian wing. Remember the Temple of Dendur?" "That's right!" Amy exclaimed. "She told us all about the Aswan High Dam, and how it flooded all these monuments they had to rescue, like the Temple of Dendur. But that's all I remember. If she gave us a hint that day, it's lost." "She bought us hot pretzels," Dan said. "That, I remember." Memory bloomed inside Amy. One of hundreds that were buried in her head and heart about her grandmother. Eating pretzels with mustard on the steps of the museum. It had been fall— she remembered the brilliant orange trees in Central Park. Grace had already been through one round of chemotherapy. They'd all thought she had licked her cancer, that she would be well, that she would live forever.

Well. Amy and Dan had thought that. Because Grace had wanted them to. For as long as they could. What wonderful things we saw today, Grace had said. But sometimes people spend too much time in the past. Nothing I saw today is as good as this pretzel! She'd waved it in the air and taken a bite. She hadn't meant just the pretzel. Amy knew that now. She'd meant everything at that moment. The now. The three of them together, sitting on the museum steps on a perfect fall day, eating pretzels and mustard from a sidewalk vendor. The memory didn't just belong to her. It belonged to Dan. He remembered things like that. Random moments that seemed small but were actually huge. Often those moments passed her by because she was so busy worrying about something stupid like catching a bus. Or mustard on her new skirt. She took the Sakhet out of her waist pack and put it on the table.

"What should we do with her?" she asked. "I don't feel safe carrying her around Aswan. It's your call." What she was really saying was, Grace belongs to both of us. Dan met her eyes. He knew. "Maybe the hotel safe?" he asked. "Then we can meet Nellie at the pool and do something you'll think is really radical." "Like what?" Dan gave his crooked grin. "Have fun." "Ah, Miss Cahill." The manager rose to greet her from his desk. He hurried to shake her hand. "I was so glad when you phoned. I knew your grandmother very well." "You did?" "Grace Cahill was a favorite guest for many years. She came first in the late forties and then just about every year for more than twenty years. We have hotel archives, and she's featured prominently." "I didn't know that." "Oh, yes. We have a wonderful photograph of

your grandmother painting by the Nile. Would you like to see it?" He reached into his desk. "I tracked it down after you phoned." Amy looked at the black-and-white photograph. Grace was younger and slimmer, wearing white trousers and a white shirt. A scarf was wrapped around her head. She was sitting at an easel somewhere in the gardens, facing the river. Next to her an older, stout man in a straw hat was painting the same scene. "Isn't that…" "Yes, Sir Winston Churchill, also a favorite guest. Prime Minister of Great Britain during World War Two, great statesman, all that. But also— did you know this?— a painter. He always told Grace she needed lessons from him. I believe this photograph was taken in the 1950s." "Thank you for showing it to me. I was wondering if you'd keep something in the safe for me," Amy said, holding out the box with the Sakhet. "Of course." He turned and opened the safe and placed the Sakhet inside. "And now, I must