Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Dieciséis

CAPíTULO DIECISéIS

From the station, Whit hired a carriage to take us and our luggage to Hotel Abbat, a handsome building with columns and tall windows overlooking a square. Whit paid the driver, who helped us unload our trunks, and together we all walked into a cozy lobby, and while not as grand as the one in Shepheard’s, it had plush seating and a long wooden counter where several workers helped other travelers. Upon further inspection, I found a lush interior garden with blooms that pleasantly scented the air. A sign written in French directed guests to luxurious baths, or to a reading room. There was even a smoking room.

Alarm swept over me. I reached for Whit’s arm and hissed, “We can’t afford this.”

“Since the bombardment, everyone’s prices have dropped,” Whit whispered back. “This is a comfortable second-class hotel, the only one of which I felt was appropriate, given Alexandria’s current state.”

“Current state?” I asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Whit said, leading us to the front desk.

The hotel attendant, a young German named Karl, quickly set us up with a room. It had a fixed price of fifteen francs per day, which included lodging and board but excluded liquor. I expected Whit to protest, but he remained silent on that score. The accommodations were much cheaper than I’d set aside for—an enormous relief. We had used the money I’d received from the first-class passage refund to book this suite for the next week and it thankfully also included all three meals, tea, and coffee.

If Whit despaired about sleeping on a cot, he didn’t dare show it.

He and Isadora walked off to explore the rest of the lobby, but I remained with Karl while he shared more information about the hotel and suite. When he finished, I asked, “Would you be able to send a telegram?”

He nodded and procured a slip of paper, an envelope, and a pencil for me. “I’ll send it to the telegraph office after you’re finished, it will be wired within the hour. The price is five piastres per ten words. Is that acceptable? Yes? Good.”

“Thank you,” I murmured as I scribbled a quick message to Farida. I gave her the name of the hotel and our address and begged her to please send word if any new photographs were mailed to her. I stuffed the note into an envelope and handed it to Karl, along with payment.

Then I went to find my companions. They were standing off to the side of the lobby unoccupied by other guests. “The room is ready for our use,” I announced to Isadora and Whit when I joined them.

They stood coldly staring at each other, Isadora with her arms folded tightly, Whit’s looming presence grim and serious, every line of his face steeped in suspicion. Neither had spoken to the other since they’d returned from the dining car on the train ride to Alexandria. I hated the tension that existed between them, and my only consolation was that Whit wouldn’t be in my life long enough to truly drive me mad from his cynical view of my sister.

Even so, it grated.

Isadora’s blue eyes shot to mine. “Will they bring up our trunks, do you think?”

I nodded. “Already in process.”

“By the time we arrive back from our outing, everything should be in order, then,” Isadora said in approval.

“ Our outing?” Whit repeated. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Mr. Hayes,” I said, ignoring the strain appearing along his eyes, “we’re going to pay a visit to the address you found. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.”

“I haven’t,” Whit said curtly. “But we can’t all go. It’ll be faster if I run the errand on my own. Not to mention that I’ll draw less notice.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

“You know it’s true,” Whit said. “The quicker I can accomplish our goal, the better. And what would happen if we ran into one of your mother’s associates? I can’t sneak around with the two of you at my heels. It’d be close to impossible to make your lovely bulk disappear.” His blue eyes flicked downward, carefully assessing the way my dress hugged the curved lines of my body.

When Whit lifted his eyes, they burned, twin fires that crackled and hissed sparks.

He hadn’t touched me since our wedding night—and I was glad of it. Part of me knew what would happen if he crossed that line: I’d have to fight myself tooth and nail to walk away. A battle I wasn’t sure I’d win. And wasn’t that sobering?

“You’re going to have to figure something out,” I said. “Because my following along was one of my conditions, remember? Or are you going to show me, again, that your words are empty?”

Whit locked his jaw.

“I have an idea,” Isadora said. “Why don’t I stay and unpack our bags, Inez? That way you can accompany Mr. Hayes to the address.”

“You’re going to willingly stay behind?” Whit asked slowly. “What are you planning?”

“What nefarious scheme could I be planning in unpacking the trunks?” Isadora demanded. “Do you think I’ll rip holes in your socks?”

“You are not to open my trunk,” Whit said. “It’s locked, anyway.”

A headache bloomed in my temples. It occurred to me that we were perhaps making the situation more complicated than it ought to be. I held out my hand to Whit. “May I have the address, please?” This halted the argument between them.

“Why?” Whit asked.

“I have a plan,” I explained.

“Of course you do,” he said.

He’d said the words with a warm glint in his blue eyes. A compliment I ought not to pay attention to, but it dislodged some of the tension I’d carried from the moment we stepped inside the hotel.

Whit handed me the scrap of paper. “Are you going to enlighten us?”

“If the idea has legs to stand on, then yes,” I said pleasantly. I glanced behind me to the check-in counter and retraced my steps to speak with the concierge. “Excuse me, Karl.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hayes,” he said. “How else can I help to make your stay more comfortable?”

I glanced down at the address. “Well, we are here to see the sights, of course. And a friend recommended I pay a visit to this address. Is there a church close by, or perhaps an obelisk?” I slid the paper to Karl.

He read the scant few lines, frowning. “This area is close to the Place des Counsels—one of the casualties from the bombardment. It is still much destroyed, lots of rubble, buildings blown apart, though some parts are under repair.” He glanced at me apologetically. “I’m afraid there’s not much to see in that area.”

I pressed my lips together, considering. My mother wouldn’t have provided an address that went nowhere. “Surely there must be something?”

“Only the bank,” he said. “A department store and a couple of grocers. That’s the extent of it.”

It was exactly what I had been looking for, but I didn’t let my face show it. Instead, I slumped my shoulders in obvious disappointment and returned to my companions—who were still not speaking to each other.

“The address is a bank,” I said triumphantly. “Near the Place des Counsels. This is where my mother is having money wired to.”

“Except you never actually wired any of the money,” Isadora said. “How will we find her? We can’t watch the bank, day in and day out. We don’t have the money to stay in Alexandria that long.” She threw Whit a pointed look.

He remained stone-faced. I wasn’t going to defend him, though the constant arguing between them still wasn’t helpful. What I wanted was a solution. The faster we found my mother, the more information we could collect, the better to build a case against her. My uncle and Abdullah could go free, my mother would pay for her crimes, and all of the artifacts would have to be returned to the antiquities department.

And in the middle of all that, I’d somehow force her to tell me the truth about my father.

I knew now how to detect her lies, uncover her half-truths, parse through her false speech. I was becoming an expert in digging up my mother’s secrets. Even now, I heard her voice in my head, asking me for help.

I knew how to sound like her. I knew how to talk like her.

“I think I might have come up with something,” I said slowly.

They turned to look at me expectantly.

I detailed exactly what I wanted to do. Isadora responded with her characteristic hesitation while Whit loudly proclaimed that it was the worst idea he’d ever heard, that I was putting myself at too much risk.

Which was exactly why I knew it was the best option left.

As promised, Isadora stayed behind at the hotel to unpack, while Whit and I hired a carriage to take us to our desired street, the roof open to allow fresh air. The sun bore down on us, and I was thankful for the large hat I wore that blocked most of its harsh rays. I smoothed down the wrinkles of my best skirt and straightened the lapel of my jacket. I’d purposefully chosen something that made me look older. Isadora had even styled my hair in a more mature fashion, neat and coiled at the crown of my head. I had added bright rouge to my lips and darkened my eyelashes.

Whit had lost the power of speech when he had seen me. I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing and ultimately decided that it should not matter . I settled back against the seat, idly watching the other carriages on the street attempting to navigate the debris on the road. We were driven through the once-great city square, left ruined and in utter destruction by the bombardment of the British.

“I wonder what it looked like before,” I murmured.

Whit pointed to one end, a mass of debris and tangled telegraph wires. “That was once the Hotel d’Europe, one of the nicest places I’d ever had the pleasure of staying in.”

“When were you here?”

“I passed through when I first came to Egypt,” he said, shifting his hand to point somewhere else. “Here was the French and English consulate; there you can see part of the entrance still standing, and some of the walls. But the interior was completely gutted.”

“This must be strange,” I commented. “Seeing the city this way when it existed more splendidly in your memory.”

“It is,” he said, “but stranger still for those profoundly attached to Alexandria. It must have been devastating. Humans can be so careless with beautiful things: lives, animals, art. Nothing is safe from our hands.”

“How many people died by the end?”

“Thousands,” Whit said grimly. “The British had significantly fewer casualties than the Egyptians.”

We were sitting across from each other, his long legs stretched onto the opposite bench. This kind of proximity would never have been allowed if we weren’t married. A state that I had only enjoyed for less than twenty-four hours. It amazed me how life could change in an instant. Hearing him talk of the war always made me think of everything he must have witnessed in between boyhood and becoming a man. I wanted to know this side of him, and my curiosity flared with a dozen questions.

But I forced myself to stay silent. The more we talked, the harder it would be to walk away.

And there was no question that I would.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said softly.

I startled but kept my attention on the shattered remains of the plaza. I hated that he could guess my thoughts with such precision. I especially hated it because I never knew what he was thinking.

“Or to believe anything I have to say,” he continued. “But I do have a plan to make things right between us.”

Oh, I didn’t doubt it. His guilt would govern every one of his actions, and I was sure he’d bleed himself dry to be rid of it. He didn’t care about me other than to ease his own conscience. And he had led me to believe there was more between us than camaraderie. I had been a fool to fall for his scheme, but a small part of me yearned to hear that his feelings had run as deep as mine.

But he never spoke of love. Only friendship.

“What is it that you hope for you and me?” I asked quietly. “When all of this is behind us?”

Whit observed me, considering his response. When he spoke, it was carefully. “I have no expectations. No hopes.”

Exactly what I thought.

I gripped the edge of my seat, breathing slowly. It surprised me how his words could still hurt me. That there was a part of me that still wanted to believe he would fight for me, for his heart, for us. That he had loved me, that what we had was real.

My God, I was delusional.

The driver expertly wheeled us onto another street, labeled in French. This one had survived the bombing, two-story buildings lining the path, homes above and businesses below. We passed a hairdresser, two markets, and then the driver whistled, pulling on the reins. He gestured to our left, indicating we had arrived at the bank.

Whit jumped out first and then helped me down.

“Now remember,” I said. “You’re my personal guard. Do not speak.”

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Do not tell me what to do. If someone points a gun at you, I will have words to say about that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “The only thing that could is us getting escorted out of the bank.”

“Yes,” he muttered. “By the bloody bluejackets.”

“The what?”

“Part of the tribunal the British set up after the bombing to restore order,” he said. “Now, Olivera, remember to say as little as possible. You don’t need to explain yourself, nor launch into superfluous details no one asks for. Just say what you came to say. That’s all.”

“Yes, I’ll remember,” I said, my nerves taking flight deep in my belly. I felt as if I had a flock of butterflies invading my person. “Anything else?”

“Maintain eye contact,” he went on. “Let him know that you’re an important person without saying you are important. Keep your back straight, don’t fidget, and be confident. And one more thing.”

“Yes?”

He smiled. “I thought you didn’t want me to talk.”

If I could, I would have hit him right there on the front steps of the bank. “You are so exasperating,” I said, turning to face the front door. A large rectangular room filled with wooden desks and low chairs greeted us as we walked inside. Several workers stood at the entrance. Some of them walked forward, dressed in tailored suits and pressed shirts, shoes gleaming. They spoke a mixture of Italian and French. I spoke neither, but then one of them began in clumsy English.

“Yes,” I said instinctively. “I’d love your help.”

He motioned for us to follow him down a narrow corridor that opened to various offices. Whit was a silent and formidable shadow. Many of the attendants looked at us with apparent unease as we walked past. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I found Whit scowling.

“Behave,” I whisper-yelled.

“I am Romero,” the bank employee said. “Is this your first visit to Alexandria?”

I caught myself before nodding. “No. I’ve been here plenty. I love seeing all the sights.”

His dark brows reached his hairline. “The sights? Most travelers bypass the city altogether in favor of the pyramids or temples found in Upper Egypt. All we have is a field of ruins.”

My confusion must have shown because he pressed on.

“The city has shrunk since the time of the Greeks and Romans, and what’s left are toppled columns and bumpy stretches of land that no one has excavated. It’s a pity—I’m sure there’s lots to be discovered beyond the city limits.”

“Perhaps it’s only a matter of time,” I said.

Romero stopped in front of a thick wooden door and, after opening it, gestured for us to walk inside. The walls were covered in a muted wallpaper depicting swirls and filigree, and a leather couch offered comfortable seating. Sitting across from it was a sturdy antique desk with ornate carvings around the legs.

“Would you like tea? Coffee?” Romero asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said. “I really am in a hurry.”

He rocked back on his heels, nodding. “Then how may I assist you?”

“Well, I have an account here,” I began, “and I’d like to update my address from the previous one listed.”

He blinked. “You have an account with us?”

I nodded, maintaining eye contact and a sweet smile. “That’s right.”

Romero’s confusion persisted. “What is your name?”

“I am Lourdes,” I said, pausing before admitting my last name. What if my mother hadn’t used it? What if, instead, she had used her maiden name? Or gone by Mr. Fincastle’s name? I thought frantically about what alias she might have chosen for herself. She was living on her own terms and a life that she wanted. What name would she have given herself?

Sweat beaded at my temples as I fixed the smile on my face as if with adhesive.

“Lourdes…” Romero waited expectantly.

Whit stood behind the couch since it wouldn’t have been appropriate for him to seat himself next to me. I could sense his frustration in not being able to help me.

“Oh, I recently married, and I was about to give you the wrong name,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. “It’s Fincastle.”

Romero’s confusion cleared. “That name sounds familiar. Please forgive me; I’ve only been working at the bank for a few months. Wait a moment while I retrieve your file.” He left, shutting the door quickly behind him.

I stared straight ahead, unwilling to let my guard down.

“Do you think he believed me?” I whispered.

“I don’t know,” Whit murmured. “Though it was a great performance.”

“I used to act in plays with my father,” I said.

“The practice paid off.” He paused. “What made you choose Fincastle?”

I licked my dry lips. “It occurred to me that if my mother used her maiden name, my uncle could have easily located her. Asked around after that name in the nice hotels and expensive restaurants. But since he didn’t know who her lover was, I assumed Fincastle was a safe guess.”

“Brilliant,” he said.

A flush spread across my chest, making my heart skip. “Are we going to be arrested?”

Before Whit could answer, the door opened and Romero walked through, carrying a slim leather case. He returned to the seat at his desk. “What address would you like to leave with us, Mrs. Fincastle?”

“Well,” I said, letting out another embarrassed laugh. “That’s part of the problem, actually. I’m so silly! You see, I have various properties, and I’m afraid I don’t recall which one I used when I opened this account. If you could remind me, I can confirm if I need to update the file. It’s possible you have the correct one. I just want to ensure there are no mistakes—that’s all.”

“I see,” Romero said, a faint frown line appearing between his dark brows. “Why don’t you give me the address you’d like, and I’ll cross-reference it here?” He tapped the leather case, smiling faintly. “I think it will be easier.”

“No,” I said, bristling, “I think my way would be easier. Please just share the address with me—”

Whit made a small noise at the back of his throat. I hadn’t realized that I’d raised my voice.

“Well,” Romero said, his smile fading, the frown line becoming more pronounced. “I disagree. The address?” He produced a pen from his jacket pocket.

I fanned myself, thinking hard. “I believe I might have used the one by the coast?”

Romero’s eyes flicked downward. The corners of his lips twitched. “That’s not the one. Since you seem to be having trouble, why don’t you return with your husband? I can’t make any updates to your file without him, in any case. But again, if you leave the new address with me, I’ll happily correspond with him to make sure nothing is untoward.”

Damn it. “Why would anything be untoward?”

“Why, I don’t know, Mrs. Fincastle,” Romero said mildly. “I’m only letting you know that we have certain systems in place to guard against fraud—of any kind. And as we are a foreign bank, foreign rules apply, and the fact of the matter is that one of them applies to your husband being present for any account changes. Even simple ones like an address. If you’d like, I could bring in my manager to discuss the issue you’re having.”

“I’m not having any issues,” I said through gritted teeth.

Romero stood, clutching the file. “All the same, I’d feel more comfortable having him present as I don’t want to cause any unnecessary stress or confusion.”

Those were the last words he spoke. Whit cleared the couch and tackled Romero. They landed with a heavy thud onto the plush antique rug decorating the floor, Romero letting out a muffled yell before Whit struck his cheek. The banker’s face slackened as he went unconscious. The leather case fell onto the floor as Whit arranged Romero onto the couch, making him look as if he were sleeping.

“Hurry up and look for the address,” Whit hissed.

I scooped up the file and opened it.

The pages were blank.

WHIT

Inez flipped the file around so I could see. Every single page was empty of any writing. She walked toward me and peered down at the fallen bank employee.

“The devil damn me,” I said.

“Now what?” Inez asked. “The other employees are bound to notice Romero’s unconscious state.”

“He looks like he’s sleeping.”

She pointed to Romero’s face. “There’s blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. It’s dripping onto the floor.”

I squinted. So there was. Using the hem of his shirt, I cleaned up his face. Now he looked like he was sleeping. We only had a few minutes to think of a new plan.

“Whit,” Inez said, her tone curious.

“I’m thinking,” I said, hands on my hips.

“No, I know,” she said, her voice sounding breathless. “Why is the rug glittering?”

I glanced down in alarm. The woven fiber was shifting under our boots, darkening in color, clearly magic touched. “Move off.”

“Well, I’d love to, but I can’t ,” Inez said. She lifted her leg and the rug came up, stuck to the sole of her shoe. “It’s turned into a kind of adhesive. I’m stuck.”

My boots were also glued to the sizable rug. “It has an old spell attached to it,” I hissed. “Don’t let anything else touch it. Watch the hem of your dress.”

Inez bent and gathered the fabric, tying it off into a knot, displaying a good portion of her legs. I glanced away, aggravated. We were stuck, and someone was bound to come looking for Romero if he didn’t turn up in a reasonable amount of time.

Inez tried dragging her feet, her arms swinging, but that only made the rug shift forward an inch. She glanced at me, annoyance stamped across her features. “Don’t just stand there! We have to get out of this.”

“Obviously.”

She tried moving again, yanking the rug several inches and succeeding in unbalancing me. I swung my arms out, caught myself from falling. “Olivera, stop . We have to work together.”

Inez glowered at me.

“Trust me—”

“Trust you?” Inez scoffed. “Consider our past.”

“Consider our present,” I retorted, gesturing at the infernal rug.

She bit her lip, eyes filling with a nervous and raw confusion that tore up my insides. I would get us out of this predicament, but she didn’t know that. Not after what I had done to her. I suddenly felt like howling with frustration. At myself, at this ridiculous situation that we were in. Years of training allowed me to hold on to whatever shred of calm I could muster. I inhaled deeply. “I know it’s the absolute last thing you want to do,” I said. “But if we’re going to get out of this, we have to—”

“What do we do?” she asked in a voice I recognized all too well. It was the one where she fought to keep her tone moderate, but I knew she’d rather be yelling.

The feeling was mutual. “I can’t use my knife to cut the rug—it will only stick to the fibers,” I said. “Can you, very carefully , step out of your shoes and stand on top of them?”

“But then I’ll be in my stockings,” she protested.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No.” She sighed and then bent forward, fingers working quickly to unlace her boots. She then slowly slipped out of her shoes, gingerly stepping on top of them. Her stockings worked against her, and she kept slipping on the leather.

“Can you jump off?”

Inez eyed the edge of the rug. It was a large woven monstrosity, and she was probably four feet from the corner. “Maybe?”

“Wait,” I said, already picturing her falling onto her hands and knees. “Jump into my arms instead.”

She tensed, the lines of her face steeped in distrust. She no longer believed I could keep her safe. Or maybe the thought of my holding her was so off-putting she’d rather remain stuck to the rug.

Either way, it stung. More than I wanted to admit.

“I’m going to toss you onto the couch,” I said quietly. “From there you can climb up and over, avoiding the rug entirely.”

“You are loving this, aren’t you?” she asked. “Getting to act like the hero after what you did.”

“I’m not a hero,” I said. “I’ve never said I was.”

She opened her mouth, no doubt to argue with me, but I cut her off. “Jump. I promise I’ll catch you.”

Inez gave me no warning, but I was ready for her anyway. She launched herself forward, and I caught her around the waist, boosting her up, flipping her around so I could cradle her.

She tilted her chin upward, her ever-changing eyes meeting mine. We stared at each other for a long beat, her expression guarded, mine probably even more so. Then I bent my knees slightly and tossed her onto the sofa. She bounced once, twice, and she let out a surprised laugh.

“Gracias,” she said, breathless.

“Anytime,” I muttered, tugging at the laces of my worn boots. I hated to leave them behind—they were my favorite pair. I slipped out of the shoes and leapt, landing with a thud onto the wood floor beside Romero.

“What do you think activated the spell?” Inez asked.

I thought for a moment. “Blood perhaps?” I pointed to a few drops staining the surface. “It’s actually clever to use the rug as a deterrent for thieves. I bet the owner found several such ordinary objects and placed them in all of the rooms.”

Inez spun around, eyeing the various knickknacks strewn about. There were paintings and quills, picture frames, stacks of paper. Anything could be enchanted.

“What now?” I asked, gesturing toward Romero.

“I could say he fainted,” Inez said suddenly. “And call the others in? Perhaps someone can run off for help?”

“Or we could just leave as if we’ve concluded our business,” I said.

“I’m not leaving without the address,” she said fiercely, alchemical eyes burning gold. “While I bring in as many people in here as I can, you go sneak into the other offices and find my mother’s file.” She gripped my lapel. “ Por favor , Whit.”

As if I had any right to deny her anything at this point. “Better put those acting skills to use, Olivera.” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

Inez against the world.

“Say that he fainted and hit his head on the way down. It will at least help explain why the spell might have been activated and why we’re not wearing shoes.”

Inez nodded, moving toward the door. She placed a light hand on the knob. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Then she tugged at her hair until some strands escaped, and her expression changed to one of horror. She swung open the door and screamed at the top of her lungs, “ Help! ”

My wife knew how to be dramatic. I could hear her crying and carrying on all the way down the hall. I had finally found the cabinets where all the files were hidden and was thumbing through them one by one. The bank didn’t have many clients, but even I recognized some of the high-society names.

“What are you doing in here?”

I turned to find one of the bank workers standing within the doorframe.

“I’m looking for an address,” I said, almost apologetically. This room had exactly one desk, covered in notebooks, stacks of receipts and paper, stationery, and one silver candlestick, which would do nicely. I didn’t want to use my knife if I didn’t have to.

He stepped inside, anger etched across his brow.

“I’m almost done,” I said politely. “If you’ll just—” I threw the candlestick at his head. The man crashed to the floor, his mouth gaping. I turned around to rummage through the files and finally found the one I was looking for.

Lourdes Fincastle.

Time to get my theatrical wife before someone offered her a job onstage.

Why was there never a cab when one needed one? I glanced up and down the street, Inez panting next to me. I had to hand it to her—she had cried, had pretended to faint herself , and then she had allowed smelling salts to be used on her. A bank employee had, indeed, run off to the medic, while another had dashed off to buy us new shoes. We would be long gone before they returned.

I looked back at the bank uneasily. Someone was bound to come running out when they discovered the second unconscious man in the back office. I gestured for her to follow me down the block.

“Did you get it?” Inez whispered breathlessly. “The address?”

“Of course,” I said, and winced when she cheered. No one was louder than my wife. “Now all we need is someone to take us back to the hotel.”

“It isn’t too far,” Inez said. “Why don’t we keep walking?”

“You’ll ruin your stockings,” I warned. “The road is very dusty.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “We have an address. Someone could throw mud at me, and I wouldn’t complain.”

“Who on earth would throw mud at you?” I asked, slanting a look at her.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Do you mean something else ?” I asked in amusement. Without thinking, I reached forward and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

She flushed but didn’t look away from me. “Why is it so hard to stay mad at you?”

Tension pressed down hard on my shoulders. “Because I did it to save my sister?”

“It must be part of your charm,” she remarked. “To be able to do a horrible thing and get away with it.”

“Have I gotten away with it?” I asked, my breath catching.

Inez picked at the hem of her jacket sleeve. “I’ve never been one to stay mad for too long. Eventually, my anger fades into profound dislike for the other person. Being furious is exhausting, and you particularly don’t make it easy. You’re too…” She scrunched her nose. “Likable, I suppose. Like a puppy.”

“Thank you?”

“Like a mischievous, sneaky, untrained puppy,” she amended. “But here’s the thing, Whit. I may not be mad at you, but I have not forgiven you. I don’t think I can. It hurt me too much. Because I really loved you.”

I hadn’t just lost a friend or a wife. I’d lost Inez’s love. Something I didn’t know that I’d had. I closed my eyes, wishing I could scrape that truth from my mind, because it was tearing me apart. I opened my eyes slowly, in time to see a small smile on her perfect mouth. Small, but brave and edged in sadness. I’d done that to her.

“I understand,” I whispered.

Inez tucked another wayward curl behind her ear, her fingers trembling. “I know you’re motivated by your guilt, and I believe some part of you must grieve for the loss of our friendship. It will never be the same, and actually, we won’t ever have one again. No matter how well we get along, no matter how good of a team we make. All of that doesn’t matter. Those are superficial things. Because this is our new reality: you have well and truly lost me.” She peered up at me gravely. “You do know that, don’t you?”

I was oddly lightheaded. As if I wasn’t getting enough air. “I do.”

Inez nodded, her face pale. “And the truth is, maybe losing me isn’t significant to you. It might be a shallow wound that will heal over quickly, not even leave a scar.” She inhaled. “But the hole in my heart won’t ever heal.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

She licked her lips, and I fought valiantly not to stare. “Because despite us working together, acting like friends, we’re not. And I needed you to know that I have more respect for myself than to ever allow you back in.”

“Inez—” I broke off, stomach lurching. A figure walked on the opposite side of the street. She was dressed resplendently in a bright gown, swinging a parasol in a girlish way that made her look years younger. Inez followed the line of my sight, and I slapped my hand over her mouth before she could cry out.

We both watched as Lourdes crossed the street, heading directly for the bank.

She was about to step inside when someone let out a sharp three-tone whistle.

Lourdes froze, one foot poised above the front step. Slowly, she turned, opening her parasol in one fluid movement. She looked both ways before darting back across the street and disappearing around the corner.

Someone had warned her off.