“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.”