The Serpent’s Curse. Tony Abbott
and has grown suddenly very wealthy.”
His way of speaking was a bit PBS, Becca thought, but he went straight to business, which was what they needed right now.
“But Mr. Kaplan, I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly bouncing to his feet. “Of course you want to know about Mrs. Kaplan. Let me bring her luggage.”
“Thank you. And call me Roald, please.”
Julian trotted down a hall as his father returned from his workroom. “Becca, the hotel doctor is on his way up to take a look at your arm,” Terence said. “In the meantime, Dennis, our driver, sends his heartfelt regards.” He breathed out. “Now … you’ve been through—are going through—a terrible shock, and I’m very sorry.”
“We appreciate anything you can tell us about Sara,” Wade said, with a look at Darrell. “About Mom.”
Terence nodded and sat among them. “First, let me say this. I have sources on the ground all over the world. For my writing, you understand. This apartment is one of a few research stations I have that’s fully equipped: a workroom, communications study, and so on. I’m trying to say that my research team and I are fully at your disposal.”
“And why are you helping us exactly?” Darrell broke in. “I mean, sorry, but you don’t really know us, and we’ve learned we can’t trust new people.”
“Whoa, Darrell,” Lily said. “That’s rude.”
“No, no. Fair question,” Terence said. “It’s simple. The moment I received Sara’s things, I knew something was off, you see. Something was dreadfully wrong. Since I’m a mystery writer, my antennae shot up. More than that, I’ve just started, well, a foundation for causes that are actively fighting injustice here and around the globe. The Teutonic Order is far more powerful than you. More powerful, actually, than any international organization I’ve come across. And they’ve become that mainly in the last four years. I’ve asked myself, what exactly is going on here?”
“War,” said Darrell gloomily. “That’s what’s going on. Galina Krause and the Teutonic Order have declared war on us.”
“I completely agree,” Terence said. “And on the world, too, which is why my foundation and I want to help you however we can … but there will be time later for that. Here’s Sara’s suitcase.”
The moment Julian entered the room with Sara’s main bag and set it down on the coffee table, Becca watched Uncle Roald and Darrell. Roald practically leaped on the suitcase. But his fingers shook, and she saw the blood drain visibly from his cheeks. Darrell hovered over the suitcase next to his stepfather, his fingers poised but apparently unable to touch anything. Becca wanted to help, but stupidly couldn’t think of how. It took Roald a full minute to open the clasp and unzip the case, and by the time he lifted the top, he had to wipe away tears.
Sara’s clothes, toiletries, books, shoes—everything was stowed neatly in its place, just as Sara must have packed it for the return flight from South America, the flight she never made. A lump forced its way into Becca’s throat, and she teared up, too. On the table in front of them was the clearest evidence so far that Sara was lost, and that no one knew where.
Darrell put both hands over his eyes. “Oh, Mom … Mom …”
Becca looked at the floor. Her heart thundered as loudly as it had when she’d thought of Lily and Maggie on the bridge.
“I hasten to say that I have every reason to believe that right now your mother is safe,” Terence said earnestly to Darrell. “Step by step, here’s what we think …”
The voice blurred in Darrell’s ears, then faded away.
Something had cracked inside him when his mother’s suitcase was opened, and it was still cracking. Seeing her clothes like that was like looking at stuff belonging to somebody who was dead. His throat tightened. He threw himself back on the sofa to be able to breathe, but just as quickly bent over the suitcase again. His ears were hot, like something was screaming into them. His stepfather was on his feet now, looking away.
When Lily patted him awkwardly on the arm, Darrell realized that the room was quiet and everyone was waiting for him. To do what? He glanced up to see them all staring at him; then he brushed his hand over his face. Oh, right. To stop crying. He wiped his cheeks. “Sorry. Go on, Mr. Ackroyd.”
“No need to be sorry,” the man said, glancing searchingly at Julian.
Uh-huh, and what was that look?
“To continue, when I realized that Sara’s luggage had arrived here without her, I immediately examined it, without actually moving too much. All of her belongings, including her phone and wallet, everything seemed to be here and intact.”
“As my dad told you on the phone in Guam, we didn’t contact the police because of what else we found,” Julian said. He was now sitting in a chair across the room, alternately looking down from behind the curtain, as if he was surveilling the street, and tapping the keys on a laptop.
“Exactly,” said Terence. “We’ve discovered two things. The first is what I take to be a warning, hidden cleverly in the inner lining.” Terence carefully peeled back a portion of the patterned lining. It had been pried open and reclosed with a safety pin. Tucked into the space behind the lining was a charm bracelet.
Roald lifted it out. “I know this bracelet. Sara’s had it for a long time, but …”
One of its charms was wrapped inside a self-adhesive Forever postage stamp depicting the American flag.
“May I?” Carefully unpeeling the stamp, Terence revealed the charm inside. It was a silver skull.
“I don’t like the way this looks,” Darrell said. “Dad, a skull? Mom’s not a skull kind of person. And I don’t remember this charm. When did she get it?”
Terence was about to speak when Roald said, “I think she got it last year at a conference in Mexico. It’s a standard icon there. ‘Day of the Dead’ and all that.”
“But wrapped inside a picture of the American flag,” said Lily. “Is that like something against our country?”
“No, no.” Terence shook his head vigorously. “Not at all. I attended that same conference. It was, in fact, where I met Sara for the first time and decided to donate my manuscripts to her archive in Austin. I believe this part of the clue was actually meant for me. It is a direct reference to a silly thing I wrote about in my first novel—”
“The Zanzibar Cryptex,” Julian said from across the room. “Not one of your best, Dad. The ending on the ocean liner?”
Terence smirked. “Everyone’s a critic. But seriously, in that book there was a similar clue, an item wrapped in a stamp. And it meant something very specific, which Sara well knew. You see, the skull represents, well, death, or at the very least danger. The flag quite simply means the authorities. The message in the novel—and here—is plain: contacting the authorities will put Sara in more danger. At least she thought so. She must have been threatened or somehow understood that bringing the police in—”
“Or the CIA or FBI,” Julian added.
“—would not help,” Terence said. “For the moment, then, finding her should remain a private matter. But not without resources.”
“Sara’s in danger but she’s sending us codes and clues?” Lily said. “What a mom.”
“You better believe it,” Wade whispered.
The elevator chime rang behind them, and Terence hopped up. “Ah, Becca.