Mrs. Kaya spoke. “If any of you would like to try to do this yourselves, you may now,” Lale translated. “This is an excellent opportunity to learn from a real home-style cook at work.”
Immediately, Brian, Tiffany, and Jack stepped forward. “This is what I’m talking about,” Jack said enthusiastically. “Never mind the old stuff, point me towards lunch.”
Each was given a pickled grape leaf and shown how to fold it around the rice. Brian got better with each try, and soon, about a half-dozen slender tubes were arranged by his plate. Mrs. Kaya pursed her lips and nodded once.
Tiffany kept giggling, posing for Nicole to take her picture. “Look, I’m doing something cultural!”
Jack’s efforts were more labored, but he proceeded gamely. He grabbed one of the misshapen rolls and popped it into his mouth, chewing exaggeratedly to general laughs.
“Well, traditionally we wait until they are steamed,” Lale said diplomatically.
At that moment, a guard from the museum came over and whispered something to Lale. Her smile vanished, and she inquired about something. I cursed my lack of Turkish beyond “hello,” “thank you,” and other tourist necessities.
“We must return to the museum.” She spoke to Mrs. Kaya, gave her a small gift of money for the demonstration, then guided us back.
The alarm was off now, but the staff was buzzing like bees in a kicked hive. We were still the only tourists around, and it was after official hours. Surely we wouldn’t be continuing now, when it was so late?
Lale waited for Harold to join us, and when Randy beat a path for the shop, she spoke sharply. “I’m afraid we must stay close together, Randy. I have some very disturbing news. There are some artifacts missing.”
“From the ones we were looking at? But none of us even touched them.”
But some of us had. I remembered the instinct to retrieve them myself. Several people had replaced the small, elusive objects on the cloth after we were told to leave.
“No, of course not. Dr. Saatchi is concerned that perhaps they might have accidentally gotten snagged on a sock or in a cuff, when the tray went flying. We would like to put your bags through the X-ray machine again, as we did when we came in. Just to be sure. And, if you wouldn’t mind turning out your pockets? I’m sure no one would take anything on purpose, but when everything went flying, it is possible...”
She ended lamely, and I knew she was only doing her job, which had just become a hundred times more difficult. Both her professional and personal reputation were at stake.
“Well, I’m not going to—” Rose said, gathering herself up for a long-winded refusal.
“I’ll go first,” I said quickly. If I could cut her protests off, maybe everyone else would fall into line, and we could get this sorted out. Or at least, remove ourselves from the equation.
I handed Lale my bag, which she handed to the guard, and it went through the X-ray. Then the guard went through the bag by hand, after I nodded permission. I emptied out my pockets onto the table, then pulled them out to show they were empty. To finish the point, I checked the bottoms of my hiking shoes, to make sure there was nothing caught in the treads. Nothing.
It took me an embarrassingly long time to sort the large pile of tissues, Purell bottles, Swiss Army knife, lira coins, sunglasses, phrase book, and camera back into the pockets of my shirt and trousers.
“Jeez,” someone muttered. “I’ve seen pool halls with fewer pockets.” There were a few nervous giggles. Good; anything to break up the tension.
Brian stepped up next, and I could have kissed him.
Jack went after him, shrugging. “I don’t like this,” he said. “But I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Although Eugene Tollund didn’t rebel, he followed, with poor grace. “Not what I paid so much money for,” he mumbled.
Rose was still talking up and down about police and rights and citizenship, when Randy finally said, “Rosie, just do it.”
She did, eventually, but still invoking the embassy and her cousin, the alderman, at home. Nicole and Tiffany followed, but reluctantly, exchanging meaningful glances.
No one had any of the missing artifacts.
“The Storm God’s gonna be totally pissed now,” Nicole whispered.
We went to our hotel that night tired, dusty, and bewildered. None of the missing artifacts — including the votive horse — had been recovered, and Lale had been on her cell phone almost nonstop. I was curious as to how she would handle the situation. I found myself going over to offer my help, when I felt an arm on my shoulder.
“It’s not your problem to solve,” Brian said. “And if there has been a theft, I’m sorry to say you’re as much a suspect as anyone here.”
“More,” Harold added suddenly. “You’re one of the few people who knows anything about this stuff.”
For his first time talking directly to me, it was a hell of a thing to say. I gave Harold a sour look.
He shrugged. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
I nodded to Brian. “You’re right; this isn’t my problem to solve. Say, this is an American chain hotel, right? With an American-style bar? I could use an American-style whiskey.”
Brian and I sat up late, with a couple of drinks, which were hugely refreshing. We’d been careful to avoid the local water, and cold drinks, besides beer and the licorice-flavored raki, were rare. We were alone; Harold was on the other side of the bar, having refused our invitation to sit with us. He was handling his lighter like he was jonesing for a cigar, and eventually, he removed a metal tube from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and shook the cigar out. Nodding to us, he said goodnight.
Harold didn’t go to the elevators, though. He went outside. A brief flare of the lighter, and he vanished.
“Randy kept wandering over to the gift shop,” Brian said, when he noticed I couldn’t seem to focus on anything else with real attention. “I know he’s got this magpie-like compulsion, but it really was excessive today. If he did it, I wondered if he hadn’t stashed something over there.”
“Hiding the real thing among the souvenir beads and the imitation coins and seals?” I tilted my head. “It would make sense. If he took it.”
“He bumped up against my camera when the alarm went off,” Brian reminded me. “Maybe he was making a distraction, so his wife could snag a few things. We know she has a taste for unsupervised antiquities. Or perhaps she picked up that gaming disc intentionally, as a distraction? A way for their eyes to be on Lale and her talking to Dr. Saatchi while her husband did the work?”
I shrugged. “Seems too elaborate. And she couldn’t count on finding something at the sites we visited. There was nothing on her when they searched her. Of course, that doesn’t mean she or Randy couldn’t have done it.”
Brian thought a minute. “We all went outside. Maybe the thief stashed it somewhere outside the museum?”
That was a glum thought. “Okay, with objects so small, they could be hidden anywhere. Let’s rule that out for a minute. Was anyone missing during the food demonstration?”
“No. Well, Steve was at the hotel, sick, but the rest of us, we were all there.” Brian counted off on his fingers. “Lale had to round us all up. Jack, Harold, and I were there in the middle, trying to roll the grape leaves into tubes and get the manti to stay stuck together. Everyone else was there, because I remember Lale was very careful to keep a head count. I don’t envy her; it’s like herding cats, keeping track of everyone. Tiffany and Nicole were there too — remember, they were taking all those pictures? Since they’re always scampering off, I remember looking around for them.”