Brittany regarded her quizzically. “How do you know the exact date?”
“Because it was the day looters broke into the Egyptian Museum of Cairo during the uprising against Mubarak’s regime, the so-called Arab Spring. Among other objects, they took a gilded wooden statue of Tutankhamen, a couple of wooden sarcophagi, and the bracelet of Queen Hetepheres.” Olivia paused. “The sarcophagi and statue were both located and returned.”
“But not the bracelet.”
“Not the bracelet.” She passed Brittany her phone. “This photo is from the museum’s archives.”
Brittany studied the photo. “It’s your bracelet. Either that, or an exact copy.”
“Considering what’s happened, I think we can assume it’s the real thing. I’ve been wearing Queen Hetepheres’s bracelet.”
“You said Mr. Swift gave you the bracelet over a year ago, right before he died. Why would Kathryn and her son wait so long to try to get it back?”
“They probably didn’t know until recently that I had it.” Olivia leaned into the chair’s worn cushions. “One of the stones fell out right after he gave it to me. I slipped the bracelet in a drawer and forgot about it until just before the tour when I was packing my costume jewelry. I superglued the stone back in and added the bracelet to the pile.” She frowned. “I dread telling the Egyptian Museum about the superglue.”
“I’m guessing they’ll forgive you.”
Olivia leaned forward. “A couple of days into the tour, a photograph of me wearing it showed up in the newspaper. That was the first time I was photographed with it. Right after was when the trouble started, so Kathryn must have seen that photo.” Olivia considered the carefully timed arrival of the limo driver at their Las Vegas hotel. Because of Kathryn’s position on the Muni’s board, she had easy access to every detail of the Marchand tour schedule.
“She finally knew where the bracelet was,” Brittany said, “and she was afraid people would recognize it.”
“Once that happened, it would be simple to trace it from me to Eugene Swift and from there to his company.”
“Establishing a direct link between a stolen Egyptian artifact and Swift Auction House would have ruined them.”
“Not necessarily. It isn’t easy to trace the provenance—the chain of custody—of ancient artifacts. If one that turns out to have been stolen or looted shows up in a catalog, the auction house acknowledges the mistake, tries to make it right, and all’s well.”
“Why couldn’t the Swifts do that?”
“Because my bracelet was stolen from a museum that issued a well-publicized list of every object that had been looted.”
“Meaning that Swift Auctions couldn’t plead ignorance.”
“Exactly. Every dealer in the country knew what was on that list, and if Kathryn couldn’t get the bracelet back, her entire illegal operation would be exposed.” Olivia ran her thumb over her wrist. “Eugene loved Aida. It felt right to wear his bracelet onstage opening night. I can only imagine how panicked she must have been when she saw it.”
“She must have been even more panicked when you walked into the gala wearing it.”
“I think she expected that. I ran into her about three weeks ago when I was in Manhattan, and she specifically asked me to come to the gala in costume. She didn’t know for sure I’d wear the bracelet, but it would be a logical accessory for me to choose, and she must have seen it as her fail-safe opportunity to get it back if her son couldn’t retrieve it before then. I’m guessing she didn’t have a lot of faith in Norman.”
“He did turn out to be a bit of a bumbler.”
“Fortunately for me.” And for Thad.
Brittany took more notes and promised to follow up with Olivia as soon as she knew more. After she left, Olivia ordered another herbal tea and called Piper.
“Amazing work,” Piper said, when she’d heard Olivia’s story. “I’d hire you for myself if you didn’t have that other silly career going on.”
Olivia smiled, and then hesitated. “Thad should know about this. Would you tell him?”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”
Piper would never know how much Olivia wanted to do exactly that. “It . . . would be better if you told him.”
There was a long pause at the other end. “All right.”
She couldn’t keep from asking. “How is he?”
“He’s not in great shape,” Piper said bluntly.
“Did he get sick? He was in the water so long, and the Chicago River isn’t exactly clean. He shouldn’t have jumped in. He— Is he all right?”
“He’s not sick. He’s quiet. I’ve never seen him quiet. Earlier today, Coop went to check on him. He said Thad looked like hell. Also, he was wearing something like bike shorts with a plaid dress shirt and black tuxedo shoes. You know that’s not right. Coop almost took him to the emergency room.”
Olivia gripped her phone tighter. “Would you . . . Maybe you could . . . I don’t know. Invite him to dinner or something?”
“It’ll take more than a dinner to fix what’s wrong with him.” Olivia heard papers rustling in the background. “Olivia, I like you, but Thad has been my friend for a long time, and I owe him my first loyalty. You’ve hurt him badly.”
But not as badly as she’d hurt herself.
She walked home from the coffee shop with her head down, eyes on the sidewalk, wishing she were invisible.
*
She warmed up her voice in the humidity of her shower the next morning. She tested her low range, her high, not pressing too hard, merely exploring. Unlike her heart, her gut and diaphragm felt strong and steady. She searched for the constriction that had stolen her breath. She found sadness, despair, but none of the tightness that had strangled her voice.
She got to the theater early, unable to shake the feeling that the gains she’d made would be stolen from her at any moment. She went to the piano and assessed her voice. Still steady. Maybe . . .
She finished hair and makeup. By the time she was done and on her way back to her dressing room, she was resolved. Tonight, she would give the performance she should have given on opening night. Tonight, she would reclaim herself.
And then she turned the corner.
Unlike Piper’s description, Thad looked perfectly put together—blazer, dress shirt, pants, shoes—all coordinated.
He wasn’t alone.
Sarah Mabunda, striking in her white gown as Aida, stood with him. Or rather in front of him. Or rather, between him and the wall.
Both of them turned to look at Olivia, their glances smug and dismissive. They returned their attention to each other. Sarah snaked her arms around Thad’s neck. Thad snaked his arms around Sarah’s waist. And the two of them kissed.
Not a little peck on the cheek. This was a full-on, mouth-to-mouth, grind-it-out, passionate kiss. Sarah Mabunda and Thad Walker Bowman Owens.
They made a beautiful couple.
Too beautiful.
Of all the—
*
The orchestra concluded the overture. Radamès and Ramfis sang about the aggression of their enemy Ethiopia. Ramfis exited, leaving Radamès alone dreaming of leadership, victory, and his beloved Aida. His beloved “Celeste Aida.”
Olivia stood in the wings, heart pounding, waiting for her entrance. Unlike Amneris, she understood exactly who Radamès loved.
He hit the high B-flat that finished his aria, and she swept onstage, a royal princess accustomed to having whatever she wanted. She sang of her love, her passion, for this beautiful warrior. She sang from the bottom of her heart.
But all he wanted to talk about was war.
She stomped her foot. Amneris stomped her foot! She’d never stomped her foot at this particular moment before, but now she did. She was giving him her heart, and all he wanted to talk about was leading his team to victory.
Her toes curled in her sandals. Something in his expression, the way he carried himself, the way he wouldn’t quite look at her. Something was very wrong.
An ugly thought needled its way inside her. What if he loved another?
He dodged her questioning.