7

My heart thudding, I watched Sage transfer things from the tray to her knapsack. I zoomed in with the binoculars and saw what they were. Small gold figurines. They looked like little Oscar Awards. Each figurine was slightly taller than Sage’s hand; the head and the legs stuck out when she gripped one in her fist. I watched her take four of them from Baklava Guy and put them in her knapsack. Then she handed the guy a large stack of bills. I zoomed in as far as I could, just in time to see that they weren’t Turkish lira or Euros. They were American dollars, but I couldn’t make out the numbers on them. I wondered how much she was spending.

“Spot any beauties?” said a man’s voice behind me.

I spun around to find Nils, one of the Norwegians, pointing to my binoculars—no, his binoculars. My face warmed. I handed them over, not wanting him to think I was swiping them. “Sorry. I was just borrowing them.”

“It’s all right. Please, enjoy them.” The lines around his bright blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I take it you are interested in ornithology?”

“Orni-what?” Maybe that was Norwegian for spying on people.

“Ornithology. Bird-watching. Perhaps you can help Ingrid and me to find the elusive Smyrna kingfisher.” Nils stooped and picked up a thick bird guide he’d left on the deck. “Or, if not the kingfisher, then any of the fifty bird species we are hoping to identify on this voyage.” He unfolded a checklist from the back of the guide and pointed to the Smyrna kingfisher’s mug shot. It was a beautiful bird with blue feathers, a chestnut head, white throat, and bright red beak. “After that we can look for the Dalmatian pelican. Some make their nests in rivers and deltas such as this one. It is the largest of the pelicans, and has quite distinctive curly nape feathers. You see?” He showed me the picture.

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” I said, jogging toward the front of the boat to join Sage.

The line tethering the motorboat to the Gulet Yasemin slipped off as Baklava Guy zoomed back toward the rocky cove, heading for the mouth of the Dalyan River.

“How did everyone like the pastries?” Sage asked when she saw me.

I coughed from the motorboat’s gasoline fumes. “What were you buying just now? From Baklava Guy?”

“Baklava.”

“After that. It didn’t look like food.”

“Oh! Gifts for my family. I just didn’t want the crew to see how much cash I was carrying. I like everyone on the boat, but you just never know who to trust.”

I got that. I didn’t trust people easily either. And I knew Mom had divided up her cash and hidden it throughout our luggage; she was obsessive about checking to make sure our suitcases were always locked. Still, it surprised me that you could buy jewelry and souvenirs without even going to shore. “I didn’t know he had other stuff for sale,” I said.

“Most people have other stuff for sale,” said Sage. “If you ask them. Anyway, jewelry and knickknacks are way cheaper here on the coast than in Istanbul. Want to see what I bought?”

I did. Sage reached into her knapsack and took out her scarf. She set it to the side, then took out a small box. In it was a pair of teardrop-shaped gold earrings, with cobalt blue stones set inside, ringed with smaller turquoise stones, as blue as the water around us. “Those are so pretty,” I said. My hands twitched with the urge to touch them.

“Aren’t they? I love them. I’d wear them myself, but they’re for my mom.” She held them up to the light, letting them sparkle and dance. “And I also got these.” She took out the four small statuettes I’d seen through the binoculars.

“Interesting,” I said, picking one up. It was surprisingly heavy. The little figurine had no clear facial features, and the gold was bright yellow and gleaming.

“Just little statues. Gold-plated replicas of stuff from ancient civilizations,” said Sage. “They make great souvenirs. My dad’s a History Channel addict. He’ll love them.”

I thought of Aunt Jackie’s urn, the gold-plated replica she’d brought for the ceremony.

“The gold on these earrings is real, though,” said Sage. “Eighteen karat. Too flashy?” She frowned, holding the teardrops up to the sun. “Turkish gold is so yellow. More yellow than most Americans are used to.”

“I’m sure she’ll love them. It’s a great gift,” I said. “And I’m sure your mom’ll be excited to see you again. How long have you been in Turkey?”

“Ten months. Not nearly long enough,” Sage added, putting the earrings back in the box.

“Really? I can’t even imagine being away for so long.”

“I’m not ready to go back. I love it here. I love travel. I don’t want to stop. Ever,” she added with unexpected fierceness.

“But don’t you think your parents miss you?”

She shrugged and slipped the box into her knapsack, then packed the scarf around everything. “My parents always said you have to travel while you’re young. Like, for graduation last year? They gave me a compass and a suitcase. And they said two words: Just go. I can’t think of a better gift than a suitcase. Anyway, these are the gifts. I’m done shopping. This stuff cleaned out the rest of my cash.” She swung her knapsack over her shoulder and stood up. “Hey, Selim said the Lycian Society arranged for a guide to row us down the Dalyan River if we want to see the village and the ruins down there. Do you want to come?”

“Sure!”

“Great!” She grinned.

“I just need to grab something from my room.”

My mood was improving by the second. I ran to the back of the boat, toward the stairs that led down to the cabins.

Mom was just coming up. “We’re going on the ruins excursion. The guide is waiting for us in the tender.”

“I’m coming. I just need to grab some stuff first. Is Aunt Jackie going?”

“She said she’s not in the mood. I couldn’t convince her.” Mom sighed. “Maybe all the stuff about ruins hits too close to home for her. This was Berk’s great passion. Anyway, hurry up. We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.” She smiled at me. “Hey. I’m glad you and Sage are hitting it off. It’s good to see you hang out with someone so nice.”

“Nice?” My rising mood went down a few notches.

“Nicer than some of the kids back home.”

“Ah. Is that what made her pass quality control?” I asked.

Mom sighed. “Oh, Zan. Do you have to twist everything around to the negative? Honestly, it’s exhausting.”

“What’s exhausting is every compliment from you is actually a backhanded criticism,” I said.

“What’s exhausting is fighting with you every minute of the day.”

Thanks to Mom, my enthusiasm for this shore excursion was rapidly dwindling. I ran down to our cabin and threw into my backpack everything I’d need to ward off Catastrophic Makeup Failure: sunscreen, cover-up, a compact mirror, a floppy hat.

On my way back down the hall, I noticed Aunt Jackie’s door was open a crack. I peeked inside and looked around the room at her clothes draped across the end of the bed and at her suitcase. Her bathroom door was closed, and I heard her rustling around in there. I should have left, or called out to her. But I didn’t. I opened the lid of her suitcase—and waited, wondering what to do next. I sifted through a layer of clothes. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but my instinct for snooping took over.

Usually I snooped or stole stuff when I felt like things in my own life were out of control. At least, that was my therapist’s theory. And I’d usually get this weird, light-headed feeling, kind of a rush. But now I was in my aunt’s cabin, poking around. It didn’t feel so good.

I was backing away from the suitcase, toward the door, when something in the trash caught my eye. One of those candy tins Aunt Jackie was always opening. I kneeled down to inspect it. The candies were made by some British company; the price tag showed both British pounds and Turkish lira. I read the label: Ginger Preggo Pops. Take as needed for morning sickness.

I backed away as if I’d just found a loaded gun. Was Aunt Jackie pregnant? Then I heard retching coming from the bathroom. The toilet flushed.

“Aunt Jackie?” I tapped on the door. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said between sniffs. “Don’t worry about me, Zan. You don’t want to miss that shore excursion.”

I left her cabin, my stomach twisting. Should I leave Aunt Jackie alone, when she felt so sick and miserable? Or run off with the others—with Sage—and have an adventure?

I remembered too well what it felt like to have no one to count on. Everyone bailed on me when I needed them most. So I called up to Mom to tell her I had changed my mind, and I went back down to Aunt Jackie’s cabin. As I sat on her bed to wait for her, I noticed spreadsheets strewn on the floor.

I was about to reach for one when Aunt Jackie emerged from the bathroom, red-eyed and pale. She looked startled to see me. “What? You didn’t go?”

I shrugged. “It’s hot out. And I kind of hate the sun.”

She smiled. “It is hot. And you know what? I kind of hate the water. So we’re a good pair, you and me.” She winked. “I’ve always been prone to seasickness,” she went on, taking a seat beside me on the bed and tucking her legs up beneath her. “Ever since I was little.” She passed me a tin of gingers. “Want one? I should have passed them out to everyone when we hit that chop this morning, but I’m hoarding them. My stomach’s so sensitive lately.”

“Sure. Right.” Seasickness. So probably that’s all it was. But still, I had to ask. “Aunt Jackie . . . I know it’s none of my business, but . . . you’re not pregnant, are you?” I whispered, even though no one was around to hear.

She hesitated, then grinned.

“Oh my God!” I squealed. “You’re pregnant! I can’t believe it!”

She put her finger to her lips. “Top-secret for now, okay, Zan?”

“What? You have to tell my mom! She said you couldn’t get pregnant. She said—”

“I know. Berk and I didn’t think we could. We’d had trouble; I had five miscarriages. It’s made me superstitious, so I didn’t want to say anything to anyone until I was past the first trimester. But I’m about there. I’m just waiting for the right time, the right moment, to tell your mom. Preferably not when we’re arguing. So can I ask you to keep it secret for just a little bit longer?”

“Of course,” I agreed. Suddenly I felt something like real happiness for the first time in ages. I liked knowing something Mom didn’t know yet. And I felt honored that Aunt Jackie had told me first.

“So what can I do for you? Are you comfortable?” I got up and fluffed her pillows. “Do you want your window open? Something to drink?” I spun around helplessly, looking for something to serve or clean or fix.

She laughed. “No need to fuss over me. But if you want to help pick up those papers that fell off the bed during the chop, that’d be great.”

“No problem.” I kneeled down on the floor to gather the spreadsheets, trying to look at them without being obvious. Could they be part of Aunt Jackie’s research on crime in Cappadocia? “What are these for, anyway?” I finally asked, unable to figure out the numbers.

“Financial reports.” She made a face. “That’s the part of running a hotel that Berk and I were never very good at. But when we inherited the hotel, it was already in bad shape. I have to somehow make these numbers look better soon, or I’m going to lose the hotel.”

“Really? How could you lose the hotel?”

“Berk’s brother, Serhan, and his sister, Ayla, legally have claims on it. Even though they’ve had no involvement in running the place.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“No. But it’s the way Turkish inheritance law works. The surviving spouse gets a percentage of the estate, and the rest gets divided up among siblings. When Berk’s parents died years ago, Serhan and Ayla weren’t interested in the Mavi Konak. But now the neighborhood’s a hot real estate market. If I can’t get us back in the black, they’re going to start the process of selling the place.”

I handed her the stack of papers. “And you don’t want to sell?”

“No.” Aunt Jackie pressed her lips together, thought a moment, then continued. “Which is strange, considering hotel management wasn’t a first-choice career for either Berk or me. But when Berk lost his job, and when he couldn’t get steady employment in his field, it was a logical move for us, and I had the better English skills we needed for marketing. Now more than ever I want to finish what we started together and see it succeed. But I guess I’m a bit distracted these days.”

I frowned. “They should be nicer to you. I mean, you just lost your husband. How could your own in-laws sell the hotel out from under you?”

“They have the right to do so. And I guess they see me as this American interloper. We were never close. Serhan and Ayla are both busy professionals, married, with two children each. I never really bonded with them. And Berk was so different from them, especially after spending so many years in the US. There was a vast family divide we just couldn’t seem to cross.”

I nodded. I knew a lot about family divides, having grown up in the widening chasm between my own parents.

Aunt Jackie sighed and shoved the spreadsheets into a file folder. “They didn’t express any interest in the hotel—or us—until after Berk was gone. Now they’re coming around all the time. The more they can learn about what kind of shape the building is in, financially, the more ammunition they’ll have to get it shut down. But you don’t want to hear about my financial woes. Let’s talk about you instead.”

“Me? There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing?”

I hesitated. I didn’t like talking about myself. But Aunt Jackie, like Sage, had shared something personal. So I told her a little about some of my ex-friends, and even an almost-boyfriend I’d had before the whole scandal, and how I’d lost everyone pretty much overnight. “They only liked me because I had access to celebrities and parties and stuff,” I admitted. “Once all that went away, and once my dad became this public embarrassment, they were out of there. I guess they weren’t my real friends.”

“No”—Aunt Jackie reached over to pat my shoulder—“they weren’t. And you know something? They did you a favor, painful as it was. You don’t need people like that in your life. You’ll find new friends,” she added. “Close friends. Give it time.”

“I’m not sure I want close friends anymore. When people know too much about you, stuff gets out. This is the second time I’ve been burned.”

“What happened the first time?”

“Camp Feinman. Sixth grade. I told my bunkmate I had vitiligo.”

Aunt Jackie nodded. “That must have been scary, to confide in someone new.”

“It was. Because then she told everyone else, and then everybody started acting like I had a contagious skin disease, and teasing me about it, and basically avoiding me.”

“Oh, Zan.”

“My dad thinks I loved that camp, and he still thinks I should go back and be a counselor.”

“I get it,” said Aunt Jackie. “Now you have trouble telling which people are real friend material and which aren’t. You can’t trust people.”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t have the answers. I’m no oracle. But I can pass on a little wisdom from your uncle Berk. You probably don’t know this, but one of the more interesting parts of his job was that he sometimes did side work with the TNP, the Turkish National Police.”

“As an archaeologist?”

“Yes. The police department calls in authenticators when they find art objects or antiquities. They need people to appraise things and say whether they’re real or have value. Berk was so good at this. He always had a gut reaction first.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could hold an art object and feel a connection to its maker. Even though he was an intellectual, a scholar, he trusted his instincts. That emotional sense never betrayed him. About objects, anyway. I just wish he’d had the same sense for people.” She looked down and twisted the sleeves of her tunic. “Because that’s what it came down to in the end. His instinct was off. And he was deceived.”

“By whoever mugged him and pushed him off the cliff?”

“Exactly. I think he trusted someone enough to get pulled into the wrong conversation.”

I sat up straighter. An idea hit me. “Aunt Jackie, what if it wasn’t a random crime? What if someone set out to kill him? What if they followed him there—or even made him go there? Did any of his colleagues not like him?”

“I’ve had that thought,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve gone to all kinds of dark places in my mind. But he got along with everyone he worked with. He was diplomatic, and would walk miles out of his way to avoid a controversy. It’s probably why he was one of the first to go when the museum had its budget cuts. He might have been seen as too passive. Too agreeable. Berk just never made waves.”

I leaned forward, resting my chin in my hands, thinking. “What kind of job was he interviewing for in Cappadocia?”

“A tour guide job. It was beneath him. He’d have been hired to lead tours of the rock caves during high season. But he agreed to go out and interview for it anyway, to see if it might lead to something else. He didn’t like to close doors to opportunities. He didn’t think we could afford to.”

Now I felt bad that I hadn’t known my uncle well. It made me mad that someone had probably offed him. Why did so many bad things happen to our family? It didn’t seem fair.

And now that I knew Aunt Jackie’s secret, it seemed really wrong that she should be on her own to figure out why her husband had died so tragically. Not even her own sister was on her side. I knew what it felt like to be left alone. Maybe I could spare someone else from feeling that pain.

“I want to help you,” I said.

“With what?”

“I know Mom doesn’t believe your theory, but I do. And I want to do something. I want to help you prove that Uncle Berk’s fall wasn’t an accident. I’m a good researcher,” I insisted, when she started to object. “I can help you find articles online. Or organize them for you.”

“Thank you, Zan. I appreciate the offer. But I can’t involve you in this. Your mother would be furious.”

“We don’t have to tell her.”

“No, one secret’s enough. I’ll keep plugging away, and when the time’s right, when I have enough evidence of violent muggings, then I’ll go to my lawyer. But your moral support means a lot to me. Truly.” She shifted off of the bed and stood up. “Anyway, I’m worried I’m dragging you down in all this. You’re supposed to be having the time of your life on a cruise. Come to the upper deck with me and hang out. I’m suddenly starving. Let’s ask Orhan to fix us something delicious to eat.”

I followed Aunt Jackie to the upper deck. Orhan was fishing for dinner but immediately jumped up to get us some snacks from the galley kitchen. As he did, I fixed my gaze on a stand of pine trees near the water’s edge at the cove. Branches rustled and a bird flapped out, soaring over my head and displaying its colorful feathers and tufts—white, blue, brown, and red. I nudged Aunt Jackie and pointed. We watched it together, mouths open in awe, before it swooped, turned, and flew away.

The Smyrna kingfisher, from Nils and Ingrid’s bird book. I was pretty sure—no, I knew, in my gut—I’d just glimpsed something real and rare.