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before.”
    â€œNo. It’s right here with the others. Room two-oh-four. Nine twenty-six a.m. A seven-one-eight city code.”
    â€œArea code,” Amy corrected him, as she eased her way around the counter. Nigel adjusted the angle of the screen. “You’re right. I wonder why someone would take the time.”
    â€œYes,” Nigel wondered as well. “They all seemed to be in quite the rush. Hardly the time to call home and chat. The seven-one-eight code is for . . .”
    â€œThe New York area. Brooklyn.”
    Nigel tapped a few more keys. “Two-oh-four is a single. Nice-looking fellow.”
    â€œMarcus Alvarez.”
    â€œHis home is in Brooklyn?”
    â€œPalm Beach, as far as I know. How long was the call?”
    â€œThree minutes and change.” Nigel could sense the travel agent’s unease. He flourished a pen from his jacket pocket. “Do you wish to jot down the number?”
    â€œNo,” Amy said without thinking. “No,” she added with thinking. She was ashamed of her curiosity. “What do I owe?”
    â€œAre you sure?” Nigel asked, his pen poised over a notepad.
    â€œNo,” Amy repeated. “How much do I owe?” She was going to ignore it. That was the best way to deal with almost anything.

CHAPTER 7
    V inny Mrozek stroked his bushy mustache and struggled to recall the French he’d been forced to learn all those years ago. “These museums ought to write things in English.” Vinny’s twin sons stood behind him. They were studying the old, historical print and working on their own interpretation of the plaque beneath it.
    Dominick, the more analytical one, pointed to the central figure, a large-breasted woman standing on the top battlements of a seaside fort. She was facing away from the sea, and her hands were behind her back. Despite the yellowing paper and the complex cross-hatching, it seemed obvious that the woman was lifting up the rear section of her dress. “Looks like she’s mooning the guys on the ship out there.”
    Donovan snorted, then stopped. “Hey, that’s it. She’s mooning them. Outrageous.” He pointed, his finger smudging the dusty glass. “Dad, you see this? Dad?”
    Their father grunted. “According to this, the woman’s name was Caterina, a kind of local Joan of Arc. When Barbarosa and his pirates attacked, Caterina marched up and down the roof of the fort and, uh . . . she lifted up her jupon, you know, and, uh, showed the pirates her, uh . . .”
    â€œHer butt,” Donovan shouted, his voice echoing down the spiral ramps of the ancient stone keep.
    â€œHindquarters,” Vinny said, using the translation he recalled from his days in cooking school.
    â€œI’ll say.” Dominick’s eyes strayed from the figure and for the first time took in the rest of the print. “This is the same fort, isn’t it? This is where she mooned them.”
    The Naval Museum, an imposing stone fortress overlooking the Nice harbor, had indeed been the site of Caterina’s defiance, and for perhaps the only time in their lives, the Mrozek twins felt a connection to history.
    â€œMaybe that’s what we’re supposed to do next,” Donovan suggested. “You know, go up to the roof and . . .” He turned. “Hey, Jolynn,” he shouted, his voice echoing down the ramp. “Look at this. You’re supposed to wave that little flag and moon the city.”
    â€œAugh,” screamed Dominick in mock horror. “Show them your butt, Jolynn. Then we win.”
    â€œAnd they lose.”
    Vinny tried to hush his sons. All through the trip they’d been teasing their new stepmother, egging her on. He hoped she hadn’t heard this latest, but who was he kidding? Jolynn could hear insults that hadn’t yet been spoken. And this one had been shouted through a nearly empty fort.
    â€œDom. Don. Enough